Mountain Charm Page 3

  “You look a little dazed,” Angelina muttered.

  I am.

  “And you’re staring.”

  Dylan cleared this throat. “Sorry.”

  Before long, the food was gone, and there was nothing else to do but talk.

  Angelina sighed. “Listen, Dylan. I’m sorry about the gun.”

  She actually sounded sincere, so he decided to play nice, too.

  “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”

  “It wasn’t loaded,” Angelina said, much to his surprise. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have a bit of a temper.”

  He grinned. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

  Angelina fidgeted uncomfortably and gazed out at the street. Dylan knew he had to gain her trust if he had any hopes of getting his article written. He wasn’t good at chitchat, but he needed to keep her talking.

  “Did you always want to work in a music shop?”

  “Not always. Growing up, I wanted to be a doctor.”

  “Oh?” That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. “Are you still interested in medicine?”

  “No.”

  Her voice was firm and resolute, which assured Dylan there was a story there. However, he was smart enough to realize that now was not the time to dig too deeply.

  Angelina looked at him. “What about you? Did you always want to be a journalist?”

  “I always wanted to be a writer, but not necessarily for a magazine. It just kind of fell into my lap.”

  Actually, his journalism professor had called in a favor. Being an editor for his university newspaper hadn’t opened a lot of doors for the recent college graduate. Dylan had planned to start at one of the local Nashville papers and maybe do some freelance on the side. Instead, he was writing for a lifestyle magazine called Hidden Gems, a publication devoted to finding Tennessee’s secret treasures. The job wasn’t terrible. He’d gone cave exploring in the Cumberland Plateau and visited a nature reserve in Chattanooga.

  And now he was witch hunting in the Smoky Mountains.

  “With a name like Dylan Thomas, how could you do anything but write?” Angelina asked, smiling at him.

  He chuckled. “I know. My mom loves his poetry. She’s a literature professor at Vandy.”

  “And your dad?”

  “No idea. He and my mom split when I was young. I have no real memories of him, and we’ve never been in contact with each other.”

  “That must be hard for you.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Not really. I mean, how can you miss someone you’ve never known?”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  He could tell she couldn’t truly relate. Family seemed very important in this little mountain town, and especially to Angelina and her mom.

  “Your mom is a sweet lady,” Dylan said.

  “Thank you. Yes, she is.”

  “How long has she been sick?”

  Her face paled, and he knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to ask.

  Angelina balled her napkin into her fist before throwing it onto the table. “I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t really talk about it with anyone.”

  “Not even with Maddie?”

  “Maddie knows the basics. It’s just not something I can talk about with a stranger.”

  The last thing he wanted to do was upset her.

  “I understand. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” Angelina said with a relieved smile. “But I will answer your questions about my family. It’s not my favorite topic—and Mom knows way more than I do—but I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  He felt triumphant, but he couldn’t enjoy the success. Not yet.

  “We don’t have to do that today,” Dylan said. “We can talk about whatever you like.”

  “What if I don’t want to talk about anything?”

  “Then we can just sit here.”

  Angelina grinned. “You know, I’m not sure your editor will be happy you’re passing up an opportunity to interrogate me. Don’t reporters usually have a deadline?”

  “We do, but there’s a little more flexibility with a human interest article like this one. These stories take massive amounts of research and travel, so they allow time for that.”

  “So, what’s your deadline?”

  “My editor didn’t really give me one.” That still seemed odd to him, but he hadn’t questioned it. The freedom was kind of nice. “I was actually assigned to a story that was going to send me rafting down the Mississippi River, but something changed at the last minute. Next thing I know, I’m being handed directions to Maple Ridge.”

  Angelina laughed. “I can’t even imagine your disappointment.”

  “Why would I be disappointed?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I would just assume a rafting trip would be more fun than doing witch research in the mountains.”

  Twenty-four hours ago, he would have agreed with her. But now that they were actually having a civil conversation, he wasn’t too bothered by the fact that he was having lunch with a pretty girl who just might happen to dabble in witchcraft.

  “I’m not disappointed,” Dylan said, his voice soft. “I admit, I wish you and I had met under better circumstances. You know, without the rifle pointed at my face.”

  They both laughed.

  “But no, Angelina, I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

  A brief looked passed between them, leaving him reaching anxiously for his phone. He was in desperate need of something to distract him from the beautiful woman sitting across the table.

  Suddenly, Angelina’s name was being yelled from across the street.

  “Oh no,” she muttered under her breath.

  A tall man crossed the street and headed straight to their table.

  “Friend of yours?”

  She sighed heavily and forced a smile as the man approached them.

  “How are you, Kyle?”

  “I’m great.” The guy’s eyes raked over her, and Dylan’s jaw tightened. “You’re looking good, Angelina.”

  Irrational, consuming jealousy flooded Dylan’s veins as the two of them talked about nothing of importance. They’d obviously known each other for years, which Dylan was learning was normal in a small town like this one.

  “Angelina, you should let me take you out to dinner on Friday.”

  “Sorry, I have plans,” she replied politely.

  “What about next Friday?”

  Dylan finally lost his patience. “She has plans every Friday.”

  It was only then that Kyle acknowledged the other person at the table.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the one she has plans with on Friday.”

  The two men stared, sizing each other up. Dylan knew he had no right, but the man obviously couldn’t take a hint.

  Kyle snorted. “Seriously, Angelina?”

  Angelina played along. “That’s right.”

  “Well, if you get bored—”

  “I won’t.”

  The two men shot daggers at each other before Kyle finally walked away.

  “Was that fun?” Angelina grinned.

  “A little.”

  The two of them shared a smile.

  “Thank you, Dylan.”

  He shrugged and felt the tension relax in his shoulders. “No problem. You didn’t seem particularly interested in him.”

  “When I was sixteen, Kyle begged my parents for permission to take me to the movies. It was my first date, and they agreed, despite my father’s misgivings. Dad was right. Kyle was far more interested in feeling me up than watching whatever was on the screen.”

  Jealousy wasn’t an emotion that Dylan was particularly familiar with, and he couldn’t understand why he was feeling it now. He barely knew this girl.

  He forced a chuckle and grabbed his phone once more.

  “Are you one of those people who are forever attached to their cell?”

  He fidgeted
in his chair. “Yeah, I guess I am. I was . . . doing some online research.”

  “On me?”

  “No, on your dad.”

  “Why would you be doing research on my dad?”

  He noticed the quiver in her voice. Didn’t she understand he was a reporter? Gathering facts was his job.

  “I was just looking at his obituary, Angelina. I was curious.”

  Grabbing her tray, Angelina stood up and angrily shoved the empty containers into the trash.

  “Then you ask me! You don’t sit in my father’s shop and read his obituary on your fancy phone. You ask me!”

  Dylan was instantly on his feet. “I couldn’t ask you. Until an hour ago, you weren’t even speaking to me!”

  “And now I remember why!”

  Angelina slammed down her empty tray and ran back to her shop.

  Few things relaxed Angelina more than sitting on her front porch. Maybe it was the rhythm of the rocking chair. Maybe it was fresh mountain air. Maybe it was the sense of security that only came from being at home. Whatever it was, she was in desperate need of calming.

  She realized her anger toward Dylan and his glimpse into her dad’s life was irrational. Of course he’d be interested to know why her father wasn’t around. She had no idea how much her mom had told him before she’d arrived last night. Maybe she hadn’t told him a thing. Any good reporter would wonder why there wasn’t a father in a home where family was clearly a priority.

  It had been two years since her father’s death. Two long, bitter years filled with crushing disappointment and monumental heartbreak. Like most reporters, Dylan was far too curious about everything, and Angelina had a feeling that a simple explanation of ‘my dad passed away after a courageous battle with cancer’ wouldn’t satisfy him.

  Dylan would want details, and she wasn’t ready to share them.

  It wasn’t as if her dad’s cancer was different from any other. It was the same horrible, debilitating disease that affected nearly every family in one way or another. The only difference was that most patients didn’t have a daughter who was supposedly gifted with the power to heal. In the end, she’d been no more capable of healing him than his Harvard-educated oncologist.

  “We’re having a guest for supper,” Celia announced as she made her way out onto the porch. She was moving a little slowly today—a fact her daughter noticed but didn’t dare mention. Her mother was stubborn in her determination to at least appear healthy and strong. “I thought we’d have chicken.”

  Angelina didn’t have to ask who was coming for dinner.

  “I’m sure Dylan will love it.”

  Celia’s rocking chair creaked, but it wasn’t annoying. Someday, Angelina might have to sit on the porch without her, and she’d be forced to close her eyes to remember the sound.

  “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

  Angelina bowed her head and blinked away her tears.

  “I’m not crying.”

  “You’re too pure of heart to tell a believable lie.” It was one of Celia’s favorite expressions and had deterred her daughter from being dishonest as a child. “Your mind and spirit are conflicted today.”

  “My mind and spirit are conflicted every day.”

  A lone tear trickled down Angelina’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.

  “Angelina, you don’t always have to be the strong one. Talk to me, please. Is it about Dylan?”

  She nodded. “He was reading Dad’s obituary today. I know it’s just because he’s curious, but . . .”

  Celia nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “We argued. I yelled. He yelled.”

  Her mother chuckled.

  “The two of you certainly yell a lot. There’s so much passion there.”

  Angelina shook her head. “I know you and Maddie have this wild notion that Dylan is the love of my life, but I can assure you that’s not the case. All we do is fight. He’s just a nosy reporter wanting to unearth our family secrets, and since you told Jack you want me to cooperate—”

  “I told Jack I would like for you to cooperate. The decision is yours.”

  “I don’t understand. You’ve never wanted to attract this kind of attention by sharing our family’s stories. Why now?”

  Just then, the sound of crunching gravel echoed as Dylan’s black SUV came to a stop in the driveway. Celia smiled as she watched him climb out of his vehicle.

  “Angelina, you have fought so hard against what you are destined to be that you have forgotten who you are. You are carrying a weight that isn’t yours to bear. It’s time to move on with your life.”

  Of course it’s my weight to bear. I failed him. And I will fail you.

  Angelina watched as her dog raced down the steps, barking and leaping happily as Dylan walked toward the house.

  “You see, even Cash likes him,” Celia said, laughing lightly. “I trust him, Angelina. I believe he was sent here for a purpose, and when that reason is revealed, I believe our family heritage and his magazine article will be the very last things on his mind.”

  “Celia, dinner was delicious,” Dylan said graciously.

  Angelina knew he was just being polite. Dinner had been downright painful. Despite her mother’s attempts to soothe the tension, the two had remained stubborn in their resolve to ignore each other throughout the entire meal.

  Celia thanked him as Angelina filled the sink with water for the dishes. Suddenly, she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s a lovely evening, Angelina. Why don’t the two of you take Cash for a walk down by the pond? I bet he’d love to see it—wouldn’t you, Dylan?”

  Angelina rolled her eyes at her mom’s blatant attempt at matchmaking and settled the plates into the soapy water.

  To her shock, Dylan was the voice of reason.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Angelina and I tend to have a problem whenever we try to have a conversation. It always ends in an argument.”

  Celia all but shoved her daughter away from the sink. “Well, that’s because the two of you are just alike. Passionate and pig-headed. Besides, you need to find a way to get along if you have any hopes of writing your article.”

  Angelina was stunned. Her mother was a master manipulator. Who knew?

  Dylan sighed loudly and turned in her direction.

  “Angelina, would you like to take a walk with me?”

  Celia’s bright blue eyes pierced through her daughter, silently begging her to try. Angelina nearly choked on the maternal guilt.

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  Her mother beamed. “Wonderful! Oh, take your guitar, Angelina. And your jacket. It’s always chilly by the water.”

  Their walk to the pond was a quiet one. If it hadn’t been for the birds in the trees and Cash’s occasional barking at the squirrels, it would have been completely silent. Dylan and Angelina reached the tiny wooden dock, and Cash jumped into the water. They both laughed, and the tension began to fade.

  “It’s pretty out here.”

  Angelina pulled her guitar out of its case and placed it in her lap. “All of this used to belong to my grandfather. My mom and dad were very attached to this pond.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She gently strummed the guitar as she told the story.

  “An old Appalachian legend says if you name a hook after the person you desire—and you catch a fish with the hook—that person is your true love. Dad was really crazy about my mom, and he was a good fisherman, so to prove his love was true, he brought her to this pond for their first date.”

  Dylan laughed. “And let me guess. He named a fish hook after her?”

  “He did,” Angelina said with a grin, “but what he didn’t know was the pond was nearly empty of fish because of the drought that summer. It was my grandpa’s pond, so Mom knew this, of course, but she didn’t mention it to my father. She was a big believer in the legend and decided to put his love to the test.”

  “Did it work?”


  “My dad caught the biggest catfish in the pond.”

  Dylan laughed. Angelina failed to mention that her parents had been introduced on her mom’s twenty-first birthday. She was trying to avoid that conversation as long as she possibly could.

  “So I guess it was true love,” Dylan replied.

  “Yes, it was.”

  He looked thoughtful. “What a great story. Does it make you sad to be out here?”

  “No sadder than anywhere else.”

  Their legs dangled off the side of the wooden dock. Cash was in heaven, splashing around in the water and chasing the fish and the frogs. Angelina played the chorus of “Landslide” while Dylan hummed along.

  “You like Fleetwood Mac?” she asked.

  “Only the Stevie Nicks years.”

  “Me, too.”

  They grinned at each other. Angelina couldn’t believe they actually had something in common.

  “Your mom is subtle as a tank, isn’t she?”

  She laughed. “You noticed, huh?”

  “She doesn’t hide it very well. It seems . . . irrationally important to her that you and I get along.”

  “Well, there’s a reason for that.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “Nope.”

  Dylan sighed and leaned back on his palms, stretching out in the fading sunlight. Angelina couldn’t deny he was handsome. He’d even worn a shirt and tie to dinner, much to her mom’s delight. After a few moments, she realized she was staring. Dylan caught her eye and smirked. Embarrassed, Angelina quickly turned her attention back to her guitar.

  Sitting up, he shifted a little closer to her body, brushing her arm with his. “You’re really pretty when you blush, Angelina. I mean, you’re always pretty, but . . .”

  “Even when I’m an unreasonable bitch?”

  Angelina looked up from her guitar to find Dylan’s face much closer than she’d anticipated. Their eyes locked, and she felt exposed under the intensity of his stare.

  “You aren’t a bitch. You’re just heartbroken, and I know some of that has to do with your mother’s illness and your father’s death. But there’s more. There’s so much more, isn’t there?”