Texan's Baby. Barb Han

tone just send an icy shiver down his back? Who needed air-conditioning with the chill she put in the air?

      He needed to man up and ask her what was really on his mind while he had her here. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason, maybe it was her mood, but he decided not to push his luck. In her state of mind she might just tell him. Brutal honesty could be the most painful kind, and a small part of him—the part that still had feelings for her—didn’t want to know.

      “Just as soon as I know you’re okay.” He took a step toward her. “And you put that shotgun away.”

      “You’re looking at me. Do I seem fine to you?”

      He wasn’t about to touch that statement. “Let me double-check the place to be sure. I saw someone moving around inside. I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I know you’re safe.”

      Her cocked eyebrow and the way she looked him up and down again said he needed to drop the act. They both knew he wasn’t asleep before.

      “I can handle myself, Dawson. I don’t need your help.”

      Most women would balk at the idea of going inside a house alone if there could be an intruder present. Melanie had always been able to stick up for herself, but she’d never been foolish. What was going on? Did she hate him so much that she’d be willing to risk her own safety just so she wouldn’t have to look at him again?

      “Then do it for me,” he said.

      “I already told you no.” She moved around to block his access to the door, her back to the kitchen.

      If he didn’t know her any better, he’d say she was hiding something...or someone.

      Reality hit him hard. She wasn’t alone.

      The last thing Dawson needed to see was the other guy. That would be an image he’d never be able to erase. It would burn into his retinas and his heart. “Suit yourself.”

      He turned and took a step toward the screen door.

      A noise pierced the awkward silence. Then a sudden burst exploded behind him and he turned in time to see a little kid, bawling, running toward Melanie.

      What the hell?

      The kid had to be at least a year, maybe two. His friend Dylan’s daughter was three and she looked much older than this guy.

      Melanie swore under her breath, loud enough that Dawson heard but quiet enough to shield the kid.

      The little boy moved closer, into the light, and Dawson’s jaw fell slack.

      Staring up at him was the spitting image of him.

Chapter Two

      Melanie’s pulse raced, her heart hammering on her rib cage as she started toward her son. This cannot be happening.

      Her entire world was crashing down around her and it was hard to breathe. One look at Dawson and it was clear that he’d put two and two together. Her secret was out in the open.

      She examined Dawson’s reaction as panic welled inside her.

      Pure unadulterated anger fired through his eyes when he glared at her. Melanie placed the shotgun on the cushion of the wicker sofa as she raced toward her son, who was crying and still half-asleep, with her arms open. “It’s okay, baby.”

      “We’re going to talk,” Dawson said in a low growl that sent a chill racing down her spine.

      Returning to Mason Ridge had been the worst of bad ideas.

      This wasn’t how things were supposed to go down. Abby had been supposed to stay in Houston with Mason, not bring him back to Mason Ridge. Her sister had called saying that Mason wouldn’t stop crying and that his forehead felt warm. Even after Melanie had reassured her sister that he was most likely cutting teeth and would be fine, Abby had insisted she come anyway. She’d shown up four hours later.

      Fear had gripped Melanie when she thought about Dawson’s parents living right across the street and possibly seeing her son. Dawson visited all the time. He was too close, and her worst-case scenario was playing out all around her as she hugged her son closer to her chest and consoled him.

      The heat of Dawson’s glare practically burned holes through the back of her head. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was staring at her. The only surprise was that he’d been mute so far. That scared her the most.

      She felt Mason’s forehead and frowned.

      “He’s burning up. I need to take him inside. You already know the way out.”

      “Nice try, but I’m not leaving until we talk.” His tone was lighter than she expected and she quickly realized he wouldn’t want to scare the baby. At least that would buy her some goodwill.

      She exhaled.

      “Fine.” She patted Mason’s back and he felt warm there, too. He hiccupped and coughed, and his chest sounded croupy.

      Dawson followed her inside. His silence was worse than any words he could’ve thrown at her. She’d almost rather he yell. The guilt that had been eating at her insides for months was about to destroy her stomach lining.

      No. She wouldn’t do this to herself again. She’d made the right call, she reminded herself, the only one she could’ve made under the circumstances and especially after the warning from Dawson’s mother.

      And yet Melanie couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was crumbling around her.

      “Can you get a clean washcloth from the linen closet down the hall and wet it?” She couldn’t worry about Dawson right now. Mason was her priority. She carried her clinging eighteen-month-old son to the couch. He was dead weight in her arms, already in the ninety-seventh percentile for height and weight, and she felt every one of his twenty-six pounds.

      Dawson disappeared down the hall, returning a few moments later with the offering. His dark brow creased with worry. He could be intimidating with his tall and powerful frame, and pitch-black hair. He had the face of a warrior...long, strong chin, hawk nose and serious dark brown eyes. But she’d seen the softer side to Dawson and knew exactly where her son got his kind disposition.

      Dawson sat on the edge of the solid wood block coffee table.

      Normally shy, Mason didn’t blink twice at the stranger’s presence. But then Dawson wasn’t exactly a random person. He was Mason’s father. Did her son know that somehow?

      A fresh wave of guilt washed over her as she took the wet cloth from Dawson and placed it on her son’s forehead.

      “Stay right here, baby. Mommy’s going to get you some medicine.”

      “Who’s dat, Mama?” came out through a yawn. His normally bright dark eyes were glossy and dull from fever. This was more than teething and Melanie was glad Abby hadn’t listened earlier.

      “Mr. Hill is a nice man.” She risked a glance at Dawson, who hadn’t stopped staring at their son. No way could she get him to leave now, not with all those questions brewing behind those dark eyes. “He’s going to help us tonight. Okay?”

      Mason nodded and then closed his red-rimmed eyes.

      “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

      She returned with a fever-reducing medicine strip that would melt on Mason’s tongue as soon as he opened his mouth.

      Dawson’s body was square with her son, he was leaning forward, and he seemed protective of the little boy already. Melanie couldn’t deny how right it felt to see the two of them together, no matter how much the thought she could lose Mason caused her chest to tighten.

      When she got close enough, she could see that Dawson was holding Mason’s hand. Her heart skipped a beat.

      Nothing was ever going to be the same again.