“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
