Shiver

what else to do, he sat down on the side of the bed. Tyler’s eyes opened as he felt the mattress give, and for a moment he stared at Danny like he wasn’t sure who he was.
    “It’s okay, Tyler, it’s me,” Danny said hastily, bracing himself for another of those eardrum-shattering screams.
    “Trey.” Tyler launched himself at him, throwing his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. Danny could feel hissmall body shaking. “The bad men were here, Trey. They were after me.”
    “I got you. It was just a bad dream.” A little awkwardly, Danny patted his back; then as the kid snuggled closer, shuddering, he hugged him because it just felt like the thing to do. “You hear me, Tyler? It was only a bad dream. I’m here, and I’ve got you safe.”
    “Tyler!” Still in her jeans and tank, Sam flew through the door, then pulled up short when she saw Danny. For a moment she paused, seeming to practically vibrate on the balls of her feet, and then she came toward the bed, giving Danny an impossible to interpret look even as she sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. “Baby, I’m here.”
    “Mom.” Tyler let go of Danny to throw himself into his mother’s outstretched arms. “I had another bad dream.”
    “I know,” Sam said soothingly, rocking him a little. “I know.”
    “We used the monster spray. But it didn’t matter, because I dreamed about the bad men.”
    “Oh, Tyler.” Sam kissed the top of his head. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
    Danny looked at the clean, elegant lines of her profile as her cheek rested against her son’s tousled black hair. Her hair was still in that single braid, slightly messy, sexy as hell. Her body—well, he didn’t need to be looking at her body.
    Their eyes met.
    Danny felt as if every solid thing around him was slipping away.
    “Can you sleep in here, Mom?” Tyler asked. Sam’s attention reverted instantly to her son.
    “Sure, baby,” she replied.
    Danny picked up his crutch from where it had dropped to the carpet at his feet, and stood up.
    Still rocking Tyler, Sam watched him as he got the crutch in place beneath his arm.
    “Do you need me for anything?” he asked her quietly.
    She shook her head.
    “Just sing out if you do.”
    She nodded.
    Danny swung out of the room. Glancing back as he reached the hall, he saw Sam gently easing her son back down onto his pillow.
    The sight had a weird effect on his insides. They felt kind of tight and achy, almost like he’d just taken a sucker punch to the gut.
    It took Danny a moment to figure out what was going on. Then he realized with a sense of dismay that what he was feeling was Sam and her kid starting to twine themselves around his heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
     

     
    T rey, Trey, Trey: that was all Sam had heard out of Tyler all day. Earlier, Tyler had looked on with fascination as “Trey” worked out in the backyard, starting with a series of pull-ups on a branch that showcased his brawny arms and shoulders, and that Sam, aside from a couple of sneak peeks, resolutely refused to watch. He followed that up with other exercises that she was surprised that, injured as he was, he was physically able to perform. She remembered him saying that he needed to get up to speed again ASAP, and supposed that this was his way of doing it. His overall level of fitness and the hard-muscled body it showcased were truly impressive: once again she thought, the man is strong. But what took the cake was that Tyler earnestly tried to imitate everything he did; it underlined to Sam how much her son wanted a father figure in his life, and how much he was missing out on by not having one. The sad thing was, as right as their growing interconnectedness with Marco might feel to her on some internal, cellular level, by any objective measurement Marco was absolutely the wrong guy,both for Tyler and for her, to develop any kind of connection to. In an attempt to disrupt it, she tried everything—calling Tyler in for a brownie, playing cars, reading to him, turning on the Disney Channel on TV—and still Tyler ended up wherever “Trey” was. What made it even sadder was that Marco was absolutely sweet to Tyler. Where many men—Tyler’s own father included—might act like an endlessly inquisitive and talkative four-year-old was a pain in the rear, Marco did not. He treated Tyler like an interesting and valued companion. And Tyler basked in his attention. There was no future in it, which Sam knew