Texan's Baby. Barb Han

would be empty. At least her parents had had two daughters as glue for their relationship.

      Considering the other side of the coin, say Mason escaped the worst-case scenario. This was the one she prayed for every night. If she and Dawson had married based on her pregnancy, would all the spark between them slowly die with the realization that the only reason they were together was Mason?

      Most nights, Melanie sat up worrying, churning over her guilt. She stressed about Mason growing up never knowing his father, about Dawson’s reaction if he found out about his son, and about whether or not she was being unfair. And it had just felt like this huge no-win situation. Tell Dawson and commit him to a life of worry. Don’t tell him and cheat him out of his son.

      How many nights had she lain awake staring at the ceiling? That hamster wheel of questions spinning through her mind? Wishing answers would magically appear?

      Working nights mostly after he was asleep, she felt incredibly blessed to have been there for all his important firsts. There would be even more that she had to look forward to, like his first day of kindergarten, his first bike ride and the first book he could read on his own. Based on his taste so far it would be something by Dr. Seuss.

      “That about does it,” Dawson said. She hadn’t noticed the little clanking noises had stopped that he’d made while putting away supplies.

      Another yawn rolled up and out before she could suppress it. When was the last time she’d been this tired? Having her body beyond the brink of exhaustion was one thing. Her mind, overthinking her circumstance, had pushed this into a whole new stratosphere.

      “Think you can get some sleep?” he asked.

      “I doubt it.”

      “I’ve never seen you look so tired.”

      “Comes with the job,” she mused, thankful the mood had lightened at least for now. “Thanks for what you said earlier, by the way.”

      His brow came up as he took a seat on the couch. “And that was?”

      “For saying I was a good mother.”

      “Whatever is going on between us, and believe me, we’re going to talk about this all very soon, doesn’t affect how I think of you as Mason’s mother.” He paused thoughtfully. “I meant every word of what I said. He couldn’t have done better.”

      The deep rumble of his voice, the way it poured over her like Amaretto on vanilla ice cream, would cause her knees to buckle if she’d been standing. He’d always had that ability to make her legs turn into rubber.

      “It means a lot to hear you say that, Dawson.”

      “Come sit over here on the couch,” he said, motioning for her to take a seat next to him.

      She did, feeling the heat swirl as their shoulders touched. He still had that effect on her and she should be concerned about that. As it was, she was just happy that she could feel that way for anyone. To say her love life had been a draught since getting pregnant was the understatement of the year.

      Walking away from Dawson had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. Until sitting next to him on the couch right now.