“Can I get it?” she asks, hopeful, but not demanding. Like she’s used to being told no.
He studies the hat for a second, then looks at her. “We’ll see, kiddo. Let’s get you a few outfits first, okay? If we’ve got enough left, we’ll come back for it.”
Her face falls just a little.
“And if not,” he adds quickly, brushing his nose against hers, “I promise I’ll come back and get it for you after my next paycheck.”
That makes me pause.
Next paycheck.
I glance at him, really look this time. He’s dressed simply—jeans, boots, thermal. A worn, dark leather belt and cowboy hat.
The Ludlows are one of the wealthiest families in Wyoming.
Something doesn’t add up.
I don’t ask.
Instead, I turn toward the door. Waylon sets Ruby back on her feet and holds it open for both of us, his hand resting lightly against Ruby’s back as she toddles through.
“Shelby Storm!” Mrs. Burl calls from behind the counter.
She’s in her sixties, sharp-eyed and kind, with silver hair, cut into a short bob that never seems to move. She’s owned this shop since it opened six years ago.
“Hey, Mrs. Burl,” I say.
“The lace dress you order arrived yesterday,” she replies. “I was just about to call you.”
“Great. I’ll grab it before we leave.”
She nods, then turns her attention to Ruby. “Well, aren’t you just a picture?”
Ruby beams.
I lead them toward the back of the shop, where the children’s section lives—racks organized by size, fabrics soft but durable and meant to protect against the weather.
I crouch slightly to Ruby’s eye level. “All right,” I say, “let’s find you some warm clothes.”
Waylon hangs back, flipping through a rack with careful movements. I notice the way his eyes dart to the price tags, quick and subtle.
Something twists in my chest.
Without saying anything, I start pulling options I know won’t break the bank.
Cream corduroy pants—lined, sturdy, warm.
A soft powder-blue sweater that’ll go with anything.
Dark jeans with reinforced knees.
Two long-sleeved shirts on sale—buy one, get one free.
A few vibrant sweatshirts.
And a pink wool coat, thick enough to survive a Wyoming winter.
“These should fit,” I tell Ruby, holding them up against her.
