by Renee Ryan
Shoulders taut, mouth set at a determined angle, he entered the mercantile. Grayson had already boarded up the broken window, Tristan noted with approval.
He looked around, not sure where Rachel and the girls had gone. Then he heard his daughters’ laughter again, coming from deep within the store. A few steps later he spotted his family standing at a counter near the backdoor.
The girls were appropriately dressed for the cold weather. Equally bundled up, Rachel hovered closely behind them. Emma Hewitt, or rather Emma Reed, stood on the other side of the counter.
While Emma conversed with his daughters, Rachel took a step back. And another. And then one more. Tristan could practically feel the tension rolling off her in waves.
He was reminded of their conversation earlier that morning, of the sadness he’d seen in Rachel’s eyes, and the sorrow that now seemed a part of her. Wanting to comfort her, he reached out a hand, silently willing her to look in his direction.
The move caught her attention. Expression softening, she headed toward him, leaving his daughters in Emma’s capable care.
Stopping a few feet in front of him, Rachel gave him a shaky smile, one that seemed to require a heroic effort on her part.
Something profound moved and shifted inside him, pulling him toward her, not just physically but also emotionally. He wanted to take her in his arms and chase away the hurt that wavered beneath her smile.
“I wasn’t expecting you on this side of town today.” He somehow managed to speak around the lump in his throat. “Are we out of something at the house?”
As soon as the question left his mouth, he realized that he’d said we. As if they were a family of five, him, Rachel and the girls.
He took a large step back, distancing himself from the connection he felt with a woman who could never be his.
Rachel didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Not to worry, we have plenty of food in the cupboards.”
We. She’d used the term in the same manner as he, the word slipping out of her just as naturally. Tristan couldn’t help but smile even as he sensed how foolish he must look, perhaps even besotted.
Maybe he was besotted.
He was definitely staring.
But, then, so was she.
Neither of them seemed to be able to break free of the tender moment that held them captive.
Tristan let out a strained breath. It wasn’t an altogether awful feeling, this closeness he felt toward Rachel.
With great effort, he swung his attention to the back of the store. All three of his children were studying the shelves of toys behind Emma.
They were huddled close together, hands joined, heads bent at identical angles. They seemed to be trying to make up their minds about something. Emma continued engaging them in conversation, but it was mostly one-sided on her end.
At last, Daisy released her sisters’ hands and pointed to the highest shelf behind Emma. “I want that one.”
“A lovely choice.” Emma retrieved a doll with dark hair nearly the same color as Rachel’s.
Lily took her turn next. She pointed to a similar-looking doll with the same color hair, but her toy wore a green dress with white lace. When Lily cradled the doll in her arms, understanding finally dawned.
Rachel was giving his daughters each a doll. The cost was an issue, but worth the expense given the children’s reaction.
Why hadn’t he thought to do that himself? Because he was a man and men didn’t think to give their daughters dolls. It was yet another stark reminder he needed to find the girls a mother.
His chin jerked very faintly, then he took off toward them. Rachel followed along beside him. The girls hadn’t noticed either of them yet.
After handing Lily and Daisy their choices, Emma waited for Violet to make hers. The child pointed to a doll with a cloud of silvery-blond hair wearing a light blue dress.
“She’s very pretty.” Emma took the doll off the shelf. “One of my personal favorites.”
The child’s eyes widened, but she didn’t make a move to accept the doll right away. She merely skimmed a fingertip along the doll’s sleeve.
Watching his daughters, Tristan was transported back in time. His pulse roared in his ears. His throat worked, but no sound came out. A memory of each of them as infants flashed in his mind. They’d been incredibly tiny, fragile and precious to him at first sight. He’d held them in much the same way Daisy and Lily held their dolls.
He swallowed.
“Is this the one you want?” Emma asked Violet.
Violet shook her head. “I want one that looks like Miss Rachel.”
The request yanked Tristan back to the present and a gruff sound erupted in his throat. Violet peeked over her shoulder, caught sight of him and squealed in delight. “Da!”
His other daughters looked at him but then turned their attention back to their dolls without a single word of greeting.
Before he could absorb the impact of their obvious dismissal, Violet skipped over to him. “Miss Rachel is letting us get a dolly of our very own.”
Rachel sighed. “I overstepped again, didn’t I? But I want you to know this is my treat.”
“That’s a kind gesture. Every little girl needs her very own dolly.” He gave her a smile of appreciation. “I should have thought of it myself.”
Something came and went in her eyes. “That’s why you hired me, to think of these sorts of things.”
There was a lesson here, one he wasn’t ready to learn. “Thank you, Rachel.”
“You’re welcome, Tristan.”
He reached out to her, not sure why, but Violet wedged herself between them and he dropped his hand.
“I wanted a real baby, but Miss Rachel said you have to find us a mommy first.”
“Miss Rachel is right,” he said in a raspy voice. For the first time since deciding to marry again, he feared the task of finding a wife was bigger than he could handle on his own.
He’d always thought himself capable of making anything happen as long as he put his mind to the task. He’d never relied completely on faith. Waiting for the Lord to answer his prayers had never appealed to Tristan.
“You know, Da.” Violet studied him closely, then turned to look at Rachel with equal force. “If Miss Rachel was our mommy, then you and she could—”
“Here you go, Violet,” Emma interrupted the child. “A doll with dark hair and brown eyes just like your nanny.”
Thankful for the interruption, Tristan reached out to take the doll himself then passed it on to his daughter.
“I love her.” Violet hugged the toy tightly in her arms. “I love her. I love her. I love her.”
Such simple pleasure, such pure joy, he thought. A lesson he was willing to learn today. Smiling, he glanced in Rachel’s direction, but movement out on the street caught his attention. Snow had begun falling since he’d arrived. Big, fat, fluffy flakes floated in the air. “Weather’s turned.”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, my. We better get going.”
In her usual efficient manner, she gathered up the girls, then turned her pretty smile on him. “Will you be home for supper tonight?”
“Nothing could keep me away.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nothing could keep me away. Except something had kept Tristan away. Rachel told herself not to fret. He was a competent lawman and could take care of himself.
Still, she worried.
The sun had set hours ago. Sticking to their daily routine, she’d already put the girls to bed, which left her alone with her anxious thoughts.
Pressing her lips tightly together, she moved to the window in the kitchen and searched for Tristan’s tall, dark form. She couldn’t see much past the white swirls of sleet and ice whipping around in the wi
nd.
The snow had been falling sporadically on and off since early afternoon, turning the already gloomy night a cheerless void of gray upon black and—
A movement caught her attention.
Leaning forward, Rachel pressed her nose to the glass and squinted into the murky, austere night. A moving shadow elongated, shifted over the ground, then formed into the shape of a man.
Tristan.
He was home at last.
Relief nearly flattened her. Shocked by the intensity of her reaction she suppressed a heavy sigh and stepped away from the window.
As was his habit, Tristan entered the house through the back door. Rachel could hear him kicking off the snow from his boots in the tiny mudroom off the kitchen.
She met him in the doorway with a smile and a full plate of food. The appreciative light in his eyes reminded her of their time together on the banks of the Columbia River, when she’d sat with him beside the crackling fire while he ate.
It seemed an eternity since they’d shared those brief interludes under the stars. She longed for those moments when it was just the two of them discussing his daughters, his town and what she could expect from life in Oregon City.
Nothing had turned out the way she’d hoped or planned.
“You didn’t have to save me a plate of food,” he said in the same tone and pitch he’d used on the trail.
Did he remember their time together?
From his fond expression, she thought he might.
Aware of the same, warm pull she felt every time he was near, she allowed a portion of her guard to drop.
“You work hard, Tristan. Someone needs to make sure you’re well fed.”
The smile he gave her transformed his face and she realized that he, too, had let down a portion of his guard. “If it gets me more of your buttermilk biscuits, I’m all for putting in a long, hard day at the jail.”
Her heart lurched at the hint of Ireland wrapped around the words. She recalled feeling the same thrill the first time she’d heard him speak.
“I enjoy cooking for you, Tristan.” She paused, then added, “And for the girls.”
As they’d done in the mercantile earlier this afternoon, they stared at each other longer than necessary. Rachel tried to keep her face calm as she struggled with the sad truth. He can never be mine.
At least not in the way she wanted him to be hers.
“The girls are already in bed. So...I guess...I’ll see you in the morning.”
She started for the mudroom, where she’d left her coat, but Tristan reached out and stopped her with a touch to her arm. “Sit with me while I eat. You can tell me about the rest of your day and I’ll tell you about mine.”
“I’d like that.” She hesitated, but only for a second. Moments later, she was pouring them each a cup of coffee and taking a seat across the table across from him.
He chomped a bite of biscuit and sighed in pure masculine pleasure. “Good.”
She adopted a tone of mocked outrage. “Not great?”
“Excellent, actually,” he amended with an amused grin. “Best biscuit I’ve consumed since...last night.”
She laughed. “I should say so.”
Catching her light mood, his mouth curved with a slow, easy grin. Rachel was thankful to be sitting down. Had she been standing, no doubt her knees would have collapsed beneath her.
“Anything special happen after you left the mercantile?” She was quite proud her tone didn’t give away the worry she’d felt for him since sunset.
He eyed her a moment before responding, then lifted a shoulder. “A few unexpected issues came up.”
That was certainly vague. “I...see.”
“Do you?”
“No.” She gave a strained laugh. “But it seemed the right thing to say.”
His lips twitched.
Silence fell over them. While he ate the rest of his meal, Rachel shifted in her chair and watched the snow fall against the window. The flakes were coming at a much slower rate than earlier in the day. “Looks like the storm is letting up.”
“About time.”
Not sure what she heard in his voice, Rachel turned back to face him. Something had altered in Tristan’s overall bearing. It wasn’t anything she could pinpoint, precisely, a slight strain in the angle of his shoulders, a small muscle twitch in his jaw.
She couldn’t think what had brought on this change. The evening had started out easy and comfortable. They weren’t strangers anymore. In many ways, this man knew her better than most. He’d even kissed her lightly on the lips this morning.
Oh. Oh, no!
Did Tristan regret kissing her?
She twisted her hands together in lap. She’d become quite the sighing sort since their first meeting. Her mind raced back to that day. She’d been so naive back then, so trusting and determined to protect her sister from making a mistake.
Much had changed in recent weeks. Did she regret standing up for Emma? For interfering in Ben’s relationship with Abby? Her behavior had been out of love for her family, a family that wasn’t even hers.
Tristan set his fork down. “Rachel, won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
She cleared her expression. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
They shared a smile and suddenly everything felt...better.
A quiver went through her as his fingers closed momentarily over hers. His brief hold was gentle and, in that instant, she knew she could tell Tristan what she’d discovered about her past without him passing judgment.
She wanted to unburden her heart. But her lungs felt too tight, constricting with such force she had to fight for each breath. When she finally opened her mouth to begin, Tristan was already speaking.
She’d missed the opening portion of what he said but caught up quickly.
“...and with the change in weather, I fear the Tucker brothers will make their move sooner rather than later.” He held her gaze. “I was late coming home because James Stillwell and I were finalizing our plan to trap them.”
Of all the things that could have put that quiet gravity in his voice, Rachel would not have expected Grant and Amos Tucker to be the cause. “You really think they’ll come to Oregon City?”
“I believe they’re already here.” He shoved his empty plate aside and leaned his forearms on the table. “They have to be behind the series of break-ins in town. The two today had the same entry and exit scenarios.”
She thought a moment, her mind reviewing what she knew about the Tucker twins. “You mean a place with easy access that allows for quick grabs and even quicker exits.”
“Exactly.” He shook his head in obvious distaste. “Grant and Amos aren’t ones for creativity, but they’re still dangerous. I’m telling you this so you’ll be aware of the potential threat to your safety and that of the girls. No more impromptu trips to the mercantile.”
She answered without hesitation. “Of course not—the children’s safety is far too important.” She let her mind settle over the reality that the Tuckers were not only thieves but also dangerous. “It’s amazing how they managed to fool everyone for so long. Looking back, their laziness and unscrupulous tendencies were always there, hidden beneath the charming manners.”
“They’ve shown themselves to be tricky and cunning. In my mind, that makes them the worst kind of degenerates.”
She didn’t disagree.
They contemplated each other for a long, wordless moment, enough for Rachel to catch the shadows in Tristan’s eyes and the signs of weariness on his face. She also saw anger in him, an emotion she shared.
“I want Grant and Amos out of my town.” His voice turned stony, a little ruthless even. “I won’t rest easy until they’re in custody.”
Neither would sh
e.
She reached for his empty plate. He stopped her with a shake of his head. “I’ll take care of that later.”
“But it’s my duty to—”
“Not tonight.” He rose from the table, a sweet, almost shy smile lifting at the corners of his mouth. “I have a gift for you.”
Surprise had her leaning back in her chair and staring up at him in silent wonder. “You brought me a gift?”
“I’ll be right back.”
She watched him disappear into the mudroom. He was such an appealing man: tall, sinewy muscled, with broad shoulders and lean hips. Rachel doubted she would ever grow tired of looking at him.
When he returned to the kitchen, one hand behind his back, green eyes glittering in his tanned, handsome face, she had to swallow several times to hold back a surge of emotion.
“For you.” In an unusually awkward movement, he thrust a paper bag at her.
Her heartbeat tripped over itself.
“Oh, Tristan.” Her hand flew to her mouth. He’d brought her licorice, an entire bagful, with at least twenty individual strings tucked inside. “How did you know that’s my favorite candy?”
“Grayson told me.” His expression softened. “Your brother said he used to sneak you pieces when your father and mother weren’t looking.”
The backs of her eyes stung. She had to pull in several gulps of air to keep the tears from falling. “Grayson remembered doing that for me?”
“He did, quite fondly.”
Clutching the bag close to her heart, Rachel couldn’t stop a few tears from sliding free. She swiped at her cheek, to no avail. More fell. And then several more after those.
Tristan angled his head, his gaze full of masculine puzzlement. “Are those happy or sad tears?”
“I don’t know. Both, I suppose.” Tears continued spilling down her cheeks, coming faster than she could swipe at them. She gave up trying. “I’m happy. And I’m sad.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“I want to.” She lowered her head, surprised at the urge to share her secret pain with this man. “I need to tell someone what I discovered.”