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The Bounty Hunter's Baby
Erica Vetsch


Brought Together by a BabyBounty hunter Thomas Beaufort has no problem handling outlaws, but when he’s left with a criminal’s baby to care for, he’s in over his head. And the only person he can think of to ask for help is Esther Jensen, the woman whose heart he broke when he left town. But can he convince her to put aside the past until he tracks down the baby’s outlaw father?Esther is ready to run Thomas off her Texas ranch—until she spies the abandoned newborn in his arms. Soon working together to care for the precious babe stirs old hopes of a family. With trouble heading to their door, they could overcome it together—if she’ll entrust her wary heart to this sweet, second-chance family…







Brought Together by a Baby

Bounty hunter Thomas Beaufort has no problem handling outlaws, but when he’s left with a criminal’s baby to care for, he’s in over his head. And the only person he can think of to ask for help is Esther Jensen, the woman whose heart he broke when he left town. But can he convince her to put aside the past until he tracks down the baby’s outlaw father?

Esther is ready to run Thomas off her Texas ranch—until she spies the abandoned newborn in his arms. Soon, working together to care for the precious babe stirs old hopes of a family. With trouble heading to their door, they could overcome it together—if she’ll entrust her wary heart to this sweet, second-chance family...


Owning a place, putting down roots. Finding someone to spend the rest of your life with.

That life had never been for him in the past. Could it ever be? Probably not, but Thomas could enjoy the here and now and take the memories away with him when he had to leave.

“When I was in town, I noticed posters for the Founders Day Celebration. I think you and I should go. Take Johnny. What do you say?”

“I haven’t been to that in years.”

“Then you ought to go. You need a break, something fun.”

Esther was already shaking her head, but he reached over and put his hand over hers on her saddle horn. “Please. I want to take the baby to town to have him looked over by the doctor, and I’d like you to go with me. While we’re there, we might as well take in the sights.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is for the baby?”

Grateful that she hadn’t pulled away from his touch, he grinned. “Yeah, it’s for the baby.”

“Then I guess I can’t say no.” She gifted him with a smile and placed her other hand on Johnny’s small back. For a moment, the three of them were linked by touch, and he had to remind himself that it couldn’t last.


Dear Reader (#u1cd32bdb-ef11-5922-82a8-2283fade8527),

I have so much admiration for our forefathers...and mothers! While researching for The Bounty Hunter’s Baby, I learned about all it took just to get a load of laundry done in pioneer times, and I was humbled. In these days when doing laundry involves pouring a little detergent into a cup and pushing a few buttons, the thought of carrying and heating water, using a scrub board, wringing by hand, hanging garments on the clothesline, and pressing clothes with sad irons is daunting, to say the least. I would’ve perished!

But Esther, my heroine, is made of sterner stuff than I. She is resilient, and she is determined to make the best of her situation. And Thomas is a good fit for her, capable and dependable. And who can resist a man who brings you a darling newborn and a loyal, brave dog?

I hope you enjoy reading The Bounty Hunter’s Baby. And if you’re like me, you’ll spend a bit of time being grateful for those who settled this country...and that some things, like doing laundry, have changed, and that the important things, like family, faithfulness and love have remained the same.

Sincerely,

Erica Vetsch


ERICA VETSCH is a transplanted Kansan now residing in Minnesota. She loves history and romance and is blessed to be able to combine the two by writing historical romances. Whenever she’s not immersed in fictional worlds, she’s the company bookkeeper for the family lumber business, mother of two, wife to a man who is her total opposite and soul mate, and an avid museum patron.


The Bounty Hunter’s Baby

Erica Vetsch






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


And they that know thy name

will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord,

hast not forsaken them that seek thee.

—Psalms 9:10 (KJV)


Thank you to Carmen Hyde and Roxane Walker after their help with all things dairy goat. This book is dedicated to my mom, Esther, for whom the heroine of this story is named. And to Peter, as always.


Contents

Cover (#u57486509-fba5-5bfb-9bbd-c26ce9fdf1a2)

Back Cover Text (#uda9865bc-64cd-5e02-b1c6-de0a4b2edce4)

Introduction (#uff4c1e54-c161-5402-9f10-ab0fde52f007)

Dear Reader (#uc3dee83d-d35d-5193-8542-d21d055a6252)

About the Author (#uebf1edcd-a66f-5080-98e7-130578416c03)

Title Page (#uc817a897-faaf-550f-8372-43fe9d828850)

Bible Verse (#u5e4a161c-afcb-541f-9927-223d48ab6453)

Dedication (#u06ed4889-bdb6-549f-968f-cf06d2d856d8)

Chapter One (#u16595314-20f7-5d19-bf0c-92e1148164b8)

Chapter Two (#u667de0bc-0923-5d69-bc05-84dffc7d2a09)

Chapter Three (#ud75dd7b8-88e2-5cb6-8ff0-ac9353354c38)

Chapter Four (#u96b19291-c0ef-5c6e-b0c0-9368ac36eecc)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u1cd32bdb-ef11-5922-82a8-2283fade8527)

South-Central Texas

June 3, 1888

Folks said Thomas Beaufort could track a housefly through a hurricane, and though he admitted that might be a slight exaggeration, he felt it wasn’t too far off. His reputation as a bounty hunter was unmatched, and he intended to keep it that way. The only blot on his otherwise excellent record was about to be erased.

“Well, Rip,” he whispered to his half Catahoula cur, half mystery mutt, “looks like somebody’s home. We’ve got him this time.”

He and the dog—named after famous Texas Ranger Rip Ford—lay side by side on a sandy ridge in the heart of Texas brush country, looking down on a weathered shanty forty yards away. A thin wisp of smoke leaked from the stovepipe, and a pair of horses stood in the weak shade of a mesquite inside a pole and brush corral, the only signs of occupancy.

Thomas swiped with his shoulder at the sweat trickling down his temple. Jase Swindell had led him on a wild chase since escaping from the prison up in Huntsville almost a year ago. Thomas had been tracking him off and on for months, taking quicker jobs when they were offered, but never forgetting about his main objective. Every time he got close to making an arrest, Jase slipped away. But not this time. Thomas had him now.

Nothing moved, not a breath of wind to stir branches or cool his skin as the sun pounded the Texas landscape. Thomas surveyed the area once more before easing back from the ridge, keeping low and drawing Rip along with him. He made sure his horse, a sorrel with white socks named Smitty, was tied securely well back from the ridge.

“We’ll circle around on foot to that thicket and get close, and then we can rush the door, all right?” Thomas had grown accustomed to thinking out loud, talking to the dog as if he were human. Might as well talk to Rip. Not like there was anyone else to converse with. The bounty hunter life suited Thomas most days, but he had to admit, it could be a mite lonely at times.

He tucked his rifle into the crook of his elbow and checked his sidearm. Chambers full. Thomas took a deep breath, going over his planned moves, trying to anticipate Swindell’s reactions and how to counter them so they both lived through the next few minutes.

Firming his resolve, he holstered the pistol, settled his hat securely on his head, and made a crouching run for the tangle of brush and thorns just ahead. Rip followed on his heels, snaking into the undergrowth.

Cautious and smooth, Thomas approached the cabin, bending limbs out of his way, stepping carefully so as not to snap a twig or rattle a branch. He steadied his breathing, listening to the heavy thud of his heart in his chest. How many times had he done this—crept up on a fugitive, got the drop on him and clapped him in irons? He stood just back from the edge of the brush, studying the cabin, looking for signs of movement behind the tattered curtains hanging in the broken windows.

Nothing. If not for Rip, he’d think the place deserted. Easing forward, he crossed the dry, open yard and stepped lightly onto the porch. A fly buzzed past his nose, but he ignored it, concentrating, letting his experience and instinct guide him. Gathering himself, he plunged his boot into the door, shattering it at the frame, and leaped into the cabin.

“Hands up, Jase!” The door banged against the wall and shot back toward Thomas. He shouldered it aside, raking the room, swinging his rifle from side to side. Rip bounded inside, fangs bared, and skittered to a halt.

Swindell rocketed to his feet from where he’d been kneeling by the bed, his eyes wide, face filthy with sweat and dirt. A woman lay on the bunk.

A woman?

The outlaw crouched in front of her, and Thomas couldn’t risk a shot, not with his rifle. The bullet might go clean through the fugitive’s miserable hide and hit the woman.

A low moan came from the bed, followed by a lung-racking cough. Rip, who had been snarling and barking at Thomas’s side, went silent.

A strange sensation skittered up Thomas’s spine, that feeling he got when something unexpected and unwelcome was about to happen.

In that moment, Swindell leaped toward the open back door of the shack. Thomas snapped off a shot as Rip bounded after him. The room filled with the smell of burnt powder, and the woman screamed. Thomas bolted after his quarry, but as he passed the bed, the woman grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Don’t shoot him!” she begged.

Knowing he had to get outside, he shook off her grasp. If Rip didn’t get to Swindell in time, the outlaw would surely shoot the dog in order to escape.

Thomas jumped out into the sunshine as Rip hurled himself at Swindell, who was trying to climb into the saddle. The dog’s powerful jaws clamped down on the man’s left forearm, half dragging him from the horse’s back. The outlaw used the butt of his drawn pistol to club the dog, sending Rip to the dust in a yelping, tumbling heap. Thomas raised his rifle and snapped off a shot, too quickly, and knew it went wide. Swindell legged his horse into a gallop, racing toward the cover of the thickets fifty yards away, snapping pistol shots over his shoulder as he shouted to his mount.

Thomas steadied his breathing, knelt in the dirt and took careful aim at the fleeing killer. A bullet from Swindell’s gun whined past his ear, thudding into the shack behind him. The sun glared into his eyes and he blinked, focusing hard on the rapidly diminishing horse and rider. As Thomas held his breath and began to squeeze the trigger, something slammed him in the back, knocking his aim off, sending the bullet whining harmlessly into the air and loosening his hold in his rifle. The Winchester bucked into his shoulder and clattered to the dirt.

He whirled as the woman toppled into a heap at his feet.

Snatching his rifle, he raised it again, but Swindell was gone, disappeared into the brush. Anger clawed up his windpipe. How had a simple arrest gone wrong so quickly? He took his hat off and whacked his thigh, sending up a cloud of dust. “Lady, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a known fugitive and interfering with a peace officer.”

The woman didn’t stir, and he frowned, kneeling and putting his hand on her shoulder to roll her over. He leaped back, noting her round belly. “Bullets and buckshot, lady!” What on earth was Swindell doing with a woman way out here, and a woman near to bursting with a child at that?

She clutched her stomach and moaned, eyes squeezed shut.

“Tell me you’re not having a baby now.” Thomas jammed his Stetson on his head. They were miles from anywhere, and what he knew about birthing babies could be poured into a thimble and still leave room for a decent-size cup of coffee.

Rip approached, stiff-legged and slow, sniffing and growling. Thomas ran his hand over the mutt’s head, looking for signs of injury where Swindell had clubbed him, but other than a jerk of his head when Thomas touched the spot, Rip seemed all right.

“Let’s get her inside, boy.” He bent and scooped the woman into his arms. Even being so close to her time, she weighed next to nothing, her bones sharp under her skin. He edged the door aside, shoving with his boot when it ground against the uneven floor.

The smells of burnt grease, unwashed bedclothes and neglect hung in the air. A sun-rotted curtain hung at the broken window, unmoving in the still afternoon air. Thomas set her gently on the rumpled bedding. “Stay put while I tend to things outside.”

She stared up at him with frightened eyes, her hair straggling over her face and shoulders. “Did he get away?”

“Yeah, for now, thanks to you.” He headed outside to retrieve his horse. Keeping his rifle handy, he scanned the area. Swindell had been hightailing it south, but the nearest settlement that way was well over a hundred miles. From what Thomas had seen, the outlaw had no supplies with him, so he’d need to head to a town soon. Which meant he was probably headed to Silar Falls or Bitter Creek, swinging wide around the cabin and riding to the northeast by now.

Thomas hoped the trail led to Bitter Creek. He hadn’t been to Silar Falls in five years, and he doubted his welcome would be cordial.

He would have to get the woman on her horse and take her in, but she would slow him considerably. She looked ready to pop, and he wanted her under a doctor’s care, pronto. Untying his sorrel gelding, he led the horse to the corral and caught the remaining horse, leading them both to the cabin. The sooner they got started, the sooner he could get back on Swindell’s trail.

“All right, let’s go.” Thomas pushed open the door. “We need to make tracks if we’re going to reach town before nightfall.”

The thin, white-faced woman stared back at him, frightened, her tangled hair hanging half over her face. Her tatty dress rode above her knees, and she closed her eyes, her hands gripping her pregnant belly. Through tight lips, she groaned, “Help me. Please.”

Silar Falls, Texas

Esther Jensen bent over her scrub board, back aching, hands stinging, scrubbing yet another pair of pants.

“Only ten more pairs to go,” she muttered. Dropping the denims back into the water to soak a bit more, she turned from the scrub tub, picked up her wooden paddle and went to the heavy, iron kettle chained to a tripod over the fire. She swirled the shirts and drawers and socks as they rolled and tumbled in the boiling water. How many hundreds of times had she filled that pot, lit the fires, hung out clothes, collected her coins, only to get up and do it all again the next day?

Her life stretched out before her, an endless procession of buckets of water and miles of clotheslines, an abyss with nothing to break her fall. Wiping her reddened hands—forever chapped by harsh lye soap—on her apron, she blew her hair out of her eyes.

“You’re not very good company today, Esther Marie. As melancholy as a morose mule,” she chided herself, looking up from the laundry. She tried to stay positive, to remember her blessings, but some days were easier than others.

She surveyed her little kingdom, the legacy of her departed father. A sturdy stone house, a weathered barn, a shambling bunkhouse, a windmill with more baling wire than nails holding it together. Five years was a long time. Five years since her father had passed away, since the ranch hands had left, since she’d found herself alone on the edge of town and needing to make her own living, a living that didn’t stretch to building repairs or hired help.

The road into Silar Falls went by her place, but few folks stopped in...mostly the cowboys who dropped off their clothes to be washed and mended. None of them ever really saw her; some didn’t even say hello, just plopped down their bundles, touched their hat brims and rode on.

If she stood on her porch, she could watch them all the way into town, less than half a mile on a straight road. Half a mile, but it might as well be a hundred for as often as she traveled it. She went to town only to pick up and drop off laundry. That and a monthly trip to get supplies composed her entire social life. If it wasn’t for her friendship with Sarah Granville and Trudy Clements, both older women who had stepped in to help when her father died, she might not talk to another person for weeks.

She hefted a basket of newly washed laundry and headed to the clothesline to peg it out. “It’s not like some handsome prince is going to ride down that road, sweep you off your feet and take you away from all this.”

Esther had half the shirts hung up when the sound of hooves on the hard-packed road made her turn around.

Another cowboy. He must not need much washing done, since the bundle in his arm was so small. She didn’t recognize him as a regular. Shading her eyes, she watched him, even as she stooped to pick up another heavy, wet shirt.

Before she could dig a clothespin out of her apron pocket, a huge dog bounded up out of the road ditch alongside the rider. He loped ahead, turning through the gate and headed her way. His brindled coat and powerful build sent a memory ricocheting through her heart.

The shirt fell from her numb hands into the dirt, and her knees took on the firmness of damp washcloths. It was Rip. And if Rip was here...

Thomas Beaufort.

The pain she had often pushed to the back of her mind over the years came rushing forward like a stampede. A curious, empty feeling opened in her chest, crowding out her breath. She couldn’t move as he rode closer. He would go past her gate and on into town. He wouldn’t stop.

And she didn’t want him to. Not after she’d stood in almost this same spot five years ago and watched him ride away, taking her heart with him.

No, more like leaving her heart in the dirt at her feet as he chose a bounty hunter’s life over her. He had informed her of his intentions without showing even a hint of emotion. Had she imagined that he had come to care for her? She had fallen in love with him so easily, and she had thought he felt the same, though nothing had been spoken between them.

She jerked, her limbs suddenly awakening from their numbness, and stalked to the porch.

Rip trotted up the lane toward her, tail wagging, tongue lolling, as casual as if he hadn’t been away for years. She remembered when Thomas first brought the dog to the ranch, a little fuzz-ball baby, all yips and puppy fat and mismatched eyes. Thomas had been one of her father’s employees in those days, thoughtful, kind, winning her heart with no effort at all.

The dog bounded onto the porch and nudged her leg, letting out an exuberant bark. She prayed Thomas would ride on by without a look, even though she knew she was lying to herself. She wanted him to ride up. Perhaps if she saw him again, she could finally put to rest her feelings for him. Perhaps he wasn’t as handsome and kind and capable as she remembered. Her breath stuck in her throat when he turned off the road and into her yard.

He pulled to a stop. “Miss Jensen. Esther. It’s good to see you again.” He smiled, the dimple in his left cheek showing in spite of a few days’ growth of whiskers.

A wave of nostalgia, for all those times when he’d smiled at her and sunbeams had burst in her heart, washed over her. She steeled herself, remembering the hurt he had caused her, and she crossed her arms, hugging herself.

“Hello, Thomas.” Esther was proud of her flat, disinterested tone. She’d rather show up in church in nothing but her shift than let on that she had ever fancied herself in love with him.

“Hello, Esther.” He cast a glance over the warped boards on the porch, the cupping shingles, the weedy yard, so different from the prosperous young ranch he’d ridden away from. “What happened here? Where are the ranch hands?”

Shame licked through her at her run-down place, but she raised her chin. “Gone. If you’re looking for bandits or rustlers here, this place is a dry hole.”

He frowned, cocking his head. “Is your father around?”

Esther was helpless to stop the wave of grief that cascaded through her.

“My father is dead. He died a week after you left.”

Thomas at least had the grace to appear shocked. “I didn’t know. Esther, I’m so sorry.”

She backed up a step as he moved to dismount. “I can’t wash your clothes. I don’t have time for any more customers at the moment, so you had best ride on.” She motioned toward the bundle in his arms.

“Wash my clothes?” Puzzlement froze him, leg swung over the saddle, halfway to the ground.

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it? That’s all anyone comes here for these days.” She motioned toward the washtubs and clotheslines. Pushing her straggling hair off her face with her shoulder, she wished she didn’t look quite so much like she’d been washed over a scrub board herself...then chastised herself for caring at all what Thomas Beaufort thought of her looks. Where’s your pride, girl?

“I’m a laundress now.” She infused the statement with all the dignity of a duchess.

Rip looked from one of them to the other, head tilted to the side. He gave a little whine, no doubt picking up on the tension in the air, and plopped his rear on the porch.

Thomas didn’t even slow his steps. “Esther Jensen, would you just hear me out? I came to you because you’re the only person I could trust.”

“Trust?” Her voice went high. The last thing she would ever do was trust Thomas Beaufort, or any man, ever again.

Without another word, he peeled back the fabric in his arm to reveal the sleeping face of a baby, and from the looks of it, fresh as a bean sprout.

Her veins felt as if sand trickled through them, draining out and leaving her empty. Thomas had a baby? Where was his wife? All those dreams and ideas that Thomas had shattered when he left her five years ago exploded into finer bits of dust.

She opened her mouth to ask, when the baby stirred and gave a pitiful little mewl.

Thomas shot her a terrified look. “Can we at least go inside? I want to get him out of the sun.”

The baby began to cry in earnest, and the sound pierced her lonely heart.

Esther stepped aside, and Thomas tromped up the steps and into the house. Rip wriggled close, hopeful, but she shook her head. “Stay.” She pointed to the floor, and the big dog dropped down and put his chin on his paws, looking up at her with his mismatched eyes, one tawny yellow, one pale blue, both sorrowful and pleading.

Thomas jostled the baby, who continued to cry. Esther laced her fingers and pressed her thumbs to her lips.

“What do I do?” His brow wrinkled. “Hush, little fella.”

So the baby was a boy. “Where is your wife?”

“Wife? I don’t have a wife.” He shot her a bewildered look and adjusted the crying baby in his arms to no avail.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disgusted. “Then where did you get a newborn?”

“I plucked him out of a cactus flower, where do you think? I was hot on the trail of...a fugitive...when I came on a woman in trouble. I helped her deliver her baby last night.” He quit bouncing and started swaying, speaking over the baby’s wails.

“Where is she then?”

He shook his head. “She died early this morning. She was a consumptive, and with the strain of the birthing...”

Esther couldn’t stand the crying any longer, and she reached for the newborn. “Give him to me.” Though she had little experience with babies, something in her needed to hold him. She cradled him against her shoulder, fitting his little head into the hollow of her neck. His dark hair was plastered to his head, and his eyes were screwed shut. “Didn’t you even wash him off?”

Thomas held up his hands. “There was no water at the cabin where I found them, and when I did reach a creek, I didn’t think it was proper to just dunk him in. I figured getting him to shelter was more important. I wet my bandanna and wiped his face, but no, I didn’t take time to give him a full-blown bath.”

“Dip some of the water from the stove into the basin.” Esther soothed the baby. “Have you fed him yet?”

“With what? All I have is some jerky and beans.” Thomas grabbed the porcelain basin off the washstand and strode to the stove. “Do you have a cow?”

Esther sat in her rocker under the window, laying the baby on her lap and peeling back the man’s shirt wrapped around the infant. “No.”

She had sold the cow to help pay the taxes on the property the first year after her father died. “I have a can of milk. In the cupboard.”

Thomas brought her the basin and the cloth that hung on the peg by the washstand. The baby continued to snuffle and whimper, so helpless and new Esther’s eyes burned, and she blinked fast. She dipped the corner of the cloth into the water and wiped the baby’s face and neck. “He needs a proper bath, with soap.”

Rip whined from the open doorway, and Thomas chuckled. “He’s taken a shine to the little fella.”

“That’s fine, but he still has to stay outside.” Esther unwrapped the baby further, finding a bandanna fastened around him as a diaper. It needed to be changed. “I’m pretty sure you have to warm up milk before you feed it to a baby this small. Open that can and get it heating on the stove. You’ll need to thin it with a bit of water.”

Thomas found the can, a saucepan and her matches. With a minimum of effort, he had a fire started in the stove and the milk warming, as efficient as ever. She had always admired his resourcefulness and capability, but to have him using those skills in her kitchen, as if no time had passed, had her battling resentment. He dusted his hands together. “What else can I do?”

“Here, hold him while I fetch some things.” Esther transferred the baby into Thomas’s arms, ignoring the jolt to her heart as their hands touched. The items she wanted were in the trunk in her bedroom, and she refused to let Thomas in there. She went to the end of her iron bedstead and knelt in front of the trunk—the one her mother had brought with her from Virginia as a new bride, first to Tennessee, then to Missouri. After she’d died, Esther had used it when she and her father had come to Texas for a fresh start.

Inside the trunk was a pair of clean towels, a safety pin and the last slivers of castile soap she’d been hoarding. She paused, placing her hands flat on the domed trunk lid. Thomas was back, with a newborn. Her head whirled, and her mouth felt dry. She needed a moment to collect herself, to think. But the baby cried again, a weak, hopeless little sob, and she pushed herself up, gathered her things and returned to the main room.

Thomas, worry lines bunching his forehead, patted the baby, his big hand dwarfing the child. Esther relieved him of his tiny burden, and Thomas stepped back, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I’ll go tend to the horses.”

Esther spread a towel on the table and laid the baby down. She soaped a washcloth in the warm water from the stove’s reservoir, testing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot. The baby snuffled and squirmed, turning his head every time her hand brushed his cheek. He had hazy blue eyes that didn’t seem to focus too well, and a sweet little chin that quivered. She swirled the soapy cloth into all the creases and crevices and quickly rinsed him off. Before he could grow chilled, though it was a mighty warm day, she bundled him into a soft, clean towel, raising him to her shoulder and inhaling his fresh, brand-newness.

Thomas ducked back inside, this time remembering to remove his hat. He carried his saddlebags slung over his shoulder and his rifle in his hand. His holstered pistol rode his right hip, and bullets studded his gun belt.

Esther bristled at the sight of the firearms. She hated guns. Hated what they represented and what they did to people. Thomas carried his arsenal to hunt men. Guns never used to bother her, but now she could barely stand the sight of a pistol.

“Can’t you leave those outside?”

“Leave what outside?” He glanced toward the doorway, where Rip sat, looking in.

“The rifle. And your sidearm.” Particularly his sidearm. She cradled the baby against her shoulder. “I don’t like guns.”

“I never leave my guns unattended.” He leaned his rifle in the corner. “Guns never bothered you before.”

“A lot of things have changed since you left.”

She settled into the rocker, the pan of milk beside her on the table. Using her smallest spoon, she dripped milk into the baby’s mouth. His eyes opened, and he swallowed, pushing half the milk out again. Esther wiped the dribbles from his chin and gave him a few more drops. He smelled so good, felt so sweet in her arms. Her heart, cold and lonely for so long, warmed a bit, which made her pause. Do not let yourself get attached to this little scrap of humanity, Esther. He isn’t yours, he never will be, and they’re both leaving soon. Leaving is what Thomas does. It’s what every man does.

Thomas leaned over her shoulder to watch. “Say, he’s really putting it away. At this rate, he’ll grow six foot tall by morning.”

Discomfited to have him so close, Esther breathed in the scent of leather and sunshine and that unique something that was just Thomas. Against her will, she was thrust into the past when all she wanted was this man, the safety of his embrace, the warmth of his smile. Once upon a time, she had prayed her future would center around Thomas Beaufort, and all her dreams had been tied up in him.

But not now.

“At this rate we’ll be out of milk before sundown.” Her voice snapped like a clotheslined sheet in a high wind.

“Guess I’d better get some more then, huh?” Thomas still hovered at her shoulder, reaching down to put his finger into the baby’s tiny hand. When the minute clasp closed around his finger, it was as if something squeezed Esther’s chest.

Thomas chuckled. “Got himself quite a grip, doesn’t he? But he can’t go through life wearing nothing but a dish towel. Can you make a list of things a baby needs?”

“I don’t know what a baby needs. I’ve never had a child before.” And likely never will.

“You’ll know a mite better than me.” The reasonableness in his tone chafed. Her hard-won serenity had been upset by his arrival, and here he was acting as if nothing had happened in their past, as if no time had gone by. “If you have a wagon or buckboard, I’ll go hitch it up and we can head to town to get the little fella outfitted.”

Her first instinct was to refuse. Trips to town were painful reminders of her change in status, and going into Silar Falls with Thomas would be too much to bear. The infant in her arms stretched, arching his little back and sinking into a relaxed bundle. He snuffled, and his lashes skimmed his cheeks as he blinked slowly, completely helpless and trusting as he lay in her arms.

He needed help. He needed her.

Thomas was right. She could see this child properly clad and provisioned, but she’d have to go into town with Thomas to see it done.

She looked up from spooning the milk. “What are you going to do with him?” It was the question she’d been wondering since she first saw the baby in his arms.

Thomas knelt beside her chair, putting his big hand over hers on the towel-wrapped infant. “Esther, I know it’s a lot to ask, and you have no obligation, but I need someone to help me. His mama left him in my care, but I don’t know what to do. It was all I could do to get him here alive and squalling. I need someone to look after him until I can find his relatives.”

His “oh my” brown eyes looked deeply into hers, and she shivered at the power he still had to move her. She suppressed the tremor that rippled through her, wanting to thrust the baby into his arms and put some distance between Thomas and her feelings. His hand on hers, so warm and familiar, was the first touch she’d felt in a long time. When she realized just how good it felt, she shrugged him off.

“Will you help me, Esther?”

“For how long?” She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath to steady herself, calling herself all kinds of foolish to even think of letting him back in her life. How long could he stay before she betrayed herself, betrayed that she had once loved him?

“I don’t know, exactly. I should get back out on the trail, but I’ll put out feelers and try to find someone in the little gupper’s family willing to take the boy.” He cupped the baby’s head, and the tenderness in his eyes threatened to tear down a layer of protective bricks around her heart. “Please? I don’t have anywhere else I can turn. We need you.”

It felt so good to be needed. Even though she knew she should refuse, that she should send him and his problems packing, she found herself giving in. “I’ll help you, for the sake of the baby, for a week or so, until you can make permanent plans for him.”

She could do this. She could help Thomas get this baby fed and outfitted without jeopardizing her heart once more, without regretting letting her guard down.

Couldn’t she?


Chapter Two (#u1cd32bdb-ef11-5922-82a8-2283fade8527)

“The buckboard is in the barn, but you’ll have to catch the horses. They’re in the trap.” And a merry chase they would lead him, too. Esther usually had to bribe the horses with a carrot or two to get them to come to her in the pasture, or “trap” as the cowboys used to call it. The trap was the only fenced pastureland on the Double J Ranch. At one time, there had been more than thirty horses there, mounts for the many ranch hands her father had employed, but now, only the harness team remained. With good grazing and Silar Creek running across one corner, the horses mostly fended for themselves there.

Thomas nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Figuring she had plenty of time, Esther rocked slowly, the baby snuggled against her shoulder. Regret warred with anticipation, and she took herself to task. “You had best keep your wits about you, girl. He won’t stay. He can’t. You heard him five years ago. He never wants to be tied down.”

And here she was, listening for Thomas to return, the same way she’d waited and watched five years ago when he rode away, praying he’d come back to her.

The baby stirred and nestled against her again. He was warm and smelled of soap and milk and newborn. She’d fashioned a diaper out of a dishcloth and wrapped him in one of her oldest, softest bath towels. Now that his hair was clean, she marveled at its fineness...like dark thistledown, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit curly. Cuddling him, she couldn’t believe how quickly things could change. Was it only this afternoon that she saw her life stretching out day after day with nothing to vary the monotony?

“You sure have a sense of humor, Lord.”

Rip inched toward her on his belly, creeping inside. Thomas had left the dog behind when he’d gone for the horses, or more accurately, Rip had refused to leave the baby. He was draped half inside, half outside the door, lying on the threshold, watching Esther and the boy with hopeful eyes, sneaking into the room a bit at a time when he thought she wasn’t looking.

The dog’s ears perked up, and he swiveled his head to look out the doorway. The sound of hooves on the road made Esther’s stomach flip. Thomas hadn’t been gone long, surely not long enough to accomplish his errand. Had he forgotten something? Or was it one of her customers?

She hurried to the bedroom and laid the sleeping baby in the center of the bed. Rip snuck in and sniffed the baby, tail wagging, eyes soulful. Esther ignored him and went to the door.

It wasn’t Thomas.

Four cowboys, all spit shined and slicked for a night on the town, turned into her gate, each one with a duffel tied behind his saddle.

Danny Newton rode in the lead. She bit her cheek. He was Esther’s least favorite customer. Brash and bold, he leered and smirked every time he came by, leaving her with a creepy-crawly feeling and a desire to bathe when he left. His father owned the Circle Bar 5, the ranch adjoining hers to the south, and he had designs on her property as a gift for his son.

“Evening, Miss Esther.” Danny pushed his hat back, revealing dark blond hair and sun-browned skin. His pale blue eyes pierced her, perusing her from hem to hairline, pausing a couple of times on their journey. Heat rushed to Esther’s cheeks. “Nice night.”

She rubbed her hands against the sides of her skirts, gripping the faded fabric. He was insolent, full of bravado in front of his friends. He swung out of the saddle and removed his hat.

“You’re looking fine tonight, Miss Esther. You ready to take my father’s offer?”

“I’ve already declined his offer too many times to count.”

He rubbed his thin mustache in that gesture she knew so well, the one that preceded some remark she would hate.

“Only a matter of time. The tax man is coming around.” He stuck his thumbs into his back pockets, insolent as he eyed the buildings. “Your ranch is going downhill on a fast horse. You could always save my pa the purchase price and just marry me.” He winked and gave her a smirk. “You should marry me. After all, it’s what your daddy wanted, and mine, too.”

She gritted her teeth. “Leave your laundry if you’re going to. And you still owe me for last week’s. I don’t work on credit, so don’t forget to pay up before you go. As to your continued insistence that we marry, I wouldn’t have you if you came with a money-back guarantee.”

One of the men laughed, and a flush charged up Danny’s cheeks. His eyes snapped, and he leaped onto the porch, grabbing her wrist and hauling her up against him.

“Let me loose.” She spoke through tight lips, unwilling to let him know how much he was hurting her...and scaring her.

“It’s high time someone taught you a lesson, little lady.” His breath scoured her cheek. He smelled of pomade and aftershave and sweat and horse.

From behind her, a low growl crawled over her skin, freezing her blood. Rip bounded out of the house, ears flat against his head, teeth bared. His body crouched to spring, every muscle bulging under his brindled coat.

Danny dropped her wrist like a hot rock. He backed up a step, hands held low, eyes wide. “Whoa. When did you get him?” He stared at the dog, easing back another step.

Esther pressed herself against the front wall of the house. Rip advanced on Danny, head low.

“That’s enough.” One of the riders cocked his pistol. “Call him off, ma’am.”

The sight of his drawn gun sent a sick shiver through her. Why hadn’t she bitten her tongue? She knew what Danny could be like. Things escalating had been her fault.

Would the dog obey her? “Rip.”

The canine stopped advancing but didn’t cease his growling.

“Rip. Come.” She patted her leg.

Slowly rising from his crouch, relaxing his lips to cover his teeth once more, Rip sidled to her, never taking his eyes off Danny. Esther risked touching the dog’s head. “Good boy.”

Danny’s face was a hard mask. “Next time you sic that dog on me, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes.”

“I’d think twice about that if I was you.” Thomas’s voice came from the side of the house, and he rounded the corner, pistol trained on Danny. His dark eyes glittered, and his hand was steady.

Esther’s heart lurched. Thomas with his gun in his hand. Her view narrowed, and her heart thrummed so loudly in her ears it was almost as if she was under water. The gun filled her vision.

“Beaufort? I hadn’t heard you were back.” Danny’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Thomas to Esther and back again. Thomas and Danny hadn’t gotten along too well back when Thomas was a hand here. Of course, not too many people got along with Danny, not unless his father paid them to.

“I didn’t feel the need to check in with you first, Newton.” Thomas’s gun and gaze didn’t waver. Esther gripped the doorframe to steady herself.

“You just passing through, or are you staying on?”

“If you can explain how it’s any of your business, I’ll tell you my plans,” Thomas said, his eyes dark and intent.

Danny stood still a moment, as if gauging his situation, and then edged off the porch. “Boys, we’re wastin’ time. Throw your bags down and let’s mosey. We’re going to have us a night on the town.”

Esther pressed her hand to her middle, thankful that in a few moments they would be gone. One by one they pitched their duffel bags onto the porch. Both Thomas and the dog regarded them all as if memorizing their faces, and a shiver skittered down Esther’s spine and settled in her knees.

“I believe the lady mentioned a payment that’s due?” Thomas’s soft voice sliced the air like a saber.

Danny froze, scowling and sizing Thomas up. Finally, he dug into his vest pocket, removed a coin and flipped it Esther’s way. Thomas’s hand shot out and caught it before she could react, holding it up. A silver dollar.

“That the right amount?”

She nodded. “That will cover what he owes and this week’s laundry.”

“What about the rest of them?”

“They’re current.”

“Fair enough. Time for you boys to go.” Thomas motioned with his pistol toward their horses. The gun was like an extension of his hand. “And when you come back, you’ll mind your manners, I’m sure.”

The men were just preparing to mount up when a weak cry came from the house. The baby! She’d clean forgotten about him.

Danny jerked around at the sound. “What’s that?”

Thomas stepped in front of Esther, nudging her backward toward the open doorway. She put her hand on his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to keep her eye on Danny.

Rip trotted into the house and then emerged again with a whine. The infant’s cry grew louder and unmistakable.

“A baby? Where’d you get a baby, Esther Jensen?” Danny shouted, making Rip growl and lower his head once more.

Thomas stood his ground. “I believe it’s past time for you boys to be moving along.”

Danny’s eyes darted from Thomas to Esther and back again, calculating. “If you’re figuring to horn in here, Beaufort, you’d best be the one moving along.” He poked his boot into his stirrup and swung into the saddle. “I aim to have this ranch one way or another, and soon. I don’t know where that brat came from, or how long you’re staying, but you both better be gone pronto.” He sunk his spurs into his horse’s sides, and the animal surged into a gallop, the rest of the men following, sending clouds of dust into the air.

Esther let out her breath, tension trickling away. When she turned to go to the crying infant, Thomas followed.

“What’s going on here, Esther? Why is Danny Newton after your ranch? And why does he think he can get it?” Thomas holstered his weapon and crossed his arms.

Esther wrapped the baby in the towel again and lifted him to her shoulder, crooning to him, trying to ignore the panicked flipping of her heart. “It’s nothing. Nothing I can’t handle.” Hopefully he hadn’t overheard about the taxes coming due. Esther had practiced the most severe economy this year, and she had almost enough to meet the tax bill, barring any unforeseen events, but that was her problem, not Thomas’s.

After all, he’d be gone soon.

* * *

Thomas had his hands full with the frisky team. Clearly it had been a while since they’d been harnessed and hitched. He remembered them from his time as a ranch hand. The bay was shaggy and the black scruffy, and both could use a good currying and trip to the blacksmith, but he used a firm voice and steady hand, and they gradually gentled.

He brought the horses and buckboard around the house, still tense from the encounter with Danny Newton and his crew. Thomas and Danny had never been friends, but they hadn’t been enemies, either. How often did Esther have to deal with customers treating her poorly? And why was Danny hoping to get his hands on her property?

The news that Elihu Jensen was dead had rocked him. When Thomas had ridden away five years ago, the rancher had been in good health, with a profitable ranch and big plans for his daughter’s future. Plans that hadn’t included Thomas.

The condition of the Double J shocked Thomas. The disrepair and despair everywhere was a punch in the gut. The weather in south-central Texas could be hard on buildings and equipment, but this seemed extreme for only five years. If he was going to stay, he could fix up a few things. Too bad he couldn’t spare the time. Jase Swindell’s trail grew colder by the minute. He might be halfway to the Rio Grande by now.

Esther emerged from the house, the baby in her arms. Her eyes looked pensive, and a little furrow had developed between her eyebrows. Thomas helped her into the rig; the touch of her hand in his sent a familiar jolt up his arm. Climbing aboard himself, he glanced at her hands as he picked up the reins. They were so different than when he’d first known her. Then they had been pale and slender, moving constantly when she spoke. Often she wore fingerless lace gloves, wielding a fan or some fancy needlework as she rocked on the porch in the evening. Now they were reddened and work worn, the hands of a woman older than the twenty-four years he knew her to be.

He chirruped to the horses, slapping the lines.

Rip rode in the back, sticking his snout between Thomas and Esther from time to time, sniffing the wind. Sunshine slanted toward the horizon as dusk approached, and Thomas drove into town from the south, turning right onto the main street. He studied Silar Falls, comparing it to his memory.

Not much appeared to have changed, perhaps a couple of new businesses, but on the surface, things seemed the same.

The brightest lights shone from Big Aggie’s Saloon, halfway down the block. He recognized Danny Newton’s horse tied at the hitching post out front. The saddle and harness shop had closed for the day, and the telegraph office was shut up tight. One team and wagon waited down by the livery. At the west end of the street, the church steeple pierced the pink and orange sky.

Thomas hopped down and tethered the team before circling the buckboard to help Esther alight. She didn’t meet his eyes, keeping her head down and walking up the steps to the store. He followed and reached the door in time to open it for her.

As they stepped inside, Rip followed, tail wagging, determined to stick close to Esther and the baby. The proprietor, Frank Clements, looked up from his ledger. “Evening, Miss Esther. Don’t often see you at this time of day. I was about to close up and head upstairs.” He tucked his pencil behind his ear, and Thomas smiled at the gesture he remembered so well. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened when he noticed the bundle Esther carried, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw the dog.

Thomas held out his hand. “Hello, Frank. Been a while. How’s your wife?”

The shopkeeper blinked, tearing his gaze away from Esther and Rip. “Well, as I live and breathe. Thomas Beaufort!” A smile stretched his cheeks. “How long has it been, son?”

“Too long.” Thomas shook his hand, happy to be remembered, though he’d only spent one summer in Silar Falls. “Glad we made it in before you closed. We need to pick up a few things.” Glancing around, he hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. Nothing seemed to have changed inside the mercantile, either. The candy jars still sat beside the glass display case of fans and scarves and combs. Canned goods stood in pyramids on the shelves behind. The sharp tang of vinegar from the pickle barrel mixed with the scent of beeswax polish and new boots.

Thomas snapped his fingers and motioned to Rip to lie down. The big dog dropped to his belly, watching and waiting for the next command. “Wait there and don’t make a nuisance of yourself, boy.”

Esther eyed the stock on the shelves, her lips pressed together. The baby slept sweetly in her arms, and she gently rocked from side to side. Thomas wondered if she was even aware she was swaying.

“What can I do for you?” Frank pressed his hands on the countertop, leaning forward, the lamplight gleaming off his bald dome. He was clearly curious about the baby, but he didn’t ask. From what Thomas remembered about Frank, the store owner didn’t have to ask. If he waited, the information he wanted usually flowed his way. That or his wife ferreted it out.

“Esther?” Thomas turned to find her fingering a bolt of fabric, a wistful expression on her face.

She started and then collected herself. “Frank, we need some supplies for this baby.”

“Be glad to help. Flannel, canned milk? Bonnets and booties?” Frank asked.

“Do you have any diapers made up? And some sleeping gowns?” Esther asked.

Frank shook his head. “I have flannel lengths for sewing them up yourself, but nothing ready-made.”

Esther sent Thomas a what-do-you-want-to-do look.

“Can you sew?” He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her making garments. Seemed to him she’d been a fair hand at fancy needlepoint stitching, but her dresses and such had come from a dressmaker. He’d been told by her father to drive her into town several times for fittings and the like.

“Yes, I can sew.”

“Get whatever she needs, Frank.” Thomas stifled a yawn as weariness crept over him. He hadn’t slept in more than forty-eight hours, and his eyes felt like he’d rubbed them full of sand. “I’ll have a look around while you pull things together for Esther.”

He perused the groceries, remembering how bare Esther’s cupboard had been when he’d fetched the lone can of milk off her shelf. She was doing him a mighty big favor. The least he could do was add to her larder. If she would let him. She could be a proud little minx.

Edging past a table full of ready-made menswear, he paused beside a shelf holding lengths of fabric, letting his rough hand trail across the blues and purples and yellows. The bolt Esther had been touching caught his attention. Pale blue with little pink flowers scattered over it. A smile tugged at his lips. Wouldn’t Esther look something in a dress made of this?

From across the store, Thomas studied her, taking in her clothing. She wore a greenish dress so faded from washing it was almost gray. It was too big for her, drooping on her slender frame. The scuffed tips of a pair of sturdy boots peeked out from beneath her hem. And she wore no hat or bonnet. When he’d known her before, she’d worn pretty gowns with lots of ruffles and lace, and she had shoes and parasols to match. Gloves and bonnets and fans. Her father had given her everything she could want. He remembered back to the blue dress she’d worn to the church social the night before he left Silar Falls. Her hair had been all piled up, and her eyes shone. Every young man in the place, Thomas included, couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Maybe he should’ve stood up to her father all those years ago. When Elihu Jensen had learned that one of his hired hands was falling for his lovely daughter, he’d taken Thomas aside and given him an ultimatum: ride on and leave Esther alone, or be run off.

“You’re penniless. There is no way you can support my daughter. You’re a nobody, and I have bigger plans for her. Pick up your pay and your bedroll and clear out. She’s too young to know her own mind right now, and she deserves better than a saddle tramp.”

And because he’d been young and impressionable, Thomas had listened. He hadn’t been in a position then to support a wife, certainly not one as well off as Esther had been. He had no skills beyond cowboying. And he loved Esther and wanted the best for her. Though it had about killed him to leave her, he’d gone. He’d become a bounty hunter after learning new skills, but he’d never forgotten her.

He’d known then he wasn’t good enough for her, that she deserved better than him. He was a nobody who didn’t even know who his parents were. A foundling, a drifter. As a bounty hunter, he was accustomed to being seen as a necessary evil, moving on the outskirts of society, a manhunter who most folks didn’t want to associate with.

And still not good enough for Esther Jensen.

“How many yards of this flannel?” Frank asked Esther.

She shifted the baby to her shoulder. “I don’t know. How much do you recommend? We need diapers and gowns and blankets.”

“Let’s call in the expert.” Frank headed for the stairs at the back of the store and hollered up. “Trudy? Can you come down for a minute?”

Frank’s tiny wife bustled down the steps, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Yes?” Her dark eyes darted quickly, lighting on Esther. “Why, Esther Jensen, it’s so nice to see you. It’s been weeks, child. You don’t come in nearly often enough. And who is that there with you? A baby? My lands, child. Where did you get yourself a baby?” She embraced Esther and then hugged her again.

“He’s an orphan.” Esther’s arms tightened around the boy. “We’re looking after him until Thomas can find his people.”

“Thomas Beaufort.” Trudy’s smile lit the store. He snatched off his hat and nodded as she advanced on him with her arms outstretched. Trudy hugged everybody, he recalled. “I remember you. It’s good to see you back in these parts. Frank told me he heard you had a big arrest not too long ago. The Burton Boys? I try to keep up on all the news, especially when it’s about someone I know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Not only had he captured the four-man gang of outlaws, he’d earned himself a hefty bounty in the process.

“Trudy.” Frank held up a length of flannel. “They need to outfit the little guy, and you’d know what they need better than I would.”

“Of course, of course. Let me see.” Trudy, though bird-like and small, tended to blow through a room like a tornado. Esther was bustled over to the dry goods counter, and Trudy exclaimed over the baby, putting her arm around Esther’s waist and talking nineteen to the dozen.

“Isn’t he beautiful? And you need a complete layette? Of course you do, what with this little sweetheart being dropped in your lap, as it were. I remember when my first was born. I didn’t have so much as a safety pin to call my own, traveling in that bouncy wagon across the plains. I cut up my best flannel petticoat to make diapers.” She continued on, talking and whisking bolts of fabric onto the counter. Her shears snicked as quickly as her tongue, cutting lengths and folding them. “Do you need me to include a pattern for the gowns? Thread, needles, bias tape? Of course you do. I have just the thing.”

With the women occupied, Thomas motioned for Frank to join him. He had questions he didn’t want anyone overhearing.

“Frank, you still know everybody in town?” Thomas reached for a couple of cans of peaches and set them on the counter.

The storekeeper picked up a feather duster and flicked it over a row of McGuffey readers. “Can’t think of anybody I don’t know.” He grinned. “Course, if I could think of them, I’d know ’em, right?”

“Has anybody heard anything about Jase Swindell lately?” Thomas kept his voice low.

Frank stopped dusting. “That who you’re after now? Jase Swindell?”

Thomas nodded. “Off and on for almost a year. Since he killed a guard while busting out of Huntsville. Seems he runs to Mexico, but he doesn’t stay there. Keeps coming back north.” The liaison with the woman was most likely responsible for that. Now that she was dead, would Swindell come back to Texas ever again?

“We heard about the escape.” Scratching his chin, Frank thought hard. “If he’s been anywhere in the county, I haven’t gotten wind of it. When him and his gang got caught the first time, the rest of his kin around here lit a shuck for the hills, cleared out. Only one left is his sister, Regina. And she isn’t right in the head, from what I hear. Does her shopping over in Spillville, so I don’t hear much about her.”

“Nobody else who used to run with the Swindells? Nobody around here who would hide him?”

“No, can’t think of anybody. He left a lot of victims and no friends hereabouts. Like Esther, poor thing. You could’ve pushed me over with a twig when I heard her pa shot himself.”

“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.

“I already sacrificed my other shirt to wrap him up after he was born, and now he’s christened this one.”

Hospitality demanded that Esther come to his aid, but she had a hard time forcing the words out. “There are clean shirts in the bureau in my father’s room. You can borrow one of those, and I’ll wash yours tomorrow. You can put that one to soak in the washtub.” Esther pointed to the second bedroom door at the back of the house, and took Thomas’s place in the rocker and offered the bottle to the baby again.

“I’m making a lot more work for you. I’m sorry.” He disappeared into her father’s room and returned, buttoning up a faded blue shirt that was tight across the shoulders and chest. He left the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves. Seeing him coming out of her father’s room made Esther’s heart ache. Her father wasn’t coming back, and she wasn’t being disloyal by loaning out one shirt. She tamped down her feelings, striving for the calm demeanor she’d been practicing ever since that moment the ranch foreman had come to the door to tell her that her father was dead.

“Sorry about the extra work,” Thomas apologized again.

“A couple more shirts won’t tax me.” This time, Esther took the precaution of putting a cloth against her shoulder before burping the baby.

“Thank you for letting me stay on while I figure out what to do with him. That’s the good thing about the way I live. All I need is six feet of space to spread my bedroll.”

“You plan to stay here?” She brushed a kiss on the baby’s hair, unable to stop herself. He was just so sweet. The notion of Thomas staying on the ranch sent her senses reeling, and she concentrated on the infant in an effort to get herself under control.

“Sure. Where else would I go? I want to be close to keep an eye out on the little guy.”

Esther nestled the baby into the curve of her arm, grateful that he had dropped off to sleep again, when a thought occurred to her. “You aren’t staying in the house.”

Thomas’s eyes went wide. “Of course not. I’ll be out in the bunkhouse, like I used to be. Probably in the same bunk that used to be mine.” He scrubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “I figure a few days, a week at the most, and I’ll have sorted out what to do with the baby. Then I can get back on the trail.”

If he planned to sleep in the bunkhouse tonight, he’d have his work cut out for him. Nothing on this ranch was the same as it had been when he’d worked here, not the buildings, not the livestock and certainly not her.

“That’s fine.” She lay the baby in the basket and put her hands on her hips. “Since you provided the fixin’s, I might as well make some supper. Then I’m headed to bed. It’s been a long day, and I am looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”

* * *

Thomas shouldered his saddlebags, snapped his fingers at Rip and headed out into the moonlight. He rubbed his stomach. That was the best meal he’d had in a long time. Biscuits, fried ham, red-eye gravy and green beans. Someone had taught Esther to cook during the last five years, since he recalled her saying once that she was glad they had domestic help because she barely knew a whisk from a wagon wheel and was hopeless in the kitchen.

Tumbleweeds and brush clogged the yard and piled up in the corners of buildings and fences, but the moonlight hid most of the faults of the buildings and grounds. He checked on the horses in the corral beside the barn, making sure they had water. The ground inside the rails was overgrown, so they’d have plenty of fodder for the time being.

A shame about this place, really. It had so much potential. Good grass, good water, close to town. When he’d worked here, it had been a prosperous ranch. Plenty of cattle, good horses, a full crew.

So much had changed since he was a stripling kid, digging post holes, stringing wire, taking the jokes and ribbing of the older cowhands, barely dreaming of something more than working for fifteen dollars a month.

Falling in love with the boss’s daughter.

Yep, a lot had changed. He was older, more trail worn. The Double J had gone to seed. And he had shouldered a responsibility that had him leg-roped to one place for the first time in years.

And yet, one thing hadn’t changed a bit. Esther Jensen still had the power to stir him. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her years ago, his heart had started thumping and his wits had scattered to the wind. Her, with her brown hair and light brown eyes, the sassy toss of her head and the swish of her skirts, everything about her fascinated him.

But more than her heart-stirring looks...she had been kind. Kind to everyone from her father to the Mexican girls who cooked and cleaned for them. And lively. She loved to ride, and she was good with animals. Orphaned calves, dogs, young horses, she had a knack with all of them. Her love of animals was more than half the reason he’d gotten Rip and brought him home when he was just a puppy.

She just seemed to make the world a brighter place for being in it. She had made his life brighter, too.

And now he was back, however briefly. This time he vowed to leave her better than he found her, to try to make some amends for the hurt she’d suffered.

Thomas shouldered his way into the bunkhouse, grimacing as the door sagged on its hinges and ground along the wooden floor. He let his bags drop and dug in his shirt for a match, striking it with his thumbnail and holding it up to survey his temporary sleeping quarters.

“This is not encouraging.” He found a battered lantern with a little kerosene in it on the table and lit it, shaking out the match flame. Turning up the wick, he spied the bunk he’d been assigned when first hired on. The one right by the door, where the wind and dust and cold seeped in and where every cowhand passed by on his way to his bed. Lowest in the pecking order got the bunk by the door.

Rip nosed about, investigating corners. He sneezed and flapped his ears.

“Little dusty?” Thomas asked. He kicked the bunk, then picked up the mattress and shook it, wondering how many rodents might be nesting inside. Maybe he’d be better off in the barn or in his bedroll under the stars. This place needed a thorough cleaning before he could sleep here.

“Let’s check out our other options.” He snapped his fingers at Rip, picked up the lantern and his bedroll, and headed outside.

The barn wasn’t any better. No hay or straw, and if he didn’t miss his guess, bats had taken over the loft. He blew out the lantern and hung it on a peg inside the barn door. “Guess it’s outside for us, pard.”

They skirted the meager woodpile and the washtubs and kettles, ducking under the clothesline, as they headed toward the house. “The porch will be better than the dirt, don’t you think?”

A soft light glowed from Esther’s bedroom window and then went out. The bedsprings creaked, and then the only sound was the wind in the grasses and a far-off coyote yip.

Quietly, Thomas spread his bedroll on the porch floor and stretched out on it. Sleep dragged at his eyelids as Rip circled and flopped down beside him. Thomas buried his hand in Rip’s fur, glad for the warmth the big dog gave off.

Even with all he needed to think about, Thomas couldn’t keep his eyes open. Long days on the hunt, a sleepless night delivering a baby, a desperate ride to get the little fellow to help and an encounter with the only woman he had ever loved had taken their toll. Time enough tomorrow to think about what he should do about the baby’s future, about getting back on Swindell’s trail and about helping out Esther as much as she would let him.


Chapter Four (#u1cd32bdb-ef11-5922-82a8-2283fade8527)

It seemed Thomas had barely closed his eyes when he was jolted awake. Rip bounded to his feet, letting out a low woof that had Thomas drawing his gun from the holster he’d placed at his side before falling asleep.

He scanned the starlit area in front of the house, wondering what had roused him. Years of hunting bad men had taught him to be on guard, but lack of sleep had dulled his wits. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with sawdust.

Then the sound came again. The baby was crying. Rip whined and went to the door.

Thomas forced himself to relax, laying the gun on the floor. If he got to the little fellow in time, perhaps Esther wouldn’t even wake up. He levered himself up and placed his hand flat on the front door, easing it open.

He was just bending over the cradle when her bedroom door opened and candlelight shone over him.

“What are you doing in here?” She gathered the lapels of her housecoat around her. Her eyes glistened in the candle flame, dark and wide, and her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a river of chocolate-toned curls.

His breath snagged in his chest. He’d never seen her with her hair unbound before. Her bare toes curled against the floorboards, and the flush of sleep rode her cheeks.

“I heard him crying.” He lifted the baby out of the basket.

“From clear out in the bunkhouse?” She had more starch in her voice than a brand-new, store-bought shirt collar.

“The bunkhouse isn’t fit to live in right now. I rolled out my blankets on the front porch.” Thomas cradled the baby’s head in one palm, his little rump in the other. “Hush there, little fella, there’s no need to get all worked up.”

The baby disagreed. He drew his legs up, eyes screwed shut, mouth wide as a fresh-hatched bird. “Is he hungry again? What time is it?” Thomas squinted at the clock on the wall. “Seems like he just ate.”

“He did, not more than an hour ago.” She gathered her hair into a bunch on her shoulder. “Does he need a new diaper?”

“Not so I can tell.” Thomas shifted the baby to his shoulder, grappling with the child, the blanket and his own awkwardness.

“Maybe he needs to bring up more wind?” Esther used her candle to light two others on the table.

Thomas patted the infant, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. “Is he in pain?” The thought of something so little and helpless hurting made Thomas’s gut clench.

“Let me try.” Esther took the child, cradling him, crooning and shushing. She rubbed small circles on his little back. “Don’t cry, baby.” She looked up. “We really should give him a name. We can’t keep calling ‘baby.’”

Thomas paced, scratching his cheek, his whiskers rasping. “His mama didn’t live long enough to tell me what she planned to name her son. Any suggestions?”

“Did she tell you anything at all? The baby’s father’s name?”

He stopped. “She said his name was Jason.”

“Jason.” She swayed, rocking the baby. “Maybe we could pick a name with the same first letter. What about John? That’s a good, sturdy name. He can be Johnny when he’s little and John when he grows up.” She had to raise her voice over the pitiful cries.

“Johnny.” Thomas tested the name. “I like it.”

John Swindell, if she only knew.

“What can we do for him?” Thomas hooked his thumbs into his back pockets. “He’s killing me with that crying.”

Esther took the baby to the table and laid him down, peeling back the blankets. “Maybe he has a pin sticking him.” She checked him over, but the safety pins were closed. Being unwrapped seemed to make things worse. Johnny’s face reddened, and he jerked his legs up toward his little tummy.

“Maybe wrap him up tight like a papoose.”

Rip paced and whined, tall enough to get his muzzle up near the edge of the table, sniffing. He let out a low woof.

“We’re trying, fella.” Thomas scrubbed the big dog’s head.

As Esther cocooned Johnny and lifted him up, he brought up a stream of sour milk that hit the floor. The crying stopped, reduced to a bout of hiccups and snuffles. “I guess his tummy was upset.”

“Think he’ll sleep now?” Thomas grabbed a towel from the shelf near the stove. “I’ll clean up. You sit with him.” He steered her toward the rocker and then knelt to mop up the mess.

Esther settled Johnny in against her chest, his head tucked under her chin. In the candlelight they looked like they could be mother and son. Something squeezed in Thomas’s chest. If he hadn’t ridden away five years ago, would she have ever considered marrying him against her father’s wishes? And if they had, would they have kids? Would she be sitting there with his son in her arms?

Knock it off. Those are pipe dreams. The fact is, you left, and it was for the best. She deserves better than you.

“I’ll fetch some water.” Thomas picked up the bucket beside the door and headed out toward the windmill and pump. The moon had already started its descent, and stars coated the sky. Far away a coyote yipped, and its mate answered.

The path to the windmill was hard-packed, and Thomas imagined Esther had walked it hundreds of times, filling up washtubs and kettles day after day. What she needed was a pipe and spigot, so the water from the tank would flow down to where she washed the clothes without her having to carry it. He hooked the windmill to the pump handle, letting water gush out into the tank for a moment before sticking the bucket under the spout. Already he was tallying materials and the tools needed to plumb a line. Shouldn’t take more than a day.

When he returned to the house, Esther was asleep, the baby snuggled in her arms. Thomas set the bucket down gently and tossed the soiled towel into it to soak. He eased into a chair, content to watch Esther and Johnny sleep. A yawn cracked his jaw, and he rested his elbow on the table and his head on his fist for a moment. Surely now, everyone could settle down and get some rest.

* * *

Esther squinted at the clock, wondering if it was even worth it to go back to bed. For what seemed the hundredth time that night, Johnny cried out. She’d tried feeding, rocking, changing, singing and everything else she could think of. Thomas had tried, too.

“It’s got to be his tummy. Maybe it’s the canned milk that isn’t agreeing with him,” Esther said, wanting to cry herself. “It’s the only thing left I can think of.”

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. Red rimmed his eyes, and his whiskers darkened his cheeks. “That’s it. I’m heading out at first light to get a nanny goat.” He rubbed his hands down his face, yawning. “I feel terrible feeding him something that upset his innards so much.”

Esther nodded. The only place Johnny seemed to get any rest at all was in the center of her chest with her housecoat wrapped around them both. The poor little mite had thrown up repeatedly, his abdomen hard, his legs drawing up tight. They’d washed him from head to toes twice to get the sour milk smell off, using up the last of her special soap in the process.

Thomas had stayed with her all night, even when she knew he would probably love to bolt from the house and find somewhere to get some rest. He’d even shared in the walking and rocking and patting, though Johnny seemed to want Esther most. Rip had worried and walked right along with them, and now the big dog lay sprawled next to the rocking chair.

At long last, dawn began to pink the sky, fingers of light reaching through the front windows and chasing the shadows to the corners of the room. Thomas leaned over and blew out the almost guttering candles.

Johnny slept on, his tiny fist resting on Esther’s collarbone, his cheek pillowed in the hollow of her neck.

“I’d grind beans for coffee, but I’m afraid of waking him up again.” Thomas eased down onto one of the wooden chairs, putting his head on his crossed arms on the table. “Who knew one little baby could rout two grown adults, horse, foot and artillery? If I had known I wouldn’t get back to my bedroll, I mightn’t have been so quick to leap out of it when he first started to cry.”

She didn’t know whether to be glad or exasperated that Thomas had elected to sleep out on the porch. When she’d come out of her bedroom and seen him bending over the baby, he’d nearly frightened her out of her wits.

But now...

Tousled hair, bristled chin, rumpled clothing, sleep-deprived and in need of coffee, he’d never looked so appealing to Esther.

“I know it’s Sunday, but after last night, I don’t think I’ll be going to church. Unless you want me to hitch up the buggy for you.” He said the last on a yawn.

“Don’t bother. The church has been without a preacher for months. Folks in town have a prayer meeting that moves from house to house, but I don’t know who is hosting it this week.”

She felt herself drifting toward sleep and forced herself to open her eyes. “I’m going to try putting him in the basket again. Hopefully he’ll sleep long enough for me to dress and start breakfast.”

Thomas let out a snore.

Esther smiled. In the words of her Kentucky grandma, he was worn slap out.

Carefully, holding her breath, she eased Johnny into the blanket-lined basket. He stirred and relaxed, staying asleep, and she exhaled.

She gently closed her bedroom door, glancing in the mirror on her bureau. With a gasp, she reached for her hairbrush. She looked like she’d been dragged through a knothole backward. Her mop of curly hair had bushed out like a sagebrush, and dark smudges circled her eyes. Working to tidy her hair, she gazed out her bedroom window. Standing on tiptoe and angling her head, she could just see the porch floor where Thomas’s blankets lay, half tossed aside from where he’d jumped out of them.

His rifle lay on the boards, and his pistol at one end of the bedroll, the cartridge belt wrapped around the holster.

A chill chased up her back at the sight of the pistol. She hated guns, but pistols especially.

Her hands went slack on her half-fashioned braid as she remembered back to that horrible day. Thomas had been gone from the ranch for almost a week, and at that time Esther still hadn’t given up hope that he would return. She’d been fixing her hair then, too, hoping to look pretty just in case Thomas came back.

Carlita had called to her from the front room, and her heart had skipped a beat as she finished pinning up her braid.

Bark Getty had stood in the doorway, his hat in his hand, shifting his weight from boot to boot. The ranch foreman hadn’t come to the house often.

“Good morning, Mr. Getty. My father isn’t here. He was up at first light and out of the house. I’m not sure if he went to town or if he is out on the range.” She rolled down her sleeve and buttoned her cuff.

“That’s why I’m here, Miss Esther.” He looked at the floor, out the window and over her shoulder, but not in her eyes.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She tried to ignore the skitter of unease that brushed her skin.

“No, thank you.” He twisted his hat brim. “Miss Esther, I don’t want to have to tell you this, but your pa...”

“What?” Her hand went to her throat and unease turned to panic.

“He’s dead, ma’am.” Mr. Getty finally met her eyes, his troubled under their heavy brows. He brushed his hand down his long, dark whiskers.

“Did he fall from his horse?”

“No, ma’am. It wasn’t an accident. He...” He took a deep breath. “Your pa shot himself.”

She would never forget the shock, the pain, the bewilderment. Nor the sense of betrayal. How could he leave her that way? On purpose and so finally?

Esther didn’t remember much of the following days, except for the overwhelming grief. Others had prepared her father’s body for the funeral. Others had prepared the meal, the service, the gravesite. She hadn’t wanted him buried at the cemetery in town, and no one had objected to having him buried on the Double J. In fact, she surmised that some folks were glad not to have a suicide victim buried on church grounds.

His suicide was just one in a cascade of shocking events for her. The foreman had come to her to tell her that the bulk of her father’s cattle had been rustled, and the banker had informed her that there were considerable outstanding debts in her father’s name. She had no choice but to order the last of the cattle rounded up and all the horses, too. With the exception of the buckboard team, every animal on the place had been sold, along with most everything else of value. Within a month, the ranch hands had departed, and Carlita and Maria sought work elsewhere.

A week after the funeral, she’d mustered the courage to go into her father’s room. That’s where she’d found his note. The one that apologized for leaving her, for his lack of courage, for not seeing what was happening right under his nose. And he’d begged her to do everything she could to hold on to the ranch.

For the first time in her life, Esther had to fend for herself. Her few friends had urged her to sell her home and move into town, but she had stubbornly hung on, vowing to fulfill her father’s wishes. And each year, it had gotten harder. This year she might have to admit defeat. The taxes were due in about six weeks, and at the rate she was earning, she would be short the total amount.

She finished braiding and pinning up her hair. Thankfully, the baby slept on, and so did Thomas. They might’ve had a rough night, but somehow, as it always did, the sun came up, lifting Esther’s spirits. She could always cope better when the sun was up. It was at night that her cares and problems pressed in and swelled. The Bible verse about God’s mercies being new every morning came back to her.

“I could use some mercy right now, Lord. Thank You for the sunshine.”

And with sunup came chores. She wouldn’t worry about breakfast now, not with Thomas and Johnny finally asleep. Easing from the house, she paused for a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air. As quietly as she could, she rolled Thomas’s blankets and tied them, leaving them propped up against the side of the house. She couldn’t make herself touch the pistol.

Eight trips to the pump saw the washtubs and kettle filled, and she unpacked the bundles of laundry Danny Newton and his men had brought yesterday. If she could get a couple tubs of wash done first thing, she could use her afternoon to sew for Johnny. She smiled at how quickly the name had stuck.

Having kindled the fire under the kettle, she dumped Danny’s shirts into the water. Her woodpile was shrinking at a depressing rate. Soon she would have to head out into the mesquite thickets with her hatchet and lay in another supply, doing even more backbreaking work than bending over a scrub board. It was something she put off for as long as possible. She shaved a few slivers of homemade lye soap into her washtub, dipped some hot water from the iron kettle and got to work.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

She jumped and whirled, her hand to her chest. Thomas stood there, looking still half-asleep.

“You scared me, sneaking up like that.” Her heart raced. “Is the baby still asleep?”

“Yeah, though he’s getting restless like he’s going to wake up any minute.” Thomas yawned and stretched. “I wanted to be up at first light.” He frowned, and she smothered a smile. Lack of sleep obviously made him as cranky as a little boy.

“You needed some rest. It’s only been an hour or so since you dropped off.”

“You need sleep, too, but here you are scrubbing clothes and looking way too fresh and prettier than you’ve a right to, considering the night you just went through.” He rasped his whiskers, making a sandpapery sound so masculine Esther’s breath skidded in her throat. She knew she shouldn’t let him affect her, shouldn’t take his compliment to heart, but he’d never told her she was pretty before. Tucking that thought away to ponder later, she reached back into the washtub.




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