Mountain Charm Read online

  A single tear streamed down her cheek, and he reached over, tenderly wiping it away with his fingers.

  “You think my feelings for you aren’t real because of some spell you conjured when you were thirteen?”

  Angelina nodded.

  “What I feel for you is real, Angelina. Spell or no spell.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  He gently tilted her face toward his.

  “I’m crazy about you. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

  He kissed her then, and for a few glorious moments, Angelina allowed herself to believe him. She poured her heart and soul into their kiss, fearful he would come to his senses whenever he pulled away.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, he leaned back against the grass, pulling her close. Angelina laid her head against his chest, sighing contently as he trailed his fingers through her hair.

  “It’s real, Angelina,” he murmured, holding her tight.

  A lullaby, filled with the sounds of rippling water and his gentle heartbeat, flooded her senses and calmed her mind, and she closed her eyes.

  Dylan opened his eyes to find Angelina still sleeping peacefully in his arms. Sighing contently, he buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in.

  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was spellbound.

  Whether he believed in magic was irrelevant. From the moment they met, he had been irrationally attracted to her. Dylan didn’t believe his feelings were being manipulated by some charm she had chanted when she was a little girl, but he couldn’t deny the power of the force that had brought them together.

  Dylan trailed his fingers against her spine as he contemplated his next move. First, he needed to have a conversation with his editor, because this story was dead in the water. There was no way he could write a feature about Angelina and her family. He wouldn’t expose them to that kind of publicity. He loved them too much, and he refused to make a quick buck by sharing their secrets with the world.

  Steve could fire him for all he cared.

  Unfortunately, that conversation would require a trip to Nashville, which probably wasn’t a bad thing. He could spend some time with his mom, deal with his boss, and try to wrap his head around everything Angelina had told him.

  His arms tightened around her. The thought of being without her, even for a few days, was hard to imagine.

  But it had to be done.

  Angelina snuggled deeper into his arms, and he smiled.

  “How long did we sleep?” she asked groggily.

  “Just a few hours.”

  Dylan kissed the top of her head. This was a level of contentment he had never dreamed existed, but it did. It was right here in his arms, and he didn’t care if it took the rest of his life to prove to Angelina that his feelings for her were the real thing.

  “Angelina?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and I think . . . I think I need to go home for a couple of days. See my mom. Meet with my editor. Maybe some distance will help me make sense of all this.”

  “But you’ll come back, right?”

  She sounded so unsure, and it killed him.

  “Sweetheart, look at me,” he whispered. With her head still resting against his chest, she tilted her face toward his. “I’m coming back, and when I do, I’ll be a man on a mission to prove you’re all I want—spell or no spell.”

  Two days passed, and Angelina thought she was handling things pretty well. She had only cried once. Twice. Maybe three times.

  Honestly? She’d lost count.

  Dylan called every night, telling her about his day with his mom or his conversations with his editor. He ended every phone call by saying how much he missed her, and she had been greeted each morning with a text message saying the same thing.

  Anxiety had taken up permanent residence inside her chest. Would he come back? Angelina’s greatest fear was that he would get home and decide he wanted no part of her ancestors’ magical matchmaking. An ache filled her, and it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. If this was love, she had no idea how her mother had survived the death of her husband. Angelina, at least, could hold on to the hope that Dylan would come back.

  It only cemented Angelina’s belief that Celia Clark was the strongest woman she had ever known.

  Dr. Campbell’s building was stark white and cold, but at least they had been allowed to wait in his comfortable office instead of the examining room.

  “This is nice,” Celia said, sliding her hands along the expensive chair.

  “Oh yeah. You should always be sitting in a cozy leather chair as you wait to hear if your cancer has stabilized.”

  “Angelina . . .”

  She shrugged. Her sadness and anxiety were making her a little sarcastic.

  “When is Dylan coming home?”

  She knows me so well.

  “He thinks sometime next week,” Angelina replied. “He has some loose ends to tie up with his boss, whatever that means.”

  Looking up, Angelina found her mother smiling at her. Her blue eyes were peaceful and calm. Angelina couldn’t believe it. They were sitting in the doctor’s office, awaiting vital test results, and cancer was the very last thing on her mom’s mind. Celia was thinking of her daughter, always.

  “You miss him.”

  “Mom, it’s not important. Not today.”

  “Of course it’s important. You aren’t sleeping. You’re barely eating.”

  How does she know?

  “It’s . . . hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” her mom said with a smile. “It’s very overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  Angelina nodded. “Why do I miss him so much?”

  “Because you love him.”

  The simple words settled into her heart and soul.

  I love him.

  “You make it sound so easy. You made it look easy.”

  “Nothing in life is easy, Angelina.”

  Angelina glanced around at the cold and sterile office.

  “Like cancer.”

  Celia sighed deeply. “The disease itself isn’t what’s so tough. Not for me. What’s hardest for me is that my daughter has had to watch both her parents endure it. It will always be the greatest heartache of my life, knowing I’ve caused you pain.”

  Angelina grabbed her mother’s hand. “You are not causing me pain, and we are going to beat this.”

  Celia smiled just as the door opened. Dr. Campbell walked inside, greeting both of them with firm handshakes before sitting down behind his desk. He opened the file in his hands and scanned the page before looking up at the two of them. Typically, Dr. Campbell wore a poker face, especially when dispensing bad news, but he’d been her father’s oncologist and now he was her mother’s. The man had practically become a member of the family over the past three years, and Angelina could tell by the expression on his face the news wasn’t good.

  She listened, stunned and speechless, as he explained that he’d hoped the single mastectomy, along with the chemo treatments, would have been enough. But cancer cells had now been found in her mother’s second breast, and a complete mastectomy would have to be performed. Another round of chemo would be necessary, and a more aggressive drug—with a long list of side effects that sounded worse than the cancer itself.

  Angelina was enraged. “So it was all for nothing? The treatments she’s had to undergo for weeks? They were all for nothing?”

  Her mom’s voice was soft and reassuring. “We knew a complete mastectomy was possible, Angelina.”

  “Possible is not definite.”

  Angelina didn’t understand. Wasn’t her mom pissed? Wasn’t she sick of the needles and the prodding and the nausea?

  The doctor gave Angelina a sympathetic smile.

  “Please rest assured that we will do everything we can to keep your mother comfortable during surgery and throughout this round of treat
ments. I do want to warn you. She is going to be sicker this time, so I’ll prescribe some stronger anti-nausea medications. This medicine will also be more expensive.”

  Angelina had the strangest sense of déjà vu, and then she remembered.

  It wasn’t the first time Dr. Campbell had given her that very same speech.

  The city was stifling.

  Maybe Dylan had grown accustomed to the serenity of the country, but downtown Nashville—with its noise and commotion—was like a shock to his system.

  It was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

  During the past four days, Dylan had struggled to concentrate. His mind was two hundred miles away, in a little town tucked in the heart of the Smoky Mountains. Numbly, he’d sat through countless meetings with his editor, trying his best to explain why he couldn’t finish the article.

  “Let me get this straight,” Steve had said. “You’re killing the feature because you’ve got the hots for this girl?”

  “It’s not quite that black and white, but yes.”

  Dylan’s boss had been less than pleased, and when Steve made it clear he would write the article or find himself unemployed, Dylan had thanked him for his time and walked right out the door.

  “Any luck?” his mom asked. The two of them were sitting in the living room. Patti was watching the news while Dylan scrolled through his phone, searching for a new job.

  “Some freelance offers.”

  “Freelance wouldn’t be a bad place to start,” Patti said.

  Dylan glanced up from his cell. His mom’s brown eyes were soft as she smiled at her son. She’d been supportive about the entire situation, and he was thankful.

  Patti Thomas gazed at her son. While she didn’t completely understand why he had quit his job, she admired his resolve to follow his heart. When he had unexpectedly shown up on her doorstep, she’d known in an instant that something monumental had taken place on his assignment in the mountains. Desperate to talk to someone, Dylan had spilled his guts to his mom, and while she wasn’t sure how she felt about this witchcraft business, she couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lit up whenever he mentioned Angelina’s name. Watching her son mope around for days had been strangely satisfying. He was talented and had always been passionate about his dreams to become a serious writer, but to see him head over heels for this woman definitely warmed her heart.

  He was young, in love, and unemployed.

  Patti tried not to dwell on that last detail. Besides, she had something important to share, and she had no idea how her son was going to react.

  “I’m glad you’re home, because I have some news.”

  Dylan glanced up from his phone. “Oh?”

  “Charles called.”

  “Charles who?”

  “Your father.”

  He snorted. “Well, that only took twenty years. Did you tell him to go to hell?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Dylan smiled. “Good for you.”

  “But then he called back. Three times. He works in publishing and saw one of your articles. He didn’t go into details, and I didn’t ask, but he was impressed with your work. He’d like to talk to you.”

  “I hope you told him there was no way in hell that was ever going to happen.”

  “I told him the decision was yours. You’re an adult. This has to be your choice.” Patti searched her son’s face. “Aren’t you at all tempted to hear what he has to say?”

  “He left you penniless and me without a father. Why would I be interested in anything the man says?”

  Patti nodded. “I understand that. I don’t need your father’s apology, but I think he owes you one. Besides, he’s your dad, and I think you’re just now realizing how important family can be.”

  “You are my family.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Dylan couldn’t deny that, since meeting Angelina and her mom, he’d come to value the sanctity of family. Still, it had taken his father two decades to reach out to him, and Dylan wasn’t feeling very charitable.

  “Will you at least think about it?” his mom asked.

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “But will you?”

  Dylan sighed. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”

  They said goodnight, and Patti headed upstairs while Dylan continued scrolling through his phone. There was a copy editor position open at an Asheville newspaper, and he mentally calculated the mileage between there and Maple Ridge.

  Suddenly, he felt his chest tighten. It was the weirdest sensation, and his entire body froze. He inhaled sharply and tried to catch his breath as suffocating panic flowed through his veins.

  Something’s wrong.

  “You’re very quiet tonight,” Celia said.

  “Sorry.”

  The two of them were sitting on the couch. Celia was watching television while Angelina stared at the walls, feeling nothing but lost and alone. Cash was lying between them, with his head propped on her leg.

  Angelina’s mind was on a constant loop.

  My mother has breast cancer.

  Again.

  Stupidly, foolishly, she had hoped the chemo would do its job. And now her mother was facing another surgery? Another round of treatments?

  Would it make any difference whatsoever?

  “Don’t be sorry, Angelina. Just talk to me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Whatever you want to say.”

  Her mother’s patience was endless, but Angelina was too upset and far too bitter to have a rational conversation. The last thing she wanted to do was to make her mom feel guilty about something that was completely out of her control.

  The only person Angelina could really talk to was hundreds of miles away.

  Celia sighed. “I’m tougher than you think.”

  Angelina’s father had told her the same thing—right here on this couch.

  She took a breath.

  She could be bitter later. She could cry later. Right now, she had to be strong for her mom.

  “I know you’re tough,” Angelina said, trying to sound brave. “I am, too, and I’ll be right here, every step of the way. You know that, right?”

  Her mother smiled. “I know you will.”

  It was late when they said goodnight. Before climbing into bed, Angelina checked her cell and noticed a text and several voice mails from Dylan. She wanted to call him. She needed to call him, but it was late. Besides, this news would have him speeding back to Maple Ridge, and as much as she needed him, she didn’t want to be selfish.

  Dylan needed time, and she would give it to him.

  Rest didn’t come easy. Angelina lay in bed for hours, tossing and turning. Her thoughts were jumbled and scared as she contemplated the possibility of a life without her mom. It was in her nature to be a cynic. Humans were imperfect, religion was complicated, and magic was complex, so the concept of faith was a tough one for Angelina. While she had inherited most of her mother’s traits, Celia’s unwavering sense of calm was the one quality her daughter failed to possess. Angelina would gladly trade her big blue eyes and mystical wisdom for an ounce of her mom’s serenity.

  There, in the darkness of her bedroom, Angelina finally allowed herself to cry.

  Angelina’s bed was much too warm. She felt gentle fingertips against her cheek and opened her eyes, blinking sleepily as she focused on his face.

  “Hi,” she whispered, certain she was dreaming.

  “Hi.”

  Dylan was lying next to her, with his cheek pressed against the pillow.

  “You’re here.

  “I’m here.”

  “In my room.”

  “Yeah.”

  “In my bed.”

  He grinned. “Is that okay?”

  It was more than okay. It was absolutely perfect.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. How did you get in?”

  “Your mom. She was sitting out on the porch when I arrived.”

  Co
nfused, Angelina turned her head, glancing at the alarm clock on her nightstand.

  “Mom was outside at three in the morning?”

  “Yeah. She said she’d been waiting for me—whatever that means. There was an accident on I-40 or I would have been here hours ago.”

  So the psychic had a vision and failed to tell her daughter.

  Thanks a lot, Mom.

  “I didn’t expect you until next week. Why’d you come back so early?”

  “Because you needed me.”

  Their eyes remained locked on one another as he caressed her face.

  “How did you know I needed you?”

  “I was sitting in my mom’s living room when I had this sudden, overpowering, suffocating need to see you. I’d missed you the entire time I was away, but this . . . this was so different. And then you didn’t answer your phone. It terrified me, and I don’t scare easily. But I knew. I knew you needed me, so here I am.”

  “I did need you,” she admitted. “I mean, I do. I do need you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Angelina tried to blink back her tears, but they fell anyway as she told him about the doctor’s diagnosis.

  “I’m scared, and I’m bitter. I just . . . I don’t understand cancer. I’ll never understand it. They pump you full of poison for weeks and weeks, only for you to be told it didn’t work? It didn’t make one bit of difference? But we’re going to do it again? Oh, and this time, you’re going to be even sicker?”

  Dylan pulled her close, and she buried her face against his neck. She cried and cried until she was sure she had no more tears to shed. Then he would say something sweet and hold her a little tighter, and Angelina would just weep harder.

  Eventually, her tears subsided, leaving her feeling shattered and drained.

  “You should sleep,” Dylan said. He kissed her forehead and started to rise from the bed.

  Panic gripped her. “Where are you going?”

  “Just to the couch, sweetheart. I can’t check in at the motel until morning.”

  “I wish you’d stay. Stay here with me.”

  Dylan wanted that, more than anything.

  “Are you sure? What about Celia?”

  Angelina smiled for the first time in days. Dylan had no way of knowing that finding them in bed together—even if it was completely innocent—would be the highlight of her mother’s year.