Dylan's Daddy Dilemma. Tracy Madison
under the table. Like an inside tent!”
Chuckling, Dylan said, “This used to be the living room. Now it’s a meeting space.” He deposited the overnight bags and Teddy on the large rectangular table before nodding toward the adjoining kitchenette. “There should be water bottles in the fridge, and you’ll probably find some snacks in the cupboard. Nothing fancy, but my family likes to eat.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Chelsea said. “And really, this is so nice—”
“Can we make a fort?” Henry ran over to the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Like that time we didn’t have any beds? Remember, Mommy?”
Heat flooded her face. Of course she remembered. It had been after the fire, and most of what they’d had was too smoke damaged to keep. Months had passed before she’d replaced even half of the items they’d lost. She’d never replaced her bed, but Henry’s she had.
And even that awful set of circumstances had been better than this.
“Yes, Henry, I remember. But I don’t know about building a fort. This isn’t—”
“No reason to, not that forts aren’t fun. But that room over there,” Dylan said, “used to be the bedroom. We’ve turned it into a break room of sorts. There’s a couple of sofas that you two can sleep on, and there should be plenty of blankets and a few pillows in the closet. You’ll have privacy. Bathroom is back there, as well. Make yourself at home.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Chelsea repeated. “This is nice of you. More than nice.”
“Nice is nice. I’m not sure what being more than nice entails.” Dylan shook his head, frustration appearing in the rigid set of his shoulders. “I’m not doing anything that any other decent person wouldn’t.”
“I don’t have that experience,” she said. “Regardless, it’s kind and you could’ve walked away to begin with. You didn’t. You came over to see what the problem was. That alone 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