Wagon Train Proposal

by Renee Ryan

  “Then let it be me.”

  He drew her into the living room, directing her to sit on the sofa. With a gentle tug, he took the bag of licorice from her. She’d all but strangled the candy in her merciless grip.

  Settling on the sofa beside her, Tristan took both her hands. “Tell me what’s happened to put that sad look in your eyes.”

  She lowered her head. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning is always a good place.”

  Yes. But where was the beginning? Was it with Sara Hewitt’s stillborn babies? Or when Jeremiah Hewitt found Rachel behind his mercantile?

  She discarded both options and opened with the most relevant piece of information. “I recently found out I’m not a Hewitt.”

  He blinked at her for several long beats. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean you’re not a Hewitt?”

  Rachel struggled for control, but a burst of shame had her drawing her hands free of Tristan’s and curling them into fists.

  “Jeremiah Hewitt found me in the alley behind his mercantile.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I was but an infant.”

  “Are you certain of this?” He sounded as shocked as he looked. Of course he was shocked. How could a good man like Tristan understand the ugliness in some people’s hearts?

  “My mother, I mean...Sarah Hewitt, wrote about me in her journal. She chronicled every detail of the night the Hewitts took me into their home.” Her eyes filled with another onslaught of tears. This time Rachel choked them back with sheer force of will. “My real mother and father thought so little of me, they wanted rid of me so badly, that they dumped me in an alleyway.”

  A hum of raw pain sounded deep in his throat as Tristan’s eyes filled with sorrow and what looked like unshed tears. He reached out again and closed his hand over hers a second time.

  His concern for her was evident in his tender grip.

  “Say something,” she whispered.

  “Praise God that Jeremiah Hewitt found you and took you home with him.”

  Rachel processed his words. For the first time since reading her mother’s journal, she understood the blessing in Jeremiah Hewitt’s act of kindness toward her. Things could have ended very differently had he not brought her into his home and raised her as one of his own children.

  She attempted to smile but only managed to lift one side of her mouth. “What I can’t seem to reconcile in my mind is why my real parents abandoned me in that alley.” She worried over the rage that churned in her heart, feared it could stay with her for years, perhaps forever. “Why did my own mother and father leave me out there, knowing I could die?”

  * * *

  The reality of what Rachel had endured as a baby broke Tristan’s heart. His throat burned with sorrow for that small, abandoned child. Muttering under his breath, he pushed to his feet and then pulled Rachel up with him.

  Hands resting lightly on her shoulders, he only had one thought in mind. Make her pain go away. “There aren’t words for what your parents did to you.”

  She lowered her chin, offering her bent head to him.

  The dejection in her stance sent a ripple of fury along the base of his skull. He’d like nothing more than to have a word with the people who’d left her to die alone in a back alley.

  Something about her story didn’t sit well with him. It had to do with the way she’d found out this information, by reading her mother’s journal rather than hearing it from her siblings. There had to have been a reason they’d kept silent so long.

  “Have you spoken about this with Grayson?”

  “Every time I try I can’t seem to find the words.” Head still lowered, her pale fingers fluttered in a helpless gesture beside her skirt. “He’s known the truth since I arrived in the Hewitt home yet hasn’t said a word. How do I confront him? What do I say that won’t come out sounding bitter?”

  Tristan didn’t know. He couldn’t understand why Grayson had kept the truth from her even after she became an adult. One thing, Tristan did know. “He loves you, Rachel, as do Ben and Emma.”

  “Not enough to tell me the truth about my childhood. They call me sister, yet they lie to me on a daily basis.” She lifted her head and the pain he saw in her eyes cut him to the core. “I’m clearly not one of them, I’m—

  “You’re a Hewitt, Rachel—maybe not by blood,” he added when she tried to interrupt, “but a Hewitt all the same.”

  “No.” The cold restraint in her voice was gut-wrenching. “I keep asking myself, if I’m not a Hewitt, then who am I?”

  “You’re a beautiful child of God.” He pulled her a step closer to him, compelling her to look back into his eyes. “You’re a woman who has brought music and laughter back into my home.”

  “People in Philadelphia called me a charity case.”

  “I don’t believe that and neither should you. You’re a bold, courageous woman who lives every moment to the fullest and is teaching my daughters to do the same.”

  Though she struggled to moderate her breathing, a soft light came into her eyes at the mention of the girls. “I didn’t do much more than pull out what was already there. Your daughters are easy to care for, Tristan, even easier to love.”

  A crack opened in his heart.

  “The transformation in them has been remarkable, all because of you. Rachel, hear me when I say this.” He pulled her closer still, wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead against hers. “They aren’t the only ones in this family you’ve inspired to change.”

  She trembled. “No?”

  “You’ve inspired me to embrace life once again. Because of you, because of knowing you, I want to do more than survive from one day to the next.”

  “Oh, Tristan.”

  He lifted his head to look her directly in the eyes. “You are a blessing straight from God.”

  She gave him a watery smile that broke through his well-laid defenses. The crack in his heart opened wider. Before he could think too hard about what he was doing, he pressed his lips to hers.

  She stiffened for less than a second. Then, as if allowing herself this one moment of abandon, she relaxed into him.

  He tightened his hold as the kiss rocked through him, landing straight in the middle of his heart. Everything in him softened, let go, and he knew he would never be the same. He also knew he needed to release her. Now. He savored the feel of her in his arms for three more seconds.

  When he finally pulled back, he was vastly surprised at the effort it took to force his arms to drop down to his sides.

  At least Rachel’s eyes were now round with surprise and wonder instead of sorrow. That counted for something, made it easier to accept that what had begun as a need to offer her comfort had turned into something much more complicated.

  He’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. What kind of man did that make him? “Rachel, I’m sorry, I—”

  “No, Tristan, please don’t say you’re sorry.” She briefly pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “I can’t bear knowing you regret kissing me.”

  “I’m not sorry I kissed you. I’m sorry I took advantage of the situation. You were feeling vulnerable and I—”

  “Offered me comfort,” she finished for him. “Let’s not make more out of this than what it was, just one friend demonstrating to another that he cared.”

  The kiss had been more than that, much more. They’d made a connection that went beyond comfort and friendship, beyond rules and restrictions. But this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Not with her feeling lost and vulnerable and him feeling...incredibly...renewed.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  She nodded.

  In the mudroom, he helped her into her coat. With slow, careful movements, he turned her around to face him. Gaze locked with hers, he pressed a cha
ste kiss to her forehead, then another to her temple and one more to her lips.

  She gave him a shaky smile in return.

  A silent message passed between them, a quiet understanding that went beyond words.

  Perhaps it was time to move on from his grief, for his daughters’ sake and for his. Perhaps it was time to say goodbye to Siobhan, to quit holding on to her and the past they’d shared. Perhaps it was time to step embrace the future.

  With Rachel by his side?

  He wasn’t sure. Set it aside, he told himself. Deal with this later.

  In the meantime, Tristan would do what he could to help Rachel, but the work would be on her. In the same way, the work of letting go of Siobhan fell on him.

  Reaching behind Rachel, he twisted open the door. A blast of frigid air swirled over them. Smiling into her pretty eyes, he lifted the collar of her coat and sent her on her way.

  He watched her hurry across the small strip of land between his house and her brother’s.

  “Rachel,” he called out over the wind. “Hold up a moment.”

  She paused, looked at him over her shoulder.

  “I’ll be right back.” He hustled into the house, retrieved the bag of licorice and then trotted over to where she waited.

  Her gaze widened as he handed over the candy.

  He took her face in his hands and smiled tenderly down at her. “Thank you for sharing the secret of your past with me.” He wiped a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You can trust me to keep the information to myself.”

  “I know.”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to kiss her again.

  He lowered his hands and let her go. He watched her until she entered Grayson’s house and shut the door behind her.

  Another minute passed and, still, Tristan remained rooted to the spot, one part of him desperately clinging to the past, the other ready to step into the future.

  He predicted a long, sleepless night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Early the next morning, Rachel stood by the window in her bedroom and stared out at the cold, gray dawn. She’d wept through the night—endless, endless night—and now, empty of tears, her eyes felt dry and gritty.

  She wasn’t supposed to be sad this morning. She was supposed to be filled with happiness. Tristan hadn’t turned away from her after finding out the secret behind her adoption. In fact, he’d kissed her. They’d had a moment. Of course, as she pressed her fingertips to her mouth and attempted to savor the memory of his lips meeting hers, reality set in. Tristan hadn’t really meant to kiss her. He’d only been trying to comfort her. Kindness, maybe even pity, had driven his actions.

  After all, her own parents hadn’t wanted her. They’d actually left her to die. If they’d cared even a little, they would have brought her to a church or a foundling home or any number of other places where she’d have been safe.

  She continued staring out the window. The first rays of sunlight split through the dawn. Spun gold over muted lilac. The start of another day.

  Not just any day, the Sabbath.

  Rachel couldn’t imagine attending church today, worshipping the Lord and pretending all was well. She couldn’t lie like that. Not to her siblings. Not to herself. And certainly not to God.

  She swiveled away from the window and caught a glimpse of her mother’s journal on the nightstand beside her bed. She glared at what had once been her most treasured possession. Now it was the source of her misery.

  A portion of an oft-recited prayer flashed in her mind. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

  Guilt came fast and hard. The Lord called her to forgiveness. How was she supposed to forgive the people who left her to die? She buried her face behind her palms. She couldn’t attend church with this rage in her heart.

  Pretending illness was not an option. She would not stack her own lies atop all the others. Perhaps she could find somewhere else to go. But where?

  Think, Rachel, think. An idea struck. A rather brilliant idea, actually.

  Just as she reached for the door handle, a firm knock came from the other side. Grayson.

  You can’t avoid him forever.

  No, she couldn’t. The time for running was over.

  She set her chin at a determined angle, pulled in a deep breath and opened the door.

  Grayson stood in the hallway, a wide smile on his face. “Excellent. You’re ready for church. We’ll be leaving shortly, once Maggie finishes dressing.”

  Rachel remained perfectly still, stunned by a need to slam the door in his face. No, no more avoiding the difficult conversation.

  She opened her mouth but closed it when she realized Grayson’s smile seemed especially happy.

  “You’re certainly cheerful this morning.”

  Her voice sounded too sharp, too fragile, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  As his expression filled with unmistakable pleasure, he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “God has blessed me more than I can fathom, and definitely more than I deserve. I’m going to be a father.”

  For a moment, Rachel simply stared at her brother. At the announcement, she felt strangely unmoored, disoriented, as if unsure how to react to the news.

  Happy, she should be happy for her brother and his wife.

  “Maggie is with child?”

  Emotion chased across his face and she wondered what he was feeling. Love, certainly, but she also saw fear in his eyes, just behind the joy.

  “We think she’s about three months along. So far, all is well.” A portion of the excitement left his eyes. “I keep telling myself that Maggie is healthy and strong. I trust the Lord will keep her safe.”

  The shadows in his eyes, shadows he could no longer disguise, reminded Rachel how Susannah had died. In childbirth.

  Her own concerns faded, seeming almost petty in the light of what Grayson had suffered. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around the man she’d always thought of as her brother, a man who’d shown her all manner of kindnesses.

  “Oh, Grayson, of course God will keep Maggie safe.” Lord, Lord, let it be so. “This is wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you both.”

  She clung to him a bit longer, setting aside her anger. Grayson deserved this second chance at happiness.

  Stepping out of her brother’s embrace, Rachel’s gaze alighted on the bag of licorice Tristan had given her last night. He’d known what she liked because Grayson had told him.

  “You’ll make a great father,” she whispered, tears slipping along her lashes.

  “Ah, Rachel, my sweet little sister, I hate to see you looking so sad.”

  Solid, steady Grayson, always the protective big brother, always putting her needs ahead of his. She felt another, uglier stab of guilt. “I’m happy for you and Maggie. Truly. I am.”

  She heard the strain in her voice, the shrill note to her words. Apparently, so did her brother.

  “Is it Tristan?” Grayson set his hands on her shoulders and searched her expression. “Has he done something to hurt you? Because if he has, I’ll—”

  “Tristan has been nothing but wonderful to me.” Her cheeks heated as the memory of his kiss sparked to life. She wanted him to kiss her again. Not out of sympathy, or kindness, but because he really, truly wanted to kiss her.

  Oh, my.

  She lowered her gaze to hide her inappropriate thoughts.

  “Rachel, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m...tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Won’t you at least tell me why?”

  The genuine concern in his question was her undoing. Her control slipped and the tears began to flow again. How she missed the brother she�
�d always counted on, the one who’d sneaked her pieces of licorice as a child.

  Unable to stop herself, she leaped back into his arms and tried not to sob into his shirt.

  He patted her head as he had when she was a child. “Rachel, something’s happened to you recently, that much I know. If it’s not Tristan, then it must be something to do with our family.”

  She stepped out of his arms and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Why couldn’t he be her real brother?

  Why couldn’t she unread what she’d read in Sara Hewitt’s journal?

  Grayson continued staring at her. “Help me understand why you’re determined to avoid the family, me especially.”

  Before she could censure the move, her gaze shot to the bed, to the loathsome book that had shattered everything she’d ever known about herself.

  Following the direction of her gaze, he made a sound of alarm deep in his throat. “Is that our mother’s journal?”

  She nodded.

  After a long hesitation, he released a sharp, shallow breath. “How much have you read?”

  “Enough.” Eyes burning with a fresh onslaught of tears, she choked them back, then lifted her chin at a proud angle. “I know I’m not a Hewitt.”

  “You weren’t supposed to find out.” Eyes dark and turbulent, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Not this way, not ever.”

  His candid response only managed to fuel her anger. Bitterness rose up in her throat. “Why, Grayson? Why did you let me believe that I was a part of this family, when I’m not?”

  “You are a part of this family. You’re a Hewitt, in every way that counts.” Arms wide, he approached her, presumably to hug away her concerns.

  She stepped back so that his hands met nothing but empty air. “You should have told me.”

  “Why tell you? It never mattered to us how you came into our family. You’re our sister, that’s the truth of it.”

  No peace surfaced with his announcement, no sense of triumph. Just bone-deep sorrow, and loneliness such as she’d never known before. “How could it not matter that our fa—that your father found me behind his mercantile?”