He’d felt the same heat, the same bone-deep commitment to do whatever it took to soothe the tough, tenderhearted girl who let herself be weak only in his arms.
Seeing her so devastated had torn him up inside. He knew how much she hated breaking down. When was the last time he’d held her?
When he told her he couldn’t go to NAU because his father was falling apart, bitter, broke and about to sink every penny he had into a pointless lawsuit against Abbott Wharton, her face had blanched, her eyes filled with tears. She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her. That was a big deal, since the only other person she counted on was her sister. He’d hated letting her down.
It wasn’t fair to make him choose between his father and her. They’d said ugly things to each other, stabbed at the most tender spots, hurt each other as only two people who’d been as close as they’d been could.
She’d cut all contact after that—ignored his emails and calls, shut him down completely. He’d been angry, but he should have known. With Tara you were in or out, friend or foe. He’d had this childlike belief that their love would outlast this trouble. He been so caught up in their love, so enmeshed with her, that the breakup had almost killed him.
He hadn’t seen her since. He’d missed Faye’s wedding, sending a gift in his stead. Tara had been a pretty girl. She was a beautiful woman. Her eyes were the same startling blue, even through her tears, but they had more power, more ability to assess and evaluate. She knew what she wanted now.
She was curvier, too, and he liked that. She wore her hair in a sleek style, not wildly spiked with color like in high school. She smelled like an expensive perfume, not patchouli and vanilla oil.
He was glad he’d fixed the funeral for her, though he hadn’t appreciated Tara’s amazement that he had the town job or her assumption that he was just his father’s employee, not his second in command, the guy who’d practically put the place together, who’d set the company on the path that would lead to steady profits and a solid future.
Rachel’s dig about him being part-time manager hit him wrong. It was true the town needed full-time leadership. Dylan planned to provide it. It was his dream. Within a year, he’d have completed his mission at Ryland Engineering and he could go for it. He intended to build up the town, bring in new business, more housing, boost tourism for the river area with its bird sanctuary. He’d pulled together a decent leadership team already. He needed to write some development grants, and do some outreach. All he needed was time.
And time was at a premium with the recent headaches over the Wharton Electronics deal. The contract had been the linchpin on his plan and now it was at risk.
He drove over to the Ryland Engineering plant. When he got out of his car, he paused, taking in the new sign he’d had done by a local graphic artist. The sleek sign, the dark brown gloss paint and the chrome accents gave the building a modern, streamlined look.
Inside, the redone reception area had white-leather furniture and apricot walls that subtly suggested Ryland’s logo. It wasn’t a showcase like the reception area at Wharton Electronics, but it was respectable.
Anticipating the increase in clients, he’d decided they’d needed a more polished public face. The sculpture he’d commissioned looked like an abstract fountain using Ryland circuit boards, curving up and out, wired so they seemed to float in the air.
His father had fought him on the renovation, but his father fought him a lot. It felt like he’d dragged his dad every step of the way to success.
Now that Dylan was near the finish line, he’d become weary of the struggle. He longed for the time when he could be friends with his father, when he could admire his brilliance and passion, instead of fighting to harness it.
“Your dad’s asking for you,” the receptionist called to him.
“Got it.” He walked down the hall and entered his father’s office.
His father looked up from some papers. “Where have you been?”
“Arranging to use the high school for Abbott’s funeral.”
“With all we’ve got going on here, you don’t have time for that town-manager crap.”
“I can handle it.” He took pride in being a problem solver. He was good with difficult people—his father being a prime example.