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.
“That might be tough. This is the last weekend the mountain is open, so the city’s packed with tourists. It’s doubtful you’ll have any luck in finding a hotel with vacancies, cheap or not.” He should’ve left it at that, but he didn’t. Couldn’t, really. “I can grab the phone book and circle a few possibilities, if you like. Doesn’t hurt to check.”
She nodded her thanks and swung her gaze toward her son. In the instant before she did, Dylan recognized distress in her eyes. Beautiful eyes, deep blue in color and framed in long, dark lashes. Eyes that shouldn’t, under any circumstances, be coated with fear.
Another idiotic, out-of-character thought. Shaking it off, Dylan retrieved the phone book and hurriedly circled the three cheapest motels he knew of that weren’t dumps. With that and the bar phone in hand, he set them down in front of her. “There you go,” he said, his voice capturing her attention. “If you need anything else, let me know.”
“Actually, I was also wondering if you knew of any places that might be hiring? We’re here now, so I thought we might as well stay.” Again, her cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “It’s a long drive back to where we came from. It seems pointless to turn around.”
He opened his mouth, set to tell her the truth: this was a bad weekend to be looking for work in Steamboat Springs. Most of the local businesses would be doing the same as Foster’s, which was skimming down their seasonal employee load until the summer rush began.
Except he couldn’t. The fear he’d witnessed seconds ago stopped him in his tracks.
“Let me give that one some thought,” he said instead, unwilling to dash her hopes so quickly. Ridiculous, though. The truth remained the truth. “Why don’t you make the calls, figure out where you’re sleeping for the night, and I’ll see what I can come up with?”
Relief mixed with gratitude—maybe even some surprise—softened her smile, relaxing the angled features of her face. “Thank you,” she said, her words quiet and hesitant. “My name is Chelsea, by the way. And my son is Henry.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Dylan Foster.”
With that, he moved to the other end of the bar, making the sweep to see who needed what drink and who wanted to close out their tab. As he did, he considered her request, trying to come up with at least one job possibility to offer. Foster’s Pub wasn’t hiring. Neither was the other Foster family–owned business, the sporting-goods store his brother Cole managed.
So lost was he in these thoughts, his appraisal of the bar’s customers and their needs, he failed to pay adequate attention to the blonde. It was the sound of her laughter—a series of too loud, too playful, completely manufactured giggles—that yanked him clean out of his head and smack into the trouble he’d anticipated the whole damn evening.
It didn’t take an abundance of brainpower to size up the current situation. She had scooted herself closer to Mr. Miller Lite—so close she might as well have plopped herself on his lap—and was in the process of trailing her long red-painted fingernails down the front of his shirt. The poor sucker had his arm wrapped around her waist and was, by all appearances, clueless as to what was about to go down. Because coming toward the couple in long, heavy strides was another man—Mr. Heartbreaker, Dylan guessed—and he did not look pleased.
The blonde seemed quite content with herself and the blowout that was likely to occur. Dylan rushed forward, intent on stopping the altercation before it started and mentally cursing himself for allowing the brunette—Chelsea? Yeah, that was her name—to take over his thoughts. If not for her sad, fearful blue eyes, he would’ve been on top of this a hell of a lot sooner.
He stepped in front of the blonde at the same instant Mr. Heartbreaker arrived behind the couple. Bad luck, that, but Dylan smiled at the man and said, “What can I get for you?”
The man ignored Dylan. He grabbed Mr. Miller Lite’s arm and pulled it off the blonde’s waist, saying, “It’s time to go, Amber. You’ve made your point.”
“Oh, I don’t know that I have.” Excitement glimmered over her expression, there and gone in a blink. Facing the new arrival, she said, “Ask me tomorrow. And I’m not going anywhere with you. Now or ever. So you’re wasting your time.”
“Hold on here,” Mr. Miller Lite said. “Who is this guy? What’s this about, Amber?”
“His name is Brett, but there’s nothing to worry about,” Amber said, pressing her body another inch tighter against Mr. Miller Lite, her words a catlike purr. “He doesn’t have to ruin our fun or our night. He was just leaving.”
“We’re leaving together,” Brett the heartbreaker corrected. “And tomorrow, we’ll straighten all of this out, when you’re more willing to listen to reason.”
“Reason? I highly doubt there is anything—” She broke off, bit her bottom lip in a sultry type of pout. “Just leave.”
“You heard her,” Mr. Miller Lite said, disentangling himself from Amber so he could stand. “She doesn’t want to go with you—” he curled his fists at his sides “—so why don’t you stop embarrassing yourself and take off before someone gets hurt?”
Amber’s eyes widened and Brett’s mouth pursed into a glower. Uh-oh.
“Let’s all calm down. This seems like a private discussion,” Dylan interjected, considering how fast he’d be able to climb over the bar and physically get in between
