Free Texan's Baby by Barb Han Page A

“Ready for a bath?”
    The little boy’s face lit up as he sniffled and then coughed. Crying must’ve aggravated his chest.
    Dawson had never felt so on edge. One wrong move and a torrent of those crocodile tears would be rolling down Mason’s cheeks again. Dawson had never felt so vulnerable in his life.
    He scooped his son off the floor and into his arms.
    There was a resource he’d be tapping into later, his friend Dylan. But Dawson didn’t want to share this news with anyone just yet. Not until he wrapped his own mind around it.
    Mason started winding up to cry again.
    Was there something else Melanie had given him to quiet him? Oh. Right. A pacifier. Dawson dashed over to the diaper bag and located a clean one.
    The little boy was satisfied the second he popped it in his mouth.
    And that made Dawson very happy.
    Melanie had told Dawson it was easier to bathe Mason in the sink.
    There were toys in the bath. Mason wiggled in Dawson’s arms, indicating he wanted to get down.
    Dawson obliged, careful not to set off another round of crying and, therefore, coughing.
    He managed to get his son through a bath in the tub with minimal tears, but Dawson was on edge the entire time. Getting on Mason’s pajamas was another issue. The little squirt refused.
    Trying again, Dawson was pleased with himself when he managed to dress his son only to find his clothes littering the hallway. By the third attempt, Dawson was happy to get a T-shirt on his child.
    What was wrong with sleeping in a T-shirt and a diaper?
    Putting the kid to bed should be easy, right?
    No. That brought on a whole new wave of tears and cries for his mama.
    Refusing to admit defeat, Dawson popped a cartoon into the DVD player. Given that there were twenty different DVDs with the same animal on the cover, Dawson figured this was his son’s favorite show.
    He settled onto the couch with Mason curled up on his chest.
    * * *
    M ELANIE EASED HER key into the lock, slowly opened the door and tiptoed across the threshold. It was quarter to three in the morning on a pitch-black night.
    Inside, light from the TV filled the space. She stopped midstride when she got a good look at what was on her couch. Her heart squeezed at the sight of Mason curled up on his father’s chest, both sleeping.
    They looked so natural together. She’d expected at least one frantic phone call while she was at work. Dawson seemed to have handled everything like a pro. And that was every reason she should keep her guard up.
    The thought occurred to her that he could have a great case to reverse custody. The courts might just decide in his favor. She would be the one with visitation rather than the other way around. Panic filled her, causing her to shake. She couldn’t lose Mason. He’d become her world and that was exactly how she wanted it.
    There was another thing Melanie had forced out of her thoughts far too often. The disease that had claimed Dawson’s sister so young. Bethany was five when the devastating diagnosis came. Over a short period, Dawson had watched his baby sister lose her ability to walk, talk and smile. He’d said not being able to make her laugh anymore was the worst part. Melanie figured he didn’t want to remember those horrible final months until his sister had gone peacefully in her sleep.
    She’d seen firsthand how difficult his sister’s death had been on his family. Having a child of her own gave her a deeper understanding of just how hard, how unfair, that had been. His mother, a physician, who couldn’t heal her own daughter. No wonder the woman had become so bitter.
    Melanie didn’t think she’d be the same way, but then she hadn’t walked in that woman’s shoes, either. And that was what kept Melanie from hating Alice Hill.
    Instead of dwelling on that thought, Melanie turned off the TV, put her things down and peeled Mason from Dawson’s arms.
    As soon as the weight