The Bounty Hunter's Baby

Author:Erica Vetsch [Vetsch, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Christian, Historical, Romance, Clean & Wholesome, MTV, Western
ISBN: 9781488017483
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Sure, I saw her.” Trudy paused from dishing up bowls of ice cream. “She and the doc’s wife were headed toward the doc’s house not more than ten minutes ago.”

The doctor? How badly was she feeling? Thomas’s heart scudded. “Thanks.” He took off at a jog. He’d been to the buckboard and left his prize there, and he’d visited the food stalls and the street where the bazaar booths were being dismantled, searching for her. Low booms of the shotgun shooting contest punctuated his steps.

Rounding the corner, he spied her on the porch, rocking with Johnny in her arms. Rip lay at her feet, his paws hanging over the edge of the porch, tongue lolling. Relief slowed his steps. Rip had a keen sense for the people around him, and if Esther was really ill, he wouldn’t be looking so relaxed. She looked fine. Better than fine, actually. The doc’s wife sat in another rocker beside her, and there was a pitcher and glasses on a low table between them. Shade from several trees in the yard would make it a nice, cool place.

He sauntered up the path, trying to hide the fact that he’d been a bit panicked just moments before. “Afternoon, ladies.”

Rip yawned, showing all his teeth, and snapping his jaw shut, lowering his head to rest on his paws.

Mrs. Preston smiled, but Esther barely acknowledged him.

“Mr. Beaufort,” Mrs. Preston said. “Won’t you join us? I was finding all the heat and noise to be a bit much.” She rested her hand on her unborn child. “Esther was feeling the same, so I persuaded her to come sit for a while.”

Thomas removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair to straighten it. “That’s kind of you, ma’am.” He came up the steps and knelt by Esther’s chair. “I heard you were feeling poorly.”

He didn’t mistake her leaning away from him, and her nose wrinkled. “You smell like gunpowder.”

Blinking, he sat back on his heels. “I’ve been shooting. I won the pistol competition.”

“Congratulations.” A cold wind blew through her voice, and she turned her face away. “You must be very proud.” More than a fair helping of sarcasm accompanied her statement.

Mrs. Preston looked from Thomas to Esther. “I believe I’ll refresh this pitcher.” She levered herself up and took the earthenware jug into the house.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick or not?” Thomas straightened and went to lean against the porch railing.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard a fellow say once that if a woman says she’s fine, you better believe she’s madder than a caged bobcat about something. What’s got you peeved? Are you mad because I left you alone for a while? I needed to talk to the sheriff, and you were surrounded by ladies. I did check on you.” He put his hat on again, crossing his arms.

“You took part in the shooting.” Her brown eyes accused him.

“Yes.”

“I hate guns. You know that. Especially pistols.” She sounded suspiciously close to tears.

“Why? It’s just some metal and wood. You see them all the time.

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