“Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?” Dawson asked.

“I was scared.”

He shot her a look. “Why didn’t you really?” She shrugged.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.

“It’s going to take time to learn everything about him, Dawson,” she hedged, trying to redirect the conversation back to a comfortable place. “Maybe it’s enough for the two of you to get to know each other. We don’t have to do this all in one day, do we?”

“No. Of course not. But I have every intention of being there for my son as he grows up.”

Texan’s Baby

Barb Han

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author BARB HAN lives in north Texas with her very own hero-worthy husband, three beautiful children, a spunky golden retriever/standard poodle mix and too many books in her to-read pile. In her downtime, she plays video games and spends much of her time on or around a basketball court. She loves interacting with readers and is grateful for their support. You can reach her at www.barbhan.com.

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I owe a debt of gratitude to Allison Lyons and Jill Marsal for the chance to work with you both, the best editor and agent in the business.

Thank you to the entire team at Mills & Boon Intrigue, led by Denise Zaza, for brilliant editorial, art and marketing. I’m blown away every time.

There are a few people who inspire me, breathing joy and laughter into every day … Brandon, Jacob and Tori; I hope you know how much I love you. And to John, my one great love, for being the person I can’t wait to talk to at the end of each day.

A huge thank-you to Chrissy McDowell for her medical research help and to her daughter, Morgan, for her all-around awesomeness and bright red hair.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Dawson Hill stared at the two-story Folk Victorian across the street intently. It was two o’clock in the morning and he’d been in the same spot at the front window an embarrassing number of hours already. He was staying the night at his childhood home in hopes that he would figure out a good reason to approach her. If he thought he could get a straight answer out of Melanie Dixon, he’d stalk over and ask her outright. As it was, he could only guess why she’d disappeared two and a half years ago, not long after they’d started what he thought was a real relationship. Normally he’d be able to let it go and not look back, but they’d known each other since they were kids and it wasn’t like her to pull such a stunt.

Movement across the street caught Dawson’s eye. A dark silhouette crossed the front window. Was someone on her porch? Why would anyone be moving around outside in the dark at this time of night? The thought sat in his gut about as well as eating a handful of nails.

Beckett Alcorn, aka The Mason Ridge Abductor—the most notorious criminal in Mason Ridge’s history—was in jail where he belonged. That should have ended the terror that had haunted this town for fifteen years. Except that, in return for leniency, Alcorn gave up his partner’s name. He and Jordan Sprigs had been running a child abduction ring throughout Texas for the past fifteen years. Sprigs was believed to be out of the state, in hiding.

The town should be able to rest easy. It couldn’t. The feds had been brought in to actively look for Sprigs. This was the last place anyone expected to find him. And yet no one felt safe. This case never seemed to close. Maybe that was the reason Dawson didn’t believe it was over, either.

Now that Alcorn was behind bars and every available law enforcement officer was seeking Sprigs, the town was supposed to be able to move forward. Go back to their normal lives. And yet little things were still going bump in the night. Or in this case, shadows were moving across windows.

Melanie’s parents were on the road, so Dawson already knew she was home alone. Her parents had spent every summer in their RV traveling around the US since retiring from the post office half a dozen years ago.

Because she was by herself in the house and Dawson’s creepy radar was on full alert, he slipped out the back door to investigate.

A quick walk around the perimeter followed by peeking in a couple of windows just to make sure she wasn’t in trouble would allow him to rest peacefully. Rest? He suppressed a laugh. Knowing Melanie was across the street alone while one of Mason Ridge’s most notorious criminals was on the loose wasn’t exactly the cure for insomnia.

Making sure she was safe would go a long way toward giving him the peace of mind he needed to sleep, he told himself. And this had nothing to do with the fact that he needed to see her again.

Dawson ignored the little voice in the back of his mind calling him a liar and slipped across the street.

With every step toward Melanie’s place, the hair on Dawson’s neck pricked. What was that all about? He didn’t believe in the hype about black cats walking over graves or bad luck following walking under a ladder. He believed what was right in front of his nose. If he could see, touch or hear it, then it existed.

The front curtain moved as he positioned himself inside the Japanese boxwoods lining the perimeter to gain a better view over the porch. Whatever was on the other side of the wall five feet away had his senses screeching on full alert. The sirens in his head were so loud he’d have one helluva headache if he didn’t silence them soon.

Climbing onto the wraparound porch, he listened carefully. The inside of the house was pitch-black, and there was no sound of breaking lamps or noises associated with stumbling into chairs or side tables. Whoever was in there most likely knew the layout. This was knowledge Melanie would have, but why would she creep around in her childhood house in the dark? Didn’t make any sense, which was another reason the warning bells inside his head were ringing so loud his ears hurt.

If he covered all the possible scenarios, then he had to consider the notion that she had a boyfriend. There could be a guy in there trying not to wake her.

Dawson glanced over at the carport. All he saw was Melanie’s vehicle, which revealed nothing. She could’ve picked the guy up in order to keep their relationship under wraps.

Thinking about Melanie with another man didn’t do good things to Dawson’s blood pressure. And yet he had no right to be angry.

There were other possibilities. Melanie had a sister, Abby. Dawson was sure he’d seen her around town yesterday, but he’d assumed that she’d gone back to Austin when her car disappeared last night.

The RV was gone, so there was no chance her parents had returned.

An ugly thought struck. Was Dawson making an excuse to spy on her? Had he really seen what he thought or was his mind playing tricks on him? He quickly dismissed the notion. Even though she’d been more frigid than crab fishermen’s waters since their breakup—if he could call it that—he needed to make sure she was safe, especially while Sprigs was still free. Their mutual friend Lisa was still recovering from being attacked in connection with this case.

Dawson peeked through the front window. He couldn’t see a thing.

How many hours had he spent inside that house as a kid?

How many since? He and Melanie had started things up between them when she took a job as a paralegal a couple years after she’d graduated from college. Things were going well until she’d abruptly told him it was over and then pulled a Houdini, moving to Houston and cutting off all contact. Said she’d moved on and had meant it literally and figuratively. Her stuff had disappeared from her parents’ place where she’d been staying, and she hadn’t taken his calls since. Didn’t he lick a few wounds over that?

The time or two he’d been drunk enough to torture himself by looking at a picture of her online hadn’t given him any more of a clue as to what he’d done wrong. Her privacy settings on her social media pages were set tighter than perimeter patrol at Leavenworth, so he couldn’t see much beyond her profile picture.

Dawson slipped around back of the house and onto the screened porch. He’d remind her to keep that locked the next time he saw her. Yeah, he’d be the first one she’d want to talk to. She’d been home four days already and had managed to avoid talking to him so far. Since they shared the same friends, that took effort.

A shadow moved in the hallway toward the kitchen. Based on the size of this one, Dawson assumed it belonged to a male. Shadows could be deceiving.

The figure retreated. Dawson crouched low to make himself as small as possible—which was difficult given his six-foot-three frame—in case the dark figure returned. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and there was just enough light coming off the appliances to see the kitchen fairly well.

Years ago, the Dixons used to hide a key in a fake rock near the porch. He dropped down to the bottom of the stairs now and felt around. Bingo.

Dawson slipped the key in the lock and then froze. If memory served, the Dixons had had an alarm installed for when they went on long road trips. He had an auxiliary code for emergencies, so he was good there. His grip tightened around the door knob.

Hold on a second.

If the door chime was on, he’d be given up the second he opened that door. He muttered a curse.

The telltale double click of a shotgun engaging a shell in the chamber sounded from behind.

Dawson spun around and stared at Melanie.

“Put that thing away before you hurt me.” He waved her off.

“What are you doing here, Dawson Hill?” She studied him intently. Her legs were apart, positioned in an athletic stance, and the determination on her face said she’d shoot if she had to. She had the feral disposition of a mama bear protecting her cubs.

“Hold on there.” Dawson’s hands came up in surrender. “Why don’t you lower that thing before you accidentally pull the trigger?”

She dropped the barrel, allowing it to rest on her forearm. It was the easiest spot to pull up and shoot from, Dawson noted.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, a look of sheer panic in her eyes. And there was another emotion present that Dawson couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was intense.

“Trying to make sure no one’s breaking into your parents’ house.” His hands still in the air, he stared at her. Damn, she looked good. It was too dark to see all the flecks in her honey-brown eyes, but she still had that dancer’s body she’d earned at Nina’s Dance Studio in town. Her hips had filled out in the sexiest curves. The silhouette of her long, wavy blond hair said she’d let it grow out since he’d last seen her. He flexed his fingers to distract himself from wanting to reach out to touch her smooth glowing skin and he wondered if she would still quiver if he ran his hand along the lines of her flat stomach.

Given the fact that a shotgun barrel was pointed right at his groin, his thoughts couldn’t be more inappropriate. Dawson sidestepped the line of the barrel.

“What makes you think someone’s trying to get in here?” The edge to her voice was another slap of reality.

It was clear that she’d rather face down a robber than see Dawson again. Now, wasn’t that interesting? Apparently she regretted the time they’d spent together, especially given the way she’d bolted without a word not long after. Personally, he thought the sex had ranked right up there with the best he’d ever had.

Since Dawson didn’t want to admit he’d been staring out the window half the night just to catch a glimpse of her, he decided to say, “Woke to a noise across the street and followed it here.”

She gave him a quick once-over, her disbelief written all over her expression.

Yeah, he was still fully dressed. She would know that he slept in boxers and nothing else.

Her gaze narrowed as she took him in. “Looks like you just woke up all right. And I’m the tooth fairy.”

“That’s good to know, because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that nickel you left me in second grade.” Normally a statement like that would make her smile and then she’d fire a snappy comeback at him. He’d always loved her sense of humor. She wasn’t buying in this time. Her glare could crack ice.

“No one’s here but me and you. You should go.” Didn’t her 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.

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.

Chapter Three

Melanie’s pulse raced as Mason opened his eyes and bawled so loudly there was no covering it. The sound would alert whoever had the gun, and chances were that person wasn’t Dawson. A knife pierced her chest at the thought of him being shot, bleeding. She had very much loved him and the two had been inseparable for most of their childhoods.

She bolted across the porch and down the stairs.

Mason wriggled, working up to release another round.

“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed as she made a run for her car, her legs bogged down by what felt like lead weights as she thought about leaving Dawson behind.

The carport on the side of the house was equal distance from the front and back doors. Anything happened to Dawson—and she prayed that wasn’t the case—and the attacker could get to her and Mason easily.

She couldn’t allow herself to think that anything could happen to Dawson, no matter how heavy her heart was in her chest, trying to convince her otherwise.

The auto unlock caused her sedan’s lights to blink and make a clicking sound. Mason stirred and she feared he was about to wail again giving away their location, but he whimpered instead.

Melanie repeated a protection prayer she’d learned as a child as she tucked Mason into the car seat. She half expected someone to come up from behind and jerk her away from her son. Or another sudden blast to split the air.

No matter how torn she felt between running to safety with her Mason and staying back to help his father, she would go. Dawson had ordered her to take the baby and run, and she had to believe—no, pray—he knew what he was doing.

Getting the key in the ignition was difficult with shaky hands. Adrenaline had kicked in and her insides churned. She finally managed on her fourth attempt. Mason stirred, crying louder, winding up to release a scream. The energy he was expending threw him into another coughing fit. And there was nothing she could do about it, which sent her stress hormones soaring.

Melanie backed out of the carport with blacked-out lights. She turned the car around so that she could better see as she navigated the gravel driveway.

With the windows up Mason’s crying would be muffled to anyone outside the car. Leaving him in the backseat, not being able to comfort him while he cried ripped out another piece of her heart. As soon as she could be sure she’d gotten them out of there and to safety, she’d pull over. No, she’d call 9-1-1 first.

Nearing the end of the driveway, she was almost to the street when a dark figure jumped in front of the car.

Melanie slammed on the brakes and flipped on her headlights.

It was Dawson...covered in blood.

She unlocked the doors, motioning for him to get inside while scanning the darkness for his attacker. Her heart sank. She could get him to Mercy Hospital in twenty minutes.

He darted to the passenger side, opened the door and jumped in. “Go.”

No other word was needed. As soon as his door closed, she gunned it, spinning out in the gravel. She eased her foot off the gas pedal enough for the tires to gain traction, cut a right at the end of the drive and sped toward Mercy.

“Dawson, you’re shot.”

“It’s not that bad,” he said.

Mason’s cries intensified. She glanced in the rearview and saw that his eyes were closed as he tried to shove his fist in his mouth.

“You have blood all over you,” she said to Dawson, not masking the panic in her voice as her heart ached to hold her son.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said, dismissing her concern and focusing on Mason. “What can I do to help him?”

“There’s an emergency pacifier in the diaper bag in the floorboard.” She motioned toward the backseat. “I’ve been weaning him.”

Dawson held up his bloody hands.

“There are wet wipes in the bag, too.”

Dawson grunted in pain as he twisted around and pulled wipes from the bag. Distress was stamped all over his features at hearing the baby cry.

Melanie had had the same look when her son was born and she realized that she didn’t have the first idea how to take care of a baby. A few months later, she’d become an old hand at caring for Mason, and she had no doubt that Dawson would, too.

As soon as the pacifier was in Mason’s mouth, he quieted.

“Make a left at the next light,” Dawson said, sounding satisfied.

She remembered that feeling well. Those early wins were important confidence boosters.

“You’re hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital,” she said emphatically.

“No. I’m fine.” There was no room for argument in his tone. “A piece of the slug grazed my shoulder. That’s all.”

“It looks a lot worse than that,” she said. Was he downplaying his injury? She wanted to believe he was fine. From her periphery she saw him one-arm his shirt off and then roll it up.

“Nah. I’ll be okay.”

“I have a medical kit in the glove box. There are a few supplies in there that should help.”

“Since when did you start keeping an emergency kit in your car?” he asked.

“Mason was climbing up the stairs to a slide at a playground. A mom asked me a question, distracted me for one second. I looked away. Next thing I know, Mason’s screaming and blood’s pouring from his forehead. A nice couple brought over a few supplies they’d learned to keep with them. I made my own kit after that.”

“The sound of his crying is heartbreaking. He’s quiet, but what if he loses that pacifier I put in his mouth? Should I go back there and hold him or something?”

“Not with blood all over you. Plus, he’s safer in his car seat.”

“You’re right. Of course. I don’t know how you can listen to him and still drive. It kills me,” he admitted.

“Believe me, it isn’t easy.” She didn’t want to say that she’d had more practice than Dawson or remind him of what he’d already missed.

“I’ll watch out to make sure we’re not being followed,” he said.

“Who was it back there?” she asked. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“I didn’t recognize the guy. We had a scuffle and he got hold of the shotgun. He pulled the trigger as he ran away.”

“I thought for sure it would be Sprigs.” Relief flooded her that it wasn’t him.

“What would he want with you?”

“He’s always given me the creeps,” she said with a shiver.

“Ever since he developed that crush on you when you were in middle school and couldn’t let it go?”

“Yes. And every few months he felt the need to make sure I knew he still liked me. He was really upset when you and I started dating and sent me a few odd messages through social media. I tightened all my privacy controls when I left town so he couldn’t see any of my stuff. I hoped that would send him the message to leave me alone.” Learning he was involved in a child abduction ring had shocked her until she really thought about it. Sprigs was creepy before. Now he was flat-out dangerous.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Had no reason to before. I just thought he was a creep. Now, with everything going on I’m scared.”

“What makes you think it might’ve been him tonight?” Dawson asked.

“I’m pretty sure that I got a piece of mail from him at my parent’s house the other day. It was cryptic but alluded to the fact that we’d be together again someday. At the time, I thought he might be saying good-bye.”

“And now you’re worried he means you’ll be together now,” Dawson said through what sounded like clenched teeth.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Mason stirred, crying without opening his eyes.

Melanie sang her son’s favorite song while Dawson worked on his flesh wound for the rest of the ride. The baby settled halfway through the lyrics and fell back into a deep sleep.

Riding in a car helped. How many times had she driven around the block to get him to take a nap in the past year and a half? She’d lost count.

Singing in front of Dawson should embarrass her. For some reason, it didn’t. She chalked it up to their history and tried not to read anything more into it.

It would be nice to know what Dawson was thinking. Then again, after all that had happened tonight, maybe not knowing was better.

Reporting the crime didn’t take long. The deputy said he’d check the house personally and then lock up using the spare key Dawson provided. He also said that he’d make a note on the Sprigs case about the letter even though he seemed unconvinced the two were related, stating that stalkers acted alone.

“That seemed like a waste of time,” Melanie said to Dawson on the way out of the sheriff’s office.

“Agreed. Burglaries do happen, but this was not one of them. I have a feeling you’re right about Sprigs and he’s behind this in some way.”

“Like I told the deputy, I’m not going back to that house tonight and I don’t for one minute believe that could be random,” Melanie said, patting Mason’s back as he slept with his head on her shoulder.

Dawson agreed. “We’re not staying at my parents’ place, either. Sprigs is still on the loose and our friends have been targeted before. We need to take every precaution necessary to ensure your safety.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of “we.” However, she wasn’t in a position to argue.

“That’s part of the reason I was watching your house earlier.” He seemed to realize that he hadn’t meant to share that news, giving an awkward glance in her direction. “I was concerned about you, Melanie, and it wasn’t like you were talking to me.”

“I’m glad you were there, no matter what the actual reason was.”

“By the looks of your initial reaction to my presence, you can take care of yourself.” His tone was lighter and that was meant to be a joke.

It should be funny.

Being a single parent was more than difficult, even though Melanie wouldn’t trade one single day with Mason for the world. If she were being totally honest, though, she was tired of taking care of everything on her own. Or maybe she was just tired. The early months had been a string of missed nights of sleep. Taking care of her son alone had been tough and rewarding and exhausting.

And lonely.

Part of her had a better understanding of why her parents chose to stay together and that scared her even more.

Having an intelligent conversation with a baby about the latest big book or movie wasn’t exactly possible. Since her friends were out or asleep when the baby went down for the night, she’d buried herself in being Mason’s mom.

“Confession?” she asked.

He nodded, smiled at the reference to the game they used to play when they were about to reveal something they didn’t want to or wanted to correct a lie.

“I work at a bar at night so I can spend the days with Mason. I don’t feel like I’ve really slept in—well, if you count the pregnancy—almost two and a half years.”

The look of shock on his face had her thinking sharing was a bad idea.

“I know I’m not using my degree,” she said quickly, “but I will. As soon as Mason’s old enough to go to school, I plan to get an office job. And then we’ll have more of a normal life. I didn’t want to miss it—miss this stage. I wanted to be there to see him take his first steps, hear him say his first words.”

And, yes, to watch over him and make sure he wasn’t showing any signs of the disease Bethany had died from. She’d never say that part out loud, but it was just as true.

“Of course, I’m also afraid that I’m doing everything wrong. Maybe I should get a normal job now with regular hours. I worry about being tired all the time. How can I possibly be a great mother on the days I can barely keep my eyes open?”

Dawson’s silence was just about the worst thing right now as they got inside the car and then pulled out of the parking lot without him responding.

His mother’s words echoed in Melanie’s head over and over again until her brain hurt. Leave my son alone. Let him have a life. Don’t trap him with a child that would only make him live every day in fear.

Well, guess what? The secret was out in the open. The ball was in Dawson’s court. He knew he had a son. And now he was as trapped as her parents had been.

“You’re a good mother,” Dawson said, and the note of reverence in his voice took her back.

“How do you know?”

“The way you look at him. The way you want to protect him. Back on the porch you were ready to shoot me. Me.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know who you were at the time,” she said.

“Exactly my point. You didn’t so much as flinch. You’d do whatever it took to keep him safe. You couldn’t possibly be a bad mother. But we’re not even close to done talking.”

She held up a hand as she suppressed a yawn. Yeah, it was a stall tactic. What could she say to him?

Melanie remembered every moment of his sorrow after losing his sister.

Once the baby was born, her emotions had been on a perpetual roller coaster. Should she tell him? Did he have a right to know? Would it break him if the worst case came true? She’d been too exhausted and too emotional to make a rational decision, even though she told herself a thousand times she’d figure out a way to reach out to Dawson. Every time she seriously considered it, an image of him after he lost his sister, the overwhelming sadness had her reconsidering.

Coming back to Mason Ridge had been a colossal mistake. What if Dawson got it in his head that he needed to “do the right thing” and propose? She’d have to refuse. Visions of shared custody and an empty holiday table every other Christmas flooded her and tears instantly welled in her eyes. She was being silly, selfish. She knew that.

A few spilled over, but she’d be damned if she let Dawson see her cry. How many times had she heard her own mother crying herself to sleep at night?

Melanie had no plans to go there. Ever.

* * *

“WHERE ARE YOU taking us?” Melanie asked Dawson, his brain still trying to process everything that had just happened.

“Somewhere safe.” A place where they could take care of the baby and talk. Dawson was owed answers. He would ask more questions, but he honestly didn’t know where to start. Finding out he had a kid was more than a shock and he was trying to wrap his mind around how he felt about the news. Most men had nine months to gear up for parenthood. He’d had the bomb dropped in his lap about an hour ago. Not to mention the fact that he’d missed the first entire year and a half of his son’s life.

Anger. Now, there was an emotion. Dawson was all too familiar with that reaction to the world. He’d be all over it now if he thought raging would do any good. It wouldn’t. One thing Dawson had learned from youth was that no good had ever come out of losing his temper. He had more experience to back that statement than he wanted to admit.

Fear was another emotion ripping through him. What if his son had the same genetic trait Bethany had? What if Mason developed Alexander disease? A ripple of anger burned through Dawson.

Distrust topped his list, as well. People lied all the time. Dawson was ridiculous enough to believe that he and Melanie had a special relationship. If it had been, she wouldn’t have been able to harbor a secret of that magnitude.

The pair had been inseparable as kids. She’d been the only one he could trust when his five-year-old sister had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. His parents had mentally checked out afterward. Not Melanie. She’d been there for him every step of the way.

Sadness and rage had filled the ten-year-old Dawson. He’d been angry at the world for taking away his baby, and she’d been called his baby from the day she was born for how protective of her he’d been.

There’d been endless doctor visits and the agony of watching his baby wither away until she’d closed her eyes for the last time.

Dawson had withdrawn from his friends that year and retreated inside himself into a dark place. Then, out of nowhere, Melanie had shown up. She’d just sat on his stairs every day after school until her parents called her in for supper, never once knocking. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Curiosity eventually got the best of Dawson and he opened the door and asked her what she wanted.

“Nothing,” she’d said.

He’d closed the door and gone back into his room, stewing over why anyone would sit there every day on his property if she didn’t have a good reason.

The next day they had the same conversation. After a week, he told her to leave.

She’d looked at him with the same eyes she had now, shivering, and gave him a flat “No.”

When he asked why she wouldn’t leave, she’d replied, “Free country.”

That day, he’d sat down next to her. “You sure are stubborn.”

“I know,” was all she’d said. Then she’d pulled out a stack of basketball trading cards from her coat pocket— collecting had been his passion—and asked him what he’d give for a Topps Kareem Abdul-Jabbar 1976/1977 edition.

Dawson, who hadn’t looked at his cards in almost a year, started negotiating for the forty dollar prize. As he did, the heavy burden he’d been carrying since losing his baby lost some of its grip. That had also been the first night he didn’t cry himself to sleep.

It had taken a little time after that, but he’d eventually regained his bearings. He’d rejoined his friends, the rest of the world, and had shared everything with Melanie since then. He and Melanie had been inseparable until hormones and the demands of his high school girlfriend had split them apart.

Of all the people in the world, Dawson had believed that no matter how much time and space came between them, Melanie would always have his back.

Until now. Until this. Until her betrayal.

Never in his wildest thoughts would he have guessed she would do this to him—denying him his child burned him like a stray bolt of lightning, fast and deep. Hiding his son from him was the worst betrayal. She’d broken every thread of trust that had existed between them in a way that couldn’t be repaired.

Dawson forced his thoughts back to the present as he exited the highway. He’d pulled a few evasive maneuvers to ensure that no one had followed them. There was a hotel on the outskirts of town, heading toward Dallas, that would work. They should be safe there for a little while at least.

Law enforcement knew about Sprigs and Alcorn, but Dawson couldn’t rule out the possibility that there’d be others involved. Those two might sit at the top of the crime ring, but they had to have a fairly sophisticated network to pull off human trafficking. Any of their lackeys could be after Melanie.

Dawson had a thought. Maybe the guy back at the house was supposed to kidnap Melanie and bring her to Sprigs. With everyone on the lookout for him, he’d have to be crafty. He could’ve planned to snatch Melanie and then disappear out of the country.

The thought sat hot in Dawson’s stomach. Being on the Most Wanted list made all those individuals even more dangerous. And that meant his son was in serious danger, too.

“Who knows about Mason?” he asked.

“My family.”

“That’s all?” he pressed. He’d picked up on something in her voice when she answered.

“Yes.”

With a sick baby, Dawson’s first priority would be to get adequate housing and food. What did a baby eat? Did his son even eat real food? Dawson had no idea. Resentment for losing the past year and a half of his child’s life bubbled to the surface along with a very real fear. Thinking about his little sister, her illness, had him wondering again if his son would inherit the disease.

He glanced at the rearview.

Melanie had closed her eyes in the backseat while holding Mason’s hand, and a piece of Dawson’s heart stirred.

Once again, he was floored at the thought he had a child.

It was a lot to digest, but nothing would stop him from getting there and accepting it. An image of him and Mason playing ball popped up in Dawson’s head. Pride filled his chest, accompanied by a feeling he couldn’t put his finger on. He recalled feeling something like this for his baby sister when she’d been alive, but the feeling had been tucked away so deep he almost forgot it had existed.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about her in years. He guessed he’d stashed away everything that had caused him pain.

His relationship with his parents had never been the same after her death. Their mourning was so powerful, so strong that they had nothing left to give Dawson or each other.

His mother took it the hardest, staying in bed until Dawson returned from school most days for a year. Grief-stricken, she left her medical practice for almost two years before finally trying to move forward. His father put on a brave mask and went to work. He’d bring food home, keeping the house going, but he never really smiled or laughed after that.

A few years later one of Dawson’s friends and her little brother, Rebecca and Shane, had been abducted. Dawson’s parents had joined in the search. It was the first thing they’d done together since losing Bethany. With time, they became closer and more involved in Dawson’s life again.

But in those dark years when the air had been sucked out of the house, Melanie had brought the light.

If someone had told him that Melanie would betray their history, their friendship, with one act, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. She could’ve gotten away with almost anything and he’d have found a way to forgive her. But this?

Never.

Chapter Four

By the time Dawson pulled into the hotel parking lot, Melanie was asleep in the backseat. He hated to wake her, so he just stared at her for a minute. All those old feelings—good feelings, like nights spent outdoors looking up at the sky and warmth—crashed with the new reality, the one where she’d betrayed him in the worst way.

She wasn’t the same person and neither was he. Her skin glowed and he figured something about motherhood had changed her. So much about her was different, especially in the way she carried herself. Her features had softened even more unless her son was threatened and then her protectiveness was written all over her stern gaze and determined stance.

On closer look, he’d noticed the dark circles under her eyes. It seemed she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, and based on his limited experience with a baby, he could see how that might happen. Dawson didn’t think he’d ever sleep again for worrying over his son, especially while the little guy was sick. Plus, everything about Mason seemed tiny and fragile.

The kid had a good set of lungs on him.

And Melanie seemed to think Mason was huge now. Dawson could only imagine what those first few months must’ve been like while he was even smaller.

“Where are we?” Melanie woke as soon as Dawson cut off the engine.

“We’re in a Dallas suburb. Figured there’d be grocery stores nearby where we could pick up supplies for the baby.”

She shook her head and blinked her eyes. “Okay. Just give me a second.”

Dawson opened Mason’s door and waited for her to unbuckle him. Working the car seat was a lesson for another day. He’d need to figure it out soon if he was going to take his son anywhere on his own. The learning curve on caring for a baby would be steep. He’d seen first-hand with his friend Dylan.

Melanie made it all look easy as she clicked a button and gently removed the straps to free their son.

Dawson reminded himself he’d only had two hours of practice, whereas she’d had the past eighteen months to adjust.

“You’re tired. I’ll carry the baby,” Dawson said. No matter how bad things were between him and Melanie, Mason had nothing to do with it. Dawson had no plans to make his son feel uncomfortable when his parents were around each other so he’d have to work on keeping his emotions in check.

“No, thanks. I got him.” Melanie scooped their son out of his seat fluidly. She had that same look in her eye that she did on the porch, too.

For now, Dawson wouldn’t argue. But she’d learn to give him an inch. Mason belonged to both of them and Dawson had no plans to let his son down in the way his own parents had done him.

Grinding his back teeth, he shouldered the diaper bag.

After ten minutes at the front desk, Dawson had a hotel room key in hand and the promise that a crib was being delivered to the room. He knew enough to make sure there was a fridge and a microwave, opting for an all-suite hotel rather than one with traditional rooms. The inside entry would ensure that Melanie and Mason were safe while Dawson ran out for supplies.

Their suite was on the second floor, another safety precaution he’d insisted on.

“This should give us a place to rest and think so we can figure out our next move.” He opened the door, allowing her and the baby in first.

“It might be safer for me and Mason if we go back to our apartment tomorrow. Sprigs doesn’t know where I live.”

He didn’t want to scare her, but he couldn’t let her take unnecessary risks with his child, either. “You’re stuck with me until they catch him.”

All hope that his comment would ease her concerns flew out the window with her exacerbated look. If possible, her stress levels seemed to increase. Hell on a stick. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. She had bigger ghosts from her past to be afraid of than him.

Mason stirred, spit out his pacifier and started crying again.

The sound was pitiful and caused Dawson’s heart to sink to his toes. He’d do just about anything to make it go away. Watching his son upset with no means to soothe him had never made Dawson feel more helpless in his life, not since...well...dammit...he couldn’t go there again about his sister.

Melanie was gently bouncing Mason while she sang the song from the car to him.

The place had everything they needed, including a bedroom with a door that closed, sealing off the room. He figured Melanie would appreciate that feature as much as he did about now. Especially if they had to stay put for a few days.

“Is he hungry? Does he need milk or formula?” Dawson had scooped up the pacifier and set it on the counter.

“No, he shouldn’t be. Babies cry when they don’t feel good.” She kissed Mason’s forehead. “He’s just telling us that whatever he has isn’t fun.”

Dawson stripped off his shirt and paced. He oversaw the logistics department for a major online retailer. He could handle this. He thought about his friend Dylan. There was a man who was the second least likely natural father material in their group and look how well he’d done since his daughter, Maribel, had come to live with him. To say the guy had changed drastically was a lot like saying a cow had turned into a dog.

Dawson mentally calculated the age difference between Maribel and Mason. She was three, so the two were about a year and a half apart. Thinking back, she’d come to live with her father when she was about six months older than Mason.

At least Dawson had a friend with experience at being thrown this curve ball. Dylan would be a great resource. Dawson needed to reach out to his friend when things settled down and he was able to spend time alone with his son. As protective as Melanie was, there was no risk she’d leave the two of them to their own resources before she had to.

As much as he didn’t like the idea of being forced to spend time with her after what she’d done, he wasn’t stupid. He would need her to help him get up to speed. Baby boys probably weren’t much different from girls, but Dawson was starting from ground zero with the whole parenting thing, and he needed all the help he could get.

A few minutes of rocking and singing later, and Mason had settled down enough to go back to sleep.

“What time is it?” Melanie asked, diverting her gaze from him as a soft knock came at the door.

If that noise woke the baby, the person on the other side of that hunk of wood had better run. A glance at Mason revealed that he still slept.

Dawson checked through the peephole and saw two men dressed in maintenance jumpsuits standing on the other side. No doubt the crib had arrived.

He opened the door slightly and put his finger to his lips.

One of the men, the one nearest the door, nodded his understanding and then turned to his buddy and repeated the gesture.

Dawson allowed them access.

“Where would you like this set up?” the lead man whispered.

Dawson deferred to Melanie. An act he was sure to repeat more than he cared to in the coming days, weeks, months.

And yet she looked just as sweet and pitiful as Mason with the boy snuggled against her chest. Dawson didn’t want to notice either of those things any more than he wanted to feel sorry for her. He did.

* * *

HAVING DAWSON AROUND fried Melanie’s nerves. Thank the stars he’d gone out for milk and baby food after he washed up and rinsed blood from his shirt. At least now she could breathe normally again—something that was impossible to do when he was in the room.

The maintenance workers had put together the crib. Thankfully, Dawson had stuck around until they’d left, and he was all she could think about since he walked out the door.

She’d given Mason a second dose of medicine according to the directions on the package.

He’d made a good point earlier, though. Why was Sprigs still obsessed with her? There had to be some underlying reason. If she could figure it out maybe she could make it stop. She understood why their other friends had been targeted. They’d been sitting on secrets that, pieced together, could’ve gotten Beckett Alcorn and Sprigs arrested a lot sooner and broken up the child abduction scheme.

But what had Melanie done?

Nothing.

She’d been careful not to encourage Sprigs. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d remember something that had happened fifteen years ago. Good God, she could barely remember events from last week. Lack of sleep didn’t do good things to the memory. Or the brain. Or the body, she mused, looking down at her little pooch. Her stomach muscles hadn’t quite bounced back since she had the baby, and most of the time she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if she was trying to date.

Being in the room with Dawson had made her think about just how much she’d let herself go. Her hair was in a perpetual ponytail and she lived in yoga pants. She had to get dressed up for work, but that didn’t count. Forget makeup unless it was time to clock in.

Then she’d force herself into a pair of jeans, put on an actual bra and rotate her three good shirts. Money had been tight and all of hers had gone to taking care of Mason. Another thing she didn’t regret.

But speaking of clothes, she’d left her parents’ house in such a rush she hadn’t had a chance to grab any. Which was fine for now. At least she’d thrown on yoga pants when she heard the noise outside. Other than that, she had on a sleeping T-shirt and no bra.

And thinking about that was just a way of distracting herself from the very real possibility that Dawson would take her son away.

A part of her knew that he could never be that cruel, but if the shoe were on the other foot, what would she think about him?

She pushed the thought aside because she’d been trying to protect him.

Plus, there was no time to worry about that while she was hiding out from a crazy person—a man who stole kids.

A shudder ran through her bone-tired body. She’d been focused on the possibility of Dawson filing for sole custody, but there was another very real threat out there to her son. The Mason Ridge Abductor was more than one person, and the second half of that team seemed intent on harming her.

The door opened, causing her to jump.

“It’s me,” Dawson said, arms full of bags. “I got whole milk. That’s what he drinks, right?”

“Yeah, sorry, I should’ve been specific.”

“It’s fine. I looked it up on my cell. Apparently, you can learn just about everything on the internet.”

She couldn’t help herself so she laughed at his attempt at humor. She shouldn’t like the way it made him smile. At this point, she had no idea what his plans were and she had to protect her son at all costs. The thought of not being with him would end her—Mason was the only thing she’d thought about for two and a half years.

“I’ll help you put away the groceries,” she offered.

“Sit down. I got this.” He waved her off.

She bit back a yawn. When was the last time she’d really slept? Certainly not at her parents’ place. The idea had been good. Come back to Mason Ridge to help her friend while Abby took care of Mason in Houston. It was the first time she’d been away from him and she’d totally underestimated how much her heart would ache without him there.

A couple nights of sleep would help her be a better mother, she’d reasoned. Had any of that worked out the way she’d planned?

Only if tipping off his father to his existence was part of the plan.

Being away from her baby had only caused her to worry more about Mason, miss him and try to ignore the fact that his father, the man she’d never stopped loving, was sleeping right across the street. She’d known he was visiting because of his black SUV and a part of her had wished he’d been there because of his feelings for her even though she’d feared running into him, afraid of his questions. If he’d seen her face-to-face, would he realize something was different about her? Would he figure it out? Would he care?

Okay, so that last part had been answered with a resounding yes. But it wasn’t an emotion reserved for her, it was for Mason. There’d never been a doubt in her mind that if Dawson had known about Mason he would want to do the right thing and be involved. Because he was truly a good guy, he would most likely even propose marriage. In her hormonal state, she might’ve agreed. And then what? If Mason did have the gene, God forbid, and ended up with the same fate as Bethany, Dawson would be stuck with Melanie forever. The only tie they’d had, Mason, would be gone. And their lives 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.

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