Читать книгу The Bounty Hunter's Baby - Erica Vetsch - Страница 12

Chapter Three

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.