Mia Ross - Blue Ridge Reunion

“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.”