Dylan's Daddy Dilemma

“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 isn’t necessary.”

“Nope, it isn’t. But it’s what we do.” And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away before he could offer her a free meal to boot. Because dammit, that was what he wanted to do, and the want made no sense. He did not swoop in to save damsels in distress. Not anymore. Not for a long, long time. Besides which, maybe she really wasn’t that hungry or in a jam.

Maybe, for once, he’d completely misinterpreted the signals.

* * *

“This is so good,” Henry said, dipping the very last French fry into a shallow bowl of ranch dressing. “I like our fresh start so far.” Squinting his eyes, he quickly revised his statement by saying “Now that we’re done driving, I mean.”

“We are definitely done driving, sweetheart.” Chelsea tore off a piece of bread and chewed it slowly. She had been hungry, but Henry’s meal, her coffee, plus the tip was already more than she could afford. So despite her earlier refusal, she was grateful for the bread.

Oh, they still had half a jar of peanut bar and a loaf of bread in the car, along with packages of crackers and cereal bars and a few juice boxes. She wouldn’t have actually starved without the bread basket, but she likely wouldn’t have allowed herself to dip into their food supply again until the morning. After all, she didn’t know how long it would have to last.

While Henry had eaten his burger, she’d gathered the stray dollars from her coat pocket and the loose change from the bottom of her purse. Now, at least, she had a total. They had forty-seven dollars and seventy-two cents to work with. That was it. And when she paid their bill here, she’d have thirty-seven dollars and twenty-two cents left.

She might have to swallow her pride and reach out for help. Her choices were few. Lindsay, maybe, if Chelsea could contact her sister without her husband’s knowledge. Risky, though. Kirk was a carbon copy of their father—a guy who believed women existed for the sole purpose of doing a man’s bidding—and he controlled nearly every aspect of Lindsay’s life. Because Chelsea recognized this about Kirk and had attempted to talk her sister out of marrying him, Kirk did everything possible to keep the sisters apart.

Mostly, he’d managed to do so. For whatever reason, her sister refused to see the truth. Even so, she loved Chelsea. She’d send whatever money she could, but Chelsea did not want to cause more problems. Better for everyone involved if she kept her sister out of this mess.

That left Melissa. A friend, but not a close one. Chelsea’s fault, as she never allowed anyone to get too close, but Melissa had always been kind. They’d both worked as waitresses, usually on the same shift at an all-night diner, and less than two weeks ago, Melissa had hugged Chelsea and asked her to keep in touch. A kind woman, yes, but how could she ask for assistance from another single mother who was already fighting to make ends meet?

Melissa would likely try to help, but knowing her circumstances meant that Chelsea shouldn’t ask. Sighing, she shook her head. No, it meant she wouldn’t. The decision had zip to do with pride. She’d gotten herself into this situation; she’d have to find a path through to the other side. Without calling on her sister or Melissa.

And that put her exactly where she’d started, where she’d purposely put herself time and again: alone. Without a safety net or a solitary person to lean on, or even a plan B.

For the first time in a long while, Chelsea wished she hadn’t built such a solid, impenetrable wall around herself and that she’d let one trustworthy person into her life. The problem, she knew, was in order to determine if a person was trustworthy, you first had to risk that they weren’t. Which then allowed them close enough access to cause some serious damage.

In her experience, the risk had never paid off. But if she’d been luckier, and if such a person existed in her life, maybe she wouldn’t feel so inadequate and alone right now.

Desperation clawed in Chelsea’s stomach. Her only true priority for the past four and a half years had been Henry. Every decision she made had his best interests at heart and now...well, she’d failed at keeping her son safe. And unless she could find a motel in Steamboat Springs that only charged ten dollars for a night’s stay, they’d be sleeping in the car.

Oh, God. No. Just...no.

Instructing herself to breathe, to calm the churning panic so she could think without emotion, she focused straight ahead and saw the man who’d brought them their menus.

Tall and lithely muscular, he worked the bar with an ease that spoke of years of experience. Somehow, watching his quick, seemingly effortless movements softened the tightness in her chest. It was a reprieve of sorts, so she continued to watch as he prepared and delivered drinks, as he smiled and chatted and sometimes laughed to those he served. She envied him and his obvious comfort in his surroundings. In his life.

When had she last felt such a sense of security and acceptance?

Not since her grandmother Sophia had passed when she was thirteen. Before then, Sophia had been Chelsea’s refuge, her home and her haven. From her parents, her sadness, her...well, just about everything else back then. But Sophia couldn’t help her now.

In that second, Chelsea came to the conclusion that she would never be in this position again. No matter what it took. No matter what she had to do. And the first order of business was securing a safe, warm place for her and Henry to sleep for the night. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, she would scour the entire city until she found a job.

Any job, really. Anything that would get her from this point to the next.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Henry. “Just sit tight.”

“Where are you going?” He stopped playing with his straw and sat up straight, worry dotting his expression. “I want to come with you.”

“I know, but if you wait here, we won’t lose our table.” True, perhaps, but that wasn’t Chelsea’s concern. She didn’t want her son to know how desperate a position they were in. “I’m going up there,” she said, pointing in the direction of the bar. “We’ll be able to see each other the entire time. I won’t be long, and if you get nervous, you can come to me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed after a momentary pause.

Leaning over, she gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head. Then, with hopes of a miracle, she approached the well-polished vintage oak bar. Again, she focused on the bartender, on his relaxed smile and his easy, almost graceful, movements. If a cheap—okay, almost free—motel existed in Steamboat Springs, he’d surely know of it, and if she were very lucky, he might have some ideas about possible job openings in the area.

Humiliating to ask for any type of help whatsoever—even basic advice—from a stranger. She’d have to tell him some version of the truth, maybe even admit she’d failed, otherwise he wouldn’t understand her dilemma. And if he didn’t understand, why would he bother himself with giving her anything more than pat answers?

All of this seemed too much, too overwhelming, and she almost retreated. Almost. But her earlier promise to do whatever it took strengthened her resolve. She marched forward and readied the words she’d have to say.

Because really, what else was she to do?

Chapter Two (#ulink_70eecb96-737d-5215-9c69-b11f26183653)

The weight of her gaze struck him a millisecond before the sound of her voice, causing Dylan to overfill the pilsner. Frustrated with himself, he poured off some of the foam and wiped the side of the glass with the rag tucked into the waistband of his apron.

Would this night ever come to an end? He’d been off balance for the past hour, ever since handing the menus to the brunette and her kid. Not only did the out-of-character behavior hold zero logic, but it was annoying as hell. He didn’t appreciate having his head filled with curiosity and concern for absolute strangers. No matter how cute they were.

“Excuse me?” the brunette said again, louder this time, as he turned in her direction. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? About—”

“Kind of busy at the moment,” he said, a tad more bluntly than he’d anticipated. Chagrined, he forced a smile. “But sure. Just give me a minute.”

“Of course,” she said. “No problem.”

A solid ten minutes later, after he’d delivered the beer and two others, paused to chat with the blonde—who was now on her fourth shooter, but at least she’d taken to sipping instead of gulping—and cleaned up a couple of spills, he returned to where the brunette waited.

She stood in such a way that she could watch both her boy and Dylan, and therefore, she saw him coming. “I can see you’re busy,” she said when he stopped in front of her. “And I’m sorry to bother you, but I need...well, some advice. I’m guessing you’re from around here?”

“No bother, and that I am,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

A rosy blush colored her cheeks, easily visible even in the dim lighting. “We just got here today, and it was supposed to be for a job. It...um... The job fell through. So, I’m wondering if you can direct me to a motel that isn’t too pricey? We’re not picky.”

Prickly dots of tension appeared between Dylan’s shoulder blades. He found no pleasure in hearing his assumptions were right on the money, but he choked down the questions her statement raised. Namely, why come for a job—whether it fell through or not—without having a place to stay? Seemed foolish and shortsighted, especially with a child to consider.