Mountain Charm (24 page)

When it was time for bed, it wasn’t even a question if he would stay.

After stripping down to nothing, Angelina and Dylan crawled into bed, wrapping the blanket around them. Once again, she took the lead, straddling his hips and hovering above him. Dylan moaned as she settled herself on him, and she laced her fingers through his hands as they began to move. He closed his eyes, letting her control their every movement, until finally he had to touch her, too. Letting go of her hands, he gripped her hips and raised himself up, causing Angelina to whimper when his mouth molded to hers.

Home sweet home.

When Celia was released from the hospital three days later, Dylan noticed a distinct change in Angelina’s mood. She smiled all the time—even when she was administering her mom’s medicine or begging Celia to take “just one more bite.” Peace resonated around the two of them, and while he was thrilled, Dylan couldn’t help but wish they would share a small part of that tranquility with him when it came to dealing with his father.

He still had no idea what to do about his dad’s job offer.

Dylan had to admit his old man was persistent. Charles or Beth emailed daily, asking if he needed more information, more money, more perks. Dylan wasn’t crazy. He knew the other columnists weren’t given the same royal treatment, and he hated that the nepotism had started already. Regardless, he couldn’t deny the money was fantastic, and he would be a fool to turn it down.

But could he really work for a man he despised?

Dylan was still contemplating that question when he arrived at Angelina’s shop later in the afternoon. He was stunned to find her sitting on the counter, clutching a piece of paper in her hand.

“Baby?”

Angelina’s head snapped up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the image nearly tore his heart in two.

Slowly, he walked toward the counter, stepping between her legs. Angelina sighed as his hands soothingly rubbed her arms.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Angelina wiped her eyes. “When my dad died, we placed the money from his life insurance policy into a savings account. It wasn’t a lot, but it had been enough to take care of mom’s treatments and medication. But we weren’t prepared for so many rounds of chemo, and we didn’t expect the stronger, more expensive medicine this time around. And . . .”

Her voice trailed off, and Dylan took the paper out of her hand.

It was her monthly bank statement.

And the balance was less than a thousand dollars.

Dylan had picked up enough of Celia’s prescriptions to know how costly they were. He had never asked about her treatments, but he knew they were expensive.

“What about Social Security?” He had no idea how that worked.

“Mom isn’t nearly old enough.”

“Any other insurance?”

Angelina shook her head. “She’s never had any.”

“And it would be impossible to get it now.”

Angelina nodded. “I’ve sat here all afternoon, wondering how I’m going to explain to my sick mom that the money is just . . . gone. We have income from the shop, but that’s how we take care of all the other bills.”

She sniffled quietly and glanced around her father’s store.

“I love this place so much. It’s been in my family since I was a little girl. Mom’s dream was to have a shop just like this, and because my dad lived to make her every dream come true, he bought it for her. But . . . I don’t know. I’ve had some offers for it over the years. Maybe it’s time.”

“No, Angelina.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t sell your shop. We’ll figure something out.”

Angelina smiled gently. “It’s not your problem, Dylan.”

“It is my problem. It’s
our
problem. And we’ll work it out.” He pulled her into his arms, resting his forehead against hers as quiet tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please don’t cry. I promise we’ll figure it out.”

The answer was ridiculously easy.

Dylan may have despised his father, but he loved Angelina, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to dry her tears.

“It’s good to see you, Dylan.”

“I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

Charles offered his son a chair before returning to his desk. “I’m very happy to hear you’re considering my offer.”

“I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, yes.”

“I’m glad. May I ask what changed your mind?”

Dylan had been expecting this question.

“I want to live close to Maple Ridge, and this job would allow me to do that. Your offer is unbelievably generous, and I’d be crazy not to consider it. But mostly, I’m here because I am in love with a beautiful, kind-hearted woman who has taught me that family is everything, and she believes I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t have at least one civil conversation with my father.”

Charles smiled.

“Well, why don’t we talk business first, and then we’ll work on the civil conversation.”

Dylan nodded.

“It’s a weekly column,” Charles explained, handing him a detailed sheet, listing the job description and ridiculous pay, along with a nice bonus to help with moving expenses. Dylan was sure none of the other columnists had such perks, but he wasn’t about to argue. Not anymore.

“Your deadline is Wednesday at noon, and your article would run in Friday’s edition. Like I said, we’re looking for human interest stories. Hometown heroes, thriving local businesses . . . things of that sort. A local soldier is returning home after a two-year stint in Afghanistan. He’s agreed to an interview, and we’d like that to be your first feature.”

“And Beth would remain my editor?”

“Yes, you will continue to report to Beth. Your interaction with me would be minimal.”

It was music to Dylan’s ears, and he was tempted to sign on the spot.

“It’s an amazing opportunity, and I appreciate the offer. When would you need my decision?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d decide today. If it’s such an amazing opportunity, why wait?”

“Because I’d like to discuss it with Angelina.”

Charles leaned back in his chair and appraised his son. “I assume Angelina is the beautiful, kind-hearted woman?”

“That’s right.”

“And you need her permission to accept a job offer?”

Dylan took a deep breath.
Try to keep your temper under control.

“It’s not about permission. When you love someone, you should make important decisions together.”

Charles smiled ruefully. “That’s good advice. Maybe that’s why I’ve been married—and divorced—three times.”

Maybe so.

“Still, you’re awfully young to be so serious about one woman, aren’t you? I’d hate to see you lose focus of your career—”

“Trust me. My focus is exactly where it should be.”

An awkward silence filled the air until Charles finally cleared his throat.

“We’d like to hire someone within the next two weeks.”

“No problem. I’ll contact you as soon as possible.”

With business out of the way, Dylan knew he had two choices. He could walk right out the door, or he could attempt to have a conversation with his father. He could ask the questions that had haunted him for years, and maybe—just maybe—his dad would answer them.

“Why did you leave?”

Charles’s eyes widened. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”

“When I want answers, yes.”

“That’s what makes you a good reporter. Just like your old man,” his father said, his eyes twinkling with pride.

“That’s where our similarities end.”

Dylan watched as his dad’s face flashed with sadness and regret.

“I wasn’t a good husband, Dylan. I worked too many long hours and neglected your mother for years. When she told me she was pregnant, I honestly didn’t believe you were mine because I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex.
That’s
how neglectful I was.”

Rising from his chair, Charles walked toward the window and adjusted the blinds before gazing out into the sunshine.

“Writing was all I wanted to do. Freelance is a great place to start in this business—if you’re single and don’t mind starving to death. But when you have a wife and child depending on you, writing for pennies isn’t the most financially viable option. Along with writing, I worked second and third jobs, and I was grateful to have a place to go because home was a war zone. Your mother and I argued constantly. Patti wanted me to find a stable job. She wanted me home more. She wanted a marriage. She wanted me to be a father to you. But I was young and selfish. Nothing was more important to me than becoming a writer.”

“Not even your wife?”

“Not even my wife. Not even my son.”

Anger churned in Dylan’s stomach.

“When she asked for a divorce, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I know that must sound horrible, coming from your father, but it’s the truth. I wasn’t a good husband. I was a worse father. But I
was
a great writer. I justified it in my head, telling myself that when I became successful, I’d go back and be the father you needed me to be. But it took nearly a decade to establish myself in publishing. By that time you were a teenager, and I knew you hated me. Why wouldn’t you? Through friends, I’d kept tabs on your mother, and I knew she was now a college professor. You were both doing just fine without me. Staying away was the very best thing I could do for you.”

Dylan scrutinized his father as he returned to his chair. His dad had become a successful newspaper publisher while he and his mom had struggled to make ends meet for years. Charles Thomas was, without a doubt, the most selfish person Dylan had ever met. Bile rose in this throat as he considered actually working for the man, and if Dylan had been a single man, he would have told his father to kiss his ass.

But he wasn’t a single man—not in his heart, anyway.

“Why are you reaching out to me now?”

“I read one of your articles in the magazine. I thought the name was just a coincidence, but I did some digging and found out that you were, indeed, my son. I’ve . . . sort of followed your career ever since. I was finally in a position to help you, so I called your mother. She told me to go to hell.”

Dylan smiled proudly.

“But I’m a persistent bastard, and I kept calling. All I wanted was the chance to talk to you and maybe help with your career, if you’d let me.”

“She told me you’d called.”

“I know. When I called back, she admitted you’d lost your job and your heart was set on working in this area. That’s when I had Beth offer you the freelance position. It would get you established with our newspaper, at least, until something better opened up. When our Friday columnist decided to retire, I knew it was the perfect opportunity for you. Yes, you’re my son, and yes, I’m trying to make amends, but I wouldn’t offer you this job if I didn’t think you were qualified for it. My newspaper’s reputation is far too important to me.”

“Shrewd boss. Shitty father.”

Charles wasn’t offended in the least. “I can’t argue with either of those points. But I’d like the chance to be a better father, if you’d let me.”

Dylan’s first inclination was to tell him that he’d done just fine without a father for twenty years and he didn’t need one now. But then he thought of Angelina and how she’d give anything to spend just one more day with her dad.

“I’m going to need to think about that.”

Charles nodded. “I understand.”

Dylan rose to his feet, and his father followed him to the door.

“I’ll let you know about the job as soon as possible. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Determined to be polite, Dylan extended his hand.

“My pleasure,” Charles said, gripping his son’s hand. “And thank
you . . .
for the opportunity.”