Dylan's Daddy Dilemma. Tracy Madison

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СКАЧАТЬ is more than I’m accustomed to, and I—” Snapping her mouth shut, irritated she’d given even that much of her life away, she finished with “Thank you. Because of you, we’re not sleeping in the car.”

      Compassion and concern glittered in Dylan’s eyes, darkening them into a smoky green. But when he spoke, she didn’t hear either. What she heard was sharp annoyance. “Offering help when someone is in need is the decent thing to do, especially when it’s an easy fix. This is an easy fix for your dilemma. Most of the folks I know would do the same. If you don’t know people like that, then I’d say you’re hanging with the wrong crowd.”

      Whoa. What had riled him up so much? “That isn’t what I meant,” she said in a rush. “I’m saying thank you for being so decent. Why can’t you accept a simple thank-you?”

      “Stop being mad,” Henry said in a wobbly, uncertain voice. “I don’t like it.”

      “Oh, honey, we’re not mad. We’re just talking. Promise!” Chelsea wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders and pulled him close for a hug. When she let go, she said, “Everyone is tired, that’s all. Nothing to worry about, sweetie.”

      “That’s right. No one’s mad,” Dylan said quickly in a warmer tone. “As your mom said, we’re tired. It’s late and we’ve all had a long day. Me with work and you two with driving.”

      “Exactly.” Chelsea picked up the bags from the table and Henry’s stuffed animal—hers, actually, from her childhood. A gift from Sophia. “Let’s say good-night and get some sleep.”

      “Good night,” Henry said, tugging on Dylan’s shirt so he was forced to look down at him. “And thank you for not letting us camp in our car. It wasn’t as fun as I thought. And for making Mommy not cry anymore. I don’t like it when she cries.”

      Emotion clogged Chelsea’s throat. She hadn’t realized Henry had heard her crying.

      Dylan blinked once, twice. “I don’t like it when my mom cries, either. So you’re welcome, Henry. I’m glad I can help. And don’t give up on camping just yet. It can be fun when the weather is nice and you have a warm sleeping bag and a campfire to roast marshmallows.”

      “That would be fun,” Henry said, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe you can take me and Mommy camping sometime? I don’t think she’d know how to make a campfire.”

      “Oh, I think I could figure it out,” Chelsea said, feeling the very real need for solitude. To think. To rest. To gather her bearings. She looked at Dylan and moved her lips into some semblance of a smile. “Thank you,” she said, her voice firm. “But I can take it from here.”

      She led Henry in the direction of the room Dylan had said they could sleep in, and just as she opened the door, she heard him say, “You’re welcome, Chelsea.”

      And strangely, even with the turmoil of the day and her extreme unease at accepting help from anyone, let alone a man she’d only just met, the sound of Dylan’s voice in that second added a level of comfort, of safety, into her swirling emotions. There was something about him that tugged at her sensibilities, made her want to lean into him and...just let him take care of all the messy details. And how screwed up was that?

      She was fine on her own. Well, mostly fine.

      The last thing she needed in her complicated life was another complication. Even so, as she made up the sofas with the blankets and pillows she found in the closet, she remembered her earlier wish—to have allowed just one trustworthy person into her life—and she couldn’t help but wonder if she let her guard down enough, if maybe Dylan would prove to be that person.

      Unlikely—because, as he’d so plainly said, he was only doing what any decent person would do—but it was a nice thought. Nice and...hopeful. And right now she’d take any bit of hope she could find. She’d wanted, had prayed, for a new fresh start to present itself.

      Perhaps this night, her car’s demise and trusting in Dylan’s words and accepting his help—for tonight only—was the beginning of a better life. For her and for Henry. Perhaps.

      If not, well, she’d gone down that road plenty. It was familiar, if not friendly, ground.

      * * *

      Yawning, Dylan attempted for what had to be the hundredth time to find a comfortable way to sleep while stretched out between two straight-backed, hard-as-a-rock meeting-table chairs. He carefully maneuvered his arm behind his head to function as a cushion and at the same time flexed his legs to try loosening his tight muscles.

      Bad idea. The movement was enough to overturn the chair his feet rested on, and in three seconds flat, he’d toppled to the floor. He pulled himself to a sitting position and pressed his forehead against his knees. Nope. Using those chairs as a bed couldn’t be done.

      Not by him, at any rate.

      If he’d had his wits about him, he’d have grabbed a blanket and a pillow before Chelsea and Henry had turned in for the night. Now their door was closed and he guessed—based on Chelsea’s earlier concerns—locked tight. At this point, he’d be fortunate to grab a meager four hours of shut-eye, let alone the nine he’d originally hoped for.

      Hell. Luck had nothing to do with it. Even if he somehow managed to contort his body in such a way to relax enough to fall asleep, thoughts of the woman and her child in the next room would keep him awake. Standing, he shoved the chairs back into their normal positions and went to the fridge for a bottle of water. He’d gone without sleep before—he’d get by.

      Unscrewing the cap, he took a long swig and considered his options. Morning would come fast. He was supposed to clock in at the sporting-goods store by twelve, where he’d work until four. Then he’d stop by Reid and Daisy’s place to check in on his sister-in-law and his four-month-old niece and nephew, Charlotte and Alexander.

      Twins. Who would’ve guessed?

      Not Reid. Apparently, the sight of two babies on the ultrasound monitor had thrown Dylan’s typically stoic older brother into a state of near collapse. Or, as Daisy had explained, “His face turned white and he almost fainted in shock.”

      Hard to imagine, that. But Reid’s job as a ski patroller, along with the help he provided the family’s businesses, meant extralong, exhausting hours during the winter season. Since September, Dylan—well, all of the Fosters, really—had taken to dropping in on a daily basis. First to keep Daisy company—and appease Reid’s concerns, which had grown at the same rate as the size of Daisy’s stomach—in the last months of her pregnancy, and now to lend a hand. And Dylan enjoyed hanging with Daisy and helping with the babies.

      Well, okay, he wasn’t all that fond of spit-up. Or changing diapers. But the rest of it was good. Family, in Dylan’s estimation, was all that really mattered.

      After his stint there, he’d return to the pub by seven to tend the bar. Another long day awaited him, and this one he’d have to tackle with limited energy. Easier knowing it was the last crazy day of the season and that he’d then have more than enough hours to refuel.

      Without thought, he tipped his head toward the room Chelsea and Henry slept in and mentally added them to his to-do list for the day. That car would have to be towed, and hopefully repaired, early enough so they could be on their way. They had to be on their way, quick-like, before he gave in to the impulse to fix not only her car, but her life.

      Henry’s СКАЧАТЬ