Free Texan's Baby by Barb Han

working on it.” He tried to make a joke to lighten the mood.
    â€œI hope we can make peace for Mason’s sake,” she said before disappearing to get ready for work.
    That was exactly what he intended to do. He made himself comfortable on the floor, playing cars with Mason.
    When Melanie stepped in the room after getting dressed, Dawson also regretted staying home to watch the baby rather than sit at the bar and watch over her.
    The jeans she wore fit her like a second set of skin and she had the curves to prove it. Her white blouse over a black bra showed just enough lace to get Dawson’s imagination going. Her breasts, though covered, were fuller than he remembered. She had more curves, and his body betrayed him by instantly reacting to her beauty.
    With her shiny hair long and loose around her shoulders, he almost decided it was a good time to revisit his earlier argument about her not working at all.
    â€œMa-ma.” Mason bolted across the room toward her.
    The blouse she was wearing was buttoned up and Dawson figured that was for his and Mason’s benefit. Imagining her shirt opened a little more wasn’t a good idea.
    â€œYou look fantastic, Melanie,” he said, and his voice was deeper than he’d intended.

Chapter Seven
    The baby started crying before Melanie got out the door. Dawson wondered how a kid could go from smiling, happy-go-lucky, playing on the floor to full-on tears and tantrum so quickly and suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch.
    Worse yet, Melanie calmed the child long enough to leave. And then the second wave hit.
    Loud. Heartbreaking. Helpless.
    â€œIt’s okay, little guy.” Dawson tried to soothe him, unsure if picking the toddler up would make things worse.
    The little boy’s fist went into his mouth and then he choked on slobber.
    How on earth had Melanie figured all this out on her own?
    The boy couldn’t be hungry. He’d eaten half an hour ago.
    All Dawson was supposed to have to do was to give the kid a bath and then put him to bed. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, or gut wrenching. Hearing the little guy cry was ripping Dawson’s heart out of his chest. His stress level was through the roof.
    His pride wouldn’t let him call Melanie for help.
    There had to be something he could do to calm him.
    Dawson scanned the room for something, anything that might distract the child. TV. That should work. He located the remote on the coffee table and clicked on the TV.
    The cartoon added to the noise factor. Dawson held his arms out toward the boy to see if he wanted to be held.
    That elicited a scream so loud the neighbor tapped on the adjacent wall. Dawson didn’t want to get Melanie in trouble with her apartment complex. What had she used earlier to calm Mason? Keys. Dawson searched for a set. No, Melanie had taken hers with her. He’d left his parents’ place in such a rush to check on her last night that he’d forgotten his own, which reminded him that he needed to call his parents and let them know he wouldn’t be back for a while.
    No keys.
    There wasn’t much else Dawson could do, so he brought his son juice. Dawson was so flustered that he stubbed his toe on the leg of the coffee table, bit back a word he couldn’t say in front of his son, and then hopped around on his good foot. What he wouldn’t give for a strong drink right about then.
    Mason laughed.
    Dawson thought he might not have heard correctly. So he pretended to hurt his toe this time and was rewarded with a full belly laugh.
    â€œOh, you like that?”
    A pair of red-rimmed eyes stared up at him. So he did the only thing he could...picked up a toy and smacked himself upside the head with it.
    Mason roared with laughter.
    Making his son happy made something else happen inside Dawson...something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was fragile but not fleeting.
    Rather than analyze what any of that meant, Dawson asked,