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The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”
After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”
She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”
“Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”
“And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”
“Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”
“Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”
“Well, now, that explains a lot.”
As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.
Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.
Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.
“Who did the new sign?” she asked.
“No idea. Ask Molly.”
Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.
Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”
Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”
Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”
Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile. “Yes, ma’am. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, peachy, like always.” After giving her a warm hug, Molly assessed her with disdain. “What? They don’t feed you up there in Roanoke?”
“Not like this.” Chelsea paused for a long sniff. “What’ve you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea the entire village was in on this. The fact that so many people stood behind the mill put a whole different spin on it for her, giving her a glimpse into the pressure Paul must feel to make the project successful. Beyond that, his application had become more to her than debits and credits on a ledger sheet. “Ultimately, the board makes the decision, so I can’t promise anything. But I’ll do my best.”
“God bless you both.” After placing a hand on her shoulder and the other on Paul’s, he returned to his meal.
“Well, that was awkward,” Chelsea murmured as she and Paul seated themselves on opposite sides of the tiny booth.
Already nose-deep in the menu, he asked, “Why?”
Sensing that he hadn’t strayed as far from their Christian upbringing as she had, she wisely kept her mouth shut. But he was still the same old Paul, and he eyed her suspiciously. Setting down his menu, he folded his well-muscled forearms on top and leaned in with a slight grin. “You’re not tight with the big guy anymore?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” she chided, relenting when his grin widened into a you-can’t-fool-me look. “All right, you nailed me on that one. Happy?”
“Immensely. Most women baffle me, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s kinda nice.”
“I’ve changed plenty,” she insisted as Molly showed up with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “You’re exactly the same, though.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Arguing again?” Molly teased, pulling an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “It feels like old times, seeing you kids in my place. What’ll you have?”
“How ’bout some barbecue?” Paul suggested with a questioning look at Chelsea. “If you want, we can get one chicken and one pork and split ’em.”
What did she care? With all the trouble he was causing her, she’d have boatloads of pent-up aggravation for working off the calories at the gym later. “Sure, with coleslaw. And double fries with gravy,” she added impulsively.
Beaming proudly, Molly patted her back. “Good for you, hon. You only go around once, so you might as well eat what you want. These’ll be out shortly.”
“Before you go, I was wondering who did your new sign. It’s really unique.”
“Jenna Reed blew into town a few months back,” Molly explained. “She’s one of those traveling-artist types, y’know, the kind who sell their stuff at a roadside stand. Anyway, she came in here one day and asked if I knew anyone who was looking for some new signage.”
“And you hired her,” Paul guessed. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The girl needed to pay her rent, and our old plaque was falling off the hooks. She didn’t charge much, and we get all kinds of compliments about it. I’d say we got the better end of the bargain.”
“That sign at the mill is way past its prime,” Chelsea told Paul. “You might want to contact Jenna and see if she can help you out. You really need a logo to brand your products and marketing materials.”
“Great idea.” Grabbing a napkin, he borrowed Molly’s pen and wrote down the woman’s info. Once she’d gone, he refolded his arms and leaned closer. “You’ve always been a by-the-numbers type. Where’d you pick up your eye for artistic stuff?”
That he’d noticed the change, and obviously approved of it, gave her shaky ego a pleasant little boost. The fact that those deep brown eyes were twinkling at her had nothing to do with it, of course, but it was nice to be recognized for something she’d done rather than how pretty she looked. She got her fill of that at the bank, and it was refreshing to be praised for stepping out of her usual realm of expertise.
“Marketing’s always interested me,” she confided for the very first time. Even her father didn’t know, because to him, banking was the only industry worth pursuing. “I like analyzing the unique aspects of a company and figuring out how to play them up to their best advantage.”
“Like earlier, when you asked about my plans for promoting the mill,” he said as he filled their glasses with tea. “Do you do that often?”
“Never.” Hearing the edge to her tone, she did her best to dial it back. “Our clients aren’t interested in my opinion on that kind of thing. They hire experts for that.”
“Your mom was a real creative lady. You must’ve gotten your talent from her.”
The mention of her long-absent mother hit Chelsea like a bucket of ice water, and she felt herself stiffen in self-defense. She recognized that it was absurd to tense up that way, but it was reflexive and she simply couldn’t help it. Hoping to disguise her reaction, she shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to her. “Probably.”
“Where is she these days?”
“Australia, with husband number four.” Or was it Austria? It had been months since her last email, and she honestly couldn’t recall where Mom had said they were living now.
“Cool place. You should go visit her when you get a chance.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Chelsea spat with more venom than she’d intended. Swallowing some tea, she went on. “Beyond that, I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. After the divorce, she and Dad could hardly look at each other without snarling.”
In truth, they’d been like that her entire life, and the breakup of their marriage had been a relief for all of them. Paul seemed to sense that, because the look on his face shifted from polite interest to genuine sympathy. Considering the fact that they’d been wrangling all morning, his compassion touched her deeply. In her fast-paced world, people flew past each other with a quick greeting, seldom pausing for a meaningful conversation. Something told her if she wanted to keep talking, he’d go right on listening, nodding and encouraging until she was finished. Part of her longed to do just that, but logic took over, reminding her the last thing she needed was to allow herself to become personally involved with a potential client. Especially this one.
He’d be easier to dismiss if he were still the same arrogant jock she knew years ago. The kind, caring man who’d taken his place was a temptation any woman with a pulse would have a hard time resisting.
* * *
Chelsea twisted in her seat to survey the crowd. “I don’t see Fred anywhere.”
“Must be out somewhere helping somebody else. I’ll give him a call after we order.” As if on cue, his cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Gram. I can take it outside if you want.”
The sudden worry that creased his forehead reinforced her hunch that there was more to the mill project than he’d claimed, and she waved away his offer. “No, go ahead.”
“Hey, there. What’s up with my favorite girl today?” Listening for a few moments, his frown hardened with determination. “Is that right? Well, put the nurse on.” Another pause. “I realize you’re the professional here, but Will’s an eighty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know how much longer he’s got. If he wants barbecue ribs, he should have ’em. Yes, I take full responsibility for disobeying doctor’s orders. You’re welcome.”
Will Barrett was dying.
Reality struck her with the force of a physical blow, and Chelsea felt her heart seize in her chest. Too shocked for words, she gasped something even she couldn’t understand. Part shock, part sob, it was all she could manage, and Paul held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“Gram, we’re good to go, and I’ll bring a meal for you, too.” Checking the desserts board, he asked, “Rhubarb pie or triple berry? Got it. See ya soon.”
Closing his phone, he clasped it in his hands, staring down at the maze place mat on the table in front of him. All the bravado seemed to have drained out of him, and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh. The anguish on his face tugged at Chelsea’s closely guarded heart, and she searched for some comforting words. None came to mind, but she couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer this way.
Even though she’d resolved to remain objective about this unusual assignment, it had suddenly become very personal. Reaching over, she rested her hand over both of his, wishing there was something more she could do.
Chapter Three
When he looked up, Paul noticed tears shining in Chelsea’s eyes. Considering the fact that they’d been sparring with each other most of the morning, it seemed odd that she’d feel sorry for him. But the way he was feeling right now, he’d take any sympathy she cared to offer him.
“The doctors can’t do anything more for Granddad’s cancer,” he explained, “and he’s accepted that he’s not gonna beat it this time. The last thing he wants before he goes is to see the mill up and running again. Well, that and some Whistlestop barbecue,” he added with a wry grin.
“Is that why you’re staying with them instead of at your parents’ place over in Cambridge?”
“Yeah. Mom and my sisters-in-law take turns dropping by during the days, but we all feel better knowing someone’s around if Gram needs a hand at night.”
Swallowing some tea, she said, “I’d like to stop in and see them, if you don’t mind giving me a ride over there.”
Seeing as she was in such a hurry to get back, he was stunned that she was willing to delay her trip. Stunned and more than a little impressed. Maybe the ice princess had a heart after all, he thought with a grin. “Don’t mind a bit. They’ve been feeling a little cooped up lately, and I’m sure they’d love to see you. Then we’ll track down Fred and get your car back on the road.”
“Thanks.” Swirling her straw around, she asked, “Is it true all the banks around here turned you down?”
“Yup,” he replied, popping a saltine into his mouth. “They said it’s ’cause the only collateral I have is the mill, and it’s not enough to make up for me not knowing the first thing about running a business.”
“And if Shenandoah Bank turns you down? What then?”
“I don’t wanna think about it.” When a waitress arrived with their order, he added the take-out meals to their tab and turned the conversation to a more positive subject. “So, tell me what’s been going on with you. Senior year you were voted most likely to be the first woman president. Have you picked your running mate yet?”
She laughed, which had been his intent. It was a shame to see those incredible eyes filled with anything but joy. “Why? Are you interested in the job?”
“Not a chance.” Forking up some of the chicken from her platter, he plopped it onto his and did the opposite with his pork. “I’d be a terror in those meetings, knocking heads together all day long.”
“Interesting strategy. They might actually accomplish something that way.” Munching a gravy-smothered fry, she hummed in appreciation. “I forgot how much I love this kind of food.”
“We can get some for you to take back, if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be making up for this on the treadmill for the next week as it is.”
“Your call.”
They chatted their way through lunch, and Paul couldn’t help admiring the classy woman seated opposite him. He’d never been interested in her before, but for some reason, now he was captivated. The problem was, she was too smart for her own good, and out of respect for his sanity, he made it a policy to avoid women like her. They were way too much work.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be friendly. Not that he’d try to charm her into helping him out with the bank or anything, but it couldn’t hurt to be nice. The old flies-and-honey saying popped into his mind, and he grinned. He was pretty sure Chelsea would object to being compared to insects of any kind.
“What?” she demanded with a frown. “Have I got sauce on my chin or something?”
“No, I was just thinking about how funny it is we reconnected after all these years.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny ironic?”
“Both.” Holding up his glass, he said, “To old enemies getting a fresh start.”
“We weren’t enemies, really,” she corrected him with a little grin. “More like rivals who were going after the same things from different directions.”
“To old rivals, then. I pity anyone dumb enough to try to keep you from getting what you want.”
“That I can drink to,” she agreed, clinking glasses to seal the toast.
Paul heard another click and glanced over to find Molly standing in the middle of the dining room with a digital camera in her hand. “That’s a good one.”
“For what?” Chelsea asked, apparently as confused as Paul was.
“For my collection.” Pointing to a collage made up of old, fading photos, she explained, “I’ve been adding in new pictures of the people up there, like a history album of the town.”
Playing along, Paul faked a horrified gasp. “We’re not really in that, are we?”
“Of course you are.”
Plucking one from the wall, she handed the picture to him, and he angled it so Chelsea could see, too. Sure enough, there they were, perched on stools at the lunch counter, deep in a debate about something or other. You could tell because Paul was waving his hands and grinning while Chelsea glared at him with the kind of look that could freeze Sterling Creek in the dead of summer. Between them were two melting sundaes, forgotten in their quest to win the latest in a series of arguments that had lasted from junior high straight through to graduation.
“It’s one of my favorites.” Molly took the photo back and gave them each a warm smile. “Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve worked out if you two could quit beating on each other long enough to realize how much alike you are.”
They both laughed, and Paul echoed, “Alike? Ya gotta be kidding.”
“I’m deadly serious. You’re smart as anything and stubborn as a pair of mules. Imagine what you could accomplish if you put aside your pride and pull in the same direction for a change.”
With that, she turned and left them staring at each other. If he was reading her expression accurately, Paul was fairly confident that Chelsea was as horrified by that idea as he was. Then Molly’s words registered more clearly. “Did you notice how she said that?”
Eyes wide with shock, Chelsea nodded. “She didn’t say ‘accomplished,’ as if she was referring to what happened in the past. She made it sound like we should work together now and see how it goes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her smoothly. “Everyone’s got an opinion about this mill project. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
While they both continued eating, Paul was careful not to let Chelsea catch him glancing over at her. Because, despite what he’d said just a few moments ago, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Molly was right. With his technical know-how and her business sense, he and Chelsea would make a great team. Having her on his side would definitely improve the chances of his wild idea succeeding.
Unfortunately, his male instincts warned him that any partnership with this by-the-books accountant would drive him completely over the edge. Then again, working with a woman instead of dating her would be a refreshing change for him. At least he wouldn’t end up getting tossed out of his own apartment into the rain.
* * *
“What a wonderful surprise!” Olivia Barrett exclaimed, folding Chelsea into a warm hug. It was the second one she’d gotten today, and this one felt just as good as the first. To be welcomed back after so many years away felt amazing.
“I was in town, so I wanted to stop by and see you two,” she explained with a hesitant peek into the dining room. All the antique furniture was pushed to one side, opening up space for a hospital bed. “Is this a good time?”
“It’s always a good time for company.” The shadows beneath her brown eyes spoke of many sleepless nights, but the determined glimmer said she was making the best of their difficult situation. “Folks come tiptoeing in here like Will’s already laid out for his funeral. It makes me crazy.”
“Well, we’re here to fix that,” her grandson informed her, holding up two take-out bags printed with The Whistlestop’s trolley logo.
“We could smell it when you were coming up the walk. I’ll get some plates.”
“In here,” he replied, wiggling the bags. “No dishes for you to wash, so you can just relax and enjoy your lunch.”
“My boy,” she cooed, grasping his chin for a fond shake. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite?”
When she turned to lead them into the dining room, Paul whispered to Chelsea, “She says that to all of us.”
Thanks to him, Chelsea was laughing when she saw Will Barrett. His pale face broke into a bright smile, and though he looked achingly frail, he greeted her in the strong baritone voice that used to ring out from the church choir every Sunday. “Marvelous to see you, Chelsea. Come in. Come in.”
His hand trembled as he motioned her to the armchair beside his bed, and she sank into it as unexpected emotions clogged her throat. Paul had warned her his grandfather was dying, but she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of what that meant. Though it was tucked behind a leafy ficus, she noticed an IV pole holding a bag of dripping medication. Looking from it to Will, the sympathy in his eyes caught her even more off guard.
“I know,” he said simply, patting her hand with his. “It’s not easy, but we’re making the best of things.”
“Why are you here instead of in a hospital?” she blurted without thinking first. When she realized what she’d done, she felt herself reddening in embarrassment.
Will chased off her discomfort with a faint laugh. “All that poking and prodding was making me downright ornery. And the food.” Condemning it with a sour face, he continued, “I’m happier here, and now Olivia can be comfortable at home instead of driving back and forth to a place full of sick people.”