Texan's Baby (6 page)

Dawson needed to sort out his crazy emotions and come up with a plan for making this arrangement work. If not for his logistics job in Dallas, he'd consider relocating to Houston to be closer to his son. Then again, he could always find another job once the dust settled.

How would Melanie react? That's where the confusion began. It wasn't the fact that he'd had a son with Melanie that threw Dawson. It was that she didn't trust him no matter how well she knew him—and Melanie knew him better than anyone else. Then there was the simple fact that she was the one who'd kept his child from him and
she
looked at him suspiciously anyway.

Forget that he'd been naive enough to think they'd had a strong bond as kids. A spark had ignited when they'd started a
fling
, wasn't that what she'd called it before she left?

He'd been confused, hurt when she'd pushed him away before, and it made even less sense now. He was, after all, the father of their child and trying to help.

“Would you mind changing Mason's diaper while I get his dinner ready?” she asked.

“Got it.” Dawson started toward the little tyke. He ran down the hall, squealing in delight. What a different picture from last night.

After completing the task, he returned. He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, essentially blocking her in. “How about I watch Mason tonight while you work?”

“You're not serious. And I need to feed him so I can get ready.”

“Oh, but I am. Give Ms. Whoever the night off. I'm here. I'll just be fumbling around waiting for you otherwise.”

“Are you kidding me? You barely learned how to change a diaper today. It's too much, too soon.”

There she was, not trusting him again and it hurt more than he cared to acknowledge. “I can take care of my own son.”

“All I'm saying is give it more time.”

“You'll save money this way. You'll be at work with a lot of people around you. Sprigs doesn't know where you live, but we can't be too cautious, not after what happened at the hotel.” Even she couldn't argue his logic there. “How old is the babysitter?”

“She's old. And you have a point. I don't want to put her at risk unnecessarily.”

Capitalizing on his good fortune, he added, “You can write down his evening routine. I'll follow it to the letter.”

She stood there for a long moment, contemplating, tapping her toe on the tile. She had that look on her face, the one that said he was wearing her down. Time to be quiet and let her decide. The longer she took to make up her mind, the better for him. At least some things hadn't changed about her.

“Okay. You win.” She jotted down a list with a satisfied little smirk, which he didn't quite understand. “It's easier to bathe Mason in the sink than in the tub.”

“Got it.” He took the list.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I was good to go,” he said.

“Okay. You have my number. Call if you have any questions. Anything comes up and I can be home in twenty minutes if needed.”

“We'll be fine. Besides, I have this—” he held up his cell “—if I need you.”

“That reminds me. I haven't charged my phone for the past twenty-four hours. No way do I have battery left,” she said.

“Where's the charger? I'll plug it in while you get ready for work.”

“Thanks. That's really helpful.” She looked surprised.

“We can get along when we try, Melanie.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. They'd made progress in the past fifteen minutes toward him not being so angry and her actually giving him real responsibility with Mason. Dawson was going to need to figure out how to put the past behind him if he was going to give his son the life he deserved. And Mason deserved for his parents to work together on his behalf. “I'm sorry I said that.”

“It's fine.” Her chin came up defiantly. “You're right. We're both adults.”

“I'm working on it.” He tried to make a joke to lighten the mood.

“I hope we can make peace for Mason's sake,” she said before disappearing to get ready for work.

That was exactly what he intended to do. He made himself comfortable on the floor, playing cars with Mason.

When Melanie stepped in the room after getting dressed, Dawson also regretted staying home to watch the baby rather than sit at the bar and watch over her.

The jeans she wore fit her like a second set of skin and she had the curves to prove it. Her white blouse over a black bra showed just enough lace to get Dawson's imagination going. Her breasts, though covered, were fuller than he remembered. She had more curves, and his body betrayed him by instantly reacting to her beauty.

With her shiny hair long and loose around her shoulders, he almost decided it was a good time to revisit his earlier argument about her not working at all.

“Ma-ma.” Mason bolted across the room toward her.

The blouse she was wearing was buttoned up and Dawson figured that was for his and Mason's benefit. Imagining her shirt opened a little more wasn't a good idea.

“You look fantastic, Melanie,” he said, and his voice was deeper than he'd intended.

Chapter Seven

The baby started crying before Melanie got out the door. Dawson wondered how a kid could go from smiling, happy-go-lucky, playing on the floor to full-on tears and tantrum so quickly and suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch.

Worse yet, Melanie calmed the child long enough to leave. And then the second wave hit.

Loud. Heartbreaking. Helpless.

“It's okay, little guy.” Dawson tried to soothe him, unsure if picking the toddler up would make things worse.

The little boy's fist went into his mouth and then he choked on slobber.

How on earth had Melanie figured all this out on her own?

The boy couldn't be hungry. He'd eaten half an hour ago.

All Dawson was supposed to have to do was to give the kid a bath and then put him to bed. It wasn't supposed to be this hard, or gut wrenching. Hearing the little guy cry was ripping Dawson's heart out of his chest. His stress level was through the roof.

His pride wouldn't let him call Melanie for help.

There had to be something he could do to calm him.

Dawson scanned the room for something, anything that might distract the child. TV. That should work. He located the remote on the coffee table and clicked on the TV.

The cartoon added to the noise factor. Dawson held his arms out toward the boy to see if he wanted to be held.

That elicited a scream so loud the neighbor tapped on the adjacent wall. Dawson didn't want to get Melanie in trouble with her apartment complex. What had she used earlier to calm Mason? Keys. Dawson searched for a set. No, Melanie had taken hers with her. He'd left his parents' place in such a rush to check on her last night that he'd forgotten his own, which reminded him that he needed to call his parents and let them know he wouldn't be back for a while.

No keys.

There wasn't much else Dawson could do, so he brought his son juice. Dawson was so flustered that he stubbed his toe on the leg of the coffee table, bit back a word he couldn't say in front of his son, and then hopped around on his good foot. What he wouldn't give for a strong drink right about then.

Mason laughed.

Dawson thought he might not have heard correctly. So he pretended to hurt his toe this time and was rewarded with a full belly laugh.

“Oh, you like that?”

A pair of red-rimmed eyes stared up at him. So he did the only thing he could...picked up a toy and smacked himself upside the head with it.

Mason roared with laughter.

Making his son happy made something else happen inside Dawson...something he couldn't put his finger on. It was fragile but not fleeting.

Rather than analyze what any of that meant, Dawson asked, “Ready for a bath?”

The little boy's face lit up as he sniffled and then coughed. Crying must've aggravated his chest.

Dawson had never felt so on edge. One wrong move and a torrent of those crocodile tears would be rolling down Mason's cheeks again. Dawson had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

He scooped his son off the floor and into his arms.

There was a resource he'd be tapping into later, his friend Dylan. But Dawson didn't want to share this news with anyone just yet. Not until he wrapped his own mind around it.

Mason started winding up to cry again.

Was there something else Melanie had given him to quiet him? Oh. Right. A pacifier. Dawson dashed over to the diaper bag and located a clean one.

The little boy was satisfied the second he popped it in his mouth.

And that made Dawson very happy.

Melanie had told Dawson it was easier to bathe Mason in the sink.

There were toys in the bath. Mason wiggled in Dawson's arms, indicating he wanted to get down.

Dawson obliged, careful not to set off another round of crying and, therefore, coughing.

He managed to get his son through a bath in the tub with minimal tears, but Dawson was on edge the entire time. Getting on Mason's pajamas was another issue. The little squirt refused.

Trying again, Dawson was pleased with himself when he managed to dress his son only to find his clothes littering the hallway. By the third attempt, Dawson was happy to get a T-shirt on his child.

What was wrong with sleeping in a T-shirt and a diaper?

Putting the kid to bed should be easy, right?

No. That brought on a whole new wave of tears and cries for his mama.

Refusing to admit defeat, Dawson popped a cartoon into the DVD player. Given that there were twenty different DVDs with the same animal on the cover, Dawson figured this was his son's favorite show.

He settled onto the couch with Mason curled up on his chest.

* * *

M
ELANIE
EASED
HER
key into the lock, slowly opened the door and tiptoed across the threshold. It was quarter to three in the morning on a pitch-black night.

Inside, light from the TV filled the space. She stopped midstride when she got a good look at what was on her couch. Her heart squeezed at the sight of Mason curled up on his father's chest, both sleeping.

They looked so natural together. She'd expected at least one frantic phone call while she was at work. Dawson seemed to have handled everything like a pro. And that was every reason she should keep her guard up.

The thought occurred to her that he could have a great case to reverse custody. The courts might just decide in his favor. She would be the one with visitation rather than the other way around. Panic filled her, causing her to shake. She couldn't lose Mason. He'd become her world and that was exactly how she wanted it.

There was another thing Melanie had forced out of her thoughts far too often. The disease that had claimed Dawson's sister so young. Bethany was five when the devastating diagnosis came. Over a short period, Dawson had watched his baby sister lose her ability to walk, talk and smile. He'd said not being able to make her laugh anymore was the worst part. Melanie figured he didn't want to remember those horrible final months until his sister had gone peacefully in her sleep.

She'd seen firsthand how difficult his sister's death had been on his family. Having a child of her own gave her a deeper understanding of just how hard, how unfair, that had been. His mother, a physician, who couldn't heal her own daughter. No wonder the woman had become so bitter.

Melanie didn't think she'd be the same way, but then she hadn't walked in that woman's shoes, either. And that was what kept Melanie from hating Alice Hill.

Instead of dwelling on that thought, Melanie turned off the TV, put her things down and peeled Mason from Dawson's arms.

As soon as the weight lifted, Dawson sat up and his hands gripped her arms.

“It's just me,” she said quickly, trying not to wake the baby.

Dawson's tight grip released and he rubbed his eyes.

“I'll be right back after I put Mason down,” she whispered.

A nod of acknowledgment came, quickly followed by a yawn.

Melanie moved out of the room, her panic mounting. She kissed Mason on the forehead before placing him inside his crib and pulling the covers over him. “Night, my sweet boy.”

Facing the man in the next room was even more difficult with her fears mounting. She took a calming breath and marched into the living room.

Dawson was in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Looks like everything went well tonight,” she said. Her normal routine had her eating a bowl of cereal, taking a shower and then flopping in bed. Six thirty in the morning would come early and Mason had always been an early riser.

“We got through it,” he said, his tone unreadable as he watched the coffee brew. He turned to her. “Did you notice anything strange at work?”

“No. It was a typical Thursday. We actually do a pretty good business. Kicks off the weekend.”

“You work every weekend?”

The coffee finished brewing. She handed him a mug, which he immediately filled.

“Yep. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. Working a weekday is the only way I could get a mostly weekend schedule. Money's good so pretty much everyone wants weekends.” Melanie pulled out her late-night snack supplies, Cheerios and milk. She made a bowl of cereal and settled on one of the beige bar stools. “Which gives me Sunday through Wednesday on a normal sleep schedule with Mason.”

“Is there anyone else around to depend on? Friends?” he asked, taking a sip.

“I don't have time,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I have my sister to keep me company if that's what you're asking. It doesn't seem to be the same for you, but getting the hang of parenting wasn't so easy for me. I don't do anything besides take care of my son.”

Dawson seemed to contemplate that with a look of...relief?

“What time does he wake up?” he asked.

“Six thirty.”

“In the morning?”

“Afraid so.” She took a bite of cereal and chewed. “Which is why I need to finish eating and shower so I can get to bed.”

“That's only three hours of sleep if you're lucky,” he said in horror.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “We take a nap together after lunch. I try to store up as much sleep as I can on my days off to make up for it.”

“It doesn't seem healthy for you or him,” he said, and she picked up on something in his voice. Admiration?

Nah. She was hearing what she wanted.

“Thanks for being concerned, but it's actually much easier now that he sleeps through the night. How did he feel, by the way? Any sign of the fever coming back?”

“No. He did fine.”

“Good.” All her worrying had been for nothing. Was it wrong that a little selfish piece of her wanted them to need her help? She finished the rest of her cereal as Dawson leaned against the counter and drained his coffee mug.

“This is normally when I grab a few hours of sleep,” she said after placing her bowl in the dishwasher. “I'm sorry that I don't have a guest room. I'm told the couch is comfortable, though.”

“Don't worry about it. I've slept all I'm going to tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “I need my beauty sleep. My alarm will go off far too soon.”

“Tell me what to do and I'll take care of Mason while you sleep in,” Dawson offered, pouring another cup.

“Thanks for offering, but Mason thrives on routine. If he doesn't see me first thing, it could be a rough day.” Maybe that was hopeful. He and Dawson seemed to get along fine without her before.

“It's high time I became part of that routine, don't you think?” He pinned her with the way he glared at her.

There was no good comeback to that, so she nodded, fought back tears and said good-night.

The warm water from the shower sluiced over her, soothing the tension in her shoulders. Part of her was glad that Dawson was in her apartment under the circumstances. He made her feel physically safe and no one would watch over Mason more closely. And yet his presence brought on a whole new set of issues, too. No matter how much she fought it, she was still attracted to the guy. Plus, there was the complication of him knowing about Mason.

Had Melanie really believed she'd be able to keep this secret forever?

If she were being honest with herself, the answer was no.

Maybe it was good that they were facing this now. They were both reasonable adults and they could surely come up with a compromise that didn't suck the life out of her.

On that note, she finished washing, dried herself and then dressed in her normal bed clothes of boxer shorts and an old T-shirt from college, keenly aware of the male presence in the next room.

Had Dawson been fishing to see if she had a boyfriend earlier? Why did it embarrass her so much to discuss it with him?

There were other priorities in her life at the moment. Maybe she should have turned the tables and asked about his personal life. Lisa and Samantha had kept pretty quiet about his activities in the past few years and Melanie kept herself from asking about him. She knew there was no good that could come out of knowing about his business because he'd moved on.

Speaking of Lisa, Melanie needed to phone her friend tomorrow with an update. If she heard about the break-in, she would be worried. News would most likely travel quickly.

Her pulse picked up.

The whole town would know Melanie's secret soon enough. And she'd have to face Alice Hill.

Tossing and turning for a good hour, Melanie finally let go enough to fall asleep.

* * *

M
ELANIE
BLINKED
HER
eyes open. The sun blared through her window.

What time was it?

The clock read one fifteen, but that couldn't be right. She listened for sounds coming from the next room as she peeled covers off and slipped into her warm-up pants.

Had she forgotten to set her alarm last night? No way. She distinctly remembered doing it.

A moment of panic seized her. What if something had happened to Mason? Or Dawson? She barreled toward the door. The fact that the house was quiet didn't sit well.

There was no one in the living room or kitchen. Mason's room was empty as was the hall bath.

Melanie tore out the front door to see if her car was still there. It was parked right where she left it. Her pulse raced.

Could something have happened?

Wouldn't she have heard a noise?

Maybe her neighbor heard something. She broke into a run, panic pressing down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Nothing could happen to her little boy.

Mr. Patterson opened on the second round of knocking, midknock.

Melanie pulled her arm back. “Have you seen Mason?”

The older gentleman gave her a disapproving once-over.

“No. Sure heard him last night, though,” he said.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Could hardly hear my TV for all the crying noise.” His nose wrinkled as if he'd tasted something sour.