uncover the white-trash drug pusher's whereabouts. Once they had the bastard in custody, the matter would be pretty much cut-and-dried. Two deputies had witnessed Lowell's murder. No jury on earth would render anything other than a guilty verdict. Yeah, once Bates was behind bars, his final fate would be the death penalty.
Where his professional duties were clear, Hank's personal obligations were not. His responsibility was to look after Susan. To protect her, not to bed her. But being around her on a daily basis, no matter how briefly, was playing hell with his libido.
As he gathered up his hunting gear and loaded it into the back of the old Jeep he'd bought at a local used car dealership, he thought seriously about leaving without checking on Susan this morning. After all, it was Sunday and awfully early. She might not even be up yet. One glance at the house and he knew she had to be awake. Lights were on in the kitchen. Maybe just a quick cup of coffee with her— although he hated the decaf stuff she was drinking these days—and he could meet Caleb for their hunting trip without feeling guilty that he hadn't made his daily morning call.
He knocked on the back door. No response. He knocked again. Nothing. Then he heard a sudden, loud yapping, the sound obviously coming from Fred and Ricky. Peering through the glass in the door, he surveyed the room. Empty, except for the two sniffing mutts eyeing the back door suspiciously. Maybe she'd gone back to bed and forgotten to turn off the light. If the dogs hadn't wakened her, then he wouldn't bother her. He'd stop back tonight, when he got home.
He turned and headed down the driveway, feeling as if he'd been given a reprieve. If he didn't see her this morning, maybe he wouldn't think about her during the day. Maybe thoughts of her wouldn't wreak havoc on his concentration. He didn't like this damn obsession he had with Lowell's widow. He had never allowed anyone or anything to influence the way he lived his life. Nobody snapped their fingers and told him to jump. Nobody!
Hell! Who was he kidding? Susan wasn't being demanding. The exact opposite was true. She seemed to sense his reluctance, his reserve, and hadn't asked him for anything.
He was the one with the problem. Not Susan.
"Hank?"
At the sound of her voice, he snapped his head around and looked at the open kitchen door. Wearing nothing but a gown, Susan stood just inside the doorway, her face pale, her hair disheveled. Ricky and Fred scurried past her and out onto the back porch. Guarding her. Issuing him a warning with their funny, ferocious little snarls.
"Morning. Sorry if I woke you." He didn't move. Barely breathed. He couldn't go inside and have a pleasant cup of coffee with a woman in her nightgown—not this woman.
"I've been awake for quite some time." Grasping the door frame, she closed her eyes. "I'm suffering a really severe bout of morning sickness. I was in the bathroom when you knocked."
Morning sickness? Yeah, sure, pregnant women upchucked fairly often in the first few months, didn't they? Although his knowledge of pregnancy was fairly limited, he thought he remembered something about eating crackers to ease the nausea.
"Have you tried crackers?" he asked.
"Crackers didn't help." She opened her eyes slowly and tried to smile.
"Why don't you call your doctor and have him prescribe something?"
"I may have to do that if it gets any worse."
"Anything I can do?" he asked, hoping she'd say no.
"No. Thanks." She glanced at the rifle and gear in the back of the Jeep. "Going hunting?"
"Yeah. Caleb and I thought it might be a good way to spend some time together. I'll be back tonight. If it's not too late, I'll drop by."
"You don't have to do that. I'll be perfectly—" She gasped, covered her mouth with her hand and ran. Shadowing her every move, Ricky and Fred hightailed it after her.
Hell! She was sick again. She'll be okay, he told himself. She said so herself. Get a move on. She doesn't
Where his professional duties were clear, Hank's personal obligations were not. His responsibility was to look after Susan. To protect her, not to bed her. But being around her on a daily basis, no matter how briefly, was playing hell with his libido.
As he gathered up his hunting gear and loaded it into the back of the old Jeep he'd bought at a local used car dealership, he thought seriously about leaving without checking on Susan this morning. After all, it was Sunday and awfully early. She might not even be up yet. One glance at the house and he knew she had to be awake. Lights were on in the kitchen. Maybe just a quick cup of coffee with her— although he hated the decaf stuff she was drinking these days—and he could meet Caleb for their hunting trip without feeling guilty that he hadn't made his daily morning call.
He knocked on the back door. No response. He knocked again. Nothing. Then he heard a sudden, loud yapping, the sound obviously coming from Fred and Ricky. Peering through the glass in the door, he surveyed the room. Empty, except for the two sniffing mutts eyeing the back door suspiciously. Maybe she'd gone back to bed and forgotten to turn off the light. If the dogs hadn't wakened her, then he wouldn't bother her. He'd stop back tonight, when he got home.
He turned and headed down the driveway, feeling as if he'd been given a reprieve. If he didn't see her this morning, maybe he wouldn't think about her during the day. Maybe thoughts of her wouldn't wreak havoc on his concentration. He didn't like this damn obsession he had with Lowell's widow. He had never allowed anyone or anything to influence the way he lived his life. Nobody snapped their fingers and told him to jump. Nobody!
Hell! Who was he kidding? Susan wasn't being demanding. The exact opposite was true. She seemed to sense his reluctance, his reserve, and hadn't asked him for anything.
He was the one with the problem. Not Susan.
"Hank?"
At the sound of her voice, he snapped his head around and looked at the open kitchen door. Wearing nothing but a gown, Susan stood just inside the doorway, her face pale, her hair disheveled. Ricky and Fred scurried past her and out onto the back porch. Guarding her. Issuing him a warning with their funny, ferocious little snarls.
"Morning. Sorry if I woke you." He didn't move. Barely breathed. He couldn't go inside and have a pleasant cup of coffee with a woman in her nightgown—not this woman.
"I've been awake for quite some time." Grasping the door frame, she closed her eyes. "I'm suffering a really severe bout of morning sickness. I was in the bathroom when you knocked."
Morning sickness? Yeah, sure, pregnant women upchucked fairly often in the first few months, didn't they? Although his knowledge of pregnancy was fairly limited, he thought he remembered something about eating crackers to ease the nausea.
"Have you tried crackers?" he asked.
"Crackers didn't help." She opened her eyes slowly and tried to smile.
"Why don't you call your doctor and have him prescribe something?"
"I may have to do that if it gets any worse."
"Anything I can do?" he asked, hoping she'd say no.
"No. Thanks." She glanced at the rifle and gear in the back of the Jeep. "Going hunting?"
"Yeah. Caleb and I thought it might be a good way to spend some time together. I'll be back tonight. If it's not too late, I'll drop by."
"You don't have to do that. I'll be perfectly—" She gasped, covered her mouth with her hand and ran. Shadowing her every move, Ricky and Fred hightailed it after her.
Hell! She was sick again. She'll be okay, he told himself. She said so herself. Get a move on. She doesn't
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