Blue Ridge Reunion. Mia Ross

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ didn’t include financing a business so far off the beaten path it couldn’t help but fail again. In spite of her personal opinion, she was touched by Paul’s willingness to take on a hopeless cause for his grandfather. Not for himself, or for money, but because Will had asked him to. Few people got through the composed demeanor she’d cultivated, but Paul’s direct, heartfelt explanation had come uncomfortably close to doing just that. What that meant she couldn’t say, but it was a disturbing feeling, and she fought it with every disciplined bone in her body.

      “It looks like you’ve been making progress with the equipment.” Some things looked completely worn-out, but others were clearly fresh out of the box. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

      “Yeah.” Brightening, he strode past her to an old wooden lever. “I just finished this section, so I haven’t tested it yet. You might wanna cover your ears.”

      Slinging her camera around her neck, she followed his suggestion. When she nodded that she was ready, Paul braced his hands on the lever and peered through a hole in the floor. Apparently satisfied, he gradually moved the handle from left to right, unleashing a metallic grinding noise.

      “The door in the dam’s opening,” he explained loudly. “It lets water in from the creek to spin the wheel.”

      She nodded again, looking down as water rushed in and over the paddles in the newly repaired waterwheel. Once it was spinning, Paul moved away from the lever and pulled a wooden handle on the far wall. It released the mechanics of the main saw, sending belts over pulleys, back and forth, to drive the blade. The noise was deafening, but the motion was even more remarkable. Once the contraption was in full gear, the entire building shook with the power created by a modest stream and a bunch of leather belts.

      She’d been here on tours in elementary school, but now Chelsea saw more than the interesting mechanics of days gone by. She admired the genius behind the original design and the skill required to bring all that creaky equipment back up to speed. While Paul had completed only one of the four saw channels, it didn’t take much to envision the business in full operation, churning out lumber for furniture and flooring the way it once had.

      After Paul powered everything down, she said, “This place used to be run by electricity. What made you decide to go back to waterpower?”

      “Waterwheels are cool,” he answered with a little boy’s enthusiasm. “That’s how it was when Granddad was a kid, so I wanted it to be that way again.”

      Again, she sensed there was more to tell, but she didn’t want to get sucked into the charming picture he was painting for her, so she opted to keep things strictly professional. “I have to admit, you’ve accomplished a lot in only a month.”

      “That’s just the beginning. Like our business plan says, we want to start making custom furniture again, under the Barrett’s Mill name. Folks love having something unique, and that’s what we’ll give ’em. Everything will be ripped on the saws and handmade by our own carpenters, so no two pieces will be the same.”

      “All those shop classes you took are finally coming in handy.”

      He took her teasing with an easygoing grin. “Yeah, but I’ve also got a secret weapon.”

      “What’s that?”

      Glancing around as if he was checking for spies, he moved close enough that she picked up the scent of soap and hard work. It was a pleasant, masculine kind of smell, totally different from the overbearing colognes so many of her coworkers were convinced women loved. They reeked of trying way too hard, while Paul wasn’t trying at all. It set him apart from all the other men she knew, and she sternly dragged her wandering attention back to what he was saying.

      “My brother Jason and I have been out in Oregon, working for a company that dredges old timber from river bottoms to be used in modern mills. Back in the day, they used to float trees down from the mountains, and a lot of the bigger ones sank. Some are over a hundred years old, and they’re buried in the mud, just waiting for someone to come along and salvage them. I worked out a deal with my old boss, and when we’re ready, Jason’s gonna bring a load of them here for us to use.”

      “Is there really a market for that kind of thing?”

      “Sure is. That timber’s been seasoning a long time, and once you dry it out, it makes great raw material.”

      “And it has a story to go along with it,” she added, allowing herself a little smile. “People love a good story.”

      “You got that right. But I’ve been doing this with my own money, and that ran out a couple weeks ago. We need some serious cash to get us back on track.”

      His explanation tripped a switch in her mind, and things began falling into place. “Is that why you’re driving that old sawmill truck?”

      “Yeah. When Boyd and I got back here, I sold my crew-cab pickup to a guy over in Cambridge. I really miss that truck,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what he paid me got me started here, so it was worth it.”

      She was struck by his commitment to reviving the mill, and as she considered what he’d already accomplished on a shoestring budget, she realized his innovative idea just might fly. In the current era of mass-produced everything, people craved one-of-a-kind items that set them apart from the crowd. As Paul continued explaining the nuts and bolts to her, his eagerness began to erode her professional skepticism.

      If his motivation had been purely profit, she would’ve remained pessimistic about his chances. But he’d sacrificed his beloved truck, which proved to her that money was no more important to him now than it had been years ago. Since the tireless effort he was putting in was inspired by the grandfather he adored, she knew Paul would do everything in his power to be successful.

      When he finally stopped, she said, “You’d build your marketing strategy around the distinctive history of the town, I assume.”

      He hesitated, and she knew she’d caught him on that one. True to form, though, he grinned. “I’ll leave that to the experts. My job is to give them something interesting to market.”

      Good answer. Then again, the natural scholar and superjock she remembered from high school had always had a ready comeback for everything. The guy was a born salesman, but where the bank’s money was concerned, she wasn’t certain that what he was selling was worth buying into.

      “It’s not up to me.” His cocky grin faded a bit, and she felt a prick of guilt for dashing his hopes. She felt an obligation to be honest with him, but reopening the shuttered business clearly meant a lot to him. Out of respect for his feelings, she softened her tone. “I’ll do my appraisal, then present it to the loan committee for their consideration. The notes and pictures I’m taking today will help them make a fair decision.”

      “But you can sway them with the way you lay things out, right?”

      The suddenly desperate edge to his voice didn’t jibe with the laid-back personality he’d displayed until now. It made her uncomfortable, and out of habit, she fell back on her usual detachment. “Sometimes. For now, I should get back to work.”

      “Okay. I’ll be in here tinkering, so let me know if you need anything.”

      As she resumed her assessment, she began to rethink her initial gut reaction. On paper, Barrett’s Sawmill was the worst kind of project the bank could take on. But having viewed it in person, she definitely saw potential СКАЧАТЬ