Читать книгу Texan's Baby - Barb Han - Страница 8

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.

Right now the only thing that mattered was getting Mason’s fever down. She’d have to deal with the rest later.

“Open up, baby,” she said.

Mason did. He’d always been an easy child.

She placed the small strip on his tongue. “Fifteen minutes and you’ll feel all better.”

He yawned again and rubbed his eyes. “Sleepy.”

“Try to rest.” She couldn’t help noticing that Dawson still held her son’s hand.

Melanie perched on the couch next to Mason, turning the cloth to the cooler side, rubbing his back.

“What’s going on with him?” Dawson whispered. Concern deepened his tone.

“At first I thought he was teething but it has to be more.” All of Dawson’s attention was on Mason. Good. Melanie wouldn’t be able to stand it if Dawson scrutinized her.“He’s had teething syndrome, which means several of his teeth have been trying to come in at the same time. They’ve been giving him fits.”

“But that doesn’t explain the coughing and congestion.”

“Exactly.”

He looked up at her. Sensual heat crawled up her neck, and her face heated, which couldn’t be more unwelcome under the circumstances. She diverted her eyes to Mason, her safe place. No one could argue she’d been a good mother. Well, no one but her. Apparently delivering a child meant second-guessing every decision. By the time Mason’s first birthday rolled around, she realized it was most likely a normal part of the turf.

Growing up watching her own parents live in a loveless marriage, Melanie didn’t want to make the same mistakes. She wondered if they’d ever really been in love. Their relationship felt more as if they existed in the same house, like roommates and not husband and wife.

What they had was more of a mutual understanding than a marriage, and maybe a healthy fear of ending up alone.

If Melanie committed herself to a man, she wanted fire and spark and forever. Not someone content to live under the same roof or who was afraid to be by themselves.

And maybe that was a childish notion. Until she was sure about a relationship, she had no problem going solo. But then her last relationship, the one with Dawson, had set the bar pretty high before the unexpected pregnancy and everything that followed.

Fifteen minutes had passed and Mason’s skin was beginning to cool. He’d turned on his side and his breathing had grown steady. Sleep was a good thing for her little angel.

Dawson pulled his cell out of his pocket.

“Who are you calling in the middle of the night?” she whispered.

“My mother. She’ll know what to do.” His voice was low.

She’s already done enough, Melanie thought.

“It’s too late,” she said with a little too much emotion. “And this isn’t the first routine fever I’ve gotten my son through.”

“Is it? Routine?” The way he emphasized that last word made her realize he had other questions about his son’s health, questions she knew would come.

“It’s already coming down.” Panic skittered across her nerves. His mother’s words wound through Melanie’s thoughts. If the baby became sick from the genetic illness that had taken his baby sister far too early, Dawson wouldn’t survive. Then she’d reminded Melanie that Dawson had been adamant about never having kids of his own. He would never risk putting a child through the same thing his sister had endured. His mother had said that if Melanie told him about the baby, then he’d stick around, trapped, and that he’d resent her for the rest of their lives.

Melanie thought about her parents, who’d been forced to marry after an unplanned pregnancy, about their empty lives.

“He felt so hot when I touched his forehead. He was an inferno. It can’t hurt to get a doctor’s opinion,” Dawson said, forcing her out of deep thought.

“Mason tends to get sick fast and hard, and he gets the worst temps. Luckily, he gets over them just as quickly. He needs rest and plenty of fluids. I’ll give his pediatrician a call in the morning just to be sure.”

“His name is Mason.” It was more statement than question, the fire still burning behind Dawson’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“How did this happen?” He held up his free hand. “Don’t answer that...that I know.”

Her cheeks flamed.

“The rest is complicated.” Her gaze bounced from Dawson to Mason. She didn’t want to disturb his peaceful sleep.

“Not from my viewpoint.” Frustration and confusion drew his dark eyebrows together.

“I’m exhausted, Dawson. I’ve been worried about Mason. Is there any chance we can talk about this tomorrow?” She started to turn but was stopped by his strong hand on her arm. She ignored the sensual trill vibrating through her where he touched, shrugging out of his grip.

“I saw a shadow pass by the front window. I should investigate before I leave. Besides, I’m not going anywhere until I know why this is the first time I found out I have a son.” His voice carried a subtle threat, but there was no way Dawson would ever act on it. He was hurt, she could see that in his eyes, and he needed time to adjust to this new reality.

“Do we have to go through this right now?” she asked, hoping for more time, time to clear up her churning thoughts so she could speak like a reasonable adult.

The look he shot her could’ve burned a hole in Sheetrock. “Don’t you think you’ve kept him from me long enough? Or that he deserves to know he has a father?”

“He needs his rest and I don’t want to disturb him. We can talk tomorrow,” she said as coldly as she could manage with Dawson so close.

“Oh, you really must think I’m an idiot. First, you hide my own son from me for...how old is he?”

“Eighteen months.”

“A full year and a half...and then you think you can just tell me to leave so you can slip out of town again. Not this time. I’m not leaving your side until I know everything.”

Hell would freeze over before she’d tell him the whole truth. Besides, he was acting as if this were all her fault and that fired anger through her veins. She wasn’t just being selfish by not telling him about Mason, she’d been trying to protect him. “It takes two to tango, mister. You had to know this was a possibility.”

“But we were careful.”

“Condoms are only effective 98 percent of the time. Look who’s in the 2 percent.” She held her hands up and shrugged.

“They really should put that on the package.” His anger was still rumbling along the surface and this was not the time for a rational discussion.

“They do. You’d need a magnifying glass to find it. At least, that’s what I used.” Her attempt at humor was met with a chilly response. For a split second, she wished for that carefree breezy smile of Dawson’s. The way one of his lips curled in a half smile was just about the sexiest thing she’d seen. And it had been great at seducing her. Just thinking about it caused a similar reaction she had to consciously shut down.

She refocused on a sigh. “You already know he’s eighteen months, so ask me something else.”

“How’d you decide on his name?”

“It was easy. That’s where he was conceived.” She didn’t want to admit to Dawson how very special that day was to her. And it had been.

“The night we spent at Mason Ridge Lake?”

She nodded. Dawson deserved to know that much at least. She had no plans to tell him what had happened a few weeks afterward in his mother’s office. Her shoulders relaxed a bit the way they always did when she talked about her son, correction, their son. Like it or not, Dawson was most likely going to be part of their lives. For Mason’s sake, that was a good thing. But she was worried about Dawson. Had she just condemned him to the fate she’d most feared? “What else do you want to know?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Bewildered, he rubbed the scruff on his chin. “What kinds of toys does he like?”

“The usual stuff babies like. Balls, trucks and baby dolls.”

“You let him play with—”

“Don’t even say it.” She shot him a look that scolded him without another word.

“No. You’re right. That was stupid and sexist of me.” He paused. “You’re sure he’s going to be okay? He’s so little and seems so...fragile.”

The look on Dawson’s face spoke volumes about how afraid he was for Mason. Of course, he wouldn’t say that if he had to lug the little bugger around all day. But that wasn’t really the question he was asking.

As far as Melanie knew, their son was fine. But then, the disease Dawson worried about wouldn’t show up until later. There was genetic testing available but Melanie had been too freaked out to take that step. She would. There’d come a point in the near future when she would need to know. Up until now, she’d been able to bury the thought down deep.

“He’s strong and healthy,” she said for both of their benefits. “His fevers always scare the heck out of me, but he should be good by tomorrow. It’s probably a virus and that’s the reason for the cough.”

“Sounds worse than that.” Dawson stuffed his cell into his pocket. “If you won’t let me call my mother, then we should take him to the emergency room or something. Mercy’s open.”

“He needs rest for now.” She positioned extra pillows around his sides so he wouldn’t roll off the sofa. If she were going to have this conversation or any conversation with Dawson she needed caffeine.

She moved to the fridge, Dawson on her heels, and pulled out a Pepsi. Normally, she fixed a glass with ice and a lime wedge, but this situation called for emergency measures. The cap was off and she’d had her first swallow before Dawson could fire another question.

“Where do the two of you live?” His face was stone and she had no idea what he was thinking.

“Outside of Houston. We have a two-bedroom apartment there in a suburb.”

“What about work? What do you do for a living?”

She didn’t want to tell him. He’d judge her. Maybe even call her an unfit mother. Oh, no, would he try to take Mason away from her? Courts might side with him, given that she’d kept their little boy a secret all these months—a fact that she hadn’t thought about until now. His family had enough money to wage war if they wanted to. Panic washed over her in a tidal wave mixed with other emotions. All her fears pressed down on her like concrete slabs pulling her to the bottom of the ocean. She put her hand to her chest.

“Breathe.” That one word, spoken with authority, was more calming than it should be.

“I need to check on Mason.” She took her Pepsi into the living room where she could keep an eye on her son.

Dawson followed.

“Let’s sit over here so we can talk and keep an eye on him,” she said, pointing to the pair of wingback chairs nestled near the fireplace as she eyed Dawson wearily, praying the caffeine would kick in.

“I’m not going to try to steal him, so you can stop looking at me like that,” Dawson said.

“You want coffee or something?” She’d rehearsed this scenario inside her mind a thousand times. Facing him, seeing the hurt in his eyes planted so much doubt about her actions up until now.

“No, thanks. I’ll take a Pepsi, though.”

She retrieved another bottle and handed it to him as they returned to the wingback chairs near Mason.

Here goes.

Melanie opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut. A noise in the other room stopped her cold. “Did you hear that?”

“Get the baby and get ready to run on my word. Don’t wait for me to come back. Just go when I say.” Dawson was already on his feet, moving toward the kitchen so stealthily with his back against the wall that his movement almost didn’t register.

By the second noise, Mason was in her arms and an ominous feeling had settled over her. Her purse was on the foyer table next to the front door, keys inside.

She heard a scuffle and then Dawson shouted, “Go!”

Her need to protect her son warred with her desire to make sure his father was okay.

Dawson had told her to leave.

She dug out her keys from the bottom of her bag, hands shaking, praying Mason would stay asleep on her shoulder.

As she stepped onto the front porch, a shotgun blasted in the other room.