by Renee Ryan
“She’s not a child, Grayson. She’s a grown woman more than capable of making her own decisions.”
His friend continued staring at his sister. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Surprised at the anger in his tone, Tristan lowered his voice. “You shouldn’t dismiss her, or make her decisions for her, simply because she’s the youngest in your family.”
“She’s not just the youngest, she’s also...” He broke off, clamped his mouth shut. “I’m not discussing this with you.”
There was a protectiveness in the man’s behavior that went beyond the usual big brother/little sister bond.
Something didn’t add up. “What aren’t you telling me about Rachel?”
“She’s...unique, special.”
“I completely agree. She’s kind. Funny. And has a wonderful way with children. The girls already adore her.” He decided to give his friend the truth. “And I’m thinking about asking her to marry me if she’ll—”
“No.” Grayson’s scowl turned fierce. “She’s too young to get married.”
“So you already said. But correct me if I’m wrong—” Tristan compelled his friend’s gaze “—isn’t she around the same age you were when you got married the first time?”
“It’s not the same.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” Tristan faced the other man head-on, determined to be as clear as possible. “I’m going to offer her a marriage in name only.”
Grayson’s expression turned thunderous. “Still, no.”
There was something in Grayson’s tone—an unmistakable warning—that put Tristan on edge. “You were willing to let me marry Emma with the same constraints.”
“That’s because Emma has always been unnaturally shy. Even as a young girl she was awkward and uncomfortable around people. A marriage of convenience would have suited her personality. She would have been happy mothering your daughters and—”
Female laughter rang out from the other side of the room. Emma, the unnaturally shy woman she was, had just linked arms with Maggie and now the two were twirling around the room together. Abigail Black, now Abigail Hewitt, picked up her mandolin and played a jaunty tune to accompany the women’s impromptu dance.
“Maybe you don’t know either of your sisters as well as you think.”
“I know Rachel. I know she won’t agree to a marriage of convenience.”
Tristan didn’t think she would agree to his terms, either. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask.
No matter her answer, he could guarantee Grayson one thing for certain. “I would never intentionally hurt your sister.”
Grayson studied Tristan closely, his eyes boring into him with ruthless regard. At last, he relaxed his stance. “Go ahead and ask Rachel to marry you. If she agrees to your terms, then I won’t stand in the way. I’ll even give you my blessing.”
Tristan felt his jaw tighten at the other man’s superior tone. “Magnanimous of you.”
“What can I say?” Grayson slapped him on the back with unnecessary force. “I’m a generous man at heart.”
Chapter Eleven
Rachel needed a break from her well-meaning siblings and their equally considerate spouses. To be fair, she supposed the occasional looks of concern thrown her way were reasonable and not entirely unexpected. She was, after all, the youngest. That often put her on the receiving end of too much worry and excessive amounts of sheltering.
The irony? For the past six years she’d taken care of them, at least in terms of their physical needs. After their father had grown ill, and Emma had taken over the duty of nursing him, Rachel had cooked and cleaned and generally kept the house running smoothly. She would have to find another way to pull her weight in the family but not today. Not now.
Seizing the moment, she slipped out the back door when her siblings and their spouses were distracted while singing along to a familiar tune Abby strummed on her mandolin.
Tall, craggy mountains rose up on Rachel’s right, strong, shadowy faces like sentinels guarding the land. To her left, the sun crept close to the horizon, hovering just above a thin band of puffy white clouds. Brilliant colors filled the sky, a breathtaking mix of golden orange, pink and blue. Rachel breathed in the cool air, realizing this would be the first night in months that she would sleep indoors.
She would miss the freedom of bunking beneath the stars, but couldn’t deny she was looking forward to spending the night in a real bed. Still, after five months on the trail, she’d grown to appreciate the ever-changing mood of the evening sky. How the air could be stifling hot one night or surprisingly cold the next.
A stiff breeze suddenly kicked up, whipping her hair around her face. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and shoved at the tangle of curls.
The sound of familiar footsteps brought a smile to her face. She’d know that purposeful stride anywhere.
“It’s a beautiful night,” she said without turning around.
Tristan drew alongside her and eyed the horizon. “I don’t look at this view often enough,” he admitted. “I certainly don’t appreciate it the way I should.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. You’re in a hectic season of life.”
He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin, creating a scratchy sound Rachel found immensely appealing. “I fear my life’s about to get even more hectic in the coming days.”
Though she already knew the answer, Rachel asked the question, anyway. “More hectic, how?”
“Bertha Quincy will no longer be able to watch the girls for me.”
This was the opening Rachel had been waiting for since meeting Tristan’s daughters this afternoon. Turning slightly, she considered him from boot to brow. A subtle, nearly invisible smile had crept across his lips, as if he had a secret. Or maybe that was nerves she detected in his expression. Or maybe the nerves came from her.
“I have a possible solution to your problem,” she said.
“As do I.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Perhaps they had the same plan. That would certainly make this go easier.
“What...what if...” Her tongue suddenly felt thick and her breathing took on a sporadic cadence. Why couldn’t she speak her mind? Where was this awkwardness coming from?
She bought herself a bit of time. “Your daughters are everything you claimed,” she said in a rush. “Even more adorable than I expected.”
“I’m a very blessed man.”
“Oh, you are.” And yet she sensed he was not at peace. She sensed his life had been especially difficult since his wife died.
Though Rachel would never dare attempt to replace Siobhan, she wanted to give Tristan some relief from his everyday burdens. He deserved happiness, every drop that came his way. She could help him with his household and care for his daughters, at least temporarily, until he found another, more permanent solution.
“Tristan, I—” she began, while he said, “Rachel, I—”
They broke off at the same time and laughed. The tension between them lifted ever so slightly.
“You first,” he offered.
This is it, she told herself. This is your chance to make your offer. “I was thinking I could help you with your daughters.”
He turned to face her, smiled. “That’s what I came to discuss with you.”
So, he had followed her. She’d suspected as much. But just to be clear...
“You followed me out here to talk about your girls?”
He went very still and studied her face with that intensity she found so disconcerting, as if he were trying to look into the depths of her soul. “In a manner of speaking.”
Unsure what he meant, she swallowed. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. Tristan needed her. His girls needed her. What she had to offer mad
e sense for all of them. “So you agree I should take over for Bertha.”
“No.”
No? She waited for him to expand. When he didn’t, she blinked at him in confusion. That’s it, she thought. Just...no. Not a single word of explanation?
She blew out a frustrated puff of air. “You realize I’m offering to take care of your daughters. It’s the perfect solution. I adore them. I’m pretty confident they like me.”
He was already shaking his head before she finished stating her case.
She frowned at him. “I don’t understand your refusal. You need help immediately. I’m available. I can start tomorrow.”
“I had a more permanent solution in mind.”
Oh. Oh. An odd sensation—part hope, part horror—settled over. The feeling grew more intense when she saw the resolve in his eyes. Something was about to change between them.
“Rachel Hewitt.” He took her hand in his. “Will you marry me?”
* * *
One.
Two.
Three.
Tristan ticked off each passing second silently in his mind. Four. Five. Six. He assumed Rachel’s continued silence meant she was seriously considering his marriage proposal. Surely, if she meant to say no she would have done so already.
Could it be this easy? Could they come to terms quickly, without a lot of fuss?
“You...” Her eyelashes fluttered several times. “You truly want to marry me?”
He couldn’t tell exactly what he heard in her voice, but at least she wasn’t telling him no.
“Yes.” He attempted a smile but wasn’t sure he pulled it off. “I want you to become my wife.”
Eyebrows lifted, she watched him, waiting, as if she expected him to say more.
The muscles in his back tensed at her dry expression. Had he insulted her? He couldn’t think how. For a split second, he considered retracting his offer then decided to stand his ground.
“However—” he paused “—before you give me your answer, I should tell you that there are conditions to my proposal.”
“Conditions?” She cocked her head at a puzzled angle.
Tristan gritted his teeth. This conversation was not going the way he’d planned, but he’d started it and now he would finish it. “I’m offering you an arrangement that would allow you to care for the children permanently and yet give you more liberty than would be afforded you as a single woman.”
“You mean...”
“We will have separate living arrangements in the house.” He gave her a moment to process the meaning behind his words.
Apparently, she needed two.
She opened her mouth, closed it and then simply gaped at him for several endless seconds. “Why?”
“Pardon me?”
“Why would you want a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage at all?”
He blinked at her, then nearly laughed. Of course she would want more information. This was Rachel Hewitt, after all. “I should think it obvious.”
Her brow creased in absolute bafflement before her gaze cleared. “It’s because you’re still in love with your wife.”
Tristan didn’t know what was worse—her unquestionable conviction she had the situation figured out or the quiet understanding he saw in her eyes.
For a moment, he couldn’t seem to formulate a response. Time bent and shifted, drawing him back to Ireland, back to his first marriage proposal. He’d been seven years old, Siobhan nearly the same age. He’d asked her to marry him. She’d said yes. And that had been that. They’d said their vows eleven years later.
He didn’t have a single childhood memory without Siobhan in it. He’d never once considered giving his heart to anyone else. The grief he’d experienced after losing her had nearly destroyed him.
He couldn’t go through that pain again.
“While I’ll admit my wanting a marriage of convenience is partly because of Siobhan, it’s perhaps not for the reason you seem to think.”
In truth, Siobhan would want him to move on with his life. She would want him to find love again, not only for the girls’ sake but for his own. Her last words had been to encourage him to find happiness again someday.
Problem was he didn’t deserve to be happy. Siobhan had died because of him. If she hadn’t been carrying his child she wouldn’t have died. “I’ll not subject another woman to the horrors of childbirth,” he blurted out.
“Oh, Tristan.” Rachel’s voice was soft with emotion. “That’s the reason you’re offering a marriage in name only? Because you don’t want me to die in childbirth?”
“Yes.”
“Not all women die in childbirth. Take, for instance, Clara.”
He’d said nearly the same words to Grayson this afternoon. Logically, he knew Rachel was right—not all women died giving birth. Nevertheless, he couldn’t release his reservations.
He liked Rachel. He liked her a lot. A weary, neglected part of him craved her company, her kindness and her smiles. Especially her smiles. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk her life. That meant he couldn’t allow himself to get too close to her, not physically, never that.
“I’m not a man prone to falling in love. I can’t give you a real marriage, Rachel. But I can promise I’ll provide for you to the best of my ability. I’ll keep you safe and do everything in power to make you happy. I won’t ever hurt you. We can have a good life together.”
He absolutely believed it to be true.
“I’m sorry, Tristan. My answer is no. I want a marriage as God intended.”
He heard the slight waver in her voice and the regret. His gut twisted with a corresponding emotion. “I understand.”
He wouldn’t try to change her mind. He meant what he said. He wanted Rachel to be happy. Part of him wanted her to be happy with him, but that wasn’t possible. Not when they wanted two very different things from marriage.
“That’s not to say I plan to walk away from you and the girls.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I can still watch your daughters. At least until you can find a woman who will accept your conditions for marriage.”
She sounded sincere and yet also sad. He wanted to tell her he’d figure out another solution, except he didn’t have any other options at his disposal.
“The hours will be long,” he warned.
“I’m not afraid of long hours and hard work.”
“I’ll need you to arrive at sunup and stay past sundown.” Was he really considering her offer? Did he have any other choice? “I’ll need you to fix all of the girls’ meals and I’ll pay you a decent wage. It would also be helpful if you—”
She interrupted him with a hand in the air. “Why don’t we work out the particulars later? It’s been a long day and we could both use some sleep before we get into all that.”
He said nothing for a long moment, then found himself nodding in agreement. “You’re right. We’ll wait until tomorrow for the rest of this discussion.”
“I won’t let you down, Tristan. I promise I’ll take good care of your daughters.”
“I trust you, Rachel, completely.” He wouldn’t have proposed otherwise.
She gave him one of her prettiest smiles, the one that reached into his heart and squeezed. “Then we have a deal.”
“So it would seem.”
“Shall we shake on it?” She thrust out her hand.
Why not? He closed his hand over hers, palm to palm, and felt an instant jolt in the vicinity of his heart.
He quickly pulled his hand free.
“I say we go back inside and tell the girls. What do you say, Tristan?”
“Lead the way.”
* * *
Later that night, Rachel was unable to fall asleep. Grayson had given her a room on the second fl
oor. The full moon shone bright through the lone window, a big fat ball of light beckoning her outdoors. She nearly answered the call, despite the chill that now hung in the evening air.
And in her heart.
Tristan had asked her to marry him, but with conditions. He wanted a marriage in name only. She wanted so much more.
She thought of Reverend Pettygrove’s words at the wedding ceremony this afternoon. Honor your commitment to one another the way the Lord intended from the beginning...be fruitful and multiply.
Rachel wanted the kind of marriage the preacher had described. Would she ever find that?
She was still young. There was a lot of time for her to meet a wonderful, caring man and fall in love.
She shut her eyes, tried to picture the man she would one day marry. An image of Tristan flared to life. She’d been sorely tempted to accept his offer. She’d been equally wise to turn him down.
He didn’t want her, not really. He wanted a wife in name only. Having just recently come out from beneath Emma’s shadow, Rachel would not accept being second-best ever again.
Tossing onto her stomach, she scowled at the floor. Accepting the inevitable sleeplessness, she sat up and lit the lamp on the table next to her bed. She reached for her Bible and opened to the middle of the book. For several minutes, she searched around for something to catch her eye, but came up short.
The Psalms usually calmed her. Not tonight. Tonight, emptiness filled her. A vast loneliness she feared would become a part of her if she didn’t take care. She felt as if she were losing her family, though she knew that wasn’t precisely true. Still...
She set the Bible back on the table and reached for the lamp. Her eye caught the other book sitting on the nightstand. She’d nearly forgotten about her mother’s journal. Without thinking too hard about what she was doing, she turned to the first page, ran her fingertip over the pretty, looping writing that now defined Sara Hewitt in Rachel’s mind.
She picked up reading where she’d left off in Fort Nez Perce, savoring the words slowly, lovingly.
Rachel is a good baby. I find such joy in her. She hardly cries and only when she’s hungry, which tends to be often. Emma helps bathe her and feed her, treating the baby with the innate caring that seems such a part of her. Grayson, though only nine years old and all boy, is fascinated with her. He’s very protective, understandable under the circumstances.