Dylan's Daddy Dilemma. Tracy Madison

morning.”

      “That’s—” He clamped his jaw shut before uttering the word idiotic. She was, after all, only trying to remain safe. She wasn’t going to budge and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave her and her kid out here alone, vulnerable to the weather and other unpredictable, possibly dangerous, factors. “All righty, then. You win,” he said, settling on the one remaining, uncomfortable-as-all-get-out alternative and pointing toward his parked car on the other side of the lot. “If you won’t come with me, then I guess I’m bunking in my car, as well. I’ll just bring it over here.”

      “You can’t do that,” Chelsea said. “That’s...extreme and—”

      “It’s the only thing I can do,” he said, his irritation climbing even higher. “You get to decide what you’re doing, and I get to decide what I’m doing. No use arguing.”

      She stared at him and he stared right back, neither speaking. Finally, she nodded and started to roll up her window. He’d taken three full steps when she said, “Wait. Just...wait.”

      Dylan paused, pivoted and leveraged his hands on his hips. “Waiting.”

      “Can you promise... You’re not an ax murderer or something, are you?”

      “No,” he said, choosing not to point out the obvious—most ax murderers didn’t go around warning their would-be victims of their intent. “I find axes rather—” he smiled, more in an effort to put her at ease than from any sense of amusement “—unwieldy as a rule.”

      Her eyes widened in shock and she made a half squeal sort of a noise. No more than a second later, she blinked and her lips twitched in an almost grin. Good sign, that. “I see,” she said. “So I don’t have to worry that you’re an ax murderer?”

      “Nope,” he said, straight-faced. “I’d rather put my victims in a car with no running heat on a cold, blustery night and wait for them to freeze to death. Far less bloody that way.”

      “Less bloody, sure, but not exactly the most expedient plan.” She laughed, but it sounded forced to Dylan’s ears. Nervous, too. “I believe you’re not an ax murderer, but if I were to accept your offer of help...” Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder at her sleeping son. “Are you expecting anything in return? That is, anything from me in return?”

      Oh, Lord. He should’ve seen that question coming. Every ounce of irritation fled. He no longer speculated on why Chelsea hadn’t planned ahead well enough to have a place to sleep or what had happened to cause her job to fall through. All he saw was a desperate woman who was petrified she’d have to pay too high a price to keep her son warm.

      It was, Dylan realized, far too easy to imagine Haley in such a position, even though she didn’t yet have any children. And it was far too terrifying to consider if a different sort of man had offered his assistance. “All I’m expecting,” he said, meeting Chelsea’s gaze with his own and hoping she’d see his sincerity, “is to feel relief I didn’t leave you and Henry out here on your own. That’s it. That’s all there is to this. I swear.”

      He could damn near see the debate raging inside her head, but in the end, she closed her eyes and released another sigh. “Whatever it takes,” she muttered to herself. Then, with eyes wide-open and focused on him, she nodded. “I’ll take you up on your offer, and I’m grateful and appreciative, but—” now she narrowed those gorgeous eyes of hers and the tempo of her speech hardened “—I will warn you that if you try anything at all, I do not find axes too unwieldy. I am, in fact, comfortable with a wide array of weapons. Quite comfortable.”

      Meaning she’d kick his butt from here to Denver if he crossed a line. Well, no worries there. He wasn’t that type of man. Never had been, never would be.

      But he couldn’t continue to deny his attraction toward her, either. He’d recognized her vulnerability early on, so it wasn’t that alone. Nor was it solely the tough attitude she’d just displayed. Nope, it was the mix of the two that yanked at his heart.

      Nah. More appropriate to call that specific recipe in a woman his Achilles’ heel. A combination of traits in the opposite sex that tended to shove his common sense out the window in lieu of more basic, emotional responses. The need to protect, defend, take care of.

      Once, so long ago now that it was almost difficult to remember his younger self, he’d married a woman with that same deadly blend of helplessness coated by an edge of steel. For a while, he’d been mesmerized by Elise’s wants and needs and his own desire to protect. He’d fallen for every sob, every shaky breath, every whispered devotion without ever second-guessing her intent. She’d been good. So damn good he hadn’t seen her betrayal coming.

      But she’d set her sights on a different type of life than the one she was born into, so she’d used him as a...well, a stepping stone. When something better came along, she’d trounced his heart into smithereens and run off with another man. Pregnant, to boot. Not with his child, as he’d made damn sure of that before signing the divorce decree. But yeah, for Elise, he’d been nothing more than a stopgap. It still hurt, realizing that was all he’d meant to her.

      He’d loved and trusted Elise. Her deceptions had left him scarred and vigilant. Smarter, though, too. Truth was, he couldn’t blame Elise for his own stupidity. There had been signs, he was sure, of her manipulations. If he’d paid more attention, he would’ve recognized those signs, and in doing so, saved himself from a world of pain and humiliation.

      So, no. Dylan would never again allow himself to be taken for a ride by a tough-as-nails damsel in distress. No matter how attractive or appealing that woman might be.

      He gave himself a mental shake and focused on Chelsea, who was still watching him with cautious eyes and a firm, unyielding mouth. Vulnerable and tough and...scared.

      Yep, his Achilles’ heel.

      “Got it,” he said, his tone abrupt and cool. “You’re an ace with weaponry of all kinds. Now, if you’re done with the warnings, let’s get the two of you inside where it’s warm. We’ll get your car towed tomorrow and see about getting it fixed.”

      He thought for a second she was going to present a whole new slew of arguments. But then she unlocked her door and stepped out. While Chelsea gathered her son, he grabbed the overnight bags she pointed to, along with a patched-up stuffed bear that had seen better days.

      And when Henry opened his eyes and asked his mother if they’d found their new fresh start, Dylan’s heart about broke in two. But that feeling would lead him straight into disaster, so he shored up his defenses and promised to keep both mother and son at a distance.

      A modest enough promise to stick to for one night.

      Helping Chelsea and her son was the right thing to do. No more, no less. Tomorrow, he expected she’d be on her way back to wherever she’d come from. This pull he felt toward her wouldn’t have the opportunity to grow or become problematic.

      It would simply disappear.

       Chapter Three

      Panic and nausea roiled in Chelsea’s stomach as she followed Dylan through the parking lot toward the back of the restaurant. She clutched Henry’s hand tighter—he’d woken the second she’d attempted to lift him into her arms and had insisted on walking—and wished she weren’t so afraid. What type of woman trusted a man’s word when she didn’t even know the man?

      Well, she supposed, the type of woman who had run out of options. A sad, pitiful, terrifying description that now fit her perfectly.

      She’d called each of the hotels Dylan had circled, plus a couple more for good measure. They were all cheap, but not cheap enough, and even then, none of them had any vacancies until tomorrow night. When the fight broke out, she’d decided it was best to leave, so she’d returned to the table and told Henry they were going to try something different that night