by Renee Ryan
He would do so in this situation, as well.
“You can trust Tristan with your secret.” Rachel defended him without question, willed Clara to accept the truth of her words. “He’s a good man, moral and upright. He won’t hurt you. In fact, he’ll help you, I’m sure of it. He’ll—”
Clara cut her off. “There’s more.”
Rachel didn’t like the sound of that. Because it seemed the right thing to do, she closed her hand over Clara’s and waited for the other woman to continue.
Clara pulled away from her and placed her fingertips to her rounded belly. “I’m not traveling alone.”
Not quite grasping what the words meant, Rachel blinked at the other woman, felt her eyebrows slam together. “But you said your husband died and there was no one left except your sister and her husband in Oregon City.”
“I’m with child.”
Stunned, Rachel dropped her gaze to the woman’s belly, the overly large, rounded belly. For five months on the trail Clara had kept her condition a secret? It hardly seemed possible that others hadn’t noticed the changes in her body, even hidden beneath the men’s clothing.
Lies and deception, though well-meaning, had brought them to this uncomfortable place. And now, Rachel was a part of the pretense, whether she liked it or not. “How far along are you?”
“Eight months.” Clara screwed her face into a scowl. “Maybe a bit longer.”
Rachel’s stomach knotted with apprehension. “Are you saying you could have the baby at any moment?”
“Yes.”
Oh, my. There’d already been too many tragedies on the trail so far. If Clara had the baby before they reached Oregon City, there could very well be another one to add to the list. Perhaps even two.
Please, Lord, Rachel prayed. Please keep Clara’s babe from coming until we make it to Oregon City.
The rain chose that moment to let loose, coming down in hard, unforgiving blasts of cold, needlelike pellets.
Sighing, Rachel looked up at the sky and wondered if the rain was a good sign or the precursor of a very challenging day ahead.
Only time would tell.
* * *
Later that night, after leaving the stolen money in James Stillwell’s care, Tristan found himself with too much free time on his hands. Nothing needed his immediate attention. The rain had stopped, but now a cold chill hung in the air and a dark feeling of gloom permeated the campground.
After days of river travel, the emigrants were exhausted, water-logged and ready for the journey to end. Tristan sympathized. But if they thought the hardships were nearly over, they were in for a disappointment. Oregon country was mostly wild frontier. The land was fertile, yes, but uncultivated and refused to be tamed easily.
Some of the people that survived the hardships of the trail wouldn’t live through winter.
Tristan closed his eyes against the thought, forced himself to listen to the sounds of the night. He could almost hear the Willamette Falls in the distance. The sound of home.
Close, so close. A few more miles and he would be with his daughters once again. He brought their sweet faces to mind. So pretty, all three of his girls, so in need of a woman’s influence in their lives. They needed more than a woman’s influence. They needed a mother.
Opening his eyes, he looked around, wondered why he’d come on this journey at all. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to feel regret over failing to find a mother for his daughters on the wagon train. He must have faith the Lord would provide.
Faith, such a simple word with such a lofty, often slippery meaning. Faith had never come easy for Tristan, harder still since losing Siobhan. The pain of her passing would always be with him, but it had become more manageable lately.
Tristan no longer argued with the Lord about the unfairness of his wife’s death. He no longer questioned why her and not him. In truth, he no longer prayed much at all, other than to ask the Lord to give him the endurance to get through each day as it came.
Tristan would provide his daughters with a suitable mother. However, now that he’d had time to think on the matter during several sleepless nights, he was more convinced than ever that he needed to secure a marriage in name only. He refused to put another woman through the dangers of childbirth. Surely, there was someone out there who would agree to his terms. He simply had to find her.
In the meantime, he had other concerns, such as luring the Tuckers out of hiding. He and James Stillwell had discussed possible scenarios, traps really, but nothing firm had been decided. Frustrated they hadn’t come up with a workable plan, he took off his hat, slapped it against his thigh and scowled into the night.
“Tristan?” A soft hand touched his arm. “Is something the matter?”
As he jammed his hat back on his head, he knew he would find Rachel’s concerned gaze when he turned his head. Despite their awkward beginning, they’d somehow managed to forge a tenuous friendship during this final leg of the journey.
He felt a closeness to this woman that defied logic. The realization left him feeling oddly hollow, maybe even a little angry. Guilty, as well.
Siobhan had been the heart and soul of him, the only woman he ever loved. The hole left in his life after her death was filled by his daughters now. There wasn’t room for anyone else.
His scowl dug deeper at the thought.
“I’m bothering you.” She drew in a small breath and her hand fell away from his arm. “I’ll leave you alone.”
He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted...
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he wanted.
“You aren’t bothering me,” he found himself saying. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”
“Ah.” She smiled at him, a pretty, soul-soothing smile.
Instead of calming him, the gesture sent his pulse roaring through his veins.
His earlier anger dug deeper, taking root, morphing into something equally disturbing.
Something that felt like...coming alive again.
Tristan had given up feeling alive. Though he told himself that he waited on the Lord, he didn’t really know how to wait. He certainly didn’t know how to surrender his will to an invisible, silent God. Best to make things happen on his own, through his own power and on his own timetable.
He frowned, realizing the implications of his current approach to life. How was he supposed to teach the girls to believe in God when he struggled with his own faith?
“You miss your daughters.” It wasn’t a question and so he didn’t treat it as one.
“Always.”
Rachel nodded and that light of understanding in her eyes made him feel a surge of hope again, followed by another burst of anger. He preferred the anger, relished it even. “I need to walk.”
“Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Actually, he did mind. But there was something in her tone, something he recognized as loneliness. How well he understood that emotion.
Apparently, like him, Rachel had too much free time tonight, with no task needing her immediate attention.
Not your concern. And yet, he said, “Join me.”
They strolled under the inky fabric of the night sky in silence. Considering his earlier mood, he didn’t expect to feel comfortable in her presence, but he did.
He allowed some of his anger to dissipate as they wove their way toward the river, away from the others. The sounds of low chatter, soft laughter and frogs croaking melded with the oddly musical pounding of water against rock.
At the river’s edge, Rachel shifted her gaze to the sky.
Tristan did the same.
“There’s something you should know,” she began. “Something I only just discovered this afternoon.”
Still looking up at the stars, wondering at her tone, he clasped his hands beh
ind his back. “I’m listening.”
“Clarence is a woman.”
“Yes.” He lowered his gaze to meet hers. “I know.”
She jammed her hands on her hips. “How long have you known?”
“I figured it out back at Fort Nez Perce.”
“Yet you haven’t confronted her about it?”
“I have not.” He held her gaze. “Until she arrives in Oregon City her situation is a matter for the wagon train committee.”
She gaped at him for several long seconds. “Aren’t you curious as to why she’s pretending to be a man?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I have a theory or two.”
“Oh, really.” She released a feminine sniff. “And what have you concluded?”
Her irritated tone brought a smile to his lips. Rachel Hewitt might not be soft-spoken like her sister. She might not be one to hold back her opinions, but she was never boring. And she continually surprised him.
“Evidently,” he began, “she assumed it would be safer to travel on the Oregon Trail in the guise of a man.”
“Well, aren’t you clever?”
“I’m a lawman, Rachel. I’m required to be observant.”
She lifted onto her toes, probably in an attempt to bring them to eye level. Her gaze fell just below his chin.
“Well, then, Sheriff.” His title had never sounded sassier. “I assume you’ve also figured out that Clara is with child.”
Clara, not Clarence. He filed that piece of information away for later. “I’d say she’s at least seven months along.”
Muttering something he couldn’t quite make out, Rachel leaned toward him. “Try eight, maybe more.”
His gut clenched. Memories of the darkest night of his life threatened to overwhelm him. He shoved them down with a hard swallow and focused on the woman staring up at him. “Why are you telling me this, Rachel?”
She gave him a pitying glare, the kind women reserved for naughty children caught in the act of being, well, naughty. “Because you’re the sheriff of Oregon City.”
“You do realize,” he said, clearing his throat, beating back the terrible, unwanted memories, “assisting a woman in the birthing process is not part of my job.”
His voice came out even, but a shudder passed through him. His thoughts brought him back in time. He’d been with Siobhan for the birth of every one of his daughters, including the last one that had taken her life. He knew the dangers of childbirth firsthand. He would not be the cause of another woman’s death.
Memories tried to take root, dragging him back to that terrible night when his beloved wife had died in his arms.
Darkness filled his soul. Black ringed his vision.
A sharp voice cut through his growing despair.
“Well, of course, I know it’s not your job.” Rachel shook her head as though she thought him daft.
Desperate to stay in the moment with her, he clung to the sound of her voice, appreciated more than she could ever know the frustration he heard in her tone.
“I told you about Clara so you’ll be prepared when we arrive at Oregon City. There must be a doctor or a midwife or someone who knows about these things. And...” She paused, studied his face a moment past polite. “I can see by your expression that I’ve overstepped my authority again.”
There was something in her voice, a desolation that brought him firmly into the moment. At last. “You’re simply being helpful, taking it upon yourself to assist a friend in need.”
“Yes, exactly. Oh, Tristan, I really was just trying to help.”
“I know that, Rachel.”
They shared a smile. For that one instant, with the stars glistening overhead and the sound of rushing water filling his ears, Tristan felt less...chaotic. Not quite at peace, but closer.
“Tristan, I... That is...” She dug her toe in the gravelly sand. “I better head back before someone notices I’m gone.”
She didn’t sound overly excited about the prospect of returning to her campsite. What must it be like for her, now that both her brother and her sister were engaged to be married?
Lonely, he suspected.
Familiar with the sensation, he took her hand. “When we get to Oregon City, if you need anything, anything at all, you just have to ask and I’ll see to it at once.”
Eyes studying his, she gave him a slow, sweet smile. “Thank you, Tristan. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
“Good.” He paused. “Rachel, I...” He paused again, offered his arm. “It’s getting late. Let me escort you back.”
“Yes, of course.” Her smile turned sweeter still. “What a lovely way to end a long, trying day.”
He couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Seven
At last. After five grueling months and more than their fair share of misfortunes, the wagon train arrived at Oregon City.
Desperate for a glimpse of her new home, Rachel leaned so far over the raft’s edge she nearly toppled into the water. She quickly righted herself just as a stiff breeze whipped a clump of tangled curls across her face. She shoved the unruly mess aside and breathed in deeply. The threat of winter hung in the frigid air.
Nevertheless, sunlight danced off the water in glittering flashes. The hiss of Willamette Falls grew louder as Nathan guided their raft around a small bend. Another bend and, yes, yes, Oregon City came into view.
Rachel’s heart soared. I’m home. Three terraces of land rose above the east side of the river. However, only the lowest section showed signs of development. The streets stretched northward from the falls for several blocks, but there was no order to building placement. She liked the town all the more because of eclectic way the simple single-story clapboard structures were tucked in haphazardly beside sturdier two-and three-story buildings.
Emma came up beside Rachel and linked an arm through hers. Rachel’s heart soared once again. Emma looked less pale today, as though the prospect of reaching Oregon City had cured her seasickness.
“Well?” Emma asked. “What do you think of our new home?”
Rachel studied the town. “Smaller than I’d anticipated, but it’s—” she searched for the right word, discarded several before settling on “—charming.”
“Oh, Rachel, it is charming.” Arms still linked, they braced through a series of dips and bumps.
Once the ride smoothed out, Emma released her hold and went to stand by Nathan. He paused in the middle of steering their raft to drop a kiss on her forehead. It was a lovely display of affection and familiarity. Nathan and Emma were living proof that when two people were meant to be together nothing could keep them apart.
Seeing the expression of their love refreshed Rachel’s faith in the possibility of finding someone for herself. Was he among the emigrants or already a resident of Oregon City?
Her gaze tracked over the surrounding area, landed on Tristan standing beside James Stillwell farther down the river.
Even from this distance, Rachel could see that Tristan’s gaze was locked on a spot up ahead. The look in his eyes spoke of longing. Her breath caught painfully in her lungs.
Was he thinking of his daughters? Did he regret not finding them a mother on the wagon train?
Oddly stricken for three little girls she’d never met, Rachel forced her attention back to her own raft. Nathan’s dark head was bent over Emma’s lighter one. He whispered something in her ear and they both laughed. The sound reached all the way to Rachel’s heart and squeezed.
Did they know how blissful they looked?
A jaw-cracking yawn drew her attention away from the happy couple. Clara was awake.
Rachel crouched down beside her new friend. “Clara, our journey is over at last.”
Clara rubbed at her eyes. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Oh.” Clara clasped a hand to her belly. “Oh, thank God.”
Rachel couldn’t agree more.
Smiling, she assisted Clara to her feet. By the time they worked their way onto the rocky shore, many of the Oregon City residents were already showing up on the riverbank.
Emma took over with Clara, urging her to sit on a nearby rock.
Clara protested, but Emma remained firm. “Nathan and I will help you locate your sister once the crowd thins out.”
Finally giving in, Clara nodded.
Almost immediately, Ben, Abby and Mr. Bingham joined them on the shoreline. “Anybody see Grayson yet?” Ben asked.
Rachel scanned the loud, boisterous crowd. “Not yet.”
She continued looking, lifting onto her toes. She caught sight of Tristan again. He and Mr. Stillwell, working as a team, hoisted the trunk of stolen money up a steep riverbank.
Rachel tried not to stare.
But how could she not? Tristan had competence layered all the way through him. He’d been such a godsend on the trail. She wanted to thank him for his assistance, not only for herself, but for her fellow emigrants, as well. She started out. Unfortunately, he disappeared over the rise before she could take more than a few steps.
Her heart did a long, slow roll. She’d missed her opportunity. Later, she told herself. She would seek out Tristan and thank him later.
For now, she went back to searching for her brother’s familiar face. She spotted him less than thirty feet from where Tristan had just disappeared. Grayson hadn’t seen her yet, or any of their family. Rachel took the opportunity to study him. He looked the same, and yet...not.
His hair was still a rich, dark brown, and his eyes were still an unusual gray. Yet he stood taller than Rachel remembered, held his body with strength and power, as if he were fully confident in his place in the world. Grief no longer edged his gaze or showed in the stoop of his shoulders.
Rachel took a step toward him, then paused when she realized he wasn’t alone. A young, rather pretty woman stood beside him. Somewhere close to Emma’s age, she was willowy thin and wore a lavender dress that highlighted her curly blond hair and small, distinct features.
