Mountain Charm (20 page)

Dylan smiled every time he thought of her, and he knew without a doubt that
this
was where he was meant to be. He was tempted to find a tattoo parlor and have the artist fill in the rest of his heart.

His life no longer felt incomplete.

Dylan was still smiling when his cell vibrated in his hand. Glancing down at the screen, he noticed it was an email from Beth, his editor at the newspaper, asking Dylan to come by the office the next day. The paper’s editor-in-chief—a guy by the name of Chuck—had apparently been impressed with Dylan’s freelance work and wanted to offer him a full-time position.

Excited for the opportunity and steady paycheck, he quickly typed out a reply, promising Beth he would be there at ten, just as Chuck had requested.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Knoxville was only an hour away, and it was another sign that moving to Maple Ridge was the right decision.

Dylan was excited to have some good news to share with Angelina and her mom because the past few weeks had been rough on all of them. Celia’s body was still adjusting to the treatments and medications. She was trying to be strong for Angelina, and it had finally taken its toll. Angelina had cried all night long, and he’d held her close, whispering he loved her, and that he would be by her side through it all.

But he couldn’t deny he was tired.

So tired.

And his exhaustion was making him irritable, so when he overheard two guys in the coffee line talking about the pretty owner of the music store next door, he found it difficult to keep his temper in check.

“We dated back in high school,” one of the guys said. Dylan recognized the man’s face but couldn’t remember his name.

Angelina’s first date. Kyle something?

“Oh yeah? What was she like?” his friend asked.

The man didn’t even bother to whisper.

“Hands down, the best sex of my life.”

The guys paid for their coffee, and they were still laughing as they walked right past him on their way to the door.

Dylan was tired and cranky, and the last thing he needed was to hear some asshole spreading bullshit about the woman he loved.

Caffeine was no longer important.

He didn’t even think about the consequences of his actions. Didn’t even consider that this was probably a very bad idea.

He didn’t think at all.

Dylan turned on his heel and followed the men out the door.

Angelina gazed across the water, watching the sun dip just below the trees. Cash was by her side, snuggling close. Each time she was sure she was all cried out, a fresh wave of tears would fall.

What was he thinking? Isn’t life chaotic enough without him getting into another brawl—and this time, in the middle of town?

She had refused to bail him out this time. Despite that, the thought of him sitting in a cold jail cell was more than she could bear. On the phone, he’d begged her to forgive him. Pleaded with her to understand. But all she could see in her mind was his fist connecting with Kyle Dobb’s jaw, and that visual brought to mind another boyfriend who couldn’t keep his rage under control.

Angelina couldn’t live that way again.

She wouldn’t.

It was nearly dark when Cash’s ears perked, and Angelina knew she had company. Minutes later, she felt his arm brush against hers as he joined her on the grass.

Angelina’s eyes remained on the pond. “Who bailed you out?”

“Maddie.”

Angelina nodded stiffly.

“I know you’re mad at me, but in my defense, you don’t know what he said about you.”

Angelina closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “My mother has cancer.”

“You think I don’t realize that?”

Angelina turned to face him. “If you realize that, then you should also realize I don’t give a shit what Kyle Dobbs says about me. Kyle Dobbs is not important to me. My mother is important. Maddie is important. You are important. Kyle Dobbs—and what he says about me—is at the very bottom of my list of important things.”

Dylan stared down at his hands. “I know it was a stupid thing to do, but I love you. I am always going to be protective of you. I won’t apologize for that.”

She shook her head. “I can’t handle this level of protectiveness. I can’t keep waiting for a call from the sheriff to come bail you out of jail because you’ve punched someone in the face for saying something about me. People are going to talk, Dylan. They’ve talked about my family for generations.”

Dylan scrubbed his face. “The last thing I want to hear while I’m waiting for coffee is that asshole telling his buddy how good you are in bed.”

Angelina laughed. “Which you know is a lie because you know I’m a virgin! Don’t you see? You got into a fight over nothing. You got tossed into jail—
again
—over nothing! I lived through one possessive boyfriend, and I won’t do it again. I won’t.”

Dylan’s jaw clenched.

“Don’t compare me to him. I am nothing like Adam McDonald. I would never hurt you, Angelina. Never.”

She knew, deep in her soul, Dylan would never raise his hand to her. She knew that. But his anger still scared her, and until he found a way to control his temper . . .

“I need some time to think,” Angelina whispered shakily.

He closed his eyes. “How much time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Angelina, don’t do this. I’ll . . . work on my temper. I’ll try. Just don’t shut me out. ”

She climbed to her feet.

“You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you like. I’m going to go check on my mom.”

Dylan bowed his head, and with her dog by her side, Angelina made her way back to the house.

The next morning, Dylan sped along the interstate on his way to Knoxville. He was thankful it was early and state troopers seemed to be few and far between. He was irritable and exhausted, and this was the absolute worst day to have an interview, but this job opportunity was too important to pass up.

Angelina was mad at him now, but that didn’t weaken his resolve. His life was in Maple Ridge, and he needed to secure a steady job close to home if he had any chance of building a future with her.

If she ever forgives me.

He spent the hour drive contemplating how he was going to convince her to do just that, and by the time Dylan stepped into the offices of
The Knoxville Times
, he was crankier than ever.

The friendly receptionist smiled at him. “Good morning. May I help you?”

“Good morning. I have a job interview with the editor-in-chief.”

“Your name?”

“Dylan Thomas.”

The young woman giggled as she checked her computer screen.

“What a coincidence. You even look a little like him. Must be the eyes. Who knows? Maybe that’ll help you land the job.”

Dylan had no idea was she meant, and he was in no mood for riddles.

The receptionist pointed him toward the elevators. He thanked her as he walked away.

“Now I know what she meant by a coincidence,” Dylan muttered under his breath as his eyes lingered on the editor-in-chief’s name on the door.

Charles Thomas.

Chuck.

Charles.

It was, without a doubt, the biggest coincidence in the history of the world.

He hoped.

Because if it wasn’t, and if the man sitting behind that desk was indeed Charles Thomas—the same Charles Thomas who’d left Dylan and his mom without a penny to their names all those years ago . . .

Dylan didn’t know if he’d be able to control his temper.

How many times can one be arrested in a twenty-four-hour period?

Before he completely lost his nerve, he took a deep breath and gently rapped on the door.

“Come in.”

There was nothing familiar about the man’s voice, but that did little to quell Dylan’s anxiety. After all, his father had left when he was three. He wasn’t sure he’d even recognize the man’s face, let alone the sound of his voice.

Dylan took a deep breath, turned the door knob, and stepped inside.

The man behind the desk lifted his head, and Dylan found himself staring into a set of deep brown eyes.

His
brown eyes.

“We do look alike. Patti said you were a carbon copy of me when I was your age, but—”

Dylan let the door slam behind him as Charles quickly rose to his feet.

An eerie silence filled the room as father and son examined each other for the first in twenty years. Charles Thomas’s hair was streaked with gray, but there was no denying the person standing behind the desk was Dylan’s father. The eyes were the same. The height was the same. Even their posture was the same. Both men were standing with their hands fisted at their sides.

“Is this a joke?”

Charles looked puzzled. “A joke?”

“I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I’m being punked.”

“I don’t think he hosts that show anymore.”

“Like I give a shit what you think.”

Charles sighed heavily and dropped back down into his chair. “Look, son—”

Dylan snorted. “You didn’t seriously just call me your son, did you? Because you gave up the right to call me
anything
the day you walked out on me and my mom.”

“I know you hate me, but if you’ll just sit down and let me explain—”

“I don’t want your explanation!”

“Maybe you don’t want my explanation, but you want a job, don’t you? I can help you with that. There’s no money in freelance. I spoke with your mother a few days ago.”

“Yeah, she told me. You can stop calling her, by the way. She doesn’t want to listen to your crap any more than I do. And why all of a sudden are you so interested in me? You haven’t been for the past twenty years, and I’ve done just fine without you.”

Charles rubbed the back of neck. “That’s . . . actually what I want to talk to you about. I need to make it right. I need to fix it before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late. You left my mother without a dime to her name. You left me without a father. I have absolutely nothing to say to you, and I wouldn’t work for you or your newspaper if you begged me.”

The two men stared daggers at each other.

Dylan knew he should turn on his heel and walk right out the door, but something was keeping him rooted to his spot. Maybe it was the sheer shock of coming face-to-face with his dad after so many years. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity.

“I’m in a position to help you,” Charles told his son. “You’ll starve doing freelance for this paper. You’re a good writer, Dylan. I’ve seen your articles. Your future in journalism could be very bright.”

Dylan’s hand was already on the door knob. “
Could
be? Meaning, if I don’t accept your help, I don’t have a chance at all?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Charles muttered. “Give me five minutes. Forget I’m your father for five minutes and listen to what I have to say.”

He laughed. “Forget you’re my father for five minutes? Shouldn’t be too hard. After all, you managed it for twenty years.”

Charles exhaled a noisy sigh.

“Five minutes, Dylan.”

“Fine.”

Dylan dropped into the nearest chair.

Charles cleared this throat, and suddenly, he was all business.