by Renee Ryan
How...utterly...sweet. The two working together to accomplish simple household chores. Rachel wanted tradition and teamwork. And she wanted them with Tristan.
“I’ll stay behind with you,” Clara said, patting her baby’s bottom. “I want to change this little girl’s diaper before we walk over.”
Rachel, Tristan and his daughters made the short hike to Grayson’s house five minutes later. As they drew closer, laughter spilled out into the cool afternoon air. Rachel recognized the individual voices, so familiar, so dear to her. She heard the unmistakable sound of happiness in the laughter, heard the unconditional love in the muted tones.
Her heart filled to overflowing and she lost her footing.
Tristan helped her find her balance with a hand on her arm. Before he let her go, he dipped his head close to hers. “You aren’t alone. I’m right here with you.”
Everything in her calmed.
No, she wasn’t alone. She’d never been alone, not really.
She might not be a Hewitt by blood, but she’d been raised as one of them. The only person who considered her an outsider was Rachel herself.
Chin lifted, she pushed into her brother’s house.
Warmth and noise and the smells of home wafted over Rachel, calming her, giving her the courage to continue into the main living area where her family had gathered.
She halted at the edge of the room as the girls rushed in, announcing their arrival with high-pitched cheerful voices.
Daisy immediately engaged Emma and Abby in conversation. One of her small hands waved in the air as she spoke while the other clutched her baby doll. Lily and Violet showed off their dolls to Abby’s father and Nathan. Both men appeared sufficiently impressed.
On the other side of the room, heads bent close together, Grayson and Ben were in a deep discussion. Rachel had seen them strike that same pose more times than she could count.
How had she allowed herself to believe she didn’t belong with those she loved? Her place was here, with this family.
Her family.
The nameless, faceless people who’d left her in a back alley to die were nothing to her. Jeremiah and Sara Hewitt were her parents. Grayson, Ben and Emma were her siblings, as surely as if she shared their blood.
Head down, Rachel voiced a silent prayer straight from the heart. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for missing the blessings You’ve bestowed on me, blessings that began the moment Jeremiah Hewitt rescued me from certain death.
Determined to set aside her anger and feelings of betrayal, Rachel stepped fully into the room. “I’m home.”
* * *
The next morning, Tristan silently observed Rachel move about his kitchen with practiced ease. He enjoyed watching her. She had an inherent grace that he’d noticed from the very beginning of their acquaintance.
She was her usual efficient self as she cleaned the breakfast dishes with confident strokes of the scrub brush. But today Tristan noted a sense of peace in her manner that hadn’t been there yesterday.
He didn’t have to guess what had brought on this change. “You spoke with your siblings.”
The smile she shot over her shoulder was so full of joy he felt the impact of it in his heart.
“I spoke with them last night,” she said. “Grayson had already informed Ben and Emma what I’d discovered in our mother’s journal. We didn’t have to rehash the particulars. Healing came surprisingly quick.”
Tristan had countless questions he wanted to ask her. He voiced none of them. The individual words Rachel and her siblings said to one another were between the four of them. What mattered was they’d come to reconciliation. “I’m happy for you, Rachel.”
Abandoning the pot she’d been scrubbing, she wiped her hands on a dry rag and turned to face him fully. “I want to thank you. You helped me put the situation in perspective and see their motives had been driven by love. If I’d been in their place I probably would have acted in the same manner.”
A brave speech, but he knew how much she’d suffered these past few weeks. “I’m sorry you had to find out about your past the way you did.”
She sighed. “Me, too. But it’s over and done with now. I choose forgiveness. From this point forward, I’m looking ahead to the future and forgetting what came before.”
Another brave speech, Tristan thought, praying she was successful. He certainly hadn’t been able to forget the past. Everything he did, every choice he made, was shaped by what had come before.
“Or at least,” Rachel amended, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts, “I plan to let go of my bitterness. I can’t change what happened to me, but I don’t have to let it define me, either.”
Tristan’s past defined him. His marriage to Siobhan, how she died and the motherless daughters she’d left behind influenced every portion of his life. He didn’t know any other way to live.
“I have to get over to the jail,” he said, his voice as tight as the knotted muscles in his back.
Rachel followed him to the door in silence.
He paused to kiss each of his daughters on the head, then turned to Rachel. “I’ll be home at the usual time.”
“We’ll be here waiting.” She gathered the girls around her and smiled.
“I’m counting on that.” More than he cared to admit.
He left the house without another word. When he arrived at the jail, James Stillwell stood out front, looking anxious.
Tristan broke into a trot. “What’s happened?”
“Another break-in, this one especially distasteful, even for the Tucker brothers.” Stillwell ground out the words. “The church offering from yesterday’s service has gone missing.”
Tristan’s gut roiled. “Grant and Amos stole money from the church? Have they no sense of honor?”
“Apparently not.” Disgust hiked Stillwell’s chin up a notch. “Reverend Mosby came by this morning, deeply concerned that he’d been careless. He’d locked up the money in the small safe in his office. The safe has disappeared. With the money inside.”
Tristan shook his head. “The preacher couldn’t have known they’d steal the entire safe.”
“I told him exactly that.” Stillwell went on to give the rest of the particulars, then finished with, “The reverend asked to see you as soon as possible.”
“I’ll head over there now.”
Along the way, Tristan stopped in at several businesses to warn them that the Tucker brothers were still in town. He stopped in at the mercantile last.
“Grant and Amos stole the church offering,” he said without preamble.
Grayson’s face hardened. “I’ll let Ben and Nathan know to be on the lookout.”
“Good enough.” Tristan headed for the door.
“Before you go, I want to thank you.”
Tristan lifted a shoulder. “No need. I’m alerting all the businesses in town.”
“I meant, I want to thank you for encouraging Rachel to come to Ben, Emma and me with her questions.”
Tristan frowned. “She told you that I—”
“Your name never came up in the conversation.” Grayson stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I just figured you were the one who influenced her to come to us. Am I wrong?”
Uncomfortable with the way his friend studied his face, Tristan shrugged again. “She’d have gotten there on her own, eventually.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The point is that she came to us because of your encouragement. So, again, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A beat passed. “We through here?”
Amusement filled Grayson’s gaze. “Guess we are.”
At the door, Tristan had to stop and shift several steps back so a young woman could enter.
She looked familiar, though he coul
dn’t quite place her face. She must have been on the wagon train. Her brown hair and brown eyes were nearly the same color as Rachel’s, but she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rachel. There was certainly no mischievous spark in the woman’s eyes.
Her smile brightened as she drew closer to him, turning her ordinary face less...well, ordinary. Still not as pretty as Rachel, he thought.
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
He tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Tristan couldn’t retrieve her name from his memory. He finally came up with a single, salient point. She’d been one of several unattached young women on the wagon train. She’d hired herself out to the—he thought a moment—Beecher family. With five young children, they’d needed the extra pair of hands.
The young woman’s name was...it was...
Tristan truly couldn’t remember.
Thankfully, Grayson stepped into the conversational void. “Can I help you, Miss...?”
“O’Brian.” Looking somewhat reluctant, she moved her focus away from Tristan. “My name is Lucy O’Brian. I arrived on the wagon train last month.”
When Grayson politely asked her about her journey and she answered in great detail, Tristan made his break. Nodding a silent farewell to them both, he exited the mercantile. But not before he heard Miss O’Brian say, “I was wondering, Mr. Hewitt, if you knew of anyone looking for a cook or a nanny or—”
Tristan shut the door on the rest of her words.
So, Miss O’Brian was in need of work. He doubted she would remain unemployed for long. She was young, healthy and unattached, with considerable experience caring for young children. If Tristan had met her a month ago, he might have considered her a potential candidate for his bride.
It wouldn’t have worked out.
Lucy O’Brian had a very large, extremely glaring flaw. She wasn’t Rachel.
Chapter Twenty
Later that night, Rachel braided Violet’s hair with surprisingly unsteady fingers. She wasn’t accustomed to Tristan watching her so intently. He’d observed her in a similar fashion this morning.
As he had then, he seemed distracted...by her.
It wasn’t that he was ignoring his daughters, precisely. It was that he kept glancing over at Rachel. Often. Nearly every other second. She knew this because she couldn’t stop looking at him. She tried to tell herself it was because he’d arrived home late this evening and she’d missed him at supper.
There was an easy way to stop all the staring. Rachel simply had to discontinue looking at Tristan.
With that in mind, she focused her full attention on the thick, glossy red hair between her fingers. She made one final back and forth twist then secured Violet’s braid with a ribbon. “All done.”
The little girl swung around and grinned up at her.
Smiling in return, Rachel reached around Violet and lowered the covers so the child could crawl underneath.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noted that Tristan helped Daisy into her bed with the same careful attention she herself gave Violet. He repeated the process with Lily. Once all three girls were snug in their beds, he turned back to look at Rachel.
She looked at him. And...
Here we go again. They were back to staring at one another.
With the quirk of a single eyebrow, she shot him a silent question.
He didn’t respond to her unspoken query, but neither did he look away. He simply continued watching her, as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Or perhaps Rachel was reading things that weren’t there. Perhaps the strange mood in the room was merely a by-product of the low lighting cast by the wall sconces. Shadows played on surfaces throughout the room, dancing across tabletops and dressers. Was it any wonder she attached a mysterious quality to Tristan’s silence?
She let out a long breath and settled atop the chair at the foot of Violet’s bed. “Who wants to tell your da what we did today while he was at work?”
“Me!” Lily immediately launched into a detailed account of their day. She spoke so quickly Rachel wondered if Tristan caught any of what the child said. Rachel barely understood the little girl’s exchange and she’d been involved with each activity.
Finally, Lily came to the end of her report. “...and then you came home and, and—” she paused to catch her breath “—we ate supper and, and now it’s time for bedtime stories.”
Tristan’s mouth twitched. “Sounds like you had an active day.”
“Oh, we did.” Lily gave him a fast head bob. “It was great fun.”
“No doubt.”
“We made muffin bread.” Daisy smiled smugly at her sister in that superior yet loving manner only the oldest in the family could pull off without offense. “Lily forgot to tell you that part.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of muffin bread.” Tristan angled his head toward Rachel.
She smiled.
The girls giggled. Rachel explained, “Muffin bread is what Violet calls pumpkin bread, and now it’s what we all call it.”
“Because it’s funnier to say,” the three girls said in unison.
“McCullough Muffin Bread is the bestest of the bestest,” Lily declared.
“Is it, now?” Tristan relaxed a little, even chuckled a bit. “Well, since you’ve officially attached the family name to this wondrous confection, I believe, as head of the family, it’s imperative I sample a piece. For quality purposes, of course.”
Rachel thought her heart might explode with affection for this family. Oh, how she loved them, with her entire being. Each and every one of them was special to her. Violet with her sweet, trusting nature. Lily with her adventurous spirit. Daisy with her bold, protective tendencies.
And then there was Tristan.
He was so many things. Handsome and steadfast. Kindhearted and compassionate. A loving father determined to find his daughters a mother. The heartbroken widower who carried the burden of his wife’s death so deep within his soul that he refused to put another woman through the risk of childbirth.
Rachel’s heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought it might leave an imprint on her ribs. She felt scared. She felt jubilant. These young girls were the daughters of her heart, as surely as she was the daughter of Sara Hewitt’s heart. Tristan was the only man she wanted in her life.
It was time to accept her feelings for him, at last.
She loved him. She loved Tristan.
The truth settled over her like a wet wool blanket. Scratchy and uncomfortable.
It was an impossible situation, because she knew he had feelings for her. She knew! She also knew he would never allow himself to fall in love with her, not fully, not completely.
Was half his heart better than none at all? Was she willing to settle for something short of a great love to gain a family of her own?
Daisy’s voice jerked her attention back to the moment. “Whose turn is it to tell us a story?”
“Mine,” Rachel said automatically.
“After you say prayers,” Tristan interjected.
All three girls interlocked their fingers beneath their chins and closed their eyes.
As the youngest, Violet lifted up her prayers first. “Thank You, God, for the moon and the stars and snow. I like playing in the snow with Miss Rachel. I also like that she braids my hair and teaches me how to sing songs. Oh, and thank You for muffin bread. It’s my favorite.”
Hearing Tristan’s soft chuckle, Rachel connected her gaze with his. They shared a smile over the children’s heads. In that moment, a sense of peace settled over her. Loving him would always be the best part of her world, even if he never loved her back.
Lily took her turn next. “Dear God, please keep Miss Clara’s baby safe and, if it’s okay with Y
ou, could You make sure Miss Bertha’s baby is a boy? She told me she wants a boy and, well, that would be nice if You could do that for her.”
Tristan lifted an eyebrow. Rachel merely shrugged. This was the first time she’d heard that Bertha wanted a boy.
“My turn,” Daisy said, cracking open one eye, then shutting it just as quickly when her father caught her peeking. “God, will You make sure my daddy finds a wife real soon? I really want a new mommy.”
Mouth tight, Tristan shut his eyes a moment, released a slow breath and opened them again.
“And, God,” Daisy continued. “When You see my real mommy up there in heaven, please tell her not to worry about me and my sisters. We have Miss Rachel now and she’s taking real good care of us. Amen.”
The other two girls echoed their older sister.
Rachel swallowed back the lump in her throat. Before she knew what the child was about, Violet had crawled out of bed and into her lap. “I love you, Miss Rachel.”
“Oh, Violet.” She hugged the little girl tightly to her. “I love you, too.”
She lifted her head and met Daisy’s gaze. “I love you, Daisy.” She focused on Lily. “And you, Lily.”
“What about Da,” Violet asked. “Do you love Da?”
Her answer came in a whisper. “Yes, Violet, I love your da.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I love him very much.”
* * *
Once Rachel began the evening’s story, Tristan made his way to the door. He could feel her eyes tracking his progress, but he didn’t glance in her direction. He knew better. If he looked into her eyes, her beautiful, life-affirming, amazing eyes, he wouldn’t be able to walk away from her. Not now, maybe not ever.
His gut warned him to get out of the room as fast as he could. He needed to create distance between him and Rachel before he revealed the contents of his heart to her.
That would be a mistake. No matter what he told her, no matter how he really felt about her, he couldn’t risk being with her.
Defeat settled on his shoulders as he slipped into the hallway. He was going to break Rachel’s heart. That had never been his plan. He hadn’t set out to hurt her.