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“He did what?” Thomas cringed as the question came out too loudly, and Trudy and Esther turned toward him. Lowering his head and his voice, he asked, “Esther said he was dead, but she didn’t say how.”
“Well, she wouldn’t, would she? When the rustlers wiped out Elihu’s herd, he just didn’t have the strength to go on.”
Thomas braced his hands on the countertop. Elihu had killed himself after his cattle had been rustled.
Elihu’s cattle had been rustled by the Swindell Gang, led by Jase Swindell.
Thomas looked down the store to where Esther cradled the baby.
Jase Swindell’s baby.
How could he tell her?
Frank flicked the duster over another shelf. “Elihu left a note, telling Esther he was sorry, and begged her to forgive him and to do everything she could to hold on to the ranch. It was the talk of the county for months. The hands all quit. Sheriff Granville suspected at least half of them had to be in on the rustling. Poor Esther’s been taking in laundry and scratching out a living out there alone for the last five years.” Frank rubbed his palm across his bald head. “How long did you ride for the Double J?”
Thomas shrugged, his mind still reeling as he put all the pieces together. “Just the one summer five years ago. But I didn’t punch cows. Jensen hired me on to fence a pasture. I spent three months driving post holes and stringing wire.” And watching for glimpses of the boss’s daughter.
“Esther sure took her daddy’s death hard, especially since it was by his own hand. Some folks in town weren’t too nice to her right after it happened. Always thought that was a shame, since it wasn’t her fault. But folks feel peculiar about suicide. I wondered if she could make it when she set up as a laundress. From what she spends in here, she’s barely keeping body and soul together.”
Guilt hooked its claws into Thomas’s chest. Esther, poor and struggling, didn’t fit what he’d known about her. And he’d left her to struggle on her own.
“Frank,” Trudy called out, hands on hips as she scanned the shelves of fabric. “Did you sell the rest of that cotton sheeting? Or am I looking at it and just can’t see it?”
Frank went to help, and Esther edged toward Thomas. “She keeps piling things onto the counter. I can’t seem to hold her back,” Esther whispered. “Surely a baby doesn’t need so many things. It’s going to cost the earth.”
Thomas shrugged. “She’s raised three kids. I reckon she should know what one baby needs. Don’t worry about the expense.”
“Don’t worry? I don’t think you know how things add up.” She bit the side of her thumbnail, the crease between her brows deepening. Frank’s assessment of her financial situation hit him again.
Which made him more determined than ever to help her.
“Peaches?” Esther picked up one of the cans he’d put on the counter. “I remember those were your favorite.” The wistful hint to her voice tugged at Thomas, harking back to happier days when she had surprised him with a peach cobbler for his birthday.
“Still are, though I don’t get them often, being out on the trail all the time.”
“Don’t you have a home base?” she asked. “Are you always moving from place to place?”
He shrugged. “No home base. I go wherever the trail leads, me and Rip.” The dog’s head came up at the sound of his name. “We stay in hotels or boardinghouses or sleep out, depending on our quarry. We’re never in one place too long. Been like that all my life.”
“That’s sad. I might have lost a lot, but I still have my home. I don’t know what I would do if I lost that, too.” Bleakness entered her eyes, and Thomas wanted to put his arms around her and the baby and tell her everything would be all right. But he had no right to do that and no assurance that things would be all right.
The baby began to fuss, and Trudy bustled over. “Let’s go upstairs and get him changed before you head home. And I imagine you could use a cup of tea. While we’re at it, let’s look through my storage trunk. I might still have some baby things left over from my own children.”
Thomas smiled at how Trudy managed everyone, so kind that you half didn’t mind her being a bit pushy. He was grateful to have Esther out of the way for a bit so he could get on with his plans.
By the time she was ready to leave, Thomas had made several trips out to the buckboard. He slid his purchases under the tarp and returned for Esther’s bundle of baby things.
“I’m sorry it’s so much.” Esther frowned.
“And I’m pretty sure I told you not to worry about it. You and Rip head outside, and I’ll settle up.” When she’d gone, Thomas reached into his vest pocket for his money pouch. He handed Frank a fifty-dollar gold piece. “Put the rest on Esther’s account, will you? And, Frank, I’d just as soon the whole town didn’t know I was back.”
Frank smiled, nodding, and made a note in his ledger. “I’ll keep it under wraps. And I’ll tell Trudy, too.”
“Thanks, and if you remember anything about Jase Swindell, get word to me.”
“Where will you be? The hotel? The boardinghouse?”
“I’ll be staying out at Esther’s tonight.” He paused. “In the bunkhouse.”
Letting that sink in, Frank dropped the money into the till. “Trudy worries about that girl out there all alone. How long are you planning on staying?”
“That depends. I need to see about contacting someone from the baby’s family, and I need to get back on Swindell’s trail.” He picked up the paper-wrapped bundle of baby things. Once Thomas was on the porch, Frank locked the door behind him and pulled the shade, flipping the Open sign to Closed. Esther stood by the horses, patting the black’s nose. The last rays of sunset had dwindled, and the outline of her hand against the horse’s nose stood out, fragile and light.
“Say, you know of anybody who has a milking cow for sale?” Thomas asked as he helped her into the buckboard.
“A milking cow? I don’t know of any for sale. You’d have to go to San Antonio for one, I imagine. Anyway, isn’t a cow a big expense? I can get by with canned milk for the baby. It’s just for a few days until you get him to his family.” She smoothed her skirts as she settled onto the seat.
“Maybe, but wouldn’t fresh be better?” Thomas leaped aboard and picked up the reins.
“I suppose. If you’re set on fresh milk, there’re some Mexicans south of town who have a herd of goats. You can probably get one of those cheap. It still seems a waste of money for such a short time though.”
As they rode back toward Esther’s place, he considered his options. He had planned to leave the baby with Esther and strike out after Jase Swindell first thing in the morning, hoping this was the time he finally caught him, and quickly before he could do any more harm.
But that left a sizable burden on Esther, especially since she was making her living as a laundress. Could he spare a few days from the hunt to check out Jase’s sister over in Spillville or, failing that, to try to find another relative? No matter what, Thomas refused to take the boy to an orphanage. He had spent the first twelve years of his life in an orphanage, and there was no way he would do that to a child if he could help it. If he couldn’t find any of the boy’s kin, perhaps he could find a family who would adopt him. That wouldn’t take too long, surely, not with a healthy little boy. The minute the boy was settled, he would hit the trail again.
But he found himself hoping things wouldn’t be sorted out too soon. Thomas felt an obligation to do the best he could for the baby, but he also felt an obligation to Esther for helping him out. She’d suffered and struggled the past five years, and he could make things easier for her over the next few days.
Contentment settled over him once he made up his mind to stay for a few days, something he hadn’t felt for a long time.
Chapter Three (#u1cd32bdb-ef11-5922-82a8-2283fade8527)
Esther shifted the baby in her arms as Thomas pulled the buckboard into the yard. In the dark, the place didn’t look so bad. Though the porch boards had warped in the sun and the roof could use some attention, the stone house was sturdy, built to withstand a tornado or Indian attack.
What it hadn’t been able to withstand was the weakness of her father. Faced with financial ruin, he hadn’t been strong enough to bear it. He had been too ashamed to know that he’d been duped by his ranch hands, been robbed and that he was now land-rich and cash poor.
And when it had all come to light, Esther had been left to endure it alone. Her father’s last wish was that she do everything she could to keep the Double J, and she’d given the last five years of her life to that task. Alone. No family, no ranch hands, her father dead, and the man she had fallen in love with gone. Even God seemed far away.
Thomas wrapped the reins around the brake handle and hopped down. “Let’s get you and the little guy out of this night air.”
She shouldn’t thrill to the touch of his hand on her elbow as she climbed down. She shouldn’t take such comfort in having someone to come home with in the dark. And she certainly shouldn’t let her guard down and start caring about either of these males, because they would be gone in a few days, and she would be on her own again.
Rip’s tail thumped her leg as she passed him on her way inside. The June night, cool now and pleasant, drifted in through the open doorway. Esther tucked the receiving blanket Trudy Clements had given her higher around the baby who snuffled and yawned in her arms. She smiled as she laid him in the basket, yawning too. Washing clothes was hard work. She rose early, and in order to save on kerosene, usually went to bed early, too.
When she lifted the lantern and shook it, only a little kerosene sloshed in the bottom. She needed to make it last as long as possible, so she set the lantern aside and scrabbled in a drawer for a candle, stuffing it into a holder and lighting the wick. The soft glow illuminated the sparseness of her kitchen. The house had already been on the property when they bought it. Her father had made plans for a larger, fancier house, but it had never been built.
Thomas entered the house, his arms full of packages. “The baby still sleeping?”
She studied Thomas in the lamplight, taking in his dark hair—in need of cutting—and his dusty clothes and tired eyes. He’d filled out and grown taller in the years since she’d seen him. He had turned twenty just before he left, a year older than herself. Now he was a man, full-grown, in his prime. And handsomer than ever. She pulled her thoughts away from that direction.
“Yes, though he’s making noises like he might wake up soon. I don’t have a cradle, so I thought a basket might do for him to sleep in.” She motioned to the laundry basket she’d padded and lined and set beside the rocker. Rip stood guard over the sleeping baby.
Thomas deposited the parcels on the kitchen table. “Silar Falls hasn’t changed much. Frank looks about the same, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. I don’t spend much time in town.” Esther untied the string around the bundle of baby items, rolling the twine carefully and setting it aside. She did the same with the brown paper. These days, she wasted nothing, and she would find uses for both the paper and string. Unable to resist, she trailed her work-roughened hands across the snowy-white flannel. “This will make some soft gowns and blankets.” She opened the fabric to test the length. “Trudy said we’d need a couple dozen diapers.”
“That should get the little tadpole started.” Thomas squatted beside the basket. “He sure looks better cleaned up.” He brushed the back of his finger along the baby’s round cheek. The boy snuffled and wriggled and gave a squawk, turning his head toward the touch as if seeking something. “He can’t be hungry again, can he?”
Esther found the glass feeder bottle among the fabric, carefully wrapped against breakage, and washed it out. Thomas withdrew a knife from his pocket and flicked it open, puncturing the top of one of the cans of milk and pouring it into the saucepan she gave him.
“I’ll see to the horses.” Thomas wiped his knife on his pant leg before closing it and returning it to his pocket and heading outside again.
While the milk heated, Esther changed the baby, who fussed and squirmed as she tried to fasten on another dishcloth as a diaper. “I’ll get to sewing you up some real diapers soon.”
A baby was definitely adding to her chore list. And Thomas was adding to her disquiet. Used to being alone, having a man, a dog and a child in her house, especially after dark, unnerved her. The sooner Thomas got on his way, the better for her peace of mind.
She hurried to the stove to check on the milk. Still not warm, so she poked another piece of kindling into the firebox. Thomas’s boots thumped on the porch floor, and when she turned around, her mouth opened on a gasp.
He set a crate on the table and unpacked it quickly. Foodstuffs covered the surface. Canned goods, sacks, boxes. It looked as if he’d brought the entire general store into her kitchen. He ducked outside and came back with a flour sack over his shoulder and another parcel under his arm.
“What is all this?”
“Supplies.” Thomas let the sack thump to the floor and set the parcel on a chair since the tabletop was full.
“How much are you planning to eat? Or are these for the trail when you get ready to leave?” Esther picked up a sack of Arbuckle’s coffee beans. She hadn’t had coffee in ages, and her mouth watered at the thought.
Thomas pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “I won’t be hitting the trail right away.”
She set the coffee beans on the table as if they were made of glass. Her insides stilled like the coppery air before a summer thunderstorm. “What are you going to do, then?”
“I’m going to stick around Silar Falls for a while.” He shrugged. “The little fellow can’t exactly travel at the moment, and even if he could, where would I take him? I’ll need some time to track down his family.”
“And in the meantime? Will you take him to the hotel in town or a boardinghouse?” Neither place was ideal for an infant.
“You said you’d help me with him, remember? Until I could make other arrangements?”
“I thought you meant feeding him and getting him properly clothed. You’ll be riding out tomorrow, right?” He couldn’t mean to stay. That was too much to bear. “Or were you going to leave him here while you locate his family?” Even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t escape this encounter unscathed. The longer the baby stayed, the more she would grow attached. Then Thomas would ride in, take the baby and leave her alone again.
Before he could reply, the baby’s fussing turned to a full-blown wail. They needed to tend to him before they sorted out this situation. And it would give her some time to marshal her thoughts.
“Sit,” she said.
Rip plunked his rump on the floor, looking up at her alertly, tongue lolling, and Esther almost laughed. “Not you, silly.” She swept over to the basket and picked up the baby, handing him to Thomas and nudging them toward the rocker. “Hold him while I fix his bottle.”
Thomas took the child, sinking into the chair and cradling the infant as if he were made of soap bubbles. The baby’s face screwed up and reddened, his cries sounding so heartbroken.
“What should I do?” he asked.
Esther didn’t miss the panic in his voice, and it was a bit comforting to find something he wasn’t confident about.
“Rock him, pat him, sing to him.”
The chair creaked as he set it in motion, and Rip got up, pacing and bumping Thomas with his nose, giving soft whines as if to say “make that puppy stop crying.” Esther tested the milk—finally warm enough—and poured it carefully into the bottle. Figuring out the tight, rubber nipple took longer.
“Can’t you hurry? He’s about to throw a shoe or something.” Thomas shushed the baby.
“You haven’t tried singing.”
“I can’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it. He’d probably cry harder.” Thomas raised his voice above the wailing.
She finally snapped the nipple into place over the neck of the bottle and handed it to him.
“Aren’t you going to feed him?” Worry clouded Thomas’s eyes.
“I have full confidence in you.” She smiled, taking a bit of pleasure in his being flustered.
Rip whined again, and Thomas grimaced. “That makes one of us. Hush that caterwaulin’, buster.” He shifted the baby to lie more securely in his arm and offered the bottle.
After a bit of fumbling and fussing, the baby caught on and began sucking with long, steady pulls. “There you go. You’re making hay now.”
The tenderness in his voice affected Esther, as if she’d just taken a sip of hot chocolate on a chilly day, warming her when she didn’t even realize she was cold. She turned back to the laden table.
“This is an awful lot of food.” More than she would purchase in a whole month on her own. She hefted a can of peaches. How long had it been since she tasted something so luxurious? Not that she’d considered canned peaches a luxury once upon a time.
Until it had all come crashing down. Her throat went tight and her insides cold again.
Thomas looked up from the baby. “I figured if I was going to impose on you, I should at least provide some grub. Your cupboard looked a mite bare.”
She stiffened. “I don’t need charity.”
“Now, don’t get into a lather. It isn’t charity. I’m the one who brought more mouths to feed. Five if you count Rip and the horses. I pay my own way, same as you.” He gave her a be-reasonable look that had her pressing her molars together. “It’s really for the baby, when you come to think about it. Taking care of him is bound to be hard work, and you need to keep your strength up. And I have to eat, too. Anyway, what’s a little food between friends?”
Friends. Was that what she and Thomas were? He had such a logical way of looking at things, downplaying things. And he was usually right. But this was too much. There was enough food to last for weeks, well beyond the time he would be here. She opened her mouth to refuse, but he cut in.
“Oh, just take it. It’s not like I can take the stuff back to the store. It will go to waste if you don’t use it.” He held up the bottle. “Look at that. Half gone already. He sure likes his grub, doesn’t he?”
Stifling the feeling of being pushed around, Esther said, “I think you’re supposed to help him get his wind up.” She cast back to what she’d seen mothers do. “Little babies can’t get their air out by themselves. You have to sort of pound on their backs a bit.”
Thomas gave her a skeptical glance and set the bottle on the edge of the table. He lifted the fussing baby to his shoulder and gave him the lightest of taps with his fingertips.
“I think you have to do it harder.” Esther crossed her arms at her waist.
“I’m afraid to break him. He’s lighter than an oat stem.” He patted again. The infant squawked and bobbed his head like a baby bird, bumping his nose on Thomas’s shoulder. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure. He’ll have awful gas pains if you don’t help him burp. Try rubbing in circles.”
The infant cried harder. “Mad about being taken away from his feed trough, isn’t he? Wish he’d just belch and get it over wi—” Before Thomas could finish the word, the baby obliged, sending a currant of milk sloshing onto his shoulder and down the front of his shirt.
Esther couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on Thomas’s face. The baby quit crying, almost as if his feat surprised him. She was still laughing when she took the boy. “Good job, little one. You sound like a range-hardened cowhand.” She wiped his mouth and chin, snuggling him close while Thomas peeled his sodden shirt away from his skin and looked around for a towel.
