hadn’t been enough. The blow to his ego hadn’t quite healed, and he was determined to avoid a repeat performance.
“So you just walked out, packed up your truck and went to Oregon?” When he didn’t respond, she shook her head at him. “Same old Paul. Never happy with where you are, always looking over the horizon for something better.”
The fact that she was at least partially right didn’t help his suddenly sour mood. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still judging other people for taking risks you’d never even dream of. How’s that working for you?”
Dismissing him, she pivoted on one of her fancy shoes and went down a set of steps to the side yard where they used to unload the trucks. Paul stood there for a while, trying to get control of his boiling temper before he made the situation worse by charging after her to continue their...argument? No, that wasn’t quite it, he admitted as he watched her through a window. It had been more like sparring, each of them testing the other before squaring up to land their best punches.
Just like old times, he thought with a grimace. Her last name happened to come before his in the alphabet, so they’d often been teamed up for school projects. Their efforts had ended up being more competitions than collaborations, and although they’d scored well, every second they were forced to work together had been a teeth-grinding clash of wills. Now he needed her help or this restoration was dead in the water. Paul simply couldn’t let that happen.
After battling cancer for five years, Granddad’s fight was rapidly coming to an end, and all he wanted was to see his cherished mill up and running before he died. Paul had driven across the country to make sure that happened, which meant he had to man up and apologize to Chelsea for insulting her. Searching for inspiration, he glanced down at Boyd, who was stretched out in a patch of late-morning sunlight, his brow wrinkled with what could only be described as concern. More than once, it had flashed through Paul’s mind that his canine buddy was more sympathetic than a lot of people he knew.
“Whattya say, partner? Wanna go make nice for me?” Boyd let out a quiet groan, then closed his eyes to resume his nap. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothin’.”
Groveling really shouldn’t be all that tough for him, he reasoned as he followed after Chelsea. He’d begged forgiveness from so many women over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at it. But as he watched her with her rolling measuring stick and camera, so intent on her task that she didn’t appear to notice him, his gut warned him that this time would be different.
Because she was brighter than most, and she’d see right through his usual I’m-just-a-guy approach. That meant he’d have to go with the truth, which could be dicey when it came to the female species. But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself as he glanced back at the half-restored mill. It was about answering Granddad’s prayers to get the family business back in working order. If Paul had to eat a little humble pie in the meantime, it was best to choke it down as quickly as possible and watch his mouth from here on out.
Hoping to appear contrite, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged down the steps. In the yard, he intercepted Chelsea. Summoning every sad moment of his life into his expression, he kept it simple. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
Sharp words leaped onto his tongue, and he sent up a quick prayer for patience. What he said to her right now would make or break this project, and he wasn’t averse to calling in a little divine help. “For being out of line. You obviously have a great life, and I had no right to talk to you that way. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
“Thank you, Paul. That can’t have been easy for you to do, and I appreciate it. Believe it or not,” she added in a warmer tone, “I think your idea for this place has a lot of merit.”
“That’s good,” Paul stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.
She gave him a nod, then got back to her measuring. While he appreciated her attempt to be encouraging, he was smart enough to realize it didn’t mean much in this situation. When it came to dollars and cents, banks were notoriously hard-hearted these days, which didn’t bode well for the Barretts.
It wasn’t himself he was worried about, Paul thought morosely. He’d failed before—plenty of times—and as Chelsea had so deftly noted, he had a knack for burying his mistakes and moving on.
But this time, he had to succeed. Knowing that scared him to death.
When Chelsea was finished with her survey, she stopped in the millhouse to say goodbye to Paul. “Thanks for the tour. The loan committee will be meeting tomorrow, and I’ll make my presentation then. You should have an answer by midweek.”
Paul looked up from the doohickey he was oiling with a grim expression. “I can tell by your tone you don’t think we should get our hopes up.”
She did, but she was usually better at hiding her opinion from clients. Either he was unusually adept at reading her, or she was losing her touch. Whichever it was, she wasn’t thrilled to learn she’d let her emotions show. Hoping to ease the blow, she sat down on an overturned crate beside him. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. With the economy the way it is, projects like these are rejected more often than not.”
“But this one’s special,” he insisted, his dark eyes pleading with her for something she couldn’t give him. “There was nothing around here until my family built this mill. That has to count for something.”
Unfortunately, there were hundreds of villages just like it scattered throughout the country, fading from memory because they weren’t deemed important enough to save. But she couldn’t bear to tell him that, so she hedged. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises. You need to understand that.”
“Sure,” he breathed, his shoulders lifting and then drooping with a heavy sigh.
The defeated pose was far removed from the arrogant sports star she remembered from high school, and she felt her heart going out to him. Firmly, she put a stop to that and reminded herself this was a business proposition. Where money was concerned, she had to keep a cool head at all times. She was on pace to be the youngest vice president in the long history of Shenandoah Bank and Trust, and she had no intention of losing sight of her goal when she had it within her grasp. Because, quite honestly, she had few friends outside of work and an almost nonexistent social life. Without her career, she was nothing.
“I’ll get back to Roanoke and start processing your files,” she said as she stood. “Have a good day.”
“You, too,” he muttered without looking up. Chelsea decided that was the best she could expect considering she’d just crushed his dreams, so she headed for the door. She was on the porch when he called out her name.
She backtracked, and he gave her a sheepish grin as he got to his feet. “That’s no way to treat a lady, and I apologize. Let me walk you to your car.”
“You
