Wagon Train Proposal

by Renee Ryan

  He took her hand and pulled her close, close enough to feel her slight trembling. And the sadness she claimed didn’t exist. “Tell me how to make your pain go away.”

  “It’s...complicated.”

  Just as he opened his mouth to mine for more information, a thud came from inside the house, followed by a muffled uh-oh.

  Looking more than a little relieved by the interruption, Rachel threw her shoulders back. “I better check on the girls.”

  This time when she tried to push past him, Tristan let her. He wasn’t through with their conversation, but now wasn’t the time. He’d catch her again tonight, after the girls were tucked in bed.

  By the time he entered the house, everything appeared to be in order. Rachel held Violet in her arms and was whispering something in the child’s ear. The little girl erupted into giggles. Lily and Daisy were already laughing.

  He smiled at the picture the four made. After nearly two weeks, he was no longer amazed at the changes in his daughters. He was merely grateful. Rachel’s presence in his home was a blessing he’d not seen coming.

  He didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t imagine anyone else laughing with his daughters or telling them bedtime stories or teaching them nursery rhymes.

  Perhaps he could convince her to marry him, after all. He couldn’t love her, not the way she wanted or deserved, but he already cared about her more than he’d thought possible. Tristan had seen marriages built on less, and...

  He was being completely selfish, putting his own needs ahead of hers. He cleared his throat and four pairs of eyes swung in his direction.

  “I have to get to the jail.” He reached out to Rachel. “Walk me to the door.”

  “Of course.” She set Violet on the ground and placed her hand in his.

  Her fingers were ice-cold.

  He led her back outside before letting go of her hand. “I’ll be at the jail all day if you need me for anything, anything at all.”

  She nodded.

  In a fit of spontaneity, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed a light kiss atop her head. Before she could protest the move, he released her.

  “We’ll finish our conversation later tonight.”

  Eyes wide, she stared up at him for three long seconds. “There’s no reason. I’m all right, Tristan. Truly, I—”

  He pressed a brief kiss to her lips, cutting off whatever argument she’d been about to voice.

  Frozen in shock, she gaped at him.

  “Tonight,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

  Jamming his hat on his head, he left her staring after him. Ten minutes later, he pushed into the jailhouse. And stopped cold. Grayson Hewitt was in an animated conversation with James Stillwell.

  “Grayson, something I can do for you?”

  Lips compressed in a flat line, the man in question stepped away from the insurance agent. “We had a break-in at the mercantile sometime before dawn.”

  Tristan’s blood ran cold. “Anybody hurt?”

  Grayson shook his head. “The thieves were in and out before Nathan made it downstairs.”

  “What did they take?”

  “Mostly food, a few blankets, a lantern, several tools.” Eyes hard, Grayson rattled off the list of items, then paused. “And an entire jar of lemon drops.”

  “Had to be the Tucker brothers,” Stillwell said, shaking his head in disgust.

  “That would be my guess,” Tristan agreed. Grant’s sweet tooth had been legendary on the trail. “How’d they get in the store?”

  If possible, Grayson’s eyes hardened even more. “Threw a brick through the glass.”

  Of course they did. Finesse had never been the brothers’ favorite mode of operation. “Let’s go have a look.”

  “Follow me.” Grayson led the way out of the building.

  Stillwell’s voice stopped Tristan at the door. “I’ll stay behind and guard the safe. Something tells me our boys are about to make their move any day now.”

  “I’ll be back shortly. When I return, we’ll discuss how best to lure Grant and Amos out of hiding.” He met Stillwell’s gaze. “It’s time to end this.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel pressed a finger to her temple and wished the pounding behind her eyes would subside. Now that it was just her and the girls in the house, she attempted to let down her guard and simply relax.

  But no matter how many deep breaths she took, the brittle feeling in her bones wouldn’t go away. She’d been holding in her sorrow for nearly two weeks, pretending all was well, acting as though her heart wasn’t shattered. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up the charade.

  Tapping into the remaining scraps of her composure, she lowered to a chair and watched the girls play jacks on the floor at her feet. She felt immediately less restless for the span of three whole seconds. Then a suffocating pressure squeezed in her lungs and breathing became difficult once again.

  She shut her eyes and prayed for the Lord to take away the heaviness that had settled in her heart. No relief came down from above. It was as if the Heavenly Father had abandoned her as surely as her own parents had nineteen years ago.

  Everything she’d ever known about herself and her family was a lie. She needed answers, deserved them. But each time she attempted to broach the subject with Grayson, her words came out a little too loud, a little too panicked, and she would rush away before she even began.

  All her life, she’d been taught that family turned to each other in times of trouble. That was the Hewitt way. How was Rachel supposed to turn to a family that wasn’t really hers?

  Tears welled in her eyes. She knew she couldn’t go on like this. Tristan had seen through her pretense this morning. It was only a matter of time before the others did, too.

  Would they react with the same tenderness and concern that Tristan had shown her? He’d been unbearably kind. And then, then, he’d kissed her. It hadn’t been much more than a brief press of his lips to hers. She sensed he’d only done it to keep her from arguing with him. But...he’d...kissed her.

  She didn’t know quite what to make of his behavior.

  “Miss Rachel?” Violet climbed onto her lap and leaned her head against her shoulder. “I’m bored.”

  The grown-up word made Rachel smile even as she rested her chin on top of the child’s head. Of course she was bored. At two years of age, Violet didn’t have the skill—or the inclination—to play jacks.

  Perhaps it was time for some fresh air. A change of scenery would also do Rachel good. She set Violet on the floor. “All right, girls. Let’s put on our coats.”

  Daisy paused in the middle of tossing the ball in the air. “Where are we going?”

  Rachel smiled down at the child, seeing a lot of herself in the inquisitive eyes staring up at her. At Daisy’s age, Rachel had also asked unceasing questions.

  Her brothers and sister had indulged her curious nature with unending patience. Had it been out of obligation? Had their parents insisted they treat Rachel with kindness because she’d been abandoned?

  Hating the doubt that pulled at her, Rachel curled her fingers into fists. Would all her childhood memories be forever tainted now that she’d stumbled upon the truth? Would she always question if her siblings truly loved her, or merely pitied her?

  Confront them.

  The thought came at her in a whisper. She shoved it aside and focused on the little girl waiting for an answer from her.

  “We’re going visiting,” she said.

  With confusion knit across her brow, Daisy set the ball on the floor amongst the scattered jacks. “What’s visiting?”

  “It’s when we drop in on friends to say hello.”

  “Oh.” Her expression still looked puzzled.

  “We aren’t goin
g far,” Rachel added. “Just next door to see Mrs. Quincy’s sister, Clara, and her new baby.”

  The pronouncement had the intended effect. All three girls hurriedly put on their coats. After adding hats, gloves and scarves, Rachel steered the three of them out the front door.

  A cold wind swept off the mountains, carrying the scent of snow in its wake. The sky had turned a dingy gray, but at least the misty chill in the air was refreshing, sweeping away some of the heaviness in Rachel’s mind.

  When they arrived at the Quincy home, she rapped lightly on the door, then told the jabbering girls to speak softly.

  “Why?” Violet asked in a voice loud enough to be heard two blocks over.

  “Shh.” Rachel pressed a finger to her lips. “We don’t want to disturb the baby if she’s sleeping.”

  The door swung open.

  Bertha Quincy stood on the threshold, her mouth spread into a wide grin. “Well, look who it is, three of my favorite little girls and their pretty nanny.”

  “We’ve come to see the new baby,” Daisy announced, taking a step forward.

  Rachel placed a hand on the child’s shoulder to keep her from taking another. “As long as we aren’t disturbing you. If this is a bad time, we can stop by later.”

  “Nonsense, you’re here now.” Bertha opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

  The girls scurried into the house. Rachel followed at a more sedate pace.

  “Rachel, I thought I recognized your voice.” Clara beamed at her from a seated position on an overstuffed, comfortable-looking couch. “And look, it’s the McCullough children. Come closer, girls, and meet my daughter, Emma Leigh.”

  Rachel blinked. “You named your baby after...after Emma?”

  “I did.” Glowing from the inside out, Clara smiled down at the bundle in her arms. “Emma was the first person to befriend me on the trail. She kept me going when I thought I couldn’t bear another moment. It only seemed right to name my child after her.”

  There was unmistakable gratitude in Clara’s voice. Rachel couldn’t imagine what the journey had been like for the other woman. Alone and grieving her husband, she must have been incredibly frightened.

  “I think Emma Leigh is a fine name.” Rachel took a look at the baby with light brown hair and sweet, round features. “She’s beautiful.”

  Daisy marched up to Clara, set her hands on her hips and peered at the baby with obvious intent in her eyes. “Can I hold her?”

  “Only if you sit here beside me.” Clara patted an empty spot on the couch.

  Daisy quickly crawled into place. After showing her how to support the infant’s head, Clara placed the baby in the little girl’s arms.

  Once their sister was settled, Violet and Lily moved in for a better look.

  “She’s so tiny,” Violet whispered.

  “You were smaller.” Looking much older than her six years of age, Daisy touched the baby’s face very gently with her fingertip. “Da used to let me hold you like this.”

  Rachel went very still. If Daisy remembered holding Violet as an infant, did she also remember her mother’s death?

  Daisy opened her mouth as if to continue, but a noisy burp came from the baby and whatever she’d been about to say turned into a giggle.

  Laughing with her, Lily reached out and touched the very edge of the baby’s blanket. “She looks like a doll.”

  “She’s a really good baby,” Clara said with no small amount of pride.

  “Does she cry a lot?” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Violet used to cry a lot.”

  “She does, sometimes,” Clara confirmed. “But only when she’s hungry or has a soiled diaper.”

  Now Lily’s nose wrinkled.

  Violet popped her thumb in her mouth and sucked hard.

  Happy to entertain her captive audience, Clara proceeded to tell the girls when the baby ate, when she slept and what she did in between. Love sounded in every word she spoke.

  Bertha drew closer to Rachel. “She’s a wonderful mother.”

  Rachel smiled. “It’s nice to see her so happy.” She lowered her voice. “The journey was very hard on her.”

  “From what I understand, your sister was a godsend.”

  “Emma rarely left her side.” Now Rachel understood why.

  Disguised as a man, Clara must have endured some harrowing moments. Even without the threat of someone seeing past her disguise, carrying the baby in her belly across treacherous terrain and through difficult weather couldn’t have been easy. Men were not supposed to ride in the wagons as women and children could on occasion.

  “Praise the Lord she made the trip relatively unscathed,” Rachel said, watching Clara reach inside the blanket to show off the baby’s fingers and toes.

  Longing rippled down her spine.

  I want one, Rachel thought. I want a baby of my own. I want to hold a child who shares my blood.

  “Not to diminish your sister’s kindness on the trail,” Bertha said, “but carrying Adam’s child kept my sister from completely giving up after his death. That baby saved Clara’s life.”

  Rachel’s throat seized on a gasp. Sara Hewitt had written nearly the same words in her journal. She’d claimed Rachel had saved her life, too. Momentarily overwhelmed, she lowered her head to hide a fresh bout of tears. Anger at her real parents, thankfulness for the Hewitt family—both emotions took up residence in her heart. She didn’t know which was more unsettling.

  The sound of Clara taking the baby back from Daisy had her looking up again. At some point while she’d been staring at the ground, Violet and Lily had climbed onto the couch and now snuggled in around mother and child. Three fascinated gazes were riveted on the infant.

  Was that how Rachel’s siblings had looked at her when she’d first arrived in their home? With wonder and awe in their eyes?

  Why, then, had they deceived her? What good had come from telling her lies?

  The truth shall set you free.

  Rachel didn’t feel free. She felt...betrayed. Even if her family had wanted to protect her from public ridicule and the stigma of being adopted, they could have told her the truth.

  She’d had enough of doubts and indecision. She would confront Grayson tonight. Until then, she would focus on three little girls she loved as if they were her own. Something new and humbling slipped just of out of reach in her mind.

  Violet hopped off the couch and hurried over to Rachel. Before she knew what the child was about, she flung her arms around Rachel’s waist and held on tight.

  Eyes burning, throat going scratchy, Rachel hugged the little girl fiercely to her. Love filled her to near bursting. She opened her mouth to ask what had inspired this sudden display of affection but couldn’t seem to find her voice.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Clara hiding a yawn behind her hand. That was their cue to leave.

  “Time to say goodbye, girls.”

  “Already?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Rachel carefully peeled Violet’s arms from around her waist. “The baby needs her rest.”

  The children reluctantly said their farewells and, heads hung low, feet dragging, they followed Rachel outside.

  Halfway between the two houses, Lily tapped her on the arm. “Can we have a new baby come live with us, too?”

  The question brought an image immediately to Rachel’s mind. She was holding her own child, a baby girl who had her dark hair and eyes the same intense green as Tristan’s.

  “Can we, Miss Rachel?” Violet bounced up and down on her toes. “Can we have a new baby in our home?”

  If it were up to me...

  “It’s not that simple.” She brushed the backs of her fingers across Lily’s forehead, touched Violet lightly on the head. “Your father needs to find you a mother first
. Then, maybe, in time, there will be a new baby after that.”

  But probably not. Tristan had made it clear there would be no more children in his home. And that, Rachel realized, was the very issue standing between them. She wanted a real marriage. She also wanted children, a whole houseful of them.

  Tristan had already decided to stop at three.

  “Can you be our mommy?” Violet asked with a slight catch in her voice. “Then we can have a new baby right away.”

  A spurt of longing clutched in Rachel’s heart. If it were up to me...

  “Even if your father and I were married, making babies is complicated. It’s not as if we can order one from the catalogue at the mercantile.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth an idea struck her. Rachel may not be able to give the girls a new baby, but she could give them a new baby doll.

  “Who’s up for a short walk?”

  * * *

  Tristan strode through town, checking all the possible hiding places Grant and Amos might be holed up in, but the rats had gone underground since breaking into the mercantile.

  He paused midstep, thinking he heard the sound of his daughters laughing in the distance, but that couldn’t be right. He was probably hearing things, a clear indication of how much he’d missed the girls when he’d been on the trail.

  Never again would he leave his children for an extended period of time. They’d weathered his absence well enough, but he’d missed them with a burning ache that had reached deep into his soul. If he was going to find his daughters a mother, he must accomplish the task closer to home.

  The laughter rang out again, louder, closer. And very real. He hastened toward the sound, rounded the next corner and spied his family just as they disappeared into the mercantile on the other side of the street.

  Curiosity had him increasing his pace. Why were his girls heading into the mercantile in the middle of the afternoon? It wasn’t until he was halfway across the street that it occurred to him that the term—his girls—included Rachel.

  His feet ground to a halt and a sense of inevitability rolled over him. She’s not for you, he reminded himself. You can’t give her what she needs.