<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://www.legendsofamerica.com/photos-oldwest/john%20m.%20bozeman.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Thommy Jones - NPC (Jaelyn Scot-Jones' father)<br/><strong>Faction:</strong><br/><strong>Date:</strong>near a year before game start<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">J </span>Mercantile & Trade<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>closed<br/><hr/><br/><br/>With a grateful smile, Thommy Jones closed up shop some time after sundown, locking the solid double doors at the front and the single door the led out into the back alley.  He liked a solid door better than the half glass that some of the store fronts fancied.  Who needed all that breakable glass, especially in a town full of ruffians and barkeeps?  Just asking for trouble and wasted expense, Thommy figured for the umpteenth time as he took the stairs up to his living quarters.  As always, there was no fire going, no dinner smells wafting.  His good feelings waned as he stood staring at the cold cast iron.<br/><br/>The mercantile and trade was a good endeavor for a hard worker.  And if Thommy was anything, it was that.  Life was finally starting to lean favorably in his direction.  If only Renae had joined him with their little girl, it would be perfect.  Jaelyn; she was far from a little girl any more.  But nearly a grown woman.  And though he hadn't seen her in years,  he knew she was pretty.  She would have grown out of that tomboy stage into a real beauty.  And what choice did she have with a momma like Renae?  Even his own looks weren't nothing to sneeze at according to the girls down at The Gilded Feather and Casino Morongo.<br/><br/>Thommy poured himself a finger of whiskey to fortify himself against the lonely night ahead.  He missed his wife, no matter that it wasn't a legal ceremony.  He and Renae had said their own vows all those years ago.  They made a family, the three of them, when they were together.  Without Renae or Jaelyn, all he had was work.  And no matter what the<em>fine</em>reverend said, man could not live by work alone.  So he didn't.<br/><br/>Once every few months Thommy would take himself down the boardwalk to an establishment that might ease his loneliness.  At first the guilt tore at his gut.  But a man had needs and this was his best option short of finding a new wife all together.  So he lived with the guilt, and each time it got easier to live with.  Now that he was free and clear of vows and ideas of propriety, he saw no reason to change what had been working so well for so long.<br/><br/>He poured another snort of whiskey, deciding if this was one of those nights.  Company wouldn't be bad, but he was feeling pretty good.  Business had been improving year over year now that he'd settled into the role of storekeeper.  It took the locals time to get used to seeing him as such instead of the dirty, dusty miner he'd been for years.  The change took some getting used to, and a whole lot of lessons learned.<br/><br/>Yeah, he was feeling good.  He was feeling<em>RICH</em>.  That was the difference.  It wasn't loneliness plucking at his nerves, but spare coin.  Something stirred inside the widower.<br/><br/>There was a day Thommy fancied himself a fair gambler, even when he lost more than he won.  He could often be lucky at the right time, so his family never starved.  No easy fete on the streets of Lost Angels.  To keep peace in his home, he'd sworn off gambling but who was here now to tell him no.  There was no one here to wag a finger or chastise with a silent gaze from sad, round eyes.<br/><br/>And life was leaning his way, after all.  Moments later, accompanied by a hefty purse, the handsome storekeeper bounded down the outer stairs to stroll down the boardwalk, whistling on his way.