by Renee Ryan
Tristan heard the lie buried inside the hostile tone, could see the deception in the man’s shifting eyes and curled upper lip.
Amos picked up a long pole and placed it in the water, digging around until he found purchase on the rocky bottom. “Time to get a move on.”
Tristan peered around Grant. “What’s the rush?”
Amos avoided eye contact. “No rush, just don’t like to waste daylight.”
Another lie.
“Your raft is unevenly weighted,” Tristan pointed out. “I suggest moving that trunk to the middle and—”
“It stays where it is.” Amos shot out his hand and set his palm flat on top of the trunk’s lid.
The swift gesture hiked up his sleeve, revealing a long scar from wrist to elbow. From the angry red puffs at either end, the wound wasn’t fully healed yet.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to your arm?”
“Childhood accident.”
And the lies just kept piling up.
Again, Tristan leaned forward for a better glimpse of the trunk beneath Amos’s hand. “What you got stowed in there, anyway?”
“That’s none of your concern.” Grant waded thigh deep into the water, shoved the raft slightly forward and then hopped on board.
The additional weight threw his brother off balance. A string of muttered oaths ensued, followed by a round of weaving and bobbing. With the help of his pole, Amos regained control of the raft. Barely.
Once he found his sea legs, Grant rose to his full height and touched the brim of his hat. “See ya, Sheriff.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Tristan called out over the sound of rushing water.
The words had barely left his mouth when the current caught the back end of the raft and spun it in a quick, sharp circle. Grant dove on top of the trunk and hung on with a white-knuckled grip.
Amos frantically dug his pole into the river bottom. His efforts only added to the chaos, spinning the raft in harder, faster circles. With each turn, more of the twins’ possessions splashed into the water.
From behind him, Tristan heard the sound of footsteps pounding toward the riverbank, followed by shouts of warnings and suggestions.
Tristan cupped his palms around his mouth. “Amos, stop fighting the current. You’re better off riding it out.”
Ignoring him, Amos continued battling the rapids.
Rachel Hewitt joined the other emigrants on the shoreline. “Hold on, Grant, Amos.” She rose onto her toes. “We’ll get someone out to help you.”
The raft listed heavily to port, dumping more of the men’s possessions in the water. The pole slipped out of Amos’s hand.
The river had complete control of the raft now, carrying it straight toward a cluster of mean-looking, jagged rocks that stuck out of the water barely fifty feet up ahead.
Running on the shoreline, Tristan shouted out a warning. Ben Hewitt and James Stillwell came up beside him. The three of them kept even pace with the out-of-control raft.
Rachel was only a few steps behind them. “Look out for the rocks,” she shouted. “Grant, Amos, look out.”
Her warning came too late.
The raft smashed headlong into the rocks.
Amos immediately lost his footing and fell into the water. His shout for help was nearly lost in the sound of crashing waves. He went under fast but then popped up a few seconds later near the opposite shoreline.
Battered by rock and waves, Grant still managed to hold his position atop the raft as he clung to the trunk. Man and luggage swirled in a hard, tight circle. The second crash was as ugly as the first. This time, Grant lost his hold. He went into the water screaming for help.
Amos was close enough to reach out and grab his brother’s foot. He pulled Grant free of the raging water and dragged him to shore. Both men then fell to their hands and knees, gasping for air.
Grant recovered first. He jumped to his feet and glanced frantically around. His eyes landed on the trunk, now stuck atop a group of rocks near where Tristan stood.
He waded back into the water.
Tristan did the same on his side of the river.
“We have to get to that trunk before Grant does.” He directed his words at Ben and James Stillwell.
Neither man questioned him. They simply followed his lead.
When Rachel attempted to step into the water, as well, Tristan placed a palm in the air to stop her progress. “Stay back.”
“But Grant and Amos need our help.” Her chin tilted at a determined angle. “They need—”
“I need you to keep the crowd at bay.”
“What crowd?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, my.”
Tristan’s sentiments exactly.
Dozens of gawking men, women and children were lining up along the riverbank. At least a dozen more were in the process of abandoning their tasks and heading over.
Frowning, Rachel stretched out her arms. “Everyone step away from the river and give the sheriff room to work.”
As she herded her fellow travelers away from the river’s edge, the trail boss shouldered in next to her. The two quickly restored order.
With Ben and Stillwell’s help, Tristan wrestled the Tuckers’ trunk out of the water and onto dry land.
The latch sprung open.
“Well, well.” Tristan tossed back the heavy lid and peered inside. “What have we here?”
Chapter Five
The trail boss proved far more skillful at crowd control than Rachel. Not that this surprised her. Sam Weston had considerable experience managing disasters along the trail. Throughout the hazardous five-month journey he’d employed whatever technique was necessary to keep the emigrants calm, focused and, as was the case today, out of the way.
“Let’s get back to work, people.” He stalked back and forth among the concerned onlookers. “We leave in one hour.”
Amid grumbles and rapid-fire questions concerning the Tuckers’ accident and the potential for more calamities on the water, he remained firm.
“One hour,” he repeated. “We wait for no one.”
Sam Weston never issued empty threats. Therefore, despite obvious concern over the next leg of their journey, the crowd dispersed.
At last, Rachel was free to return to the water’s edge. By the time she had picked her way across the rocky beach, Ben and James had rescued most of the twins’ possessions from the river.
Tristan rifled through a large trunk that Rachel recognized as belonging to the Tucker brothers. The expression in his sharp green eyes was solemn, even a little austere. With that tight jawline and rigid set of his shoulders, he looked pure male, all lawman.
Every ounce the dedicated sheriff.
Curiosity drove Rachel closer, close enough to peer at the contents inside the trunk.
Her throat tightened in outrage.
For several long seconds she couldn’t speak. There were so many familiar items, items that had randomly disappeared in recent months.
Mind reeling, she took a quick mental inventory. There, atop a pale gray blanket, sat the lace shawl that had once belonged to Abby’s mother. And there, smashed up against the far right corner, was Mrs. Jenson’s silver hairbrush.
Torn between shock and utter dismay, Rachel counted at least twenty pieces of jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, a lovely cameo and—she gasped—Sally Littleton’s wedding ring that had gone missing just this morning. There was also money inside the trunk, so much of it her mind boggled.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, her gaze landed on her sister’s missing hair combs. The very ones Nathan Reed had been accused of stealing before he and Emma had fallen in love. He’d even been brought to trial by the wagon train committee and had only been cleared when new thefts occurred whil
e he was incapacitated.
Anger surged, blurring Rachel’s vision. She opened her mouth, closed it, felt her cheeks grow hot. Lips pressed in a grim line, Rachel reached out, ran her fingertip across the combs.
All this time, all these months, Grant and Amos Tucker had been the thieves. They’d remained silent throughout Nathan’s trial. They’d been willing to allow an innocent man to take the blame for their treachery.
The vile reprobates.
A fresh spurt of fury rushed through Rachel. Her cheeks grew hotter still. She practically trembled with the dark emotion.
“Where are they?” She spit out the question even as she searched the river. “Where are Grant and Amos?”
“Over there.” Tristan angled his head toward the opposite side of river.
Rachel looked in the direction Tristan indicated. The moment her gaze swept over the Tuckers, she opened her mouth, but again nothing came out. Not a whisper, not a squeak.
All she could do was watch in stunned silence as the twins faced off with each other. They seemed to be engaged in a verbal battle, which quickly escalated to pushing and shoving.
Amos slammed his hands against Grant’s shoulders. Grant returned the favor, sending his brother back several steps.
“Hey, boys, looks like you left a few things behind.”
Pausing midshove, Grant pulled away from his brother and stomped to the river’s edge. The thunderous expression on his face distorted his features, giving him a twisted, almost sinister look. “You got no right searching through our stuff.”
“Your stuff? Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. This does not belong to you.” Tristan waved the hairbrush, then reached inside the trunk and retrieved the cameo. “Nor does this.”
He picked up Mrs. Bingham’s shawl, studied the design with casual slowness. “Or this.”
Grant shouted out something foul concerning Tristan’s heritage. Rachel gasped at the venom in the other man’s words, could only marvel at Tristan’s calm demeanor as he carefully returned the stolen items to the trunk, then prowled like a large menacing cat to the water’s edge.
Feet planted in a wide-legged stance, his expression turned so hard, so threatening, that Rachel shivered.
“Come over here and say that to my face,” Tristan said through gritted teeth.
“Maybe I will.” Grant splashed into the water up to his knees. He looked prepared to dive into the river, but Amos grabbed his arm and yanked him backward.
Struggling against his brother’s grip, Grant fought for release.
Amos refused to let him go. He muttered frantically to him about something Rachel couldn’t quite make out.
Finally, Grant broke free of Amos. But instead of jumping into the water, he stayed put. “This ain’t over, Sheriff. You’ll pay for interfering in our business.” Grant shook his clenched fist in the air. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Tristan smiled at the threat. “You’re welcome to try.”
One last foul oath, then Grant spun around and headed in the direction of the Cascade Mountains.
Amos trailed closely behind him.
At some point during the heated exchange, Rachel’s brother and James Stillwell had commandeered a canoe.
The two approached the river, discussing various strategies for apprehending the brothers. Tristan joined them, adding his own opinions and a sense of urgency to the discussion.
As a section leader and one of the elected committee members for the wagon train, Ben’s involvement made sense. What Rachel couldn’t understand was why Mr. Stillwell had insinuated himself into the matter.
She voiced her confusion aloud.
“I’m an agent with Thayer & Edwards safe company,” he said simply.
Rachel wasn’t quite sure what that had to do with his desire to apprehend the Tucker twins. Then she remembered right before the wagon train left Missouri someone had broken into a special heavy-duty safe containing a considerable amount of money belonging to several local merchants.
“You’re here because of the robbery back in Independence,” she said. “The safe that was broken into was made by your company?”
“That’s right,” he confirmed. “I joined the wagon train when I discovered evidence that suggested the thief, or rather thieves,” he corrected, glaring across the river, “were using the journey to hide their escape.”
“Oh, does that mean...you—” Rachel paused, considered the man through narrowed eyes “—aren’t meeting up with family in Oregon City?”
“Correct.” He reached inside the trunk and picked up a handful of loose bills. “My job was to recover the stolen money, no matter how long it took.”
Rachel dropped her gaze to the interior of the trunk. “There must be hundreds of dollars in there.”
“Thousands,” he said, his eyes troubled. “The Tucker brothers have gone to a lot of trouble transporting this trunk across miles of difficult, rugged land.”
Rachel sighed. Grant and Amos had seemed so charming, so likable. In reality, they were nothing but liars and thieves. Now her brother and Tristan were leading the charge to capture them.
Rachel’s heart tightened with fear. Ben had been keeping order and breaking up fights since their first day on the trail. Tristan was a town sheriff. She had to trust they could handle themselves in this situation.
Still, she lifted up a prayer for their safety, then added, Lord, bring Grant and Amos to swift justice.
The moment she finished the prayer, she caught sight of Tristan climbing into the canoe with Ben.
Tristan’s a lawman, she reminded herself. Of course he would set out to apprehend the Tucker brothers. Nevertheless, she lifted up yet another prayer for Tristan’s safety.
James attempted to join the two men in the canoe, but Tristan waved him off. “We’ll pursue the brothers,” he said. “You stay with the money.”
The agent looked prepared to argue, then seemed to think better of it. “Good plan.”
Ben and Tristan navigated the rapids quickly, but the twins had covered a lot of ground already.
Another rush of fear rose to the back of Rachel’s throat and stuck. No amount of swallowing dislodged the sensation.
James Stillwell’s voice dropped over her. “I should probably determine which of these items were stolen and which actually belong to the Tuckers.”
The suggestion was exactly what Rachel needed to distract her from worrying about Tristan and her brother. “I can help with that.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” They shared an awkward smile, then simultaneously dropped their gazes to the trunk.
Rachel sighed again. “I find it hard to believe Grant and Amos could be so, so...” She shook her head. “Deceitful.”
“They fooled everyone, Miss Hewitt, including me.”
Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Rachel watched Ben and Tristan pull the canoe onto the opposite shore and set down their oars.
A short nod passed between them, and then off they went, Tristan leading the way over the first ridge.
Refusing to allow her fears to overwhelm her, Rachel reached inside the trunk and picked up the first item. The silver hairbrush. “This belongs to Delores Jensen.”
Better, she thought, now that she had something to do with her hands.
What seemed like hours passed. In actuality, Ben and Tristan returned barely twenty minutes later.
They were alone.
Eyes locked with hers, Tristan climbed out of the canoe.
Pleased to see him, and mildly surprised by the depth of her reaction, Rachel went to meet him. She desperately wanted to touch his face, to assure herself that he was unscathed, but that wouldn’t be proper. Or appropriate.
She settled for searching his features with only her gaze.
> “What happened?” she asked, somewhat alarmed at how breathless she sounded.
Lifting his hat a moment, Tristan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “We lost them in the cliffs.”
“We could see them, but couldn’t get to them.” Ben wiped sweat off his brow. “They had too much of a head start on us.”
James slapped his hand on the trunk’s lid. “I doubt they’ll leave all this without a fight. We’d be smart to come up with a plan to keep the money safe and—”
“Ben! Oh, Ben, I heard the Tucker brothers are the thieves and that you went after them.” Eyes slightly wild, Abby lifted her hand to touch Ben’s face. “Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine, Abby.” He cradled her small hand inside his. “Frustrated. No, make that angry, but fine.”
The two leaned in close and spoke in hushed whispers. Pulling back slightly, Abby took Ben’s hand, pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm.
The gesture was brief, even casual, yet somehow intimate, as well. Rachel felt like an intruder, watching Abby fuss over Ben while he attempted to soothe away her concerns with soft words and gentle touches.
Turning her back on the two, Rachel tried to stifle a sigh.
Tristan looked up at the sound. For a moment, his eyes softened and the stiffness in his shoulders eased. She tried to smile at him, but her mouth wobbled instead. A rush of...something spread through her, a brief, unexpected need to belong to someone, to anyone.
To Tristan?
Too soon, her mind told her. It was entirely too soon to fall for the man, to think about belonging to him, to wish for something that might never be possible.
She must be logical.
She must remember to guard her heart.
Too late, her traitorous heart whispered. Too, too late.
Giving in to that sigh, after all, she pressed her hands tightly together. Either that or go to Tristan and...and...
She cut off the rest of her thoughts. “I have to go.”
“Go?” He tilted his head to one side. “Go where?”
“I have to...” Think, Rachel, think. “I have to return these stolen items to their rightful owners.”
