Texan's Baby

“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.

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.