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
