“It’s your birthday?”
“Yes, and it was blissfully uneventful until you showed up.”
“Beautiful and infuriating,” Dylan muttered. “Look, Angelina, I was just given this assignment yesterday. I don’t have a clue about Appalachian magic tricks or devil-worshipping or whatever it is you do up in these mountains, but I have a story to write. Just let me interview you and your mom, and I’ll be back on the interstate before you can say abracadabra.”
Instead of pointing out just how ignorant he sounded, Angelina decided what he truly needed was a strong dose of fear.
“Actually, I do have something you need to see. A family heirloom. Wait here?”
Excited for any useful information, Dylan’s eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. Once again, those good manners kicked in, and Dylan opened the door for her.
Angelina raced inside the house. She hadn’t touched it in years, but she still remembered where her father kept the key to the case. She grabbed what she needed and quickly made her way back out to the porch, letting the screen door slam behind her.
Dylan jumped out of his chair. “What the hell?”
Angelina lifted the rifle and pointed it straight at him. He didn’t need to know the safety was on—or that the chamber was empty.
“This is a Remington, passed down from my father and his father, also known as an Appalachian magic wand. Just watch. It’s going to make you disappear.”
Angelina thought it was almost comical, hearing him curse and watching him leap off the porch. All the commotion caused her dog to chase after him, which only made Dylan sprint faster until he reached the sanctuary of his vehicle.
“Are you insane?” Dylan yelled.
“I tend to get a little crazy when someone trespasses on my property. Leave my family alone and don’t come back!”
He slammed the door and had to do some fancy maneuvering to get around her car, but within seconds, the only sounds Angelina could hear were Dylan’s squealing tires, Cash’s noisy bark, and her mother’s hearty laughter.
~*~*~*~
“Does it hurt?”
“Nah. You should see the other guy.” Suddenly, his head snapped up. “Actually, forget I said that. I don’t want you to see him ever again.”
She was instantly suspicious. “You told my mom you got into a fight with someone from out of town.”
He nodded and sipped his water.
“Was that a lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie. You said he lives in Asheville now.”
Her mouth fell open. “Adam? You got into a fight with Adam McDonald? Over me? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about you! All I ever do is think about you! Believe me, it’s aggravating as hell, but it doesn’t seem to be something I can control.”
Too stunned to formulate a response, Angelina dropped back onto the edge of the bed. Dylan stood up and began to pace the room.
“I couldn’t sleep, Angelina. All I could think about was you and that kiss, so I took a drive around town. I got lost and ended up at some hillbilly tavern on Bluebird Lane. I have no idea how much I drank, but it was too much, obviously. I was trying to sober up before I drove back to the motel, and that’s when I spotted him standing next to the pool table. When I thought about how he hurt you, I just . . . I lost it. All I could think about was kicking his ass, so that’s what I did, and nobody tried to stop me. I was a complete stranger to these people, and they let me beat the crap out of him. The only reason we got arrested at all was because a deputy arrived.”
Angelina’s heart thawed a little. He gotten into a fight and thrown into jail because of her. It was stupid and sweet and a thousand other emotions she couldn’t name.
“Angelina,” he said softly, turning in her direction, “I’m not rational when it comes to you. It’s driving me a little nuts, to be honest. I wasn’t exaggerating earlier when I said you’re all I think about. I’ve done nothing but think about you since the moment we met. I’ve never been this . . . consumed by a woman before, and I have no idea how to handle it. I am so drawn to you, and I know it sounds crazy because we don’t know each other at all, but I can’t help how I feel. And after last night’s kiss, I know you feel it, too. I know you do.”
If she’d been any other woman, his speech would have sent her heart into a frantic dance. Instead, Angelina felt nothing but sadness, because she knew why he felt so consumed, and it had absolutely nothing to do with her.
He reached for her hand. “Say something, please.”
They stared into each other’s eyes, and she swallowed anxiously, struggling to find the words he needed to hear. Something that would explain the madness. But what could she say?
When I was thirteen years old, I wished for you?