out her arms. “Everyone step away from the river and give the sheriff room to work.”
As she herded her fellow travelers away from the river’s edge, the trail boss shouldered in next to her. The two quickly restored order.
With Ben and Stillwell’s help, Tristan wrestled the Tuckers’ trunk out of the water and onto dry land.
The latch sprung open.
“Well, well.” Tristan tossed back the heavy lid and peered inside. “What have we here?”
The trail boss proved far more skillful at crowd control than Rachel. Not that this surprised her. Sam Weston had considerable experience managing disasters along the trail. Throughout the hazardous five-month journey he’d employed whatever technique was necessary to keep the emigrants calm, focused and, as was the case today, out of the way.
“Let’s get back to work, people.” He stalked back and forth among the concerned onlookers. “We leave in one hour.”
Amid grumbles and rapid-fire questions concerning the Tuckers’ accident and the potential for more calamities on the water, he remained firm.
“One hour,” he repeated. “We wait for no one.”
Sam Weston never issued empty threats. Therefore, despite obvious concern over the next leg of their journey, the crowd dispersed.
At last, Rachel was free to return to the water’s edge. By the time she had picked her way across the rocky beach, Ben and James had rescued most of the twins’ possessions from the river.
Tristan rifled through a large trunk that Rachel recognized as belonging to the Tucker brothers. The expression in his sharp green eyes was solemn, even a little austere. With that tight jawline and rigid set of his shoulders, he looked pure male, all lawman.
Every ounce the dedicated sheriff.
Curiosity drove Rachel closer, close enough to peer at the contents inside the trunk.
Her throat tightened in outrage.
For several long seconds she couldn’t speak. There were so many familiar items, items that had randomly disappeared in recent months.
Mind reeling, she took a quick mental inventory. There, atop a pale gray blanket, sat the lace shawl that had once belonged to Abby’s mother. And there, smashed up against the far right corner, was Mrs. Jenson’s silver hairbrush.
Torn between shock and utter dismay, Rachel counted at least twenty pieces of jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, a lovely cameo and—she gasped—Sally Littleton’s wedding ring that had gone missing just this morning. There was also money inside the trunk, so much of it her mind boggled.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, her gaze landed on her sister’s missing hair combs. The very ones Nathan Reed had been accused of stealing before he and Emma had fallen in love. He’d even been brought to trial by the wagon train committee and had only been cleared when new thefts occurred while he was incapacitated.
Anger surged, blurring Rachel’s vision. She opened her mouth, closed it, felt her cheeks grow hot. Lips pressed in a grim line, Rachel reached out, ran her fingertip across the combs.
All this time, all these months, Grant and Amos Tucker had been the thieves. They’d remained silent throughout Nathan’s trial. They’d been willing to allow an innocent man to take the blame for their treachery.
The vile reprobates.
A fresh spurt of fury rushed through Rachel. Her cheeks grew hotter still. She practically trembled with the dark emotion.
“Where are they?” She spit out the question even as she searched the river. “Where are Grant and Amos?”
“Over there.” Tristan angled his head toward the opposite side of river.
Rachel looked in the direction Tristan indicated. The moment her gaze swept over the Tuckers, she opened her mouth, but again nothing came out. Not a whisper, not a squeak.
All she could do was watch in stunned silence as the twins faced off with each other. They seemed to be engaged in a verbal battle, which quickly escalated to pushing and shoving.
Amos slammed his hands against Grant’s shoulders. Grant returned the favor, sending his brother back several steps.
“Hey, boys, looks like you left a few things behind.”
Pausing midshove, Grant pulled away from his brother and stomped to the river’s edge. The thunderous expression on his face distorted his features, giving him a twisted, almost sinister look. “You got no right searching through our stuff.”
“Your stuff? Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. This does not belong to you.” Tristan waved the hairbrush, then reached inside the trunk and retrieved the cameo. “Nor does this.”
He picked up Mrs. Bingham’s shawl, studied the design with casual slowness. “Or this.”
Grant shouted out something foul concerning Tristan’s heritage. Rachel gasped at the venom in the other man’s words, could only marvel at Tristan’s calm demeanor as he carefully returned the stolen items to the trunk, then prowled like a large menacing cat to the water’s edge.
Feet planted in a wide-legged stance, his expression turned so hard, so threatening, that Rachel shivered.
“Come over here and say that to my face,” Tristan said through gritted teeth.
“Maybe I will.” Grant splashed into the water up to his knees. He looked prepared to dive into the river, but Amos grabbed his arm and yanked him backward.
Struggling against his brother’s grip, Grant fought for release.
Amos refused to let him go. He muttered frantically to him about something Rachel couldn’t quite make out.
Finally, Grant broke free of Amos. But instead of jumping into the water, he stayed put. “This ain’t over, Sheriff. You’ll pay for interfering in our business.” Grant shook his clenched fist in the air. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Tristan smiled at the threat. “You’re welcome to try.”
One last foul oath, then Grant spun around and headed in the direction of the Cascade Mountains.
Amos trailed closely behind him.
At some point during the heated exchange, Rachel’s brother and James Stillwell had commandeered a canoe.
The two approached the river, discussing various strategies for apprehending the brothers. Tristan joined them, adding his own opinions and a sense of urgency to the discussion.
As a section leader and one of the elected committee members for the wagon train, Ben’s involvement made sense. What Rachel couldn’t understand was why Mr. Stillwell had insinuated himself into the matter.
She voiced
