“Not in a million years.”
She admired how he’d shifted from kindness to teasing, clearly attempting to make her feel more at ease. As they smiled at each other, she recalled that he’d always had a way with people. Young, old, male, female, popular or not so much, it didn’t matter. Back then she’d envied him that skill, and now she recognized that her envy had tainted her memories of him. Standing in the warm sunshine with him, she appreciated his generosity more than she could say.
Before she could blurt out something she’d probably regret, she recentered her mind on work. That strategy had worked well throughout her career, and she gladly retreated into it now. “I need to document the condition of the property for your application. What’s first?”
While they toured the exterior, she began to worry there was nothing worth saving. The cobblestone bridge leading to the back entrance seemed fairly solid, but instinct warned her it would never pass a modern engineering inspection.
When she said as much, his answer surprised her. “Oh, that’s all solid steel underneath, and only twelve years old. I had it inspected last week, and it’s plenty strong enough for modern trucks to come in and out. The river rock’s just cemented on for looks.”
Impressed by his foresight, Chelsea made a note in the condition column. “I’ll need a copy of that report.”
“No problem.”
The mill itself was post-and-beam construction, built of oak from the nearby forest. But the roof appeared to be suspect, and everywhere she looked, significant pieces of the structure were either sagging or missing completely. Alongside the damaged areas hung fresh boards, which stood out from the weathered siding like hopeful signs of improvement.
Once they’d finished their circuit, Paul turned to her with an expectant look. “Whattya think?”
“I think you need a bulldozer and some condos right over there.”
When she pointed to the low hill overlooking Sterling Creek, for some reason he chuckled. “Not so fast. You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
She couldn’t imagine it would make a bit of difference in her assessment, but out of fairness, she tamped down her impatience to get back to civilization. “All right. Let’s have a look.”
The boards on the wide stairs were weathered gray and rocked under her designer heels with each step. The handrail wasn’t much help, but considering her odd reaction to seeing him again, she didn’t want to get too close by steadying herself on Paul’s shoulder. His dog rumbled past them, nearly knocking her down. When Paul reached out a hand to help her, she pulled out of range. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Stubborn as ever,” he muttered, adding something she didn’t quite catch. It was probably better that way.
The interior of the building was in slightly better shape, but not by much. On closer inspection, she noticed some of the belts on the antique equipment had been replaced, and the smell of oil and sawdust hung in the air. To the right of the door was what used to be a seating area. Now it was filled with a jumble of filthy equipment in various stages of repair.
On the other side was an office with a half door that stood open to the entryway. Inside she noticed a scarred but sturdy-looking table, a couple of mismatched chairs and an old settee covered in what she assumed was bloodhound fur. There wasn’t a hint of a computer, which didn’t surprise her in the least, but along the far wall stood a dusty row of filing cabinets that probably contained paperwork decades older than she was. In the corner near the window was a small woodstove that held an old boom box playing a mellow rock tune she recognized from high school dances.
When she spotted the air mattress and sleeping bag, she turned to Paul in amazement. “How long have you been living here?”
“About a month, off and on. I’m officially staying in town with my grandparents, but when I’m working late, Boyd and I crash here.”
The million-dollar question, she thought, was why? Since they’d never see each other again after today, she decided to ask. “Your father shut this place down ten years ago. Why are you trying to bring it back now?”
His expression dimmed a little, even though the sun was still shining gamely through the grimy paned windows. After a moment, he answered. “It’s for Granddad. He wants to see it up and running again, and that’s reason enough for me.”
The flicker of sadness in his eyes told her there was more to it than that, but she didn’t want to pry. She remembered Will Barrett as a kindhearted man who’d inherited an archaic family business rooted in another century. When it failed, she hadn’t been surprised, or even particularly sorry. But now she felt the very thing her father had warned her about before coming out here: sympathy.
In her memory, she heard him reminding her that sentiment had no place in the banking industry. She was here to do a job, not get wrapped up in someone else’s family problems. The bank—and more precisely, her father—was counting on her honest, objective appraisal before approving or rejecting this loan request. More than anything, she wanted to prove to him that she was capable of taking over the helm when he was ready to step down. That was what he’d planned for her all her life, and as his only child, she was determined to make it happen.
That meant playing the game by his rules, which 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