The Bounty Hunter's Baby. Erica Vetsch
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do with him. That’s the good thing about the way I live. All I need is six feet of space to spread my bedroll.”
“You plan to stay here?” She brushed a kiss on the baby’s hair, unable to stop herself. He was just so sweet. The notion of Thomas staying on the ranch sent her senses reeling, and she concentrated on the infant in an effort to get herself under control.
“Sure. Where else would I go? I want to be close to keep an eye out on the little guy.”
Esther nestled the baby into the curve of her arm, grateful that he had dropped off to sleep again, when a thought occurred to her. “You aren’t staying in the house.”
Thomas’s eyes went wide. “Of course not. I’ll be out in the bunkhouse, like I used to be. Probably in the same bunk that used to be mine.” He scrubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “I figure a few days, a week at the most, and I’ll have sorted out what to do with the baby. Then I can get back on the trail.”
If he planned to sleep in the bunkhouse tonight, he’d have his work cut out for him. Nothing on this ranch was the same as it had been when he’d worked here, not the buildings, not the livestock and certainly not her.
“That’s fine.” She lay the baby in the basket and put her hands on her hips. “Since you provided the fixin’s, I might as well make some supper. Then I’m headed to bed. It’s been a long day, and I am looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”
* * *
Thomas shouldered his saddlebags, snapped his fingers at Rip and headed out into the moonlight. He rubbed his stomach. That was the best meal he’d had in a long time. Biscuits, fried ham, red-eye gravy and green beans. Someone had taught Esther to cook during the last five years, since he recalled her saying once that she was glad they had domestic help because she barely knew a whisk from a wagon wheel and was hopeless in the kitchen.
Tumbleweeds and brush clogged the yard and piled up in the corners of buildings and fences, but the moonlight hid most of the faults of the buildings and grounds. He checked on the horses in the corral beside the barn, making sure they had water. The ground inside the rails was overgrown, so they’d have plenty of fodder for the time being.
A shame about this place, really. It had so much potential. Good grass, good water, close to town. When he’d worked here, it had been a prosperous ranch. Plenty of cattle, good horses, a full crew.
So much had changed since he was a stripling kid, digging post holes, stringing wire, taking the jokes and ribbing of the older cowhands, barely dreaming of something more than working for fifteen dollars a month.
Falling in love with the boss’s daughter.
Yep, a lot had changed. He was older, more trail worn. The Double J had gone to seed. And he had shouldered a responsibility that had him leg-roped to one place for the first time in years.
And yet, one thing hadn’t changed a bit. Esther Jensen still had the power to stir him. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her years ago, his heart had started thumping and his wits had scattered to the wind. Her, with her brown hair and light brown eyes, the sassy toss of her head and the swish of her skirts, everything about her fascinated him.
But more than her heart-stirring looks...she had been kind. Kind to everyone from her father to the Mexican girls who cooked and cleaned for them. And lively. She loved to ride, and she was good with animals. Orphaned calves, dogs, young horses, she had a knack with all of them. Her love of animals was more than half the reason he’d gotten Rip and brought him home when he was just a puppy.
She just seemed to make the world a brighter place for being in it. She had made his life brighter, too.
And now he was back, however briefly. This time he vowed to leave her better than he found her, to try to make some amends for the hurt she’d suffered.
Thomas shouldered his way into the bunkhouse, grimacing as the door sagged on its hinges and ground along the wooden floor. He let his bags drop and dug in his shirt for a match, striking it with his thumbnail and holding it up to survey his temporary sleeping quarters.
“This is not encouraging.” He found a battered lantern with a little kerosene in it on the table and lit it, shaking out the match flame. Turning up the wick, he spied the bunk he’d been assigned when first hired on. The one right by the door, where the wind and dust and cold seeped in and where every cowhand passed by on his way to his bed. Lowest in the pecking order got the bunk by the door.
Rip nosed about, investigating corners. He sneezed and flapped his ears.
“Little dusty?” Thomas asked. He kicked the bunk, then picked up the mattress and shook it, wondering how many rodents might be nesting inside. Maybe he’d be better off in the barn or in his bedroll under the stars. This place needed a thorough cleaning before he could sleep here.
“Let’s check out our other options.” He snapped his fingers at Rip, picked up the lantern and his bedroll, and headed outside.
The barn wasn’t any better. No hay or straw, and if he didn’t miss his guess, bats had taken over the loft. He blew out the lantern and hung it on a peg inside the barn door. “Guess it’s outside for us, pard.”
They skirted the meager woodpile and the washtubs and kettles, ducking under the clothesline, as they headed toward the house. “The porch will be better than the dirt, don’t you think?”
A soft light glowed from Esther’s bedroom window and then went out. The bedsprings creaked, and then the only sound was the wind in the grasses and a far-off coyote yip.
Quietly, Thomas spread his bedroll on the porch floor and stretched out on it. Sleep dragged at his eyelids as Rip circled and flopped down beside him. Thomas buried his hand in Rip’s fur, glad for the warmth the big dog gave off.
Even with all he needed to think about, Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes open. Long days on the hunt, a sleepless night delivering a baby, a desperate ride to get the little fellow to help and an encounter with the only woman he had ever loved had taken their toll. Time enough tomorrow to think about what he should do about the baby’s future, about getting back on Swindell’s trail and about helping out Esther as much as she would let him.
It seemed Thomas had barely closed his eyes when he was jolted awake. Rip bounded to his feet, letting out a low woof that had Thomas drawing his gun from the holster he’d placed at his side before falling asleep.
He scanned the starlit area in front of the house, wondering what had roused him. Years of hunting bad men had taught him to be on guard, but lack of sleep had dulled his wits. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with sawdust.
Then the sound came again. The baby was crying. Rip whined and went to the door.
Thomas forced himself to relax, laying the gun on the floor. If he got to the little fellow in time, perhaps Esther wouldn’t even wake up. He levered himself up and placed his hand flat on the front door, easing it open.
He was just bending over the cradle when her bedroom door opened and candlelight shone over him.
“What are you doing in here?” She gathered the lapels of her housecoat around her. Her eyes glistened in the candle flame, dark and wide, and her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a river of chocolate-toned curls.
His breath snagged in his chest. He’d never seen her with her hair unbound before. Her bare toes curled against the floorboards, and the flush of sleep rode her cheeks.
“I heard him crying.” He lifted the baby out of the basket.
“From clear out in the bunkhouse?” She had more starch in her voice than a brand-new, store-bought shirt collar.
“The bunkhouse isn’t fit to live in right now. I rolled out my blankets on the front porch.” Thomas cradled the baby’s head in one palm, his