by Mia Ross
Strolling across the dusty floor, she stood on tiptoe to see some of the hand-labeled items on an upper shelf. “Nails.” Glancing at him, she actually smiled. “Seriously? Even I know there are lots of different kinds of nails. And how many are in there?”
Paul didn’t like where this interrogation was heading, so he tried to derail her lecture with a shrug. “Got me.”
“Let me get this straight,” she continued in that rational tone he was beginning to hate. “You have to open all these boxes to find the right nails for whatever you’re doing? That’s incredibly inefficient.”
“Well, it’s just me here, so it’s not that big a deal.”
He finished with his most charming grin, but her skeptical expression made it clear she wasn’t buying that. Instead, she tapped her screen and brought up a digital list. “Now that I’m in charge, it is a big deal. We need to know what kind of nails and how many.”
“In charge? Are you kidding me? You don’t know the first thing about running a sawmill. I grew up here,” he added, jabbing his finger into his chest for emphasis. “Not to mention I’m the owner. Not you.”
After studying him for a few moments, she relented with a single dismissive nod. “Point taken, and I apologize. I meant that I’m handling the business end of things, at least for the time being. An inventory is part of that, and it needs to be done properly.”
“Fine.”
Her stylus poised to begin taking notes, she gave him an expectant look. He’d gotten himself into this mess by accepting her help, he realized. There was really nothing to do but go along with her demands.
Shoving his hands in his back pockets, Paul strode over to the shelf in question and began counting. “One, two, three—”
“Not a chance, hotshot. Are those boxes full or empty?”
“You want me to open each one?” Doing a quick scan, he glared at her. “There must be hundreds of ’em.”
“The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done.”
Her sweet smile did nothing to disguise her mocking tone, and Paul crossed his arms in the stubborn pose that usually made people take a step back. “I’m not counting all these nails.”
“You don’t have to count each little one,” she reasoned just as stubbornly. “If we fill a box with each variety and count those, we can calculate the rest.”
Obsessive wasn’t the word for what she was suggesting. In fact, he couldn’t come up with a fitting description. Then he caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and suddenly it all made sense. Why she was here bird-dogging him. Why she was so insistent on dotting every last i.
“You’re trying to impress your dad, aren’t you?”
A slight tremor in her expression told him he’d hit that one dead-on, but she quickly masked it with coolness. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
She hadn’t denied it, which told him exactly what he needed to know. Each of them was being driven by family expectations, adding more pressure to an already stressful situation. If they didn’t ease up on themselves—and each other—they’d both end up with ulcers.
Figuring it was up to him to defuse the tension, he said, “I need a break. Wanna take a walk?”
“But we haven’t even started.”
“This mess has been sitting here the last ten years.” He dismissed it with a broad wave. “It’ll wait another hour.”
She glanced at her shoes, then met his gaze. “I’m not exactly dressed for a hike in the woods.”
Spying a dusty pair of ladies’ work boots on a shelf, he took them down and offered them to her. “These were Gram’s, so they should fit you well enough.”
Chelsea set down her tablet and reached for them before pulling her hands away. “There’s nothing living in them, is there?”
Chuckling, Paul turned them upside down and banged on the bottoms to prove they were rodent-free. It struck him that her faint protest meant she was as ready for some fresh air as he was, and he congratulated himself on avoiding yet another wrangle with his old adversary.
Once she had them on, he angled his head to check out the effect. The cracked leather boots looked as odd with her classy suit as her high-tech computer equipment did in the office. But in the spirit of keeping the peace, he grinned. “It works for you.”
“Just don’t post any pictures online,” she retorted as they headed for the side door. “My sorority sisters would never let me live it down.”
He laughed, and after a few seconds, she joined in. It felt nice to share a joke with her that way. As they walked along the creek, he was careful to give her some space so she wouldn’t feel as if he was crowding her. Even though he was a respectable distance away, he sensed her beginning to unwind a little, especially when she paused and took in a deep breath.
Smiling up at him, she said, “Much better.”
Man, she was beautiful when she smiled. Especially out here, where the sun picked up the flecks of gold in her eyes. “That’s good to hear.”
They strolled along in companionable silence, the creek’s steady current gurgling alongside them while birds chirped to each other in the trees overhead. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leafy branches, giving their path a jigsaw-puzzle look. Up ahead, he caught a motion in the brush and pulled Chelsea to a stop.
“Look,” he said, pointing to a movement in the shadows.
A doe stepped from the tall grass, ears and nose twitching while she checked her surroundings for possible trouble. She stared right at Paul and Chelsea, her large brown eyes studying them warily. Apparently satisfied that they weren’t a threat, she picked her way to the edge of the creek and lowered her head to drink. Behind her, two fawns cautiously followed her lead, flanking her in a stunning family picture Paul knew he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
When the deer had moved on, a solution to the inventory problem popped into his head. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”
Curiosity lit her eyes, and she gave him another, slightly different smile. “Really? What’s that?”
“We buy those little bits and pieces by the pound. How ’bout if we box up each kind of nail, screw and whatsit and weigh ’em? Then we can put an accurate value on them for your inventory.”
“Our inventory.” Even though she corrected him, she sounded less bossy, so it didn’t bother him as much this time. “That should work fine. Good idea, Paul.”
For some reason, her praise made him stand a little taller. He told himself it was just knowing that he’d convinced the normally unmovable Chelsea Barnes to compromise. “Thanks.”
They continued on to the end of the path, then turned around to return to the millhouse. They chatted about this and that all the way back, so the trip in was much more pleasant than the forced march he’d insisted on earlier.
Maybe, just maybe, this small success meant they could find a way to get through the next few weeks without killing each other. He sure hoped so, because against his better judgment, she was starting to grow on him.
Chapter Five
When she and Paul returned, Chelsea noticed Boyd curled up in the messy seating area on top of an old quilt.
“That’s not his usual spot.” Obviously concerned, Paul went over and hunkered down beside the bloodhound. “You okay, boy?”
Boyd thumped his tail but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. Paul began checking him over, and when he got to the dog’s huge right ear, he murmured, “Take a look at this.”
Chelsea joined him and saw what had gotten his attention. A pale orange tiger kitten was curled up in a ball, sound asleep in its warm, furry cave. Next to the big hound, it looked small and helpless, and she knelt down to inspect it more closely. Apparently sensing the movement, the little cutie lifted its head and opened its eyes enough for her to see they were still blue.
Paul gently picked the cat up and did a quick survey. “Six weeks, I’d say, and a girl. Can’t imagine where he found it.”
As he returned the kitten to her spot, the thought that
she might be one of several spurred Chelsea to her feet. People could take care of themselves, but she had a very soft spot for tiny, vulnerable animals. “There could be more out in the woods somewhere. We should go look.”
Patting his dog on the head, Paul stood and grinned at her. “What about your inventory?”
“That can wait,” she retorted on her way to the door. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Still grinning, he grabbed an empty cardboard box marked machine oil and fell into step beside her.
They searched the tall grass around the mill, then moved farther into the woods in increasingly broader circles. They tramped carefully through the brush, moving branches aside, peeking into rabbit holes, anywhere a mama cat might think to hide her brood. While Chelsea made her way through the undergrowth, Paul walked the banks of the creek, keeping an eye out for paw prints they could follow. After more than an hour, they met back at the first bend in the stream, empty-handed.
“Boyd’s not big on cars,” Paul began, “so he usually sticks close to the mill when he goes wandering. He must have found it out here somewhere, but if there’s any more, they’re hidden really well.”
“Did you see any tracks?”
“Not a one. It must have gotten away from the rest, and the mother gave up looking for it.”
Spoken so matter-of-factly, his logical observation made Chelsea’s eyes well with sympathy for the lost kitten. While she recognized that her parents’ divorce had been inevitable, she’d never gotten over feeling abandoned by her own mother. When she was feeling morose, she couldn’t help wondering how different her life would be now if she’d had a mom like everyone else.
Her prolonged silence must have gotten through to Paul, and he frowned. “I’m sorry for how that sounded, Chelsea. I wasn’t thinking.”
Blinking away tears, she summoned the polite smile she used so often to keep her emotions hidden from people. “That’s okay, but I think we should get the kitten to a vet and make sure she’s healthy. We don’t want Boyd getting sick or anything.”
Seemingly a step ahead of her, Paul crossed his arms with a chuckle. “Sounds like you think we’re keeping that orange dust bunny.”
Determined to save the little darling, she drew herself up to her full height, which was still no match for his. To compensate, she gave him the steely glare she’d perfected for use on obstinate corporate attorneys. “If you aren’t, I am. But since Boyd brought her to you, I think he expects you to take care of her the way you did him.”
That did it. The teasing glint left Paul’s eyes, and he gave her a long, pensive look before nodding. “All right, she can stay.”
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, embracing him before she had a chance to think. When his arms settled lightly around her, the feeling of being so close to him was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Thoroughly rattled, she quickly pulled away and took a healthy step back.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, a warm twinkle in his dark eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was meant for her or his new guest, but she decided she’d be wise to ignore it. “How much can a scrap of fur like that eat, anyway?”
“The vet will know.” Resisting the urge to tug at his hand, Chelsea began walking as fast as she could back to the mill.
“So we’re going right now?” he called after her.
“I am,” she hollered without looking back.
She heard him muttering behind her, but in a few strides he caught up. His long legs easily kept pace with her, and she found herself wondering how a guy who was so laid-back managed to get anything accomplished.
Despite the years that had passed, one thing hadn’t changed: Paul Barrett made no sense to her whatsoever.
In the millhouse, Boyd was still standing—or rather lying—guard over his fuzzy charge. Chelsea carefully lifted the sleeping kitten and rewarded the hound with a thorough ear fluffing and a kiss between his big chocolate-colored eyes. “You’re the best dog in the whole world, Boyd.”
He responded with what could only be described as a canine smile, and behind her Paul laughed. “He seems to like you, too.”
“You sound surprised,” she commented as they made their way out to his truck.
“I am. Till now, I didn’t think he had any taste at all.”
The deftly angled flattery caught her off guard, and she gaped at him. “Did you just compliment me?”
“Actually, I complimented his taste in women,” Paul pointed out, mischief glinting in his eyes. “But indirectly, I guess it says something nice about you. Two for one.”
Bewildered by the shift in Paul’s barely tolerant attitude toward her, Chelsea shook her head and climbed carefully into the front seat to avoid waking the kitten. Boyd came bounding from the millhouse and leaped into the back of the truck, sitting politely while Paul chuckled. “Guess he’s coming along. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. He’s my hero, not to mention hers,” she added, nuzzling the soft bundle in her arms.
Slanting her an amused look, he didn’t argue with her for once. Chelsea appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t know how to tell him so without inflating his already enormous ego, so she settled for a smile.
“Y’know, you have a great smile,” he commented when the tires turned onto pavement.
It wasn’t the first time he’d told her something like that, but it felt just as good this time around as it had before. “Thank you.”
“I mean it,” he continued as he maneuvered into the parking lot at the Mill Veterinary Clinic. “How come you don’t bring it out more often?”
With a demanding career and absolutely no personal life, there wasn’t a lot for her to smile about these days, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d feel sorry for her, and she couldn’t bear that, not from him or anyone else. Given enough time, she firmly believed she was more than capable of wrestling her life into a better place.
That better place included a rambling house filled with kids and a big yard out back for the jungle gym and sandbox she’d longed for as a child. Maybe even a trampoline. Unfortunately, with her twenties ticking by and no future husband in sight, there were days when she feared she was running out of time.
Pushing aside her own troubles, she focused on getting inside without scaring the tiny cat in her arms. Fortunately, one of the vets was available, and after a quick examination he told Chelsea the stray was indeed a female about six weeks old.
“Most orange tigers are males,” he added, gently rubbing a fingertip under the kitten’s chin. “So this little girl is pretty special. Do you have a name yet?”
“Daisy” flew out of Chelsea’s mouth before she had a chance to think, but it was perfect—her coloring was a blend of pale orange and white. Chelsea more calmly explained, “It’s my favorite flower.”
“Nice.”
While the vet told her what her new friend needed to eat and drink, he kept a watchful eye on Daisy, who was sitting calmly on the metal exam table, staring up at Chelsea. The vet’s focused attention grew more urgent, and Chelsea frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Without answering, he moved out of the cat’s line of sight and said her name. She didn’t react, and he said it again, more loudly this time. Chelsea thought he was being silly, since the kitten couldn’t possibly recognize her name yet. When he clapped his hands a few times with the same nonresponse, she finally understood what he was doing.
“She’s deaf,” Chelsea murmured, tears stinging her eyes. She’d barely gotten acquainted with this baby, but knowing she couldn’t hear anything made her unspeakably sad. “Do you think that’s why the mother left her in the woods?”
“Could be. Animals have a way of knowing when something’s wrong. Sometimes they’ll care for damaged offspring, sometimes not.”
Damaged.
The word hit Chelsea’s chest like a hammer, and she struggled to mute the intense reaction into something more manageable. Analytical by nature, she approached everything
in her life from a logical perspective. That this adorable creature should be doomed by a flaw completely out of her control seemed so unfair.
To Chelsea’s astonishment, Paul came to Daisy’s defense. “She’s not damaged at all,” he insisted, resting a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder while he stroked the kitten’s back. “She’s her cute little self, and that’s just fine. Isn’t it, Daisy?”
Opening her mouth, she mewed up at him as if she agreed wholeheartedly, and the fist squeezing Chelsea’s heart gradually released its grip.
“I’m sorry for how that must have come across to you,” the vet apologized with a pained expression. “Working here, we see all kinds of things. We can sound too clinical sometimes.”
Because he was sincere, Chelsea accepted his apology and moved on. “Do we need anything special to take care of a deaf cat?”
“Not really. But since she can’t hear, she has to be an indoor pet. Other than that, just regular visits here and lots of love.” Daisy nuzzled and licked his hand, and he chuckled. “She’s a real sweetheart, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get some kitten formula and food for you to take home. Oh, and you should get a collar with a bell on it.”
“But she can’t hear it,” Chelsea said.
“It’s so you can hear her. She can get into lots of places, and she won’t know you’re calling her. It’ll be tough to keep track of her if you don’t know where she is.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Once the exam-room door closed, Paul gently grasped Chelsea by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “Are you sure about this? We can find her a good home with someone else, if you want.”
“I’ve never had a pet,” Chelsea confided as she lifted Daisy and settled her into the crook of her arm. Leaning back, the dainty cat blinked up at her with a trusting look that settled the question right then and there. “But I’ve always wanted one. We’ll figure it out, won’t we, sweetie?”
