Dylan's Daddy Dilemma. Tracy Madison

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СКАЧАТЬ bent on retaliation. Probably due to some man doing something stupid and ticking her off. Or breaking her heart. Or, he supposed, both.

      And he drew these conclusions based on the mix of sorrow and heat in her gaze, her relentless come-ons toward him and the guy sitting next to her—hedging her bets, he assumed—and finally, the way she kept looking over her shoulder toward the pub’s entrance. Waiting for the husband or boyfriend to show up and find her drunk-happy with some other guy.

      Not him. He wasn’t interested in a one-night, two-night or any-number-of-nights stand. But the man seated on the bar stool to the left of the blonde had responded eagerly to her not-so-subtle advances. Which could then mean a potential fight if and when Mr. Heartbreaker chose to make an appearance. So, yep, Dylan was concerned.

      Foster’s Pub and Grill was, more than anything else, a restaurant that housed a bar. Sure, they’d had their share of rowdy gatherings, and they would again. Typically, though, they were a casual place for the tourists and locals alike to grab a meal, a few drinks and kick back after a day on the slopes. Or after hours of hiking or white-water rafting during the summer season.

      He never relished the idea of trouble, but seeing how tonight was one of the last before the winter season ended, he was damn tired. He just didn’t have the energy for trouble. So he winked at the blonde to draw her attention from her other prey, hoping she’d focus on him and forget about Mr. Miller Lite long enough for the guy to seek out greener pastures.

      Or just give up and leave. Either would suit Dylan. His plan beyond that was sketchy, but he figured he’d be able to contain the situation, assuming one presented itself, if he removed as many unpredictable factors as possible.

      He winked again for good measure and slid the shooter across the surface of the bar. “There you go,” he said. “Might want to slow down a bit after this one.”

      “I have no intentions of slowing down,” the blonde said, accepting the shooter and downing it in one long gulp. “And I don’t have to drive tonight, so...another, please.”

      Dylan considered cutting her off, but he didn’t really have a legit reason. Her words were clear and she wasn’t swaying in her seat, and she’d just stated that she wasn’t planning on driving. So he went about making her another Snowshoe.

      “Anyone ever tell you how sexy your eyes are?” she asked when he set the drink in front of her. “What color are they, exactly? Green...brown...hazel?”

      “Depends on the day,” he said, answering her second question. Both he and his younger sister, Haley, shared their Irish mother’s coloring, including her chameleon eyes and brown hair with, in the summer, glints of red. Haley called the color auburn. Dylan preferred the simpler description of plain old brown. His older brother, Reid, and younger brother, Cole, took after their father, sporting almost-black eyes and hair. “And, I’ve been told, my mood.”

      “Ooh,” the woman said. “And what might your mood be right now?”

      Before an appropriate response—one that couldn’t be taken as too flirtatious—presented itself, the door to the pub opened, snagging his and the blonde’s attention. Not the heartbreaker, Dylan was relieved to see, but a young boy who all but tumbled into the restaurant, followed closely by, presumably, his mother. Even from across the room, both appeared windblown and out of sorts. Tired, too, if the woman’s hunched shoulders were anything to go by.

      Grasping her son’s hand, the woman pulled him farther into the restaurant and, after searching the area for an empty table, headed toward their solitary choice: a tiny two-seater near the bar. They removed their coats and sat down, and the woman—a tall, too-thin brunette—closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Not just tired, Dylan amended, but exhausted.

      Far more curious than he should be, he grabbed a couple of menus from under the bar and, with an easy grin directed at the blonde, said, “Duty calls.”

      “Hurry back,” she said, batting her mascara-coated lashes at top speed. “I’m almost ready for another drink, and you haven’t answered my question yet.”

      Question? Oh, about his mood. Seeing how his solitary goal was to go home—alone—and sleep until ten tomorrow morning, he doubted she’d like his response. Rather than saying anything, he nodded and made his escape. As he approached the table where the brunette and the child were, he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t interested in the least.

      He was just lending a hand. Foster’s was short staffed tonight, and Haley—who normally worked behind the scenes in the office—was working double duty by waiting tables. At the moment, she had a tray balanced on each arm and was maneuvering a path around the packed tables toward an extralarge group of customers.

      Nothing wrong with easing his sister’s load a little.

      Believable enough, Dylan supposed, except for the fact that Haley was a damn fine waitress. She’d see and attend to the new arrivals soon enough. Why, then, did he feel compelled to deliver the menus himself? Especially when he had a full bar to contend with and his worrisome premonition that the flirty blonde was trouble? Didn’t matter.

      He’d drop off the menus, tell the brunette and the boy about the evening’s specials, and that would be that. Haley could take over from there.

      “Evening,” he said when he reached their table and had handed them their menus. “We have several specials going on tonight, including—”

      “I want a hamburger and root beer, but Mommy says I have to have milk,” the boy interrupted, his excitement obvious. “So chocolate milk and French fries. With dip!”

      “Ranch dressing,” his mother supplied. “And the burger should be well-done, with nothing on it except for cheese and mustard. Do you... Is there a kid-size burger?”

      “Yup, there is,” Dylan answered, fighting the urge to grin at the child’s exuberance. Heck, the rascal was so jazzed, he kept bouncing in his seat. It was cute. Pulling the order pad from the pocket of his apron, Dylan focused on the mother. She was cute, too. “What about you? Do you need a minute to look over the menu, or would you like to hear the specials?”

      The question seemed, oddly, to fluster the woman. She dipped her chin so she was looking at the table rather than at Dylan. “Oh. I...already ate. Maybe a cup of coffee?”

      “That’s not true,” the boy said with a curious glance toward his mother. “Not since before we left for the brand-new fresh start this morning. I remember. You had a peanut-butter sandwich and a glass of water and you didn’t even eat when I did at lunch.”

      “Henry, I’m...” She trailed off, lifted her head and shrugged at her son. “I guess you’re right, but I’m not that hungry, so—” she returned her gaze to Dylan “—just the coffee, please.”

      “Sure,” Dylan said, jotting down the order. The action gave him a second to consider the give-and-take he’d just witnessed. That, along with the dark circles under the brunette’s eyes and the exhaustion he’d already recognized, made him think she was in some sort of a jam. Not that he should care one way or the other. Not his business. “Coffee it is, then. How do you take it?”

      “Cream, no sugar.”

      “Kitchen is busy, so the wait might be slightly longer than normal,” he said. “I’ll have someone bring a bread basket, free of charge, to compensate.”

      “That СКАЧАТЬ