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.
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 by camping in their car. And yes, she’d made the prospect sound fun and adventurous.
Her darling, sweet boy didn’t put up a fuss or ask too many questions. Rather, he nodded and smiled and asked—again—if he could have a root beer before they left. Of course, she’d expected he’d react well. That was her kid. He just sort of went with the flow—though the way life had treated them since his birth almost demanded such a disposition. Nothing had gone easy.
Disowned by her parents, which honestly had been more of a blessing than a curse, abandoned by Henry’s father and left to her own devices to figure out all the messy details. Where to live. Where to work. Whom to trust. How to be the mother that Henry deserved.
And every damn time she thought she’d made a little progress, something would go wrong. Her apartment building had caught on fire. The best job she’d ever had, which wasn’t saying much, had been eliminated. Her purse was stolen. Her car broke down.
One thing after another. She’d barely recovered from one disaster when a new one would occur. It was as if fate had decided that nothing—meaning not one thing—would ever go as planned. So, she supposed, not only had Henry learned to go with the flow, but she had, as well.
But this? Accepting help from a strange man and trusting he wasn’t going to turn into a monster the second he had them alone was a new, frightening obstacle. Her gut told her he was safe and trustworthy, but her brain insisted she had just made a gigantic mistake.
So as they trudged along, she considered what she had in her purse that could be, if needed, used as a weapon. Her keys, maybe. If she could get them spread through her fingers just right fast enough. There was the minibottle of hair spray. Might work well enough if she could get the spray to hit his eyes, to blind him momentarily. Give her a few seconds to...what? Run?
She tried to imagine running with Henry at her side or in her arms and knew they wouldn’t get very far. Her keys, then. She’d use the hair spray to gain enough minutes to get to her keys, which she’d then use to protect herself and her son. After that, she didn’t know, but stupid or not, she felt considerably better having any sort of a plan.
“My parents used to keep an apartment upstairs,” Dylan was saying as they approached the back door of the restaurant. “All of us kids lived there at one time or another. Now it’s more of a space for family meetings, but there are sofas and blankets, and it’s warm.”
“Sounds considerably better than the car,” she said, her thoughts still focused on defense. And whether she fell into the cautious-but-smart category or the too-stupid-to-live one. She hoped the former. The too-stupid-to-live women always ended up dead in the movies. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
They stepped inside, and Chelsea dropped Henry’s hand to fish through her purse. The second she found the hair-spray bottle, she
