“You should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day. For both of us.”
Chelsea opened her mouth as if to say more, but closed it just as fast. Another visible tremble swept through her slender body before she disappeared behind the safety of her closed door. Dylan stood there and tried—oh, he tried—not to make her and her son his responsibility.
Because nothing had changed there, either. They weren’t.
She was in a tough predicament, yes, but she had refused his help. That should be enough to allow him to walk away without feeling any residual guilt. He couldn’t, though.
Just couldn’t.
Swearing quietly, he finished off his water and tossed the empty bottle into the trash. He’d see what he could do about giving Chelsea and Henry Bell their new “fresh start,” but without her knowledge. And once they were adequately settled, he’d put both of them out of his head and wipe his hands of the whole ordeal.
Before his Foster DNA kicked in again and had him doing something even more insane. Like falling in love with both mother and son. Nope. That couldn’t happen.
Wouldn’t. Happen. No way in hell.
* * *
The Colorado Fosters: They’d do anything for each other … and for love!
Dylan’s Daddy Dilemma
Tracy Madison
TRACY MADISON is an award-winning author who makes her home in northwestern Ohio. As a wife and a mother, her days are filled with love, laughter and many cups of coffee. She often spends her nights awake and at the keyboard, bringing her characters to life and leading them toward their well-deserved happily-ever-afters, one word at a time. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at [email protected].
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To my darling, sweet Arabella, whose smile outshines the sun.
Contents
Now what? Defeated and drained, Chelsea Bell tugged on her four-year-old son’s hand and led them toward the battered, almost-out-of-gas Chevy Malibu that had brought them the 260-plus miles from Pueblo to Steamboat Springs, Colorado.
Henry didn’t ask why they were returning to the car, just shuffled alongside her, his spare body bowed against the chilly wind. Surprising, really, when just minutes ago she’d promised that they were done driving for a while, and that this beautiful A-frame house with its amazing mountain views was their new—albeit, temporary—home.
The house-sitting job had been exactly what she needed for a fresh start. A roof over their heads and decent pay for close to five months meant she’d have plenty of time to locate permanent employment and a small, affordable place to live when the seasonal gig ended in September. Unfortunately, seconds after knocking on the front door, she’d learned that they’d come all this way for nothing. The job was gone, given to someone else.
A solid portion of bad luck, timing and her own poor judgment were to blame.
First, her car had malfunctioned, requiring last-minute repairs the mechanic had deemed nothing more than Band-Aids. He’d strongly suggested she junk the car and put her money toward something newer. Of course, she couldn’t afford newer, so she’d gone with the short-term fix and used a chunk of her not-so-healthy savings in the process.
Then Henry had awakened with the flu on the day they were supposed to leave, delaying them further. She’d called her would-be employers twice before her pay-as-you-go phone had run out of minutes, had left messages but hadn’t actually spoken with them. And seeing how she’d spent so much to fix her car and didn’t trust it wouldn’t break down again, she’d decided to conserve her drastically dwindling funds rather than adding more minutes.
She