Texan's Baby (12 page)

“Meaning, he's desperate because he fears he'll be caught soon,” Dawson clarified.

“That's exactly right. Common sense says he'd lie low for a while. Get out of the country until things cool down here in the States. But this guy is a psychopath. His name is out in the press because of his partner. He knows he can't truly escape. If he shows up at the airport, security will be all over him. Border guards have his picture posted on their walls by now,” Randall said.

“Shouldn't that mean he wouldn't be stupid enough to risk coming after me?” she asked.

“He has to know that it's only a matter of time before he's in custody,” Randall further clarified. “With time being his enemy, he'll want to strike now if he's alive. Besides, ever since news broke about him, he knows you'll be on guard.”

Didn't that send a fireball of anger shooting through Dawson?

“And he already got to me once,” she said in a low voice. Her cup suddenly became very interesting to her.

“We're going to do everything we can to ensure that that doesn't happen again, Ms. Dixon,” Randall said.

“Thank you,” she replied, but there wasn't a lot of feeling behind the words. From the looks of it, Melanie had gone numb.

“I'll use all my resources to protect you,” Randall said.

“If he's coming after me, maybe you should disappear with Mason for a while.” She looked up, staring into Dawson's eyes.

He'd started shaking his head as soon as he realized where she was going with this.

“It's something to consider,” Randall added.

“No can do. It's safer for everyone involved if we stay together.” There was no way Dawson was leaving Melanie alone to deal with this jerk. They had protection and there was no reason to believe anyone would be safer by splitting up. “I'm not going anywhere without you, and Mason will be better off here with us.”

There was a good reason wars were won by the simple philosophy of divide and conquer. It worked.

Chapter Fourteen

After Special Agent Randall had excused himself, Dawson urged Melanie to lie down. She'd refused to go upstairs, saying she could rest on the couch, but Dawson had insisted. She'd agreed to sleep in the room opposite where Mason was sleeping.

Dawson had been preoccupied, stewing ever since they'd arrived at the lake house, and he was tired of wallowing in his own anger about the past.

Walking through the door of the lake house had been like stepping into quicksand. Dawson had been caught off balance by the emotions that had begun to swallow him. And, similarly, the more he fought the deeper he sank into the pit, and the more he felt he couldn't breathe. He was sinking fast and his resistance was pushing him down faster. He could feel the pressure of something like a wall of wet sand pressing against his chest in a matter of minutes, and he knew he wouldn't survive if he didn't get out of there or get help.

And yet he felt as though he was alone.

Bethany was everywhere in the lake house. Her dolls. Her books. Her favorite blanket. This was the place she'd kept all her real treasures—the place he remembered taking her out to play on the back lawn while she could still walk and romp across the yellow-green grass.

There were countless times she and Dawson had played hide-and-seek or keep-off-the-floor inside the great room, climbing onto the coffee table and hopping onto the couch.

And when her strength was being drained from her little body, when she became frail and could no longer walk or hop on her own, Dawson had helped her onto his back for a piggyback ride just to hear her laugh again. Bethany's laugh was like a spring flower bursting through the cold. Like the sun, it breathed life into all living things. Flowers were brighter. The grass was greener. And life was good.

Maybe it was because her life was cut too short that she was given the kind of smile that could light up even the darkest cave and, later, the darkest day. No way could Dawson hold on to a bad mood when he was around her, no matter how much trouble he'd gotten into with his friends or how long he'd be grounded.

And Bethany's thought that Dawson simply hung the moon was evident in the way she looked up to him.

Their mother had always said how unfair it was that Dawson could draw a full-body laugh from Bethany with a glance in her direction, whereas she had had to work for it.

Saying the two had shared a special bond was a lot like saying ice cream tasted good.

In losing her, Dawson had lost so much more than a little buddy. He'd lost a piece of his soul to a dark place. And he didn't figure he'd get it back again. His heart had fractured, the pieces scattered. There were too many splinters to clean up.

Mason stirred upstairs.

Melanie was still asleep and Dawson didn't want to disturb her. He took the stairs two at a clip, shaking off his sadness, and got to his son before the toddler could wind up a good cry.

But Mason wasn't crying. He was sitting up, looking around the room with his fist half in his mouth.

As soon as he made eye contact, Mason smiled up at Dawson and a feeling, like a burst of joy exploding in his chest, enveloped him.

Looking into his son's eyes was the first time Dawson thought he might begin to pick up the pieces.

“Want to go outside, buddy?” There were a few places he wanted to show Mason after giving him a cup of juice and changing his diaper.

Mason squealed and clapped.

Dawson took care of business first, then grabbed raisins and a juice box before taking Mason by the hand.

The sunshine warmed his face as soon as he stepped outside. Were it not for the breeze coming off the lake, it might be too hot for Mason.

One of the FBI officers followed, hanging back at least twenty feet in order to give them a sense of privacy. Again, Dawson wouldn't argue the intrusion.

There was something he wanted to show his son, if it was still there. Dawson hadn't been out to the lake house in seventeen years.

“Bug!” Mason exclaimed, stopping abruptly and dropping to his knees.

Dawson followed suit.

“That's a roly-poly.” He let the little bug crawl onto his finger in order to give Mason a better view.

Mason tried to repeat the words, but they jumbled in his mouth and it was about the darn cutest thing Dawson had ever heard.

After a few seconds of intense study, Mason popped up to standing position and took off running.

Dawson let the bug slide off his finger and followed after the tyke, remembering what Dylan had said when his daughter had come to live with him. Little kids had two speeds... mach and drop dead.

There wasn't much in between in Dawson's observation.

Mason ran toward the hill that Dawson had wanted to show him. On the other side, there was a makeshift fort.

The little boy stopped at the top of the hill. “Water.”

Dawson also noted that every word came out excited when Mason was happy. When he was sad, it sounded like the end of the world. Talk about wringing out his heart.

Thankfully, the little guy was rested, fed and happy.

“When you get a little bigger, we can take a boat out there and go fishing,” Dawson said.

“Fish?” Mason looked up at him, so serious.

“That's right, buddy. Fish.”

Mason clapped and then took off down the hill, his laugh trailed behind him, carried by the breeze.

That must've been a hit. Dawson couldn't wait to take his little guy fishing. Maybe he could talk to his folks about buying the lake house from them, since they never used it anymore, and he and Mason could spend summers there. It was time to build some new memories in this forgotten place.

“Whoa. Slow down, buddy,” Dawson said as Mason neared the water's edge. Based on his all-or-nothing attitude, Dawson figured the little tyke would end up running into the water before he realized he'd left grass. This end of the lake was deep.

Mason turned around and a squeal leaped from his mouth as he must've caught sight of the fort.

The side of the hill had been dug out and Dawson had enlisted his father's help to put a wood frame around it. He'd boarded up the makeshift cave, leaving just enough room for him and Bethany to climb in between the slats. Of course, Dawson was too big to fit inside now, so he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app to allow Mason a peek inside. The elements hadn't affected the place too much. Years of dirt covered the little bench Dawson had dragged inside before boarding it.

It wouldn't take much to clean it up and get it ready.

Mason immediately started climbing through the woods slats, but Dawson stopped him midclimb.

“Hold on there, buddy. You can't go inside the fort without me.”

“Fort,” Mason said, peeking through the wood, holding on for dear life.

“Yep. That's all yours now,” Dawson said, clearing the frog in his throat.

“Mine?” Mason asked.

“Sure is.”

“My fort?” Mason asked.

“That's right.”

Mason clawed at the boards trying to get inside.

“Dada has to clean it up for you first, big guy,” Dawson said.

“Dada?” Mason froze.

For a split second, Dawson wasn't sure if Mason was about to squeal or cry. He hoped he hadn't freaked the little guy out by saying the word too soon. It had sort of slipped out without Dawson thinking about it.

Mason spun around and Dawson put the little tyke's feet on the ground. He didn't hesitate. He barreled into Dawson's knees, repeating the word over and over again. “Dada. Dada. Dada.”

His son calling him “Dada”
was about the sweetest sound Dawson had ever heard.

“Let Dada show you something else, okay, buddy?”

Mason threw his arms up. Dawson immediately scooped the little guy off his feet, much to Mason's amusement. There was still a lot to learn about caring for a toddler, but Dawson felt good about his progress so far.

His heart melted a little more when Mason threw his arms around Dawson's neck and gave him the best hug of his life. A little more sunlight peeked through the dark caverns in Dawson's heart. This time, Dawson didn't fight it.

Next, he took his son to his favorite place of all time, save for being on the lake itself...the tree house. The tree house was located near the edge of the five-acre property deep into the woods. Instead of inside one tree, it was built using three trees to secure the base. Dawson and his father had located the strongest trees with deep roots and a sturdy trunk.

Using studs in the ground next to the trees minimized the damage to them. The platform came next, all within arm's reach, and then half walls followed by the safety railing.

They'd built it that way specifically for Bethany so she could use it right up until the end. The base of the tree house was four feet off the ground, safe for Mason, and Dawson could easily grab his son if he fell. He and his father had installed a safety rail for Bethany and that would work perfectly for Mason now.

“What do you think, buddy?” Dawson asked as he pointed at it through the trees.

Mason's face lit up.

“It's a tree house,” Dawson supplied.

“Twee-house?” Mason questioned. He repeated the new words enthusiastically.

“That's right. You want to go inside?” Dawson asked. It had been purposely built on a small, sturdy platform for Bethany when she had been sick. It was her favorite place.

The handmade keep-out sign she'd posted over the door still hung proudly. It had been her contribution.

Dawson choked back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. It somehow seemed right for Mason to be there, running around on the place that had given Bethany so much happiness. The place that she'd asked to be taken to when she spoke her very last words.

If Dawson had known she would never speak again, he would've told her he loved her one more time. Instead, he'd carried her to her favorite rocking chair on the deck facing the lake and held her hand as the sun went down.

He'd fallen asleep next to her, her small bony fingers clamped around his hand, and was woken by the sounds of his mother wailing.

“Dada?” Mason slapped his hands on the railing in excitement, drawing Dawson back to the present.

“Yeah, buddy.” He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“My twee-house?”

“It sure is.” Bethany would have loved Mason. And Dawson knew in his heart that she would want to share her favorite place with her nephew.

* * *

M
ELANIE
WOKE
WITH
a start. Something was going on with Mason. She sat up and strained to listen more carefully.

And heard...

Laughter?

Yep, it sure was. Melanie threw the covers off, hopped to her feet and then pulled her hair into a ponytail. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the funniest sight.

Mason and Dawson were sprawled out on the floor, arms and legs twisted and tangled in an old-fashioned game of Twister.

How many hours had she spent playing that game with her sister when they were bored in the summer? Countless.

“Is this game closed or can I get in on it?” she asked before she thought about how close she'd have to get to Dawson to play. A shiver skittered across her nerves when she thought about skin-to-skin contact.

Dawson was wearing his usual summer wear, athletic shorts and a T-shirt. She tried not to think about the fact that she had on shorts and a halter top. He looked up, winked and fired off a smile. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but there was definitely something different about him. A good something.

“Mama!” Mason squealed, breaking form and running toward her.

“I guess this game's over. We can start a new one,” Dawson offered, and she could tell he was just being nice.

“That's okay. I don't want to ruin your fun,” she said. “How long have you two been at this?”

Dawson glanced at the clock over the mantel. “A long time.”

Did he feel the same sexual spark that she did every time they were in the same room? She'd thought about the kisses they'd shared one too many nights when she couldn't sleep. “I need to call my sister anyway. I haven't spoken to her in more than a week.”

Melanie kissed the top of Mason's head and set him down. He immediately took off toward Dawson.

“Dada,” he said, and her heart skipped a few beats. Did he...just...say...
Dada
?

When he repeated the word, she had no doubt she'd heard right the first time. This was coming eventually. She had to have known that on some level. So why did it catch her off guard?

Maybe because of their extreme circumstances, everything was moving way faster than she ever imagined it would.

Wasn't that a good thing?

Based on the smile on Dawson's face, it was. She'd never seen Mason look happier, too. And she'd be lying if she didn't admit that seeing the two of them together melted her heart.

Melanie located her phone and called Abby.

Voice mail. Great. Melanie waited for the beep and then said, “Hey, little sister, give me a call when you get this message. Love you.”

Melanie was hoping to talk to Abby and bring her up to speed.

“She's not picking up?” Dawson asked, his forehead creased with concern.

“No. I'm sure she's at some place like Zilker Park, taking in those last lazy days before her semester starts and life gets out of control,” she said. “She started seeing a new guy and she seems really excited about the relationship. I'll call her again in a little while.”

Dawson nodded, his attention diverted to Mason, who was about to pull a box of checkers off the shelf and onto his head.

“Better leave that to me,” Dawson said, rescuing Mason just before the dump.

“Mama. My twee-house,” Mason said, pointing to a picture.

Melanie tossed a confused look toward Dawson before moving to her son's side. The picture was of a healthy Bethany, who was all smiles, sitting at the entrance to a tree house. “That's wonderful, Mason.”