Wagon Train Proposal

by Renee Ryan

  Lifting her chin, Rachel spun to face her young charges. “Who can tell me where the food pantry is located?”

  All three pointed to a door on Rachel’s right.

  Fearing what she would find, Rachel peered inside. A heavy burst of air leaked out of her before she could censure her reaction. She should have known, should have expected there would be little to no food in the house.

  Why hadn’t she checked the supplies sooner?

  “Looks as if we get to make a trip to the mercantile this morning.”

  Grayson had mentioned last night that he wanted to show her around the new store. Though proud of what he’d accomplished, Rachel had been hesitant to agree to a specific time for a tour. The loss of their family’s mercantile business in Philadelphia had been the beginning of their father’s demise.

  She’d have to set aside her reticence. The children needed to eat and Rachel couldn’t provide a meal without actual food in the house. She bundled the girls up and the four of them headed out.

  Main Street bustled with an excess of sights and sounds. A horse’s whinny mingled with a mother shouting after her laughing children. Two young boys ran past, rolling a large hoop between them, each taking turns with a stick. Rachel remembered playing a similar game in Missouri, sometimes racing against other children.

  The girls were a bit too small to play that particular game, but now Rachel’s mind was reeling with other possibilities. Hopscotch, cat’s cradle, jump rope.

  Breathing in the scent of sawdust, Rachel focused her attention on the town itself. Buildings at various stages of construction lined the street, firmly declaring that the Oregon City was a growing town.

  A jaunty voice called out to her. “Good morning, Miss Hewitt.”

  “Oh, hello.” Rachel waved at Reverend Pettygrove as he passed by on the other side of the street.

  “That’s the man from the church,” Lily whispered to Violet. “The one who said all those long words at the wedding.”

  Rachel was shocked at the surge of emotion that whipped through her. The reminder of yesterday’s wedding wasn’t supposed to make her feel so...wistful.

  “I love weddings,” Daisy announced. “They make me smile.”

  Violet agreed with her sister. “Me, too.”

  “When Da gets married again,” Lily told Rachel, “we get a new mommy, too.”

  Another bout of wistfulness took hold. If Rachel had agreed to Tristan’s marriage proposal, she’d be these girls’ new mommy. “I’m sure he’ll find someone to marry very soon.”

  She prayed she didn’t sound as miserable as she felt. Unfortunately, what she’d told the girls was true. Tristan was a good man, kind and thoughtful, extremely handsome and generous. Any number of women would want to marry him, even with his...conditions.

  Thankfully, she had no time to contemplate that depressing thought. They’d arrived at the store. “We’re here.”

  Rachel twisted open the door. The girls rushed inside ahead of her and ran straight for the counter filled with jars upon jars of colorful candy.

  Rachel’s heart took a hard tumble and she could no longer deny the truth. She was fast falling in love with Tristan’s daughters.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time Tristan left the jailhouse that afternoon, the sun had already slipped below the horizon. The dull light of dusk cast the town in a murky gloom. Usually he enjoyed these final moments of the day, when a soft hush seemed to fall over the land. But now, as the world poised just on the brink of surrendering to night, something felt...off.

  Perhaps this lingering sense of unease was due to the conversation he’d had with James Stillwell and Nathan Reed, followed by another one with Ben and Grayson Hewitt. They were all eager to lure Grant and Amos Tucker out of hiding and had designed a concrete plan. Of course, any number of things could go wrong.

  Any number of things could go right.

  A shadow elongated in front of Tristan, passed over his feet, then melted down a back alleyway. He tracked its path but couldn’t seem to locate the original source.

  Was he being followed?

  He scanned the surrounding area. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he continued on his way. He was alone on the street. Or was he?

  Every third step he stabbed a glance over his shoulder, then to his right, then to his left. As he turned onto the next block, he couldn’t shake the notion that he was being watched.

  By the Tucker brothers? Possibly. Tristan and the others had already set their plan in motion. They’d each taken turns wandering through town today. In the guise of friendly conversation, they’d let it slip out that the stolen money was locked away in an old beat-up safe at the jailhouse.

  As the days wore on, Tristan and Stillwell would make it appear as though they were leaving the money unattended for long periods of time. The idea was to lure Grant and Amos into a false sense of security. What the twins wouldn’t know was that someone would always be watching the jailhouse from a spot inside one of the two buildings across the street.

  When the Tucker brothers eventually made their move, Tristan and the other men would be ready. He’d already hung wanted posters and had warned the business owners of the ensuing threat. But the twins weren’t stupid. Tristan doubted they would come out in the open unless absolutely necessary. He needed to draw them out.

  Mind on catching the thieves as quickly as possible, Tristan stepped onto the front stoop of his home. He froze at the sweet sound wafting over him. His children’s voices were pitched in song.

  For a moment, he couldn’t seem to move his feet, couldn’t reach out and open the door. Memories of a different time, a different life, assaulted him. Music had been a part of Siobhan, as conspicuous as her red hair and blue, blue eyes. She was always humming some tune or another.

  Trapped between past and present, Tristan stared straight ahead while the beautiful voices drifted over him. The longer he listened, the more he noticed the childish laughter mingling inside the song.

  It was the embodiment of pure joy.

  He’d forgotten that sound. For a moment, he closed his eyes and a more recent memory replaced the ones of Siobhan. Abigail Black had shown Rachel how to hold her mandolin and then pluck the strings in such a way as to get the exact note she wanted.

  As he stood on the front stoop, listening to the sound of his children singing, Tristan realized Rachel had mastered the instrument.

  He opened his eyes and reached for the doorknob. He wanted to enjoy this moment with his children, and with Rachel. Hands slightly shaking, he shoved inside the house and quietly shouldered the door shut behind him.

  The music turned sweeter, his daughters’ young voices beautifully harmonizing with Rachel’s.

  Tristan swallowed the lump in his throat.

  A portion of a long-forgotten Psalm came to mind—“weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

  Not wanting to interrupt, he refrained from announcing his arrival. Rachel’s soft, lyrical direction guided the girls through the song. Tristan remembered her voice being just as pleasant on the trail when she’d sung around the campfire with Abigail and the rest of her family.

  Now that he listened more closely to the lyrics, he discovered that his daughters sang a simple nursery rhyme. He mouthed the familiar words along with his daughters. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.

  Violet was pretty shaky on the words, but she had the tune conquered. Her voice closely matched the notes from the mandolin. More heartening, it didn’t sound as though her thumb was anywhere near her mouth.

  The singing stopped, only to be replaced by clapping. “Well done,” Rachel praised. “You girls sing beautifully.”

  The children giggled.

  “Will you teach us an
other one?” Lily asked.

  Rachel’s response was muffled, but Tristan thought he heard something that sounded like a promise to do so later, after supper.

  Heart lighter than it had been in years, Tristan took a tentative step forward, past the small entryway into the larger living area. His gaze landed on his oldest daughter first. She was sitting on the ground, facing Rachel, her eyes full of adoration.

  His throat closed and he felt his eyes burn with emotion.

  Rachel had her back to him and hadn’t noticed his arrival yet. Sitting on the floor with her, flanked on either side, were Lily and Violet.

  As if sensing his presence, Rachel looked over her shoulder. Their gazes met and held. Her eyes filled with some unreadable emotion, and then...

  She smiled. It was the same smile she’d given him this morning, the one that had nearly flattened him.

  “Your da is home,” she whispered to the children.

  The three immediately leaped to their feet and flocked around him. They spoke on top of one another as they told him about their day, maybe. Their words came at him too fast, garbled, at an octave more suitable for dogs.

  Their happiness was infectious.

  Caught up in their joy, Tristan fought to catch his breath. He attempted to listen to his daughters chatter and managed to nod at what he thought were appropriate places, but then he looked back up. And straight into Rachel’s delighted, albeit watery, eyes.

  She was watching him, not the girls.

  He lost his breath completely and thought he might suffocate, but finally managed to drag in a hard tug of air. He’d once thought only Siobhan would ever be able to steal his breath.

  But now, now, Tristan realized Rachel had accomplished the feat, as well. He told himself his reaction was because she’d taken excellent care of his daughters today. There was nothing more appealing than the sight and sound of his children’s happiness.

  All true. But deep in his heart, he knew his reaction was also due to the woman herself. The sight of her wild, untamed hair escaping from a long, thick braid appealed to him on a purely masculine level.

  Her sweet, uninhibited smile was enough to give any man cause for concern, especially a man determined to set limits on any future relationship with a woman.

  Yet, as he continued staring into Rachel’s pretty brown eyes he felt something new, something life-altering. In that moment, Tristan wasn’t grief stricken or overwhelmed or guarded.

  He was...happy.

  * * *

  Rachel dragged her gaze away from Tristan’s. Heart racing, she set the mandolin on a nearby end table, then untangled herself from her position on the floor. It took her two attempts to gain her feet.

  A quick deep breath and she forced herself to look at him again. “Welcome home, Tristan.”

  He continued watching her. And there she went, getting all caught up in his stare once again.

  Daisy tugged on her father’s arm. “Da?” She tugged again with a bit more force. “Why are you staring at Miss Rachel like that?”

  Shaking his head, he shoved a hand through his hair, drew in a quick breath, then pulled the little girl into an fierce embrace. “I was thinking about your beautiful singing.” He met Rachel’s gaze over his daughter’s head. “It’s been a while since music filled this home.”

  Rachel heard what he wasn’t saying. The music had died with Tristan’s wife. She tried not to sigh. She’d taught his daughters several songs this afternoon, without first attempting to discover if he wanted music in his home.

  “I’m sorry, Tristan.” She twisted her hands together at her waist. “When we stopped by Grayson’s house earlier today, and I saw that Abby had left her mandolin there last night, I made a spontaneous decision. I never meant to overstep or—”

  “I’m glad you brought the mandolin with you.” He lowered a kiss onto Daisy’s head. “Will you sing another song for me?”

  There was something soft in his manner as he asked the question, but something vulnerable, too. Rachel wanted to go to him, to show him she meant only to lighten his burdens, not take over. She resisted, barely, and only by curling her fingers into loose fists.

  Lily tapped her on the arm. “Can we show him ‘Little Red Robin’?”

  Rachel nodded. She dropped a kiss to the child’s head as Tristan had just done with Daisy. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

  She organized the girls in a straight row, shoulder to shoulder, oldest to youngest, then pointed Tristan to a chair facing the girls. “Sit there.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Rachel.”

  Realizing she’d used her bossy tone, she gave him an apologetic grimace. “Or...” Her voice caught in her throat. “You can sit wherever you wish.”

  “Here suits me just fine.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he lowered into the chair she’d indicated.

  She felt her own amusement return. On the trail, she’d heard several people refer to this man as stern. How could anyone think that of him? Tristan McCullough was accommodating and easy to be around. He might be tough in his role of sheriff, and protected his town with fierce determination, but he had a keen sense of humor. And dearly loved his children.

  He personified the Scripture: “Be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.”

  And...she’d been staring at him long enough. Putting her back to him, she reminded the girls, “We start on the count of three.”

  They nodded.

  Extending her splayed fingers, she made the shape of a bird by crossing her arms then hooking her thumbs together, palms facing inward, and flaring out her fingers.

  The girls copied her movements.

  “Ready?” she asked, fluttering their fingers to make them look like wings in motion.

  “Ready,” they repeated.

  “One, two...three.”

  “‘Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a rail,’” the four of them recited. “‘Niddle went his head, and waggle went his tail.’”

  On the last word they wiggled their fingers.

  “Excellent, simply wonderful.” Rachel smiled her encouragement. “Let’s try it again.”

  They ran through the verse several more times. Violet had trouble saying niddle but she had no problem shouting out the last four words, “‘waggle went his TAIL’!”

  By the fourth go-round Tristan was singing the song with them, mimicking the hand motions, as well.

  Rachel had never seen Tristan look so...relaxed.

  The girls lost their rhythm sometime during the seventh go-round. Their words trailed off into fits of giggles.

  Laughing with them, Tristan opened his arms from his perch on the chair and the three launched themselves at him.

  He caught them tightly to him and hugged them. His expression was fierce with love.

  Rachel’s heart dipped. Oh, Tristan, she thought. During his abrupt marriage proposal he’d told her he wasn’t a man prone to falling in love.

  Oh, but he was wrong. So very, very wrong. Tristan McCullough had enormous amounts of love inside him, waiting to burst free. And yet, he resisted letting himself love again.

  Apparently, the loss of his wife had been so great that he was willing to go through the rest of his life alone, with only his daughters welcome inside his heart.

  What a sad way to live.

  Rachel’s stomach roiled hot with anguish for the man.

  Violet scrambled out of his arms ahead of her sisters. “We did chores today.”

  She announced this with the same level of excitement that she might use to tell him she’d learned a new game.

  For the first time since arriving home, Tristan looked around the room. “I...” His eyes widened. “I see that.”

  “Miss Rachel taught us how to fold blankets,” Lily said.

&nbs
p; “We also learned how to sweep and dust,” Daisy added. “And it was really fun.”

  “Fun?” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow in Rachel’s direction. “You managed to make cleaning house...fun?”

  She shrugged. “Chores don’t have to be drudgery.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”

  “We helped with supper, too,” Lily announced. “Miss Rachel said we could eat as soon as you got home.”

  “Then let’s eat.” He waited for his daughters to step back, then stood.

  The five of them paraded into the kitchen. With a finger poised in the air, Tristan counted the plates laid out on the table. “There are only four place settings.”

  “That’s because there are only four of you.”

  He frowned. “You aren’t eating with us?”

  She shook her head.

  “Please, Rachel.” He touched her hand. “I’d like you to eat with the family.”

  The girls added their vocal support of this idea in the form of pleas or, in Violet’s case, little-girl whines.

  Still, Rachel hesitated. Tristan had been gone for weeks on the trail. Surely he would want to spend time alone with his daughters. She started to say as much but saw the sincerity in his gaze. “Yes, thank you, I’d like very much to stay and eat with the family.”

  Turning quickly around, she kept her hands busy setting the food on the table.

  Tristan’s eyebrows rose. “Where did all this come from? I know for a fact I did not have food in the pantry, certainly not a cured ham, or the makings for—” he grinned in genuine pleasure “—biscuits.”

  Yet again, Rachel realized she’d made a decision concerning his household without consulting him first. This time, however, she felt no need to apologize for her actions. The man had hired her to take care of his home.

  “The girls and I went to the mercantile this afternoon. I stocked your cupboards with the basics. And before you ask, Grayson started an account in your name. He’ll let you know how much you owe at the end of the week.”

  Humor lit in his eyes. “It’s a good thing you have connections with the mercantile owner.”