Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04) (9 page)

“You know why, sweetie,” Chelsea said. “I had a job here, not at Disney World. But wouldn’t that be fun, living in such a place? If we were to move there, where would you want to live? One of the many castles or a pirate ship or...hmm, maybe—”

“A flying carpet!” Henry said. “So we could fly around and around and around. We could go anywhere we wanted, whenever we wanted!”

“True, but I’m not sure if living on a flying carpet is very realistic,” Chelsea said, obviously trying not to laugh. “I mean, where would your bed go? And Teddy might be afraid of heights. I think we should live in a castle. If we ever move to Disney World, that is.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a girl,” Henry said in a poor-you sort of voice. “Where would you live, Dylan? I bet you wouldn’t pick a boring castle.”

“Pirate ship,” Dylan said instantly. “We could still go anywhere we wanted, so long as there was water, and there would be plenty of room for a bed and your toys and Teddy.”

“And cows who give you root beer instead of milk,” Henry said. “Because if we’re at Disney World, anything you wish can be true. Even that. Even boys who don’t have daddies can have a daddy who will play with them. And...and...” Henry inhaled a shaky-sounding breath and stopped talking. A second later, two solid little-boy kicks hit the back of Dylan’s seat.

And he had the sudden urge to pull over so he could turn around and see Henry’s face. Reassure him, somehow. He didn’t, though, because Henry wasn’t his kid and however Chelsea chose to handle this was her call.

“Oh, honey.” Chelsea unbuckled her seat belt and angled her body so she could look at Henry. “Not all boys have daddies. Not all girls, either. And lots of kids don’t have mommies. And not all daddies and mommies play with their kids. But we have each other, right? And we’re doing okay with just us, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “I was just playing pretend. That’s all.”

Dylan eased off the car’s brake and started forward, his thoughts on his own childhood and how fortunate he’d been to have two loving, involved parents. Due to Gavin and his history, and the camp he’d come to Steamboat Springs to start, Dylan had learned a lot about kids without parents and how that absence—without the proper, positive intervention—could negatively impact their entire lives. Chelsea was right. Too many children didn’t have what Dylan and his siblings had grown up taking for granted.

“We can talk more about this later, if you’d like,” Chelsea was saying to Henry. “If you have any new questions or...whatever you want.”

“I know that.” And then he said, “I love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

Chelsea buckled her seat belt and turned toward the passenger-side window, so Dylan couldn’t see her face. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought she was on the verge of tears. And that, along with the yearning he’d so plainly heard in Henry’s voice, made him want to find the man who’d left his son fatherless and punch him square in the jaw. More than once.

Okay. Unfair. He didn’t know what had happened. As far as he knew, Henry’s father wasn’t aware of the boy’s existence. Or maybe—and this was a horrible thought—he’d died. Or hell, he could be in prison or...any one of a thousand other possibilities. None of them good. Some of them sad. Others—if true—would rest fully on Chelsea’s shoulders.

He glanced her way before slowing for another stop. She still stared out the window, her spine ramrod straight, apparently lost in thought. Could she have purposely chosen to raise Henry without a father? Maybe. And, he supposed, there were plenty of damn good reasons a woman might make such a choice. But without knowing the details, it was stupid to speculate.

The facts were, for whatever reason, Henry’s father wasn’t around and the boy wanted a daddy to play with. Well. Dylan might not be Henry’s father, but he could certainly give him a fun-filled morning instead of a general—and to a four-year-old boy, boring as all get-out—tour around Steamboat Springs. Dylan’s initial thoughts were to show Chelsea and Henry some of the sights and, as the day progressed and appropriate moments presented themselves, pepper in a few questions. And hope she’d actually answer one or two.

He could still do that last part. He’d just skip the sightseeing in favor of an actual activity the kid would enjoy. As far as that went, he could plan activities with Henry in mind for the rest of the week. No harm there that Dylan could see. And while it wasn’t his primary reason for changing course, doing so might even prove advantageous—make the boy happy and perhaps Chelsea would relax enough to open up about herself and her past.

And he had the perfect idea in mind.

Instead of going straight, as he’d planned, Dylan took a sharp right-hand turn and less than a mile later, another. The ice rink was directly ahead. “Don’t know where any flying carpets are we can hitch a ride on, but how does ice-skating sound, Henry?”

“Ice-skating? I’ve never gone ice-skating before,” the boy said, his voice regaining its normal level of excitement. “Can you teach me?”

“Oh yeah, I can definitely teach you. Once you learn how, ice-skating feels a lot like flying, because you can go super-duper fast.”

“Did you hear that, Mommy?” Henry all but shouted. “We’re going to fly on the ice today, and Dylan’s gonna teach us how!”

Chelsea laughed and, after answering her son, said quietly to Dylan, “I’m sure this wasn’t your original plan, but thank you. It’s difficult to know how much to say when he talks about daddies. And...well, he’ll love this. I will, too. You’re rather adept at saving the day.”

“No problem,” Dylan said. “And if you’re ever in the sharing mood, I’d like to hear about Henry’s father.” She didn’t respond to that, naturally, and he didn’t ask again. There would be more than enough time to revisit this topic. Later. After he taught a little boy how to fly.

* * *

Seeing as it was a Monday morning, there weren’t many people at the ice rink. A small group of kids—probably around the same age as Henry—were in the middle of a class at one end of the rink, a young woman practiced a series of twirls and jumps in the center, and a few adults skated the length of the rink in a leisurely fashion. Probably a good set of circumstances, as Chelsea hadn’t skated in years. Not since she was a teenager, at least.

And, as Henry had said, he’d never skated before. Therefore, having plenty of room to practice staying upright meant little chance they’d fall smack in the path of another skater. But Chelsea sort of thought a few more people would be a bonus, as the presence of other bodies and voices would go a long way toward defusing the awkwardness that had started in the car when Henry had announced his daddy wish. She hated, and had since day one of Henry’s life, that she couldn’t provide her son with the oh-so-essential element of a father.

Of course, she was also intimately aware that having no father was far better than being crippled with a crappy father. Other than that ridiculous postcard, which hadn’t even mentioned Henry, she hadn’t seen or heard from Joel throughout Henry’s entire existence, and even if she had, her doubts of his fathering ability were about as high as they could go. For both of these reasons, she had to believe that her son was better off in the long run.

Didn’t stop her from wishing she could provide every last thing her son yearned for, including a man worthy of being his daddy. Sighing, she stood just off the ice and watched as Dylan slowly led Henry down the edge of the rink. Dylan skated backward, facing Henry, their hands entwined, while offering encouragement in a soft, patient voice. And Henry...God, her son was captivated, his attention entirely on Dylan and following his instructions.

To anyone else, the scene would look like a father teaching his son to skate. Even to Chelsea, it looked that way, and she knew the truth. But her son was glowing under Dylan’s focused attention, and that caused her some concern. As much as she appreciated the time and consideration Dylan was giving Henry, it wouldn’t last. How could it?

Dylan would eventually tire of playing fix-it to her problems—or she hoped he would, because she didn’t like the idea that his goodwill was based solely on her less-than-ideal circumstances—and he’d go his way while she went hers. And where would that leave Henry then? She didn’t know for sure, but clearly, the fallout wouldn’t be good.

Henry had never had an attentive and caring male figure in his life, and if he was already bonding with Dylan, then the loss would cause a boatload of confusion. And pain. She’d rather be proactive now than try to pick up the pieces of her son’s broken heart later.

Stepping cautiously onto the ice, she skated forward at a snail’s pace until she’d made her way to Dylan and Henry. After sputtering to a stop beside them, she said, “How about giving Mommy a chance, sweetie? I’d like to skate with you, and I think I’m steady enough to keep us both from falling. Want to try?”

“Ah, not to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re barely standing on your own,” Dylan said, giving her a quick once-over. And, at the very second he did, her legs decided to wobble. She caught herself and he tossed her a teasing grin. “Based on that near fall, it looks as if Henry’s in better skating shape. In fact, he’s doing so well, I’d say he’s a natural.”

“Yeah, Mommy. I’m a natural!” Pulling one of his hands free from Dylan’s, Henry raised it above his head as if he were about to go downhill on a roller coaster. “See? Besides that, he’s teaching me how to fly, and I want to fly! Do you know how to fly?”

Well. He had her there. “Can’t say that I do, but it might be fun to learn at the same time, don’t you think?” Ugh. They were already several feet ahead of her. She inched forward again. “That way, once we both know what we’re doing, we can fly together.”

“Now, that
is
a grand idea,” Dylan said as he carefully brought both himself and Henry to an easy, not-stumbling-at-all stop. “Let’s try this. You two stand next to each other and hold hands, and I’ll hold each of your other hands, and we’ll skate around the rink together, as one.”

“Oh. That wasn’t precisely what I meant.” Hold hands with Dylan? In the world of bad choices Chelsea could make right about now, that would have to top the list.

Well, okay, not the very top.

She could think of other, more intimate choices regarding Dylan that would easily take the first few slots. Kissing, as an example. Or...out of nowhere, an image filled her mind of a bare-chested Dylan pressing her tight against his body, his mouth on her neck and her hands on his back. Longing, swift and sure, curled in her belly and stretched through her limbs until every part of her felt hot. And bothered.

Oh, no. No, no, no. She was
not
hot and bothered over Dylan Foster. That image was due to her lack of...well, a sex life. It had been a long dry spell. Too long. Too dry. She was
not
fantasizing over Dylan, per se—it was just her body’s natural need for fulfillment.

Lifting her chin, she went for cool indifference and said, “Thank you for the thought, but I was thinking that learning how to fly should be a mother-and-son experience. One of those once-in-a-lifetime moments. You can watch, though. And direct...from the sidelines.”

“Problem is, I don’t sit on the sidelines all that well,” Dylan said, curiosity and interest lighting his gaze, his tone. Almost as if he’d stepped into her brain and had witnessed the imaginary scene for himself. “But if you’d rather that’s what I do, I won’t insist otherwise.”

“Yes, I would rather—”

“I want to try it Dylan’s way,” Henry piped in. “Because he brought us here and he’s...he’s my friend.” The boy tipped his head to look at Dylan. When he spoke, it was with innocent, unadulterated hope. “You are my friend, aren’t you?”

And there went Chelsea’s heart, straight to her toes. She wanted to leap in, to corral this moment in such a way to protect her son. In case Dylan didn’t understand the significance of the question, of the yearning that fed it, and responded in too frivolous a manner. But she didn’t. Couldn’t, really. She was silenced by the expression on Dylan’s face.

He looked...undone. As if whatever threads he held himself together with had all unraveled at once. Due to a question posed by a four-year-old. By
her
four-year-old.

“Henry,” Dylan said, his voice harboring a plethora of emotion Chelsea couldn’t begin to pull apart. Humility was in there, though. Along with...awe? “I would be most honored if we were friends.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Henry’s face scrunched into a mask of confusion and worry. “Does that mean you are my friend or you’re not?”

Without any hesitation, Dylan knelt in front of Henry and grasped both of the boy’s hands. “Yes, I am your friend. I hope that means you’re my friend, as well? I could use someone like you on my side, you know. Good friends are hard to come by.”

Henry nodded. “’Course I’m your friend. I have been since you stopped my mommy from crying. Only I didn’t know if you were mine. Mommy says if you don’t know something you should always ask, so I asked. And now I know.” Then he looked at Chelsea and gave her that smile she loved so much. “Can we learn to fly now? Please?”

“Yes,” she said, praying her voice didn’t betray how close she was to tears. “We can learn to fly, and we’ll do it Dylan’s way. Since we’re celebrating a new friendship.”

Dylan rose to a stand and held out his right hand toward her. Well, she couldn’t refuse. Not now. So she swallowed away her nerves and put her hand in his. Skin touched skin and his warmth, his strength, bled into her in a slow, sure, satisfying sort of way that brought to mind carefree days spent soaking in the heat of the sun.

His eyes found hers, and there she saw another type of heat.

Uh-oh. She better be careful, because that look right there would unravel
her
threads. Every last one of them, kinks and knots and all.

“Ready for this?” he asked.

Unsure if she was imagining the double entendre, she answered the obvious meaning behind his question, and not the one simmering in her brain. In her heart. “For the ice-skating lesson?” She reached for Henry’s hand with her free one and breathed in a head-clearing dose of oxygen. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she all but chirped.