Wagon Train Proposal

by Renee Ryan

  The realization that she loved his daughters brought him great joy. The realization that she loved him, as well, also brought him great joy. A large part of him wanted to tell her that, yes, he loved her, too.

  Only he couldn’t.

  In his mind, love and a real marriage would be the equivalent of issuing her a death sentence. Logically, he knew he hadn’t actually killed Siobhan, but something in him warned that if he led with his heart he would destroy Rachel.

  Rachel. Longing washed over him. He wanted to ask her to marry him again. He wanted to raise his daughters with her by his side. He just plain wanted her in his life.

  Was there a way?

  He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The situation was too big for Tristan to handle on his own. He thought about praying to the Lord for guidance.

  The moment he lifted up the request, an image of Rachel flashed in his mind. It was as if the Lord was reminding him of the blessing she’d become in his life. Hope blended with fear. Neither sensation was very comfortable.

  As much as he liked her, maybe even loved her, he had to let her go. She deserved a man who could give her the life and family she wanted, without restrictions, without reservations.

  Problem was, he knew she wouldn’t leave the girls. She was too loyal, too much a woman of her word. The only way he could ask her to leave his home was to find someone else to watch his daughters in her stead.

  He remembered his chance encounter in the mercantile earlier today. Lucy O’Brian was looking for a position.

  Had the Lord answered his prayer already? Or was Tristan grasping for a quick, easy solution to a complicated problem?

  Too many questions, not enough answers.

  “Tristan?”

  He opened his eyes but didn’t lower his gaze. He didn’t trust himself to look at Rachel. “Are the girls asleep?”

  “Yes.” The sound of crushed dreams was in her voice. He’d done that to her.

  He’d done it to them both.

  “I better get home,” she said to a spot near his feet.

  “I’ll walk you out.” He headed down the hallway.

  Her soft footsteps sweeping over the wooden floor told him she trailed in his wake. They entered the mudroom minutes later, a painful silence weighing heavy between them. They’d become strangers again. He wanted to reach out, pull her to him and tell her what was in his heart.

  For her sake, he must remain strong.

  Still not looking at her, he retrieved her coat from its hook and held it open.

  She let out a fast exhale and then stuffed her hands through the armholes. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable in there.” Her breath turned quick and shallow. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  He could tell her she hadn’t been the reason he’d left the room, but that would be a lie. She’d had enough lies told to her in her life. He wouldn’t add another.

  “This isn’t working,” he blurted out, which was all too true. “I have to let you go.”

  “What?” Her eyes flew to his face. “You’re...you’re letting me go?”

  “You’re very good with the girls, exceptional even, but—”

  “It’s because I said I love you.”

  “No.” But, of course, it was. “I need to find the girls a mother. As long as you’re here I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Because no other woman could ever measure up to you, was what he should have said. What he actually said was, “The girls like you too much, Rachel. As long as you’re watching them they won’t be open to any other woman taking over the household.”

  He wanted to tell her that he was doing this for her own good. He hadn’t been able to protect Siobhan and he couldn’t protect her. Rachel deserved the very best in life. He needed to let her go so she could fall in love with another man.

  The thought made his jaw clench and his gut ache.

  “I understand, Tristan.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ll continue watching the girls until you find my replacement.”

  Choking on a gasp, she spun around and ran toward her brother’s house.

  Only when she disappeared out of sight did Tristan respond. “My dear sweet, beautiful Rachel, no one will ever replace you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ever since Rachel was a young girl, no matter how bad things seemed when she went to bed, they always looked better in the morning. Of course, that was before she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t or, rather, wouldn’t allow himself to return her feelings.

  Stomach churning, head pounding, she climbed onto Tristan’s front stoop, lifted her hand to knock, then dropped it again. Indecision left her torn between running back to her brother’s house and honoring her commitment to three little girls who desperately needed her.

  Blinking back tears, she let out an unsteady breath very slowly, very carefully. She only had herself to blame for her current misery. Tristan had made his position clear from the very beginning of their acquaintance. Rachel simply hadn’t expected him to let her go so soon. Actually, she hadn’t expected him to let her go at all.

  But he had.

  Now she had to gather the courage to face him this morning. How was she supposed to pretend nothing had changed between them, when she knew—she knew!—he was already on the hunt for another woman to take her place in his home, in his life?

  Tristan McCullough was one very stubborn, closed-minded, hardheaded, stubborn, stubborn, stubborn man. And she loved him desperately.

  Rachel caught her bottom lip between her teeth. No more stalling. This time, when she lifted her hand she connected her clenched fist with a hard, determined knock.

  Daisy immediately opened the door. “You’re finally here!”

  Rachel laughed despite herself. Such uninhibited happiness, she thought, glad to bask in the child’s joy momentarily. A portion of the pain was still with her, would always be with her, but the sick churning in her stomach eased under Daisy’s broad smile.

  The sound of Tristan’s purposeful footsteps announced his entrance into the room. “Good morning, Rachel.”

  She would not cry.

  “Good morning, Tristan.” The cool, carefree pitch of her tone surprised her. She hadn’t realized she could pretend nonchalance quite so effectively.

  A beat passed. And then another. Tristan cleared his throat. “I won’t be staying for breakfast. I’m needed at the jail early this morning.”

  Of course he was. Jaw firm, heart pumping hard, Rachel forced herself to hold his stare. She loved Tristan, but now, instead of joy, the emotion brought her grief.

  She would not cry. “Will you be home for supper?”

  “Probably not.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I understand.”

  He moved smoothly toward her. He stood so close she could feel his warmth, smell his crisp, male scent. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  She said nothing, knowing no response was expected.

  A light touch to her arm came and went so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. “I’ll save you a plate.”

  “I’d like that.” He drew in a sharp inhale. “Goodbye, Rachel.”

  The finality in his voice had her looking up again. She confronted an unreadable expression, the most hurtful punishment he could have bestowed on her.

  “Goodbye, Tristan.” Her hands felt like ice as she shut the door behind him with a determined click.

  One moment at a time, she told herself. All she had to do was get through one moment at a time.

  As if moving through a dream, she made breakfast for the girls, cleaned the dishes while they ate, then directed her you
ng charges back into the main living area. She needed something to do with her hands. “Now that you have baby dolls I think it’s time we made more clothes for them.”

  Her pronouncement was met with their typical enthusiasm. The girls watched with avid attention while she threaded a needle. Although Rachel would do most of the work today, they would still learn the process of putting together a dress. When they were older she would let them do more than watch.

  Except...

  Rachel wouldn’t be here when they were older. Another woman would be in their home. Would she teach them how to sew?

  Rachel shouldn’t ask herself such questions, not if she wanted to keep from crying.

  Footsteps sounded on the front stoop. Her entire body went warm, then ice-cold. Had Tristan returned?

  No. He almost always entered the house through the mudroom.

  “We have a visitor,” she said, a mere second before the expected knock came.

  She opened the door to the familiar form of her sister. Rachel blinked in confusion. “Emma? Was I expecting you this morning?”

  “No. I took a chance. Is this a bad time?”

  “Not at all. Come in.” Rachel opened the door wider. “Girls, look who’s come to see us.”

  Tristan’s daughters welcomed Emma with bright smiles and a million questions. She did her best to keep up, but it was clear their fast chatter overwhelmed her.

  Not for the first time, Rachel marveled at her sister’s beauty. She wore a pretty pink dress with white trim that fit tightly at her waist and accentuated her blue-blue eyes. She’d pinned her hair atop her head, but several strands tumbled about her face in soft, casual curls.

  When Daisy asked about her husband, Emma blushed prettily, and her lovely eyes turned dreamy. “He’s quite wonderful. I left him at the mercantile stocking shelves.”

  The questions continued several more minutes until the girls’ curiosity finally waned.

  Once they turned their attention to an impromptu tea party at Rachel’s suggestion, Emma pulled her to a spot out of earshot but still close enough to keep an eye on the girls.

  “You’ve been on my mind ever since you read our mother’s journal. I’m worried about you.”

  Rachel sighed. “There’s really no need. I’m perfectly well.”

  Physically, this was true. Emotionally, not even a little.

  “How are you really doing?” The skepticism in her sister’s eyes was impossible to miss. “Now that you know...the truth?”

  Rachel started to tell her sister she was fine, that she held no animosity toward her siblings. But then, as if to mock her resolve to let go of the past, the pain, the bitterness, the sense of betrayal came back to her in a flash. The emotions were as real and devastating as when she’d first read the truth in her mother’s journal.

  She swallowed several times until the pain lessened enough to speak.

  “I’m better than I was,” she admitted in a stilted voice. “I’m sure it’ll get easier with time.”

  Could she say the same about her heartache over Tristan?

  “Mama loved you, Rachel. Never doubt that.”

  Emma had said something similar back at Fort Nez Perce.

  In that moment, Rachel missed Sara Hewitt with a keen awareness that threatened to steal the remaining scraps of her composure. She wished her mother were with her now.

  “You look sad.” Emma moved a step closer, brushed her hand down Rachel’s arm. “I hate that we caused you pain. I’m so sorry.”

  “I understand why you kept the truth from me, truly, I do.”

  “I’m still sorry.” Emma angled her head. “And you’re still upset.”

  “I miss Mama.”

  “Me, too. Yet, I can’t help thinking there’s something else bothering you, something you’re not telling me.”

  Rachel desperately wanted to unburden herself. Her first instinct was to go to the one person she trusted most. Since that person was the cause of her current sorrow, she wasn’t sure where to turn.

  If not Tristan, why not Emma? They’d always been close.

  “It’s...Tristan. He’s...” She looked over at the girls playing with their dolls. As if sensing her eyes on them, Daisy raised her head.

  Rachel shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Emma waited until the girls were occupied with their game once again, then leaned a shade closer. “You’ve fallen in love with him.”

  Throat tight, Rachel nodded.

  “Why, that’s wonderful. I’m pleased for you both. He’s a good man and you—” she faltered “—aren’t happy about this.”

  Rachel dropped her voice to a low whisper. “He wants a marriage in name only.”

  Eyes wide, Emma stared at her a full three seconds. “Oh, well...that...makes no sense. I’ve seen the way he watches you. It’s the same way Ben looks at Abby and Nathan looks at me. He’s smitten, Rachel.”

  Perhaps he was, but not enough to take a chance on her. On them.

  Choosing her words carefully, keeping her voice barely above a whisper, she explained Tristan’s wife’s passing during childbirth. “So you see. It’s hopeless.”

  “Nothing’s ever hopeless.” Emma dragged Rachel into a much-needed sisterly hug. “All things are possible with God.”

  “I wish it was that simple.”

  “It can be.” Emma released her. “You just need a little faith, and a lot of patience. He’ll eventually realize you two are meant to be together.”

  Rachel desperately wanted to believe that everything would work out between her and Tristan. Did she have that much faith?

  Was a tiny bit enough?

  She and Emma talked a little while longer before Emma said she had to return to the mercantile.

  When Rachel escorted her sister to the door, Emma pulled her into another fierce hug.

  “Don’t give up on Tristan,” she whispered. “He’s going to come around, I just know it.”

  “Perhaps.” Rachel shut the door behind her sister with a soft click. She felt another sickening churn in her stomach.

  Under the circumstances, she did the only thing she could think to do. She prayed.

  * * *

  Across town, Tristan had a hard time concentrating on his work. His mind was full of Rachel and what might have been had he met her at another time, in another life. She was a beautiful, giving, compassionate woman.

  He couldn’t let her go.

  He loved her too much to keep her. He...loved her?

  Yes, he did. He loved Rachel. The realization came at him like a sledgehammer to the heart.

  Siobhan had been the only woman he ever thought he could, or would, love. She’d been a part of him since childhood, his first love and, for most of his life, his only love. There would always be a place for her in his heart.

  But Rachel was the woman he loved now. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to raise his daughters with her by his side, as his wife and helpmate.

  He loved her.

  It was as simple as that.

  For two years, he’d shied away from feeling strong emotions other than when it came to his daughters. With her inherent kindness and bold personality, Rachel had broken through his defenses. What had started as a crack in his heart was now a gaping hole that only she could fill.

  Not only did he want to marry Rachel, he wanted a real marriage with her. But...

  If he got her with child, and she didn’t live through the birth, then...

  His throat seized up with fear, nearly choking the breath out of him. He closed his eyes and railed against God for putting Rachel in his life at all. Tristan and his daughters had gotten along just fine without her.

  Of course, he knew that wasn’t true. She was the best thing
that could have happened to him and the girls.

  Why, God? Why did I have to fall in love with Rachel?

  As he continued to share his honest feelings with the Lord, voicing his anger, his fears, something remarkable happened. A sense of peace filled him.

  Could he let go of his need to control the future? Could he surrender his will to God’s and then live out every day with a hope he’d lost long ago?

  The outer door swung open and James Stillwell entered the jailhouse. “Grant and Amos were seen coming out of the Winstons’ barn this morning.”

  Tristan leaned forward in his chair. “They take anything valuable?”

  “Don’t know yet. They may have just been hiding out in the hayloft. I’ll know more after I speak with Carl Winston.”

  Tristan shoved away from his desk and rose to his feet. “This makes four sightings of the Tucker brothers in three days.”

  “Our boys are getting careless.”

  “They’re getting desperate.” Never a good sign.

  Tristan glanced toward the backroom where they’d locked up the stolen money. “They’ll make their move soon.”

  Perhaps even today.

  Stillwell gave him a flat stare. “It’s time to set the trap.”

  “Yeah, it’s time.”

  After running through the plan, Stillwell left for the Winston homestead. Tristan exited the building a few minutes later and turned in the opposite direction.

  He took a roundabout route through town and returned to the jailhouse from a different direction, concealing his movements inside shadows and alleyways.

  Behind the building, pressed flush against the wall, he checked his surroundings one last time. He arced a wide glance to his left, another to his right and then one more to his left. Confident no one took note of his presence, he climbed through the window.

  He landed deftly on his feet. Alert for anything out of the ordinary, he moved deeper into the room and studied the cheap metal contraption that held nearly fifteen thousand dollars of stolen money.

  The safe itself was of inferior quality, certainly nothing compared to the original Thayer & Edwards. And that was the point. If the Tucker brothers had the confidence and skill to break into one of the finest safes in the world, they wouldn’t hesitate to breach this one.