Fortunately, when Amber sidled next to Brett, obviously ready to mend fences, Mr. Miller Lite was smart enough not to argue. Dylan shooed him out first, and a few minutes later he sent Brett and Amber on their way. He didn’t know what had started their squabble, but he figured this wasn’t their first—nor would it be their last—go-around. They just had that look.
“The show is over, folks,” he said to the gawkers who hadn’t yet returned to their seats. None of whom had jumped in to help during the fight, thank goodness. That would have resulted in one hell of a mess. Everyone scattered to their various chairs, and within minutes the fight was forgotten and normalcy was restored.
It wasn’t until the hum of chatter had fully resumed that Dylan recalled Chelsea and her plight. Dammit. Nothing had changed. The facts were still the facts. There might be plenty of job openings in the city, but he didn’t know where, and really, that was fine. She was an adult and, despite the effect she’d had on him, a complete stranger. He had no business being concerned.
She wasn’t—in any way, shape or form—his responsibility.
Except when he searched the bar for her and her son and didn’t see them anywhere, knots formed in his stomach. Had she found a hotel? She’d mentioned they’d driven a long way, so he guessed she wouldn’t turn around for the return trip tonight, even if she had made the decision to leave. And honestly, if she didn’t have a job and had nowhere to go, why choose to stay?
Shaking off his absurd worries—why the devil did he care, anyway?—Dylan returned to working the bar and socializing with the customers. He refused to waste another second thinking about some woman he’d likely never see or hear from again.
The next several hours passed swiftly, and finally—thank God—it was closing time. Another hour spent putting the bar to rights and he was heading out through the kitchen, ready to go home and crash for a solid eight. Nine, if he could get away with it.
Haley was still in the kitchen, eating a late-night snack at the small round table the family and employees used. He grabbed a chair and sat down across from her, because as much as he wanted to hightail it home, he wouldn’t let his sister walk to her car alone.
“Long night,” she said in between bites of a turkey sandwich. “Long season.”
“Agreed. We’re almost done, though.” One more night of craziness and everything would calm down for a few months. Of course, as soon as he caught up on sleep and fun, boredom would settle in. It always did. “Any plans I should know about on your end?”
“Huh? Me? Nope.” She shrugged, twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Nothing exciting, anyway. I mean, nothing that you would find exciting.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep, that’s so.” She twirled her hair tighter. “Just the normal in-between-season stuff.”
Dylan tried to find the energy to question his sister further, because she was—without a doubt—hiding something. The twirling of her hair, one of Haley’s tells, was a dead giveaway, but she could keep her secret. She was in a good place in her life. For well over a year now—closing in on two, actually—she’d been happy and in love with a man the entire Foster family considered one of their own. Whatever her secret, he highly doubted there was reason for alarm.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Please tell me you’re almost done with that sandwich.”
Narrowing her more-green-than-brown-tonight eyes, she gave him a protracted once-over. “Are you okay? You didn’t get your head beat on while breaking up that fight, did you?”
“Can’t win with you, Haley,” he joked. “Either I ask too many questions or not enough. I’m fine. Just tired and cranky and ready to head home.”
“Then go! What are you waiting for?”
He gave her a pointed look. “You. Finish eating so I can walk you out.”
“Oh. You don’t have to. Gavin dropped me off earlier, and he’ll be here to get me soon.” After swallowing another bite, she said, “I just called him. So no worries, big brother.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. He enjoys—” she smiled widely, happily “—picking me up.”
Dylan laughed at the innuendo, mostly to hide his reflexive wince of discomfort. Didn’t matter how much he liked Gavin, Haley would always be his baby sister. Some days he still saw her in pigtails. “I’m sure he does.”
After saying their good-nights, he walked outside and strode toward his parked car, which he’d left in the very back part of the lot. Cold wind smacked against his face in waves, so he tugged his coat collar up and over his jaw for protection. The air held the icy-crisp sharpness of winter, making it difficult to believe they were easing into spring.
He was about halfway across the parking lot when he heard the coughing, choking, sputtering sounds of an engine desperately trying to turn over. A stranded customer? Probably. A local, he’d guess, since tourists tended to rent vehicles, and typically those cars were newer and didn’t emit cries of impending death when started.
Stopping, he waited and hoped the engine would fire to life and he’d be free to go on his merry way. But nope, no such luck. The sputtering continued in growls and grunts, the gap in between each cough growing systematically longer by several seconds. In a matter of minutes, Dylan guessed, the car would become completely unresponsive.
Ah, hell. This he did not need.
But because his folks had raised him to lend a hand when one was needed, he switched his direction. Maybe the car just required a jump, which he could do without too much effort. If not, he’d lead the stranded person inside and wait with them until a tow truck arrived.
He approached the car—a decade-plus-old Chevy Malibu, he now saw—and grimaced at the now grinding, winding-down sound of an engine giving up the ghost. The driver needed to stop his attempts, because no amount of key turning and gas-pedal pumping was going to do the trick. And while he hated to admit it, he had serious doubts that the issue was the relatively simple matter of a battery requiring a jump.
This night seriously did not want to end.
Hungry, tired and...okay, irritated, Dylan paused mere inches from the car as recognition hit. His heart dropped clear to his stomach, because naturally, the person sitting behind the wheel frantically twisting the key in the ignition was none other than the too-skinny tall brunette who had consumed his thoughts for the majority of the evening. Chelsea.
And behind her, stretched out on the backseat, curled up in a blanket—and from his vantage point, apparently asleep—was her son, Henry. Dylan swore under his breath, knowing instinctively that she hadn’t found a hotel and that her convoluted plan was to spend the night in this behemoth of a car that now refused to start.
No heat. No safety. No nothing. Just an unprotected woman with her young child, sleeping in their car in a strange city on a cold, windy night with nowhere else to go. And his irritation climbed to a whole new level.
Striding forward, he raised his fist and knocked on the driver-side window. She froze before looking at him through the glass, her expression stricken at his sudden presence. Which meant, despite the glow from the parking-lot lights, she hadn’t seen or even sensed his approach. Pushing out a breath, reining in his annoyance, he gestured for her to roll down her window.
After a moment’s hesitation, she did.
“That car is dead in the water,” he said before she could utter a solitary syllable. “And even if it wasn’t, you can’t sleep there. It isn’t safe.”
“Who said I was sleeping here?” she responded, her tone strong and defensive. Well, he couldn’t blame her for either. As far as she knew, he was a bad guy. “And I always have trouble with the car when it’s cold outside, but I’m sure it will start. So we’re fine.”
She thought she was fine? Dylan bit back the curse he almost muttered and shook his head in resignation. He downgraded his hopeful nine hours of sleep to an adequate seven and jammed his hands into his coat pockets to fend off frozen fingers.
In a measured, calm
meter, he said, “The last thing you are is fine.”
“The car will start.” Her chin firmed in stubbornness. “It’s just...temperamental in cold climates.”
“Uh-huh.” Weighing his next move, he thought of and discarded several reasonable arguments. He did not want to cause her undue alarm, but he also wasn’t about to walk off and leave her and her kid alone. “If you think you can get that car to run, I’ll wait right here while you do,” he said. “Then, since you said you’re not sleeping here, I assume that means you have somewhere else to go, so I’ll drive behind you to ascertain your car doesn’t become...temperamental again and leave you stranded.”
“You can go. I’m good,” she said hurriedly. “None of that is necessary.”
“In my book, all of it is necessary. Or,” he said, hoping he was wrong about the sleeping-in-the-car business, “I can call you a cab. You’ll be on your way in no time. Your choice.”
“No. I... The car will start.”
“I don’t think it will.”
She didn’t respond, just turned the key again...and then again...to no avail. “Come on,” she murmured before trying a third time. This attempt yielded a sharp, whining gasp.
“Don’t try again,” he warned. “Just—”
Chelsea swore and twisted the key once more. Nothing. Not a cough or a whine or a hack. Her shoulders trembled and she inhaled a deep breath. Several seconds elapsed before she looked at him, and when she did, her eyes were shiny with the promise of tears. Oh, hell.
“I didn’t find a hotel I can afford,” she admitted in a quiet, defeated voice that matched every inch of her body language. “And maybe the car won’t start until it warms up some tomorrow, but we’ll be fine. I have a ton of blankets and...and...”
“Get your son and get out of the car,” Dylan said before the promise of tears became a reality. That, he knew, would be his complete undoing. “I’ll carry whatever else you need. But you’re sure as hell not sleeping out here tonight.”
Doubt and fear clouded her gaze, her voice. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“Do you have a better one?” No response. Dylan counted to three, and then to five. He understood, even admired, her reluctance. But something had to give to change the status quo. “Look,” he said, “I get it. This is an awkward situation and you don’t know me from Adam, but you’ll have to trust that my only goal here is to get some shut-eye. That won’t happen if I leave you and your son on a friggin’ cold night that will only get colder. Let me help. Please.”
“I appreciate your kindness, but...” She squinted her eyes in assessment. Of him and, probably, the veracity of his words. She gave a quick, decisive shake to her head. “It’s a generous offer, but I have to decline. It’s better, I think, if we stay here and wait for morning.”
“That’s—” He clamped his jaw shut before uttering the word idiotic. She was, after all, only trying to remain safe. She wasn’t going to budge and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave her and her kid out here alone, vulnerable to the weather and other unpredictable, possibly dangerous, factors. “All righty, then. You win,” he said, settling on the one remaining, uncomfortable-as-all-get-out alternative and pointing toward his parked car on the other side of the lot. “If you won’t come with me, then I guess I’m bunking in my car, as well. I’ll just bring it over here.”
“You can’t do that,” Chelsea said. “That’s...extreme and—”
“It’s the only thing I can do,” he said, his irritation climbing even higher. “You get to decide what you’re doing, and I get to decide what I’m doing. No use arguing.”
She stared at him and he stared right back, neither speaking. Finally, she nodded and started to roll up her window. He’d taken three full steps when she said, “Wait. Just...wait.”
Dylan paused, pivoted and leveraged his hands on his hips. “Waiting.”
“Can you promise... You’re not an ax murderer or something, are you?”
“No,” he said, choosing not to point out the obvious—most ax murderers didn’t go around warning their would-be victims of their intent. “I find axes rather—” he smiled, more in an effort to put her at ease than from any sense of amusement “—unwieldy as a rule.”
Her eyes widened in shock and she made a half squeal sort of a noise. No more than a second later, she blinked and her lips twitched in an almost grin. Good sign, that. “I see,” she said. “So I don’t have to worry that you’re an ax murderer?”
“Nope,” he said, straight-faced. “I’d rather put my victims in a car with no running heat on a cold, blustery night and wait for them to freeze to death. Far less bloody that way.”
“Less bloody, sure, but not exactly the most expedient plan.” She laughed, but it sounded forced to Dylan’s ears. Nervous, too. “I believe you’re not an ax murderer, but if I were to accept your offer of help...” Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder at her sleeping son. “Are you expecting anything in return? That is, anything from me in return?”
Oh, Lord. He should’ve seen that question coming. Every ounce of irritation fled. He no longer speculated on why Chelsea hadn’t planned ahead well enough to have a place to sleep or what had happened to cause her job to fall through. All he saw was a desperate woman who was petrified she’d have to pay too high a price to keep her son warm.
It was, Dylan realized, far too easy to imagine Haley in such a position, even though she didn’t yet have any children. And it was far too terrifying to consider if a different sort of man had offered his assistance. “All I’m expecting,” he said, meeting Chelsea’s gaze with his own and hoping she’d see his sincerity, “is to feel relief I didn’t leave you and Henry out here on your own. That’s it. That’s all there is to this. I swear.”
He could damn near see the debate raging inside her head, but in the end, she closed her eyes and released another sigh. “Whatever it takes,” she muttered to herself. Then, with eyes wide-open and focused on him, she nodded. “I’ll take you up on your offer, and I’m grateful and appreciative, but—” now she narrowed those gorgeous eyes of hers and the tempo of her speech hardened “—I will warn you that if you try anything at all, I do not find axes too unwieldy. I am, in fact, comfortable with a wide array of weapons. Quite comfortable.”
Meaning she’d kick his butt from here to Denver if he crossed a line. Well, no worries there. He wasn’t that type of man. Never had been, never would be.
But he couldn’t continue to deny his attraction toward her, either. He’d recognized her vulnerability early on, so it wasn’t that alone. Nor was it solely the tough attitude she’d just displayed. Nope, it was the mix of the two that yanked at his heart.
Nah. More appropriate to call that specific recipe in a woman his Achilles’ heel. A combination of traits in the opposite sex that tended to shove his common sense out the window in lieu of more basic, emotional responses. The need to protect, defend, take care of.
Once, so long ago now that it was almost difficult to remember his younger self, he’d married a woman with that same deadly blend of helplessness coated by an edge of steel. For a while, he’d been mesmerized by Elise’s wants and needs and his own desire to protect. He’d fallen for every sob, every shaky breath, every whispered devotion without ever second-guessing her intent. She’d been good. So damn good he hadn’t seen her betrayal coming.
But she’d set her sights on a different type of life than the one she was born into, so she’d used him as a...well, a stepping stone. When something better came along, she’d trounced his heart into smithereens and run off with another man. Pregnant, to boot. Not with his child, as he’d made damn sure of that before signing the divorce decree. But yeah, for Elise, he’d been nothing more than a stopgap. It still hurt, realizing that was all he’d meant to her.
He’d loved and trusted Elise. Her deceptions had left him scarred and vigilant. Smarter, though, too. Truth was, he couldn’t blame Elise for his own stupidity. There had been signs, he was sure, of her manipulations.
If he’d paid more attention, he would’ve recognized those signs, and in doing so, saved himself from a world of pain and humiliation.
So, no. Dylan would never again allow himself to be taken for a ride by a tough-as-nails damsel in distress. No matter how attractive or appealing that woman might be.
He gave himself a mental shake and focused on Chelsea, who was still watching him with cautious eyes and a firm, unyielding mouth. Vulnerable and tough and...scared.
Yep, his Achilles’ heel.
“Got it,” he said, his tone abrupt and cool. “You’re an ace with weaponry of all kinds. Now, if you’re done with the warnings, let’s get the two of you inside where it’s warm. We’ll get your car towed tomorrow and see about getting it fixed.”
He thought for a second she was going to present a whole new slew of arguments. But then she unlocked her door and stepped out. While Chelsea gathered her son, he grabbed the overnight bags she pointed to, along with a patched-up stuffed bear that had seen better days.
And when Henry opened his eyes and asked his mother if they’d found their new fresh start, Dylan’s heart about broke in two. But that feeling would lead him straight into disaster, so he shored up his defenses and promised to keep both mother and son at a distance.
A modest enough promise to stick to for one night.
Helping Chelsea and her son was the right thing to do. No more, no less. Tomorrow, he expected she’d be on her way back to wherever she’d come from. This pull he felt toward her wouldn’t have the opportunity to grow or become problematic.
It would simply disappear.
Chapter Three
Panic and nausea roiled in Chelsea’s stomach as she followed Dylan through the parking lot toward the back of the restaurant. She clutched Henry’s hand tighter—he’d woken the second she’d attempted to lift him into her arms and had insisted on walking—and wished she weren’t so afraid. What type of woman trusted a man’s word when she didn’t even know the man?
Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04) Page 3