Texan's Baby (3 page)

“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.

* * *