help he provided the family’s businesses, meant extralong, exhausting hours during the winter season. Since September, Dylan—well, all of the Fosters, really—had taken to dropping in on a daily basis. First to keep Daisy company—and appease Reid’s concerns, which had grown at the same rate as the size of Daisy’s stomach—in the last months of her pregnancy, and now to lend a hand. And Dylan enjoyed hanging with Daisy and helping with the babies.
Well, okay, he wasn’t all that fond of spit-up. Or changing diapers. But the rest of it was good. Family, in Dylan’s estimation, was all that really mattered.
After his stint there, he’d return to the pub by seven to tend the bar. Another long day awaited him, and this one he’d have to tackle with limited energy. Easier knowing it was the last crazy day of the season and that he’d then have more than enough hours to refuel.
Without thought, he tipped his head toward the room Chelsea and Henry slept in and mentally added them to his to-do list for the day. That car would have to be towed, and hopefully repaired, early enough so they could be on their way. They had to be on their way, quick-like, before he gave in to the impulse to fix not only her car, but her life.
Henry’s words rang in Dylan’s ears. She’d cried. And at some point they hadn’t owned beds, so they’d slept in a fort. Of course, that could mean something as simple as they’d just moved and their furniture had yet to be delivered. Could mean that.
But he didn’t think it did.
Closing his eyes, Dylan mentally replayed everything he’d seen and heard since Chelsea had first walked into Foster’s. Her body language, her words—what she’d admitted to and what she hadn’t, what he could only speculate on—the fear and desperation he’d recognized in her expression and the bits of information that Henry had inadvertently shared.
He’d already pieced together enough, even before finding her stranded in her car, to realize she was in a jam. Until this minute, though, he’d categorized her current predicament as a momentary spell of bad luck. Most people had family and friends to rely on in such moments, to get them through to better days. While he hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought, somewhere in his brain he’d assumed she had the same and that when she returned home—wherever home was—she’d have that support. But dammit, his gut told him that wasn’t the case.
And if so, what was he to do about that?
The sound of a door opening, followed by a quick gasp of surprise, interrupted his thought process. When he looked, he saw the woman herself, plastered against the door frame, wearing a long pink T-shirt and loose, candy-cane-striped pajama bottoms. Tension tightened her mouth, and all he wanted to do was make her smile.
“It occurs to me,” he said with what he hoped was a friendly, not-threatening-at-all tenor, “that I’ve yet to learn your last name. You know mine, but in case you forgot, it’s Foster.”
“Oh. Um...our last name is Bell,” she said, her voice holding that husky, barely awake quality. Also, though, a thread of wariness. “Chelsea and Henry Bell.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Chelsea Bell,” Dylan said, curious if a Mr. Bell existed somewhere or if Chelsea had simply never married and Henry had her name. Dammit. He shouldn’t care. “Something wake you or were you looking for me?”
“I... No, not looking for you. I thought I’d get a bottle of water, but I didn’t expect to see you up here. I guess I thought you’d go downstairs or—” She broke off, bit her bottom lip. “Dumb assumption to have. Why would you leave us alone when I could be a thief or—”
“An ax murderer?” Dylan asked in dry humor. “Sorry, but I don’t believe we have even one ax on the premises. And if you’re a thief, you can’t be that great at your job.”
“Is that so? What makes you say that?”
“Let’s start with the look of that car out there.”
“Perhaps I’m an excellent thief and my car is a...um...cover.” A soft, sleepy smile appeared. And she went from cute to beautiful. Breathtakingly so. “To hide my true, nefarious intent and the fact that I have oodles of diamonds and gold nuggets hidden away in the trunk.”
“Diamonds and gold nuggets? Good to know. We won’t just fix your car tomorrow, we’ll buy you a new one. Something more appropriate for a nefarious diamond-and-gold-nugget thief.”
“I...” Pushing away from the door frame, she approached the kitchenette. “If I can’t afford a hotel room, I certainly can’t afford whatever repairs that car needs. I was thinking of trying to sell it to a junkyard. Maybe I can get a couple hundred bucks.”
“I already guessed you didn’t have the finances for the tow or the repairs, so I thought I’d front you the money. It’s no trouble.” Dylan swallowed another gulp of water, curious as to what type of damsel in distress she actually was. Would she put up all sorts of arguments before giving in and accepting his help? Or would she be like Elise and not even bother with the pretense, smile sweetly and thank him for his kindness? Or would she have an entirely different type of reaction? “You can pay me back after you get home and settled. There isn’t any rush.”
She stopped her forward motion and frowned. Shook her head as if she had water stuck in her ears after a long dip in the pool. “What did you just say?”
Okay, then. A different type of reaction. He repeated his words, verbatim. And waited with interest to see what road she’d take them down next.
“Thank you, but no,” she said. Her eyes, her voice—everything about her—were cool and crisp and matter-of-fact. He’d irritated her? Yup, that he had, and his interest increased. Tenfold. “The truth is, I have more use of a couple hundred bucks in my wallet than I do with that car and owing you who knows how much money. So, again, thank you but no.”
She meant her words. And that told Dylan a hell of a lot about her character. More, probably, than she’d like him to know. Still didn’t mean he trusted her or wanted her to stick around. Only once had a woman affected him in as strong and intense a fashion as this woman. He’d fallen for Elise, hard. And look where that path had taken him?
“That’s fine,” he said, opening the fridge and tossing her a bottle of water. She caught it easily. “I’ll help you with that in the morning and, once you have the cash, drive you over to the bus station. If I run out of time, someone in my family will be happy to help.”
“Why, you’re just full of helpful suggestions, aren’t you?”
“Trying, I guess,” he said, watching her carefully. She wasn’t just irritated, she was...well, fuming would be the right description. “Something wrong with that?”
“No.” She sucked in a large breath, held it and then let it out with a loud whoosh of air. “Yes, actually. Yes, there is something wrong with that.”
“Care to explain?”
“Just that...you don’t know me and I don’t know you. It isn’t your call what I do next,” she said, her words coming at a fast clip, as if she was afraid common sense would reel them back in. “I am very appreciative of your assistance tonight, but when morning comes, I’ll go about my business and leave you to yours. So, no, I won’t be requiring a ride to the bus station from you or your family. I don’t even need to go to the bus station.”
Ah, hell. “You’re planning on staying, then?”
“I’m planning on staying,” she confirmed, losing her steam. She stared at her toes—which were painted a dark shade of purple—and exhaled, brought her gaze back to his. “I told Henry this was our fresh start at a brand-new life, and I am not going to disappoint him again.”
And double hell.
“You don’t have a job,” he said, stating the obvious. “Or a place to live.”
“I’ll find both. And until I do—” she lifted her chin in stubborn