The Family He Didn't Expect

Chapter Three

The Stone Gap Inn looked like the kind of home Dylan had seen on the cover of Southern Living magazine. A wide, welcoming front porch with twin rockers, a gorgeous oak door with a brass knocker, opening into a picturesque foyer with a curved staircase.

Mavis grabbed Dylan as soon as he walked in the door that night and gathered him into another big hug. “Oh, it was so good to see you this afternoon,” she said. “Your uncle was sure glad you came back to town.”

“I’m glad to be here.” He pressed a kiss to Mavis’s cheek, then drew back. “Tell me you’re still making your rhubarb pie.”

“You know I am.” She grinned. “And I have a piece waiting for you.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He followed Mavis down the hall into a sunny yellow kitchen. “You guys have done amazing work with this place.”

Mavis beamed, clearly proud of the B&B. “That was all the doing of Della’s boys and her new daughter-in-law. They put in a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears to take this place from decrepit to delightful.”

Dylan had grown up with the Barlow brothers. He wasn’t surprised they’d all pitched in together to help Della rebuild this place. He’d always thought he and Sam would be close like that, but...

Ancient history. There was no sense wishing for things that weren’t going to change. “How’s business been?” Dylan asked.

“Getting better every day, as word spreads and people hear about my rhubarb pie.” She winked as she laid a hearty slice before him.

“I take it the pie is in the Yelp reviews?”

“Of course.” Mavis settled into the chair opposite him. “So, I bet you being back in town has the ladies down at Sadie’s Clip ‘n’ Curl buzzing.”

Dylan shook his head and chuckled. “Stone Gap hasn’t changed a bit.”

Mavis’s hand covered his. “That’s what makes it so great.”

He scoffed. “For you, maybe. I’m only in town to help Uncle Ty and then—”

“Back to running away.”

“I’m not running away, Mavis. I’m too old to do that.”

She peered at him over her reading glasses “You most certainly are. So maybe this time you could consider staying. You’ve got family here, Dylan, and that’s not something you can find growing like blueberries in Maine. Your uncle told me you were thinking about taking a permanent job up there. It’s no Stone Gap, you know. Now, enjoy your pie. I already made up your room, second one on the left at the top of the stairs. You’re staying in the Asheville. Oh, and don’t forget, there’ll be waffles in the morning.”

She left Dylan to finish his pie. He washed his plate and fork, loaded them into the drying rack, then went to bed. Mavis was wrong about him, but he knew her well and knew trying to change her mind was like trying to shift the direction of the Mississippi River.

The next morning, Dylan headed into the community center shortly after eight, his belly full of homemade waffles and rich maple syrup. He’d planned to arrive earlier, but he’d had to wait for Ernie’s hardware store to open up so he could buy the list of supplies Uncle Ty had given him. His uncle had kept the list at a bare minimum, so Dylan added a few things—okay, a lot of things—to the cart before he checked out. Dylan had enough savings to cover the costs, because he suspected Uncle Ty didn’t have any kind of budget. Some of the bigger items would have to be ordered from a big-box store, but Ernie carried enough to get Dylan started.

Uncle Ty wasn’t in, so Dylan used the key from yesterday to let himself into the building. He flicked on the lights, pausing a moment in the doorway to notice the quiet. He’d never been in the community center when it was empty. The place seemed sad, as if all the life left it when the kids went home.

He decided to start with the projects that were safety issues. The list of things to do was long, but if he worked his way backward from the areas where the kids congregated first, he could minimize the risk of anyone getting hurt. First, he tackled a broken electrical outlet, then moved on to repair a wonky light switch. The community center didn’t officially open until two, when the older kids got out of school, so that gave Dylan a few hours to work.

Dylan was getting ready to patch a hole in the wall when the front door opened. He pivoted, expecting Uncle Ty. “Cody. What are you doing here?”

The teenager shrugged. He slid his backpack off one shoulder and dropped it in the corner. “Just needed a break.”

Dylan glanced at his watch. “It’s only ten in the morning. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

Cody shrugged again. He dropped onto a love seat and propped his boots on the opposite end. He draped an arm over his eyes and leaned his head back.

Dylan watched him for a minute. He recognized that don’t-care attitude, the slouched shoulders, the ripped jeans and faded concert T. “Yo, this isn’t a motel.”

Cody didn’t respond.

Undoubtedly, the kid was skipping school. Dylan debated whether he should call Abby and realized he didn’t have her number. And Cody probably wouldn’t give it up.

“Listen, let me take you back to school. Finish up the day, then come back here.”

Cody shook his head. “No. No way.”

“You can’t skip school, Cody,” Dylan said.

“Why not? I’m practically failing anyway. What’s the point?”

“Getting a diploma so you won’t be stuck serving fries to ten-year-olds when you’re fifty?”

“I don’t care about that. All I care about is being left alone.” Cody jerked up his backpack and turned to go. “I don’t need a lecture from you, too.”

Dylan sighed. He could see what was going to happen as soon as the boy walked out the door. It was pretty much Dylan’s history repeating itself. Dylan knew that look and knew it well—

Cody would leave here and get into trouble faster than the wind could shift on a fall afternoon.

He thought of the stress on Abby’s face the day before. How overwhelmed she seemed, being both father and mother. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her troubles. Cody was safe here—albeit skipping school—and if Dylan kept him occupied, at least there’d be something good to come out of the whole thing.

“Before you go, Cody...” Dylan unloaded his supplies and set them beside his toolbox. A square of Sheetrock, a small handsaw, some plaster and a putty knife. He looked at the hole in the wall—a deep circular indent that was probably from some angry teen’s fist—and then back at Cody. “I could use a hand, if you have a minute.”

Cody didn’t move. “Where’s Ty?”

“Not here.” Dylan wasn’t about to explain to a sixteen-year-old how his uncle was mourning the loss of the love of his life, and doing what he had done ever since Virginia died—sitting in his house, trying to get the motivation to go to the center she had loved so much and that echoed without her presence. Dylan had stopped by last night for a little bit, and seen the loss of the love of his life hanging over Ty like a cloud. At Cody’s age, relationships started in homeroom and ended by sixth period. “Come on, dude, help me out.”

Cody stood there a moment longer, then let out a long sigh, then dropped his backpack into the corner again. He glanced over at the wall. “That wasn’t my fault, you know.”

“Whose fault was it?”

“Leon. That dude’s got an anger management issue. Meaning, he doesn’t manage it at all.” Cody traced the outline of the hole. “He got pissed because somebody changed the channel without asking him first, like he’s the warden around here.”

Dylan tried to think back to the names of the kids who’d been in the circle last afternoon. “Was he here yesterday?”

“Nah, Ty kicked him out and told him not to come back. He does that with any of us who break the rules.”

Dylan chuckled. “Some things never change.” Uncle Ty had been a little more lenient with Dylan, but there’d been times he’d skated on the edge of banishment.

Cody gestured toward the wall. “So, uh, what do you have to do here?”

“The hole is too big for an ordinary patch,” Dylan said. “I’m going to trim the Sheetrock to fill in the space, then attach it to the stud behind the hole. We’ll put a patch over that, and in a few hours, it’ll dry and be good as new.”

“Sounds pretty simple.”

“It is. Here, hold this.” Dylan handed him the Sheetrock without asking if he wanted to help. Keeping the kid busy was a good policy regardless, Dylan figured.

Cody held the square of Sheetrock, bracing it against the floor, while Dylan sawed off a piece big enough to fill the hole. A couple times, he glanced back over his shoulder to assess the right shape, then perfect the cutout.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Cody asked. “Did your dad teach you?”

His dad. Jonathon Millwright had favored Sam, the eldest. Sam was the one who could do no wrong, who got good grades, who married his high school sweetheart, had a career and a couple of kids. Dylan spent his entire childhood being compared to his brother—and always came up lacking. No one had been on his side. Their mother had supported her critical, controlling husband, no matter what.

“My dad and I didn’t exactly get along. He was never real hands-on, especially with me.” Dylan shrugged. Better to keep the story short and simple than to explain decades of troubled history. “Uncle Ty taught me some stuff, and I learned the rest along the way.”

Cody slipped the piece into the space in the wall, then held it while Dylan screwed it into place. “What do you mean, along the way?”

Should he tell Cody the truth? Would the kid see it as a journey to be emulated or an example of what not to do? “I dropped out when I was your age. Hitched a ride out of here and took whatever jobs I could so I could afford a place to stay warm and something to eat.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“It was the exact opposite of awesome.” Dylan lowered the screw gun. “Some nights I slept on the ground or in a doorway. Many days I didn’t have anything to eat because I couldn’t catch a ride or find a job. It sucked, a lot.”

“Yeah, but it worked out okay for you. Didn’t it?”

“I took the long road to get here. If I had been smart and listened to the advice I was given, I might have taken a few less detours.” Dylan peeled the lid off the plaster and held out the putty knife to Cody. “Here, you do this.”

“I don’t know how.” Cody scuffed at the floor. The hood of his sweatshirt obscured his face. “My dad didn’t show me anything, either. He’s never been anything more than a sperm donor.”

Dylan could hear the hurt in the kid’s voice. Dylan might have had a strained relationship with his father, but at least he’d had one, and he’d had Uncle Ty to pick up the slack. Cody looked like he could use an Uncle Ty of his own, or at least a reasonable facsimile.

Dylan, however, was the only one here. He didn’t even begin to think he was role model material, but maybe he could at least teach Cody a couple things and steer him away from the bad decisions Dylan had made at his age.

That was a lot to ask from a piece of Sheetrock and some plaster, but he was going to try.

“Here,” Dylan said, placing the putty knife in Cody’s palm. “I’ll show you.”

Cody brushed the hood back, then glanced over at Dylan. “For real?”

“Yeah.” Dylan grinned at Cody. “I might not know everything, but I do know how to fix a hole in a wall.”

Not a hole in a kid’s life. That was a task way outside of Dylan’s skill set.

* * *

Abby rushed into the community center, breathless and angry. She’d gotten the call from the high school truant officer a little after eleven and spent the better part of her lunch hour trying to find Cody. He wasn’t at home, he wasn’t at the park. Finally, she thought of the community center. Ty was known to let the kids hang out during the day if they wanted a place to chill, usually calling their parents so they wouldn’t worry. She hadn’t gotten a call, so she’d worked on the assumption Cody was spending his hooky time elsewhere. But she’d run out of other places to look.

There was a car in front of the building, not Ty’s green pickup but a battered red Jeep. She remembered seeing the same car yesterday and realized it must be Dylan’s. She parked and hurried into the building.

Then stuttered to a stop.

Dylan and Cody were working together, repairing a broken window screen. Dylan was holding the frame while Cody rolled some tool along the edge, that reinserted the plastic line that held it in place. Dylan was explaining how the tool worked while Cody listened, his eyes bright, his face attentive. They were so engrossed in the task, they didn’t hear her enter.

“So, what did you mean earlier about taking the long road?” Cody asked.

Abby started to open her mouth to yell at Cody for skipping school when she heard Dylan start to speak. She hung by the door, watching and listening.

“I was young and stupid. I thought it didn’t matter if I graduated high school or went to college,” Dylan said. “You start ditching class when you’re young, and it gets easier to ditch the other important things in life. Like a job. Like an interview. Like a date. I became someone who quit. A lot.”

Cody snorted. “Is this going to be one of those kid, you should stay in school speeches? Because I get enough of that already.”

“Nope. I’m not telling you what to do. You probably wouldn’t listen any better than I did.” Dylan sighed. “I will tell you, though, that I learned my lesson when I was washing dishes until my hands bled from the hot water—or when they were frozen stiff from hauling hundred-pound bags of potatoes off of trucks for hours in the cold. That’s when I wished I had stayed in school.”

She wouldn’t have thought Dylan had a past like that. He was a little rough around the edges, but he seemed responsible, smart, strong. Or maybe it was just his smile that blinded her to everything else.

“I hate school,” Cody said. “I just wanna blow that place so bad.”

Dylan turned to Cody. “Stick it out. I know it’s hard, dude. At the time, it’s going to seem like the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But if you stay with school and graduate, that’s success.”

“Success? What, graduating at the bottom of the class?” Cody snorted and shook his head. And this was where Abby usually lost the argument. Because his grades were so bad, Cody saw graduating as a lost cause. Instead of trying hard to change that, he gave up.

“You gotta learn to finish what you start.” Dylan shifted the screen and stretched the material over the frame. “Dropping out puts you behind the curve before you even get out of the gate. It’s a hell of a lot harder to get where you’re going if you start five steps behind than if you start in the middle.”

Cody didn’t say anything, but Abby could see that he was mulling over Dylan’s words. They were the same ones Abby had said, over and over again, but this time, Cody actually seemed to be taking them in. Maybe it was because it was advice from a stranger, given in a rougher language than she would have used. Maybe because Dylan had been down Cody’s path already and spoke from experience.

Dylan stepped back and assessed their work on the screen. “Looks good. We’ll just trim the extra bit of screen along the edge, and it’ll be good as new,” Dylan held out the tool to Cody. “Here, you want to try? Be careful. The blade is sharp.”

Cody took the retractable knife from Dylan, then slid it along the edge of the new rubber spline, trimming the extra sliver of mesh. “Hey, that was pretty easy.” Cody leaned back, and looked the window over. “It looks like it was never torn.”

“The magic of a good repair job. Let’s hang this—” Dylan cut off the sentence when he turned and noticed Abby standing there. “Oh, hey, Abby.”

Cody let out a low curse, then turned toward his mother. “Mom, I can explain—”

“And you’d better. You know what the principal said about you skipping.” She crossed to her son, taking a moment to be glad he was okay and not drinking or doing drugs or getting into some other kind of trouble. The last couple years with Cody had been rocky at best, which was why she had started bringing him to the community center. She’d hoped he’d find a good outlet for all the angst and anger that came with being sixteen and essentially abandoned by his father. Up until now, Cody hadn’t done much more than make a token effort at being involved here. Seeing him working with Dylan had been a revelation...but it didn’t stop her frustration.

“Don’t you understand that you are one bad move away from being expelled? You only have one job, Cody. Go to school.”

The light in Cody’s eyes dimmed. “I know. I just got all stressed because Mrs. Deets was on my back again, so I ditched and came here.”

“We talked about how you can’t just do this, Cody.” She ran a hand through her hair and let out a gust. “I’m worried about your future.”

Cody cursed under his breath. “I heard the lecture already, Mom. I don’t need another one.”

She spun toward Dylan. “And why didn’t you bring him back?”

“Because I figured he’d be gone again five minutes later. So I thought I’d give him something constructive to do. I let him stay, but he had to promise me he’d go to school every day next week. He’s been helping me with the repairs around here. We fixed the small hole in that wall, tightened a leaky faucet in the kitchen, and now we’re working on the window screens. He did a great job.”

The praise lifted Cody’s head. He shot Dylan a look that was a mixture of surprise and joy. Cody had had very few male role models in his life, and none that he had warmed to as quickly as he had warmed to Dylan.

“I even learned how to patch a hole, Mom,” Cody said. He gestured toward the wall. “You wouldn’t even know Leon put his fist through there.”

She could see pride in her son’s face. Interest. It was more than she’d seen in months, and the moment caused a little catch in her throat. Her anger evaporated. “That’s great, Code. Really great.”

“I know you’re probably going to drag me back to school,” Cody said, his voice low, his gaze on the floor. “But Dylan really needed some help with the windows today. One of them is broken, and Dylan’s worried somebody might try to break in.”

She opened her mouth to protest and to tell Cody she had, indeed, been here to bring him back to school. But she took one look at his face, at the enthusiasm written all over him and decided one more missed day wasn’t going to hurt anything. Maybe a little bit of success would help Cody find his footing again. It was, after all, only one day. “Sure. That sounds like a good thing to do. Why don’t I run out and get you guys some lunch? I bet you’re starving.”

“You mean I can stay?” Surprise lit Cody’s voice. He almost sounded like he was Jake’s age again, shocked she had let him stay at the playground for an extra half hour. There was no argument in him, none of the sullenness that was usually part of his daily wardrobe. For a split second, he was Cody again, the son she had been missing for a long, long time.

And that was worth one missed day of school.

“Yeah, you can stay.” She glanced at Dylan. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

Dylan nodded and turned to her son. “Totally cool with me. As long as you go to school next week, like we agreed. No skipping.”

“Deal,” Cody said.

“Great. I’ll be back with some subs.” She turned away, before Cody saw the tears that were threatening at the back of her eyes. She pushed on the door and stepped out into the North Carolina sunshine.

“Hey, thanks for letting Cody stay.”

She spun at the sound of Dylan’s voice behind her. She tried to work a smile onto her face, but it wobbled. Her composure was on the brink of disappearing. She fumbled for her sunglasses in her purse and slipped them on. “Thank you for letting him help. He’s never really gotten to do any of that stuff before, and he looks like he’s enjoying the work.”

“He’s a good kid.” Dylan eased the door shut and stepped out onto the porch with Abby. “I know you’ve had some problems with him lately, with cutting class and getting in trouble.”

“He told you that?”

“Not in so many words. I...” Dylan looked back over his shoulder at the door. “I see a lot of myself in him. I was like that at his age. Mad at the world, ready to run at the slightest hint of a problem.”

In a few words, Dylan had summarized all the fears and worries that Abby had been keeping to herself. She shook her head, and the tears she’d been trying to hold back began to spill onto her lashes.

Abby worked so hard to be strong, to handle everything herself. But right now, the stress, the worry, seemed too heavy, too much. Jake wanting a puppy, something normal kids all over the world asked for, had been something she couldn’t even entertain. She was barely holding herself together, never mind her kids and her life. When the school had called, it had crushed the very fragile hold on her stress. And now, the relief that Cody was okay, that he was actually doing something constructive—that had her teetering on the edge of a sob. “It’s been hard, you know? Being mom and dad at the same time. My friends don’t understand, because they’ve all got partners or grandparents around to pick up the slack, but it’s just me, and Cody is at that age where he needs a man who can be a good influence. Ty was a good role model to him, but then Virginia died—Ty started withdrawing and Cody went off the rails again and...”

Dylan took her hand, and her babbling brook of words ceased. His touch was warm and strong, comforting. He gave her a little squeeze. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. He’s a good kid.”

Abby raised her gaze to Dylan’s. For just a moment, she needed that reassurance. In a second, she told herself, she’d go back to being strong and independent. “You really think so? I mean, that he’ll be okay?”

What was she doing? Asking a perfect stranger to predict her kid’s future? Maybe she was hormonal. Or maybe it was simply that Abby was exhausted, drained by the simple task of raising two boys on her own while trying to build a career at the marketing agency and keep everyone fed and clothed—and feeling like she wasn’t doing any of the above well.

“I don’t have a crystal ball, but I do think he’s ready to find a better way to do things,” Dylan said. “Maybe spending some time helping out around here will give him a sense of accomplishment. I know I found my way by going into renovation and new construction work. There’s just something about seeing a room or a house or even a table take shape under your own two hands that makes you feel like you have control over your world.”

She liked how Dylan described his work. And for Cody, she got a sense that that feeling of control and accomplishment was important. Her oldest had struggled so much with having a father who barely cared. The therapist she’d taken him to a few times had said that Cody really needed to find an outlet for his emotions, a way to express himself. Jake did that through his art, but Cody tended to bottle up his feelings. Both times he had been with Dylan, she had seen Cody come out of his shell and quite literally come out from under the security of his hoodie. A wave of reassurance swept over her, because for a moment, she wasn’t alone. “Cody needs that. He needs it a lot.”

“Then let him hang here with me. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and if he wants to come over here bright and early, he can help me fix the broken cabinet in the kitchen and some busted tiles. Ty’s got a long list of needs for this place, and I want to do as much as I can to help him while I’m here.”

“I noticed that things had gotten out of hand when I was looking around the kitchen. I was thinking maybe I could go to the store and get some supplies for the center this weekend. It seems like Ty is out of everything.”

“Virginia did all the ordering for him. He’s kinda lost without her. I think everyone is.” Dylan released her hand, as if he’d just realized he’d been holding it.

A little flutter of disappointment went through her, but she was determined not to show it. She knew better than to depend on anyone other than herself. Already she was starting to like this guy, to crave more time with him. She could see why Cody liked him so much. Dylan was confident and quiet, yet patient and warm. Not to mention, he cared—about Cody, about his aunt and uncle. That caring nature was something she could get used to—and even considering getting used to counting on someone meant she was treading on dangerous ground. “Uh...what kind of sub do you want?”

“I’m not picky.” He grinned. “Surprise me.”

“I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“You won’t, Abby. Believe me.” He started into the building, then turned back and put a hand on her arm.

This time, his touch sent a flutter through her veins. She lifted her gaze, surprised at the electricity, the intensity that a simple touch could bring. She had the strangest urge to press her lips to the slight dusting of stubble on his chin, to inhale his cologne.

“I have an idea,” Dylan said.

“Oh, yeah?” Her voice shook a little, damn it.

“Why don’t I pick you and both the boys up tomorrow morning? That way, I can help you get the supplies for the kitchen, and you all can go with me to the home improvement store. I need to order some things that Ernie doesn’t carry, and I’m sure both boys will love being around power tools and forklifts.”

For a second there, she’d thought Dylan was going to ask her out on a date. It took a moment for her brain to process what he was saying. That it wasn’t a date at all. Disappointment sank in her gut, which was completely insane. She didn’t have time or room in her life for another person with testosterone. “Sure. If you don’t mind. The boys would love that.”

“Great.” He grinned. “Then it’s a date?”

No, it’s not. She worked a smile onto her face. “Of course.”

But as Abby climbed into her car and headed away from the community center, she did her best to ignore her disappointment. She ignored it. The last thing she wanted to do was fall for another man with a charming smile and all the right words. Because in the end, the words were empty and the ones who got hurt were the boys she was trying so hard to protect.

She flicked a gaze at the rearview mirror and saw Dylan, talking to Cody by their newly repaired window. Her heart cracked a little, and she whispered a silent prayer that this time she was wrong about that man and his smile.