Erica Vetsch - The Bounty Hunter's Baby

Brought Together by a Baby

Bounty hunter Thomas Beaufort has no problem handling outlaws, but when he’s left with a criminal’s baby to care for, he’s in over his head. And the only person he can think of to ask for help is Esther Jensen, the woman whose heart he broke when he left town. But can he convince her to put aside the past until he tracks down the baby’s outlaw father?

Esther is ready to run Thomas off her Texas ranch—until she spies the abandoned newborn in his arms. Soon, working together to care for the precious babe stirs old hopes of a family. With trouble heading to their door, they could overcome it together—if she’ll entrust her wary heart to this sweet, second-chance family...

Owning a place, putting down roots. Finding someone to spend the rest of your life with.

That life had never been for him in the past. Could it ever be? Probably not, but Thomas could enjoy the here and now and take the memories away with him when he had to leave.

“When I was in town, I noticed posters for the Founders Day Celebration. I think you and I should go. Take Johnny. What do you say?”

“I haven’t been to that in years.”

“Then you ought to go. You need a break, something fun.”

Esther was already shaking her head, but he reached over and put his hand over hers on her saddle horn. “Please. I want to take the baby to town to have him looked over by the doctor, and I’d like you to go with me. While we’re there, we might as well take in the sights.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is for the baby?”

Grateful that she hadn’t pulled away from his touch, he grinned. “Yeah, it’s for the baby.”

“Then I guess I can’t say no.” She gifted him with a smile and placed her other hand on Johnny’s small back. For a moment, the three of them were linked by touch, and he had to remind himself that it couldn’t last.

Dear Reader,

I have so much admiration for our forefathers...and mothers! While researching for The Bounty Hunter’s Baby, I learned about all it took just to get a load of laundry done in pioneer times, and I was humbled. In these days when doing laundry involves pouring a little detergent into a cup and pushing a few buttons, the thought of carrying and heating water, using a scrub board, wringing by hand, hanging garments on the clothesline, and pressing clothes with sad irons is daunting, to say the least. I would’ve perished!

But Esther, my heroine, is made of sterner stuff than I. She is resilient, and she is determined to make the best of her situation. And Thomas is a good fit for her, capable and dependable. And who can resist a man who brings you a darling newborn and a loyal, brave dog?

I hope you enjoy reading The Bounty Hunter’s Baby. And if you’re like me, you’ll spend a bit of time being grateful for those who settled this country...and that some things, like doing laundry, have changed, and that the important things, like family, faithfulness and love have remained the same.

Sincerely,

Erica Vetsch

ERICA VETSCH is a transplanted Kansan now residing in Minnesota. She loves history and romance and is blessed to be able to combine the two by writing historical romances. Whenever she’s not immersed in fictional worlds, she’s the company bookkeeper for the family lumber business, mother of two, wife to a man who is her total opposite and soul mate, and an avid museum patron.

The Bounty Hunter’s Baby

Erica Vetsch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And they that know thy name

will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord,

hast not forsaken them that seek thee.

—Psalms 9:10 (KJV)

Thank you to Carmen Hyde and Roxane Walker after their help with all things dairy goat. This book is dedicated to my mom, Esther, for whom the heroine of this story is named. And to Peter, as always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

South-Central Texas

June 3, 1888

Folks said Thomas Beaufort could track a housefly through a hurricane, and though he admitted that might be a slight exaggeration, he felt it wasn’t too far off. His reputation as a bounty hunter was unmatched, and he intended to keep it that way. The only blot on his otherwise excellent record was about to be erased.

“Well, Rip,” he whispered to his half Catahoula cur, half mystery mutt, “looks like somebody’s home. We’ve got him this time.”

He and the dog—named after famous Texas Ranger Rip Ford—lay side by side on a sandy ridge in the heart of Texas brush country, looking down on a weathered shanty forty yards away. A thin wisp of smoke leaked from the stovepipe, and a pair of horses stood in the weak shade of a mesquite inside a pole and brush corral, the only signs of occupancy.

Thomas swiped with his shoulder at the sweat trickling down his temple. Jase Swindell had led him on a wild chase since escaping from the prison up in Huntsville almost a year ago. Thomas had been tracking him off and on for months, taking quicker jobs when they were offered, but never forgetting about his main objective. Every time he got close to making an arrest, Jase slipped away. But not this time. Thomas had him now.

Nothing moved, not a breath of wind to stir branches or cool his skin as the sun pounded the Texas landscape. Thomas surveyed the area once more before easing back from the ridge, keeping low and drawing Rip along with him. He made sure his horse, a sorrel with white socks named Smitty, was tied securely well back from the ridge.

“We’ll circle around on foot to that thicket and get close, and then we can rush the door, all right?” Thomas had grown accustomed to thinking out loud, talking to the dog as if he were human. Might as well talk to Rip. Not like there was anyone else to converse with. The bounty hunter life suited Thomas most days, but he had to admit, it could be a mite lonely at times.

He tucked his rifle into the crook of his elbow and checked his sidearm. Chambers full. Thomas took a deep breath, going over his planned moves, trying to anticipate Swindell’s reactions and how to counter them so they both lived through the next few minutes.

Firming his resolve, he holstered the pistol, settled his hat securely on his head, and made a crouching run for the tangle of brush and thorns just ahead. Rip followed on his heels, snaking into the undergrowth.

Cautious and smooth, Thomas approached the cabin, bending limbs out of his way, stepping carefully so as not to snap a twig or rattle a branch. He steadied his breathing, listening to the heavy thud of his heart in his chest. How many times had he done this—crept up on a fugitive, got the drop on him and clapped him in irons? He stood just back from the edge of the brush, studying the cabin, looking for signs of movement behind the tattered curtains hanging in the broken windows.