They stepped into the crisp spring air. Chrissandra tugged at Richelle's sleeve and whispered something in her ear. Richelle smiled broadly and nodded in the direction of her husband and Dr. Rowe. The women moved to where the men stood talking. The doctor cautioned Morgan about pushing himself and the leg too hard.
Richelle drew her husband aside. "He's right, Morgan. You're not overtired, are you? You haven't been without the cane for so long before."
"I'm fine, love."
She gave him her warmest smile. "We'll be attending another christening before long. Your partner's going to be a father, if Dr. Rowe confirms what Chrissy suspects."
Morgan glanced at Chrissandra, then at Lorella holding hands with Malcolm. He shook his head in exasperation. "You've positively decimated our village's bachelor population, Richelle Tremayne," he scolded in mock severity. "We allow one little Colonial widow into our midst, and look what comes of it."
Thomas and Emily stepped up beside them. "Aye! Little American's the best thing ever befell this village," Thomas declared. "Told Emily for years Swanson was cheating on the ale shipments. Rachel finally got the figures to prove it. Won't cheat me again, now that I own the bloody place!"
"Want to thank you again for your help with the banker, Mr. Tremayne. I'll have the last of your funds to you next week. We're honored you offered the place to us, rather than selling to strangers. Know it wasn't easy for you to part with the inn. We'll take good care of the place for your sake…and Andrew's memory. You're welcome to drinks on us any time, sir. In moderation," Thomas winked.
Morgan frowned. "What's this 'sir' and 'Mr. Tremayne' business? When did I stop being Morgan?"
Emily went red in the face now. "It's not that we're not fond of you as ever, Morgan, but you're the mayor now! I mean sir, eh...Your Honor," she stammered. She held up an elegant silver and ebony walking stick. "And you forgot your cane, Your Honor, sir."
"Yes, he did," Richelle answered, reaching for it. "Thank you, Emily."
Morgan signaled for their carriage. Richelle waved good-bye to Chrissy as Regan yanked on the filigreed silver handle of the cane. He pulled it in close to his face, infant eyes wide and intent. He was soon happily gnawing on the handle, gurgling softly.
Morgan reached for his son. "Richelle, our son is slobbering all over my best cane."
"I know. But seeing you have no need of it any longer, I didn't think you'd mind, Your Honor."
His scowl deepened as gray eyes locked on hers. "Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, madam?"
She let her hips sway as she stepped up into the carriage and turned to smile over her shoulder at him. Her wicked, sultriest smile. "Indeed, sir. Oh yes, indeed."
About the Author
Shannah Biondine is a former professional resume writer who is the author of several historical romances and other works of fantasy. Shannah is an avid and eclectic fiction reader herself. She collects Venetian masks and the art of Josephine Wall. Shannah also owns big dogs, reads tarot cards, enjoys both jigsaw and crossword puzzles, and since relocating from California to Colorado has developed an affinity for shoveling snow. To learn how to pronounce her pen name or learn more about her titles, please visit her website: www.shannahbiondine.com
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