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
