Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04) (11 page)

“Because you don’t need him anymore, right? You have me.”

“That’s right.”

“But what about when I grow all up and go away?”

“Well, I think that’s something you shouldn’t worry about,” Chelsea said quietly. “I’d rather you think about what makes you happy. Okay?”

“And if I ’cide something would make me happy that I don’t have, then what?” Henry dropped his gaze to his hands, which were holding his almost-empty cup of cocoa.

“Then, so long as what you want won’t hurt someone else, you should do your best to get it. And if you let me in on what will make you happy, I can help you.” Chelsea reached across the table and stroked her son’s arm. “That’s what moms are for, kiddo.”

Throughout the mother-and-son exchange, Dylan had listened with curiosity and interest—and yeah, quite a lot of annoyance toward Uncle Kirk—but he’d held his tongue. What they discussed seemed too serious, private and personal for him to interrupt. And as he’d listened, his heart took a rather substantial lead over his brain.

Because, dammit all, Dylan was beginning to think that Gavin had been right yesterday morning and that he did want more in his life than he currently had. Something of...meaning.

And he had a sneaking suspicion that what he wanted, what would make him the most content, were the two people sitting at this table with him. He’d even had the ridiculous thought that he’d like to give them many happy moments for Grandmother Sophia to watch from the clouds. Dylan didn’t understand how any of those thoughts were possible.

He wasn’t his sister, who swore up and down and side to side that her heart had recognized Gavin almost instantly. And he wasn’t his brothers, who’d all but moved heaven and earth in the name of love, while knowing full well the heartache that awaited them if they failed.

No. He was not his siblings.

But he just might have a helluva lot more in common with them than he’d thought. A prospect that did not sit well with him. Ever since his marriage to Elise, he’d preferred sane, rational, predictable behavior. He preferred analyzing the lay of the land before taking so much as a solitary step in a different, uncharted direction. And he did not go for spontaneous gestures or letting his emotions dictate his behavior.

Until Chelsea and Henry, these
rules
of his had done the trick. But this woman and her child made him want to shed his hardened skin and revert to his prior self. And the merest possibility of giving in to that temptation seemed, at once, compelling and terrifying.

So what was he supposed to do?

With a sharp inhale, he weighed the almighty logic against the inane but also powerful instinct raging inside. Chelsea and Henry were not his to claim, even if his heart demanded he find a way to do just that, no matter how long it might take. His brain, however, wouldn’t allow him to abandon everything he’d learned to go freely down that path. Yet after today, he had a hunch that he’d drive himself ten kinds of crazy if he tried to fully ignore either his brain or his heart in favor of the other. One was too adamant, the other too ingrained.

So he supposed he’d have to skirt the middle. Stay open enough to see where this instinct of his took him while keeping just enough distance to ensure he didn’t fall too hard, too fast, only to end up kicking himself for making the same mistake twice.

Fine. He’d bend a little. He’d allow the opportunity for something good—something
more
and
meaningful
—to occur, but on his terms. The very second he recognized a problem that couldn’t be logically explained and then dismissed, he’d put the kibosh on the whole damn deal and return to telling his heart to butt out and leave him alone.

One chance. That was all he had in him. Just one.

* * *

“’Night, Henry. Sleep tight.” Chelsea kissed her son on his forehead, tucked his blankets in around his body and handed him a flashlight. “Say hi to the love bugs for me.”

“I don’t want those love bugs. You can have them!”

“Oh, the love bugs are all for you!” She tickled him until he laughed and then made her way to the door. Right before switching off the light, she said, “Don’t stay up too late playing shadow puppets. Dylan will be here in the morning.”

She’d tried—oh, how she’d tried—to get out of their spending a second day with him, but in the end, she’d failed. Dylan’s insistence combined with Henry’s enthusiasm over the idea had won out. And honestly, she couldn’t claim that the hours spent together had been awful.

She’d enjoyed herself. Far more than she’d expected, but her concerns over Henry bonding too quickly, too tightly with a man who had no reason to stick around hadn’t abated. Without asking, she already knew that Henry was smitten, and she could probably guess why.

Her little boy was likely seeing Dylan as a daddy figure, and she had no clue how to handle such a situation without hurting Henry. If she refused to let him spend time with Dylan, he’d be hurt and sad and confused. If she let this continue and Dylan let Henry down, her son would still be hurt and sad and confused. The only good outcome was if Dylan remained a positive presence in Henry’s life, and the possibility of that seemed unlikely.

Releasing a sigh, she closed Henry’s door and went to her bedroom. Before visiting with Gavin and Haley, she needed to call her sister. Lindsay had the address for the house Chelsea had thought she’d be living in for the next many months, and while her sister didn’t send letters often, she just might decide to do so.

Lindsay remained the one family member Chelsea had any contact with. Her relationship with her parents was nonexistent, and no, she couldn’t claim to like them, but she would want to know if something happened to them. Four years later, and she was still shocked, still hurt, that they’d decided to disown her because she wouldn’t let them raise
her
son.

It remained just as ridiculous today as it was then.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Chelsea dialed her sister’s phone number and mentally crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t have to talk to Kirk. She didn’t, as it was her sister who answered on the second ring. “Is this a good time for you?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” Lindsay said. “Kirk is in the shower, and even if he wasn’t, I’m allowed to talk to my sister. I know he hasn’t always been kind to you, but he isn’t a monster.”

“Not a monster, no.” Monsterish enough, so far as Chelsea was concerned, with his needy, immature and controlling behavior. She didn’t say any of those things, of course, as she had before. To deaf ears. Brightening her voice, she said, “We’re here, but our circumstances have changed. Let me give you our new address.”

The sisters chatted about Steamboat Springs and Chelsea’s job, but not for too long. It was nice, though, hearing her sister’s voice and maintaining their connection, as slim as it was. After promising she’d call again in a few weeks, Chelsea hung up.

She had yet to decide if Lindsay truly didn’t see her husband as he was or if she refused to admit so aloud, because if she did, she’d then have to do something about it. Strange, how they’d both grown up in the same household and yet saw the world around them so differently.

Well. Lindsay had been closer to their parents’ ideal than Chelsea. That could be part of the reason. And, if she were to be honest, once upon a time, they weren’t quite so different.

Joel was partially cut from the same cloth as Kirk, as her father. Not the yelling, controlling portion, but the selfish life-is-all-about-me portion. And while Chelsea hadn’t recognized the depth of his self-involvement when she was embroiled in their relationship, she eventually had. Maybe all Lindsay needed was more time to get to the same place Chelsea had.

It was a hopeful thought. And one Chelsea prayed would come to pass, but after many attempts to get through to her sister, she’d realized that Lindsay’s life wasn’t her responsibility. There was only so much she could do. She’d be there for her, if and when Lindsay reached out. Until then, Chelsea had more than enough on her plate to worry about.

Such as the man she had to spend tomorrow with. The same man, who, due to a little boy’s words, had completely come undone in front of her today.

Chapter Nine

“W
here are we going, Dylan?” Henry asked from the backseat of Dylan’s car on Saturday morning. Chelsea was surprised he’d waited this long, as they’d already been on the road for close to ten minutes. “I bet it will be somewhere fun!”

“You bet, huh?” Chelsea said, pivoting slightly in her seat so she could see her son. “Maybe not. Maybe we’re headed to the mall so we can shop for clothes. For you!”

Henry scowled for about two seconds before giving his head a decisive shake. “Uh-uh, and no way! I don’t want to do that and Dylan won’t want to, either!”

Dylan chuckled while he drove. “Well,” he said, “I did have other plans for us, but if your mom thinks you need clothes, I don’t mind changing them.”

Chelsea winked at Henry to let him in on the joke.

“You guys are silly and I don’t believe you at all!” he said, laughing. “Tell me where we’re going, Dylan. Pretty please? Ice flying again? Or the movies? Or something new?”

“Something new, but it’s a surprise. And on a different scale than anything else we’ve done this week. Overall, it...ah...should be enjoyable.” He then lowered his voice, making it seem as if he were mumbling to himself, and said, “I hope so, anyway.”

“Mommy? Tell me!”

“I don’t know, sweetie. I have no idea what’s on Dylan’s agenda.”

But if she had to guess, she would assume the same as Henry—somewhere fun. For the past five days, Dylan had hit it out of the ballpark with one childcentric activity after another. She’d tried to dissuade him on Tuesday and Wednesday, but by Thursday she’d stopped fighting so hard. For Henry’s sake. This might be the only experience he would ever have that would remotely resemble a father-son type of relationship.

Even with her concerns—all valid and sensible—she couldn’t bring herself to yank the rug out from under Henry’s feet. Not yet. Not unless she had no choice.

“You really don’t know?” Henry asked, his doubt ringing loud and clear.

“No, baby, I really don’t.” Facing front again, Chelsea tried to think about anything other than how ridiculously sexy Dylan looked in his plain, not-fancy-at-all long-sleeved charcoal-gray thermal jersey and so-dark-they-were-almost-black gray denim jeans. It wasn’t the clothes so much as the man himself. He just had that strong, capable, all-male look going for him.

She was finding it increasingly difficult not to pay attention to the details of his body. It was both annoying and liberating. Annoying because she didn’t want Dylan to have such an effect on her. Liberating because...well, her entire focus had been on Henry and making ends meet for so long, she’d—somewhere along the way—forgotten what it felt like to be a girl.

As in a spray-on-perfume, shave-her-legs, do-her-nails, primp-and-feel-good-about-how-she-looked girl. Oh, she always took care with her appearance, but she hadn’t
really
cared. She’d gone through the motions. But this week, she’d suddenly started caring again.

That didn’t mean she appreciated her intense reaction to Dylan. Or how she seemed to pick up on something different every time she so much as glanced in his direction.

Like the way the sun turned his hair from a warm medium brown to a lustrous mix of coppery shades. Or how his eyes would go from green to brown to somewhere in between in the snap of a finger, depending on the conversation, the lighting or, she guessed, his mood. Or how when he became focused on one thing or another that muscle in his jaw would start twitching. That twitch had just about hypnotized her more than once already.

Long, strong legs. A firm set of shoulders. Narrow hips and a trim waist. Oh, but his hands... She might love the look of his hands the most. Also strong. Also capable. And perfect for any number of uses. Mixing drinks, obviously. But she imagined those hands would be equally as adept at cutting down a tree or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, playing with a puppy.

Or...eliciting moans of passion, of pleas for more, from a woman. From her.

Forcing her thoughts to return to reality, she visualized a cold bucket of water drenching her clear to the skin. Not as good as an actual bucket of cold water, but it worked well enough.

When she’d regained some semblance of normalcy, she asked Dylan quietly, “Okay, you can tell me. Where are we going?”

“I suppose I could, but I’m not going to,” Dylan said with a sidelong grin. “Be patient. We’ll be there soon enough, and then I’ll let you in on how we’re spending the next few hours.”

“You aren’t going to buy something expensive that you think I need, are you?” She was mostly joking, but not all the way. She hadn’t quite decided why Dylan was spending so much of his time with her and Henry. “Like a car or...a present for Henry?”

He laughed. A robust, rich, warm sound of pleasure. Great. Just another piece of the freaking Dylan Foster puzzle for her to fantasize about, because that laugh? Amazing. Sexy. Beautiful. Which, in Chelsea’s mind, also equaled annoying.

“No,” he said after he managed to squelch his laughter. “My plan for the day is not buying you a car, but I wonder...would you accept if I did?”

“Only if it came with a trunk that was loaded with diamonds and gold nuggets,” she quipped. “And even then, I wouldn’t want or need the car. Just the loot.”

“Diamonds are for girls to get married with,” Henry said, showing how often he paid attention, even when he was quiet. “Haley showed me her ’gagement ring from Gavin and told me that he gave it to her in a big balloon in the sky. ’Cause he wanted her to marry him, but I didn’t see any gold nuggets.”

“Haley has a beautiful ring, and I’m glad she told you that story.” Absently, Chelsea rubbed her ring finger. She’d never had an engagement ring. She’d never had a man love her enough to want to propose. Which was fine. Perfectly fine, even.

“Do all ’gagement rings have to have diamonds?” Henry asked. “And is it always the boy who asks the girl to be married? And how did Gavin take Haley in a big balloon in the sky? Where did they sit? And how big of a balloon was it? And—”

“Lots of engagement rings have diamonds,” Chelsea said before Henry could ask ten more questions she wouldn’t remember by the time she answered the first set. “But not all of them do, and they can have any type of gem or no gems at all. The man usually asks the woman to get married, but the woman can ask, too. It’s about knowing you love the other person and deciding that you want to be their family, and that you want them to be yours.” She pulled in a breath. What else? Oh. “And I’m guessing the big balloon in the sky was a hot-air balloon. They’re really, really big. And they have a basket under the balloon that people stand in.”

“And they go up high in the sky? Like with the clouds?”

“Yes, they do.”

“If we went in one, would we be able to see Great-grandma watching us?”

Oh. Jeez. How to answer? “Sweetie, we wouldn’t be able to see her, but we might be able to feel her love. We can do that from the ground, too.”

“So she can’t ever really be a part of our family, can she?”

Chelsea swallowed past the lump in her throat and pressed her fingertips to her cheeks, trying to stop the tears that were building behind her eyes. Her son yearned for more of a family than just the two of them. She understood. Her heart ached with how well she understood.

“Not in the way we’d like, sweetie, no.” Dammit. Her voice sounded thick, heavy with emotion. “But...that’s why I talk about her so much. I miss her. And I know she would have loved to have really known you. She...would’ve taught you to bake, just like she taught me.”

It was her grandmother Sophia who’d given her Teddy. It was Sophia who’d stood up to Chelsea’s father and told him he was a bully, with the way he yelled and criticized his children. Sophia had been her ally. She’d died when Chelsea was in junior high school, and not a single day had passed since that she hadn’t thought of her.

“I think that’s sad, Mommy,” Henry said. “And not fair at all.”

“I agree. It is sad, and no, it isn’t fair when we lose the people we love.” Wiping her eyes again, Chelsea tried to think of something happy and bright and beautiful. All that was in her mind, though, was Sophia. “I’m sorry, Henry. I wish you could’ve known her.”

Her son didn’t respond, and Chelsea stared out the window. Hopefully, whatever Dylan had planned would lift Henry’s spirits.

“Tell me about Sophia,” Dylan said softly. “Introduce her to me.”

“What do you mean, introduce her to you?”

“If you were bringing her to my house to meet me, what would I need to know?”

“Oh. Well, I’d tell you to have gingersnap cookies on hand, because they were one of her favorite treats. The boxed ones, mind you.”

“Wait a minute. Your amazing baker of a grandmother preferred boxed cookies to baking them herself?” Dylan slowed at a corner and turned into a residential neighborhood. “That’s kind of funny. And endearing.”

“Only gingersnaps, but yes. She used to keep a box under her bed, so if she woke up at night hungry she wouldn’t have to go to the kitchen.” Chelsea sighed, remembering sleepovers where she and Sophia had sat in bed and munched on cookies, talking. And how Sophia would promise her that someday she wouldn’t be so unhappy. That someday she’d be able to move out of her parents’ house and wouldn’t have to deal with her dad’s anger issues ever again.

Dylan slowed down and pulled into the driveway of a blue-and-white-painted gingerbread-style house. Fitting, with all the talk about Sophia’s gingersnaps, and Chelsea thought the house was lovely. She just couldn’t imagine what they were doing here. Maybe a friend of Dylan’s had children around Henry’s age and this was a playdate of sorts?

“Before you ask, this is Reid and Daisy’s home.” Dylan turned off the ignition and pocketed his keys. “And—don’t get mad at me—but we’re here to babysit. Reid mentioned that he wanted to give Daisy a break. I volunteered our services.” He flashed her a sweet-as-pie grin. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course not. But you’re sure Reid and Daisy are okay with me helping? And Henry hasn’t spent much time with babies.”

“Pretty sure Reid and Daisy trust me enough to know I wouldn’t bring someone into their home they’d have an issue with, and I’ve thought of Henry.” Swiveling in his seat to look at Henry, Dylan said, “Daisy has a couple of nieces who come over all the time, so they have toys. And they have a slide and a swing set in their backyard. Think you’ll have fun?”

“Prolly,” Henry said. “But what if I want to play with the babies?”

“They’re still too little to really play with,” Dylan said. “But you can talk to them, and they seem to like to smile a lot, and they’re awfully cute when they do.”

“Okay,” Henry said, happy with the prospect. “Let’s do it!”

Chelsea opened her door, ready to set Henry free from his safety seat, when Dylan leaned in close—so close she could smell the clean scent of the shampoo he’d used that morning—and said, “Your son rocks.”

Such a simple statement, but pleasure that someone else—that
Dylan
—had noticed the awesomeness of her son made her smile. “He was born that way. Seriously.”

“Ah...maybe,” Dylan said, his breath tickling her ear. And just like the touch of his hand on hers the other day, a feeling of warmth, of satisfaction, poured into her. “But I think you can claim a large portion of the credit. And I think you should. Don’t sell yourself short, Chelsea.”

“I...um... Thank you.” If she moved her head ever so slightly, his lips would be right there, in kissable range. Another saturating wash of warmth coated her skin, born from embarrassment and maybe some shyness at the concept. Anticipation lived there, too, and she had the thought that if Henry wasn’t in the backseat, she might go for it. Just to see who would kiss whom. “We should go,” she said. “Before your brother wonders what we’re doing.”

“Oh, I’m guessing he’d be able to figure that one out.”

Chelsea’s butterflies returned with a vengeance and her skin tingled with desire. Did that mean Dylan’s thoughts had mirrored hers? Or was she reading too much into his words?

The latter, probably, since the reason he’d leaned in so close was to praise Henry and not to tell her she looked beautiful or that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her or...well, any other wooing type of compliment. He liked her son, and that was that.

Within a matter of minutes, the three were walking toward the house’s entrance. The door swung open, and the same red-haired woman Chelsea had seen in the photograph on Haley’s mantel stood there with one of the babies in her arms.

“You are an angel,” she said to Dylan. “And you’ve brought two more angels with you. Thank you for doing this today.”

“Welcome, Daisy,” Dylan said, reaching the porch. He gave her a chaste, brotherly kiss on her cheek. “And in case you haven’t figured it out, this bouncy boy right here is Henry, and this—” he nodded toward Chelsea “—is his mother, Chelsea.”

“Nice to meet you guys. Come on in.” She stepped back so everyone could enter. “Reid is changing Alexander, and I just changed Charlotte. Both are fed and should be tired enough to go down for naps soon. If you’re lucky, they’ll sleep most of the time we’re gone.”

Chelsea smiled. “I wouldn’t mind if they stayed awake.”

“Shh. Be careful what you wish for,” Daisy said with a gentle laugh. “Or be more specific. One at a time is easy enough, but when they both get going...it can get chaotic fast.”

Daisy led them into the living room, which was painted a deep ocean blue. The shade was dark enough to avoid the description of
vivid
, while still emanating warmth and richness. That, along with the medium earthy-brown hue coating the baseboards and crown molding, gave the space a tranquil, stylish air. However, the sturdy, simple furnishings—the wood-framed sofa and chairs with plump, colorful cushions, the extralarge flat-screen television, unique decorative accents and, naturally, various baby paraphernalia, including two baby swings—added coziness and livability. It was, Chelsea thought, a room to relax in.

Henry beelined for the small crate of toys he’d spied sitting on top of the coffee table, skidded to a stop and glanced at Daisy. “Can I play with these toys?” he asked, pleasing Chelsea with his manners. He didn’t always remember. “Or are they only for the babies?”