Love Inspired May 2015 #2 by Missy Tippens, Jean C. Gordon, Patricia Johns Read Free Book Online Page A

into a clean onesie—a new word he’d learned since becoming a temporary guardian. Violet also had the child calmed.
    â€œThanks. I think my laundry has multiplied tenfold with one tiny little gal.”
    â€œHas she acted sick this morning? Is that why you were outside so early?”
    â€œI’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
    â€œNo, I’m not complaining. Just wondering if everything’s okay.”
    â€œShe woke early and has been fussy. Looks flushed.”
    Violet placed her lips on Abigail’s forehead. “She feels a little warm to me. Did you take her temperature?”
    He winced because he had hundreds of dollars of baby paraphernalia but not the equipment he needed. “I apparently missed buying a thermometer.”
    â€œI have one. Be right back.” She handed over the infant and hurried out the door.
    Worried about Abigail and not wanting to drag her to the work site again, he decided he would skip going as planned. There wasn’t a lot Jake needed to do that morning anyway, other than check on the cabinet installers and hurry up the interior painters. He texted Zeb. When Zeb didn’t reply, he called the man’s voice mail to check in and leave instructions.
    Violet returned with a bag and pulled out a funny-looking gadget. “Here we go.”
    â€œThat doesn’t look like the thermometers I remember.”
    She laughed as she gently placed it against Abigail’s temple. “You’ve got to admit this is much more pleasant than the alternative—which, by the way, is my preferred method to measure an accurate temp.”
    The instrument beeped, and she showed him the result. One hundred degrees.
Now what?
    He glanced at the doctor, searching for signs of concern. “From what I read online this morning it isn’t considered a fever until a hundred point four.”
    â€œThat’s a good guideline, but we worry more about the young ones.” She brushed back the baby girl’s wispy black hair. Felt her neck.
    She didn’t look too concerned, but his stomach churned anyway. He was not fit to parent a baby. He could set budgets, place orders, coordinate schedules, direct multiple crews of workers and make tough decisions all day long. But throw in a variable like four-tenths of a degree of body temperature and he turned into a bumbling idiot.
    Abigail whimpered.
    â€œWhy don’t we take her temp again?” he said. “Just to make me feel better.”
    â€œSure. I’ll show you how.”
    They went to the living room, and he laid Abigail on the couch. Violet gave him the thermometer and directed him on using it.
    Ninety-nine point nine. “Should we be concerned?”
    â€œI doubt it. But I brought my bag, so let me check her over.”
    His phone vibrated. A new text message.
    While she looked in Abigail’s ears, he checked the text from Zeb.
    Owner said kitchen tile wasn’t right color. I checked the order. Is exactly what you told us.
    Frustration cinched his gut. Changes cost money and time. I’ll look into it. Baby may be sick, he texted back.
    â€œEars are fine.” Violet warmed a stethoscope and listened to Abigail’s lungs. “Honestly, she seems fine. Did she cry again last night?”
    â€œFrom about nine to midnight.”
    â€œLooking more like we’re dealing with colic.”
    His phone buzzed again. “Excuse me just a minute. I have a problem at work.”
    â€œGo ahead. I’ll walk with her outside and see if I can calm her.” Violet swaddled the baby in a receiving blanket, then went through the kitchen and out the back door.
    The text was from Zeb again. Mrs. E says she hopes you won’t let babysitting interfere with your job.
    Mrs. Emerson was the owner of one of the homes they were building. She tended to walk around the work site in a business suit and three-inch high heels, breathing down everyone’s neck. But Jake wanted her to