Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04) by Tracy Madison Page B
Authors: Tracy Madison
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in contemplation, the tyke tapped his chin with the practiced seriousness of a fifty-year-old business magnate in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation. “I guess it’s okay if you help, but I’m in charge. It was my idea.”
“True. Though, you do realize that being in charge is a big responsibility? Maybe we could agree to be partners?” Dylan ruffled Henry’s hair. “What do you say?”
“I know what foods Mommy likes and what she doesn’t like,” Henry pointed out, expertly avoiding both of Dylan’s questions. “Do you know what foods she likes?”
“Other than bread and coffee, nope.”
“Then I should be in charge.”
Sensing this conversation could continue ad nauseam unless someone gave in, Dylan took the fall. “All righty, then, you call the shots and I’ll cook.” Pleasure at winning gleamed in Henry’s eyes, and Dylan forced back a chuckle. “Does you mom like eggs? Peanut-butter toast? Oatmeal? Or—”
“Nothing with peanut butter! She hates peanut butter because she’s...she’s—” Henry curled his bottom lip into his mouth as he searched for the correct word “—allergic! Gives her itchy bumps and makes her cough. She wouldn’t smile then. So, no peanut butter.”
Amused, Dylan nodded. He distinctly remembered Henry stating that his mother had eaten a peanut-butter sandwich for breakfast the prior day, so he doubted she was allergic. No sense in arguing with the guy in charge, though. “You’re right. Coughing and itchy rashes don’t typically make people smile. How does scrambled eggs and toast sound?”
“Okay, but not good enough.” Henry stubbed his toe into the tile floor. “I want her to smile a lot. And be really happy. So something better.”
“Something better, huh? What about—”
Before Dylan could finish his sentence, the back door to the kitchen opened, sending a blast of cold air into the room. His mother. Had to be. In all likelihood, Haley had already spread the news about his overnight guests. And no way, no how, would Margaret Foster set aside her curiosity or her concern until she’d deemed nothing was amiss.
Thank God, too. His mom could cook up a storm. Better yet, once she learned of Chelsea’s unfortunate set of circumstances, she would be more than happy to help.
“Hi, Mom,” Dylan said as he heard her soft-footed approach. “Perfect timing. We’re trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and it’s a tall order. We could use your input.”
Margaret’s concerned expression transformed into a cheerful smile the instant she realized a child was in attendance. She unbuttoned and removed her coat, which she hung on one of the wall hooks, saying, “Then it’s a good thing I decided to come right over. What are we trying to accomplish with breakfast? Other than no more empty tummies, that is.”
“We want to make my mommy smile,” Henry said. “And I’m Henry. I’m four! And I slept upstairs last night because our car wouldn’t turn on no more.”
“It is so nice to meet you, Henry! I’m Margaret, Dylan’s mom, and we’ll come up with the perfect breakfast.” Then, with a nod toward the still-open refrigerator door, she said, “Tell me, though, are you two trying to cool the kitchen or warm up the fridge?”
“Both, actually,” Dylan said, moving out of his mother’s way. “We were in the middle of conducting a science experiment on how fast temperatures can change. Isn’t that right, Henry?”
“Nope, that isn’t right.” He cast those innocent eyes of his on Margaret and, with an impish grin, said, “I was looking for food, but then he asked me a bunch of questions. I forgot about the door and he didn’t tell me to close it. He’s the grown-up, though, so it’s his fault.”
“Hey! You’re going to get me in trouble!” In a completely spontaneous movement, Dylan picked up Henry and swung him around in the air. Little-boy giggles along with Margaret’s surprised laughter poured into the room, and
“True. Though, you do realize that being in charge is a big responsibility? Maybe we could agree to be partners?” Dylan ruffled Henry’s hair. “What do you say?”
“I know what foods Mommy likes and what she doesn’t like,” Henry pointed out, expertly avoiding both of Dylan’s questions. “Do you know what foods she likes?”
“Other than bread and coffee, nope.”
“Then I should be in charge.”
Sensing this conversation could continue ad nauseam unless someone gave in, Dylan took the fall. “All righty, then, you call the shots and I’ll cook.” Pleasure at winning gleamed in Henry’s eyes, and Dylan forced back a chuckle. “Does you mom like eggs? Peanut-butter toast? Oatmeal? Or—”
“Nothing with peanut butter! She hates peanut butter because she’s...she’s—” Henry curled his bottom lip into his mouth as he searched for the correct word “—allergic! Gives her itchy bumps and makes her cough. She wouldn’t smile then. So, no peanut butter.”
Amused, Dylan nodded. He distinctly remembered Henry stating that his mother had eaten a peanut-butter sandwich for breakfast the prior day, so he doubted she was allergic. No sense in arguing with the guy in charge, though. “You’re right. Coughing and itchy rashes don’t typically make people smile. How does scrambled eggs and toast sound?”
“Okay, but not good enough.” Henry stubbed his toe into the tile floor. “I want her to smile a lot. And be really happy. So something better.”
“Something better, huh? What about—”
Before Dylan could finish his sentence, the back door to the kitchen opened, sending a blast of cold air into the room. His mother. Had to be. In all likelihood, Haley had already spread the news about his overnight guests. And no way, no how, would Margaret Foster set aside her curiosity or her concern until she’d deemed nothing was amiss.
Thank God, too. His mom could cook up a storm. Better yet, once she learned of Chelsea’s unfortunate set of circumstances, she would be more than happy to help.
“Hi, Mom,” Dylan said as he heard her soft-footed approach. “Perfect timing. We’re trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and it’s a tall order. We could use your input.”
Margaret’s concerned expression transformed into a cheerful smile the instant she realized a child was in attendance. She unbuttoned and removed her coat, which she hung on one of the wall hooks, saying, “Then it’s a good thing I decided to come right over. What are we trying to accomplish with breakfast? Other than no more empty tummies, that is.”
“We want to make my mommy smile,” Henry said. “And I’m Henry. I’m four! And I slept upstairs last night because our car wouldn’t turn on no more.”
“It is so nice to meet you, Henry! I’m Margaret, Dylan’s mom, and we’ll come up with the perfect breakfast.” Then, with a nod toward the still-open refrigerator door, she said, “Tell me, though, are you two trying to cool the kitchen or warm up the fridge?”
“Both, actually,” Dylan said, moving out of his mother’s way. “We were in the middle of conducting a science experiment on how fast temperatures can change. Isn’t that right, Henry?”
“Nope, that isn’t right.” He cast those innocent eyes of his on Margaret and, with an impish grin, said, “I was looking for food, but then he asked me a bunch of questions. I forgot about the door and he didn’t tell me to close it. He’s the grown-up, though, so it’s his fault.”
“Hey! You’re going to get me in trouble!” In a completely spontaneous movement, Dylan picked up Henry and swung him around in the air. Little-boy giggles along with Margaret’s surprised laughter poured into the room, and
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