Free Courting Trouble by Deeanne Gist Page A

choice.’’
    The rocker started creaking again. ‘‘I reckon so. He was good to his first wife. Runs a clean place.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I hope the young’uns take after Essie, though.’’
    Papa chuckled. Essie slipped from the parlor and up to her room, savoring this momentous news. She pushed all thoughts of Adam Currington firmly from her mind.
    Mrs. Hamilton Crook. Mrs. Esther Crook. Mrs. Crook.
    O Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you .

chapter SIX
    HAMILTON LOCKED THE Slap Out’s door and let out a sigh, savoring the stillness that came at the end of a busy day. After a pause, he turned to where Essie was tallying votes. The snake-naming contest had brought more trade than any tactic he’d ever tried in the past.
    She sorted the final votes into neat stacks on the barrel that normally held a checkerboard. Banjo, Willie Waddle, Laddie, Colonel, and Butcher were the names still in contention.
    ‘‘Doesn’t look like the Willie Waddle stack is doing too well,’’ she said.
    ‘‘Thank goodness. I can’t imagine how such an undignified name made it into the top five.’’
    She smiled. ‘‘There’s no accounting for taste.’’
    He refrained from commenting.
    She wore a navy-and-white shirtwaist with novelty buttons and puff sleeves. Her blond hair had begun to loosen from its pins, but ever since the catastrophe with the escaped mice, she’d curbed her behavior some and, for the most part, conducted herself with total propriety.
    The woman might be unconventional. She might be too outdoorsy. She might be plain looking. But she sure could bring in the customers.
    The stairs creaked and a moment later Mrs. Peterson peeked in. Alarm flashed through him. She’d been looking after baby Mae since his wife’s death and never disturbed him unless it was urgent.
    ‘‘Mrs. Peterson?’’ he said. ‘‘Is everything all right?’’
    The frumpy woman entered from the storage room, carrying Mae in her arms. ‘‘I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot stay late tonight. My grandson turns two today and my daughter’s having me over for the celebration. Had you forgotten?’’
    Relief poured through him. ‘‘Well, yes, I’m afraid I did. But you go ahead, of course.’’ He took Mae and saw Mrs. Peterson out the door.
    The baby kicked her legs and waved her plump arms up and down. At some point in the last seven months, Hamilton had gone from being angry at the child for Eleanor’s death to treasuring her for the link she provided to his late wife.
    ‘‘Oh, Hamilton,’’ Essie said, staring at the baby. ‘‘Look how big she’s gotten.’’
    ‘‘Has she? It’s hard to tell when you see her every day.’’
    Shifting in her chair, Essie opened her arms. ‘‘May I?’’
    ‘‘Certainly.’’ He handed her the baby.
    Essie smiled and stroked Mae’s cheek. The baby turned her head and took Essie’s little finger into her mouth. ‘‘Oh, my goodness. I can see you’re a hearty eater.’’
    Watching Essie coo and cuddle Mae brought an unexpected tightness to Hamilton’s chest. Mrs. Peterson was an old woman. Fifty, at least, maybe older. She looked nothing like Essie when she held the baby.
    Essie looked soft and womanly and, for the first time ever, downright attractive. The tightness in Hamilton shifted slightly into something he’d not felt in quite a while.
    Mae grabbed a piece of Essie’s hair and yanked, freeing it from the pins. Essie laughed and bent over, rubbing noses with his baby.
    ‘‘Ummmmm,’’ she said. ‘‘There’s nothing quite so yummy as a baby’s neck.’’ She nibbled on Mae’s neck, eliciting a squeal of delight from the baby.
    Hamilton swallowed.
    ‘‘She smells like oatmeal,’’ Essie said, then looked up when he didn’t respond.
    Mae pounded and pushed against Essie’s chest, molding the fabric of the shirtwaist to her curves. Tendrils of hair fell across her shoulder and down her back. Her blue eyes, framed with what he now realized were exceedingly