that afternoon, just before sunset, Tristan decided that Sam Weston was the most competent, efficient trail boss he’d ever met. Despite the trouble with Grant and Amos Tucker and the shock among the emigrants over the twins’ deception, the wagon train left Fort Nez Perce at high noon. Right on schedule.
Now, with the sun bumping up against the horizon and leaving a spectacular array of color in its wake, Weston waved his hand above his head.
The day’s travel had come to an end.
More than ready for a break, Tristan guided the raft he shared with James Stillwell and another emigrant through the rough current toward the shoreline.
Hopping onto the rocky beach, he looked around, fought off a surge of dark foreboding. His encounter with the Tuckers had put him on edge, making him feel scraped raw on the inside. He hated that they’d escaped, hated knowing they would show up again yet not knowing when.
When they returned, and they would return for the items they wrongfully believed belonged to them, they would probably be desperate. Desperate equaled reckless. Reckless equaled innocents being harmed. That was the most troublesome part of all.
With Abby and her father’s assistance, Ben Hewitt guided the Bingham raft to shore next to where Tristan stood.
Nathan Reed guided the Hewitts’ raft in beside the Binghams’. Rachel, Emma and Clarence Pressman rode with him, but only Rachel appeared to be of any help.
Emma, usually the more graceful of the two Hewitt sisters, couldn’t find her balance without assistance. Her face had taken on a greenish tint. Clearly, the woman wasn’t meant to travel by water. By the looks of her, Tristan doubted she would find her sea legs before the wagon train arrived in Oregon City.
Rachel, on the other hand, was poetry in motion. Tristan couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her strength and ease of movement belied her small stature. The moment the raft was secure on dry land, she immediately focused on her sister.
“Emma.” She took the other woman’s arm and carefully guided her to a large flat rock beyond the shoreline. “Sit down and rest.”
“But we have to unload our supplies for the night, and then start supper, and—”
“I’ll take care of everything from here. All you need to do is focus on catching your breath.”
She looked over her shoulder, barely glanced at Clarence and said, “You there, I need your help.”
“M-m-me?”
“Yes, you. Come here.”
Tristan bit back a smile at Rachel’s curt order. She might be a little bossy, but no one could accuse her of failing to get the job done.
Case in point, Clarence obeyed Rachel’s command without question.
“Don’t let Emma move from this rock until Nathan and I are finished unloading the raft.”
“O-okay.” Not meeting Rachel’s gaze, Clarence tugged a floppy hat over his—her—eyes, then sat on the ground beside Emma.
Seemingly satisfied the two would stay put, Rachel went to work unloading the Hewitts’ raft.
Tristan offered to assist.
“Oh, I...” She paused, as if just realizing he’d been standing there watching her. “Yes, thank you, Tristan. I could use your help.”
For the next half hour they worked side by side, unloading only what the family would need for the night. They functioned in perfect harmony, silently anticipating each other’s move without the need for words.
Tristan couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Rachel out of the corner of his eye. Her hair had come loose from her braid, spilling past her shoulders in coffee-colored spirals.
Something clutched at his heart, something soft and tender, making him pause to take in the view of her working. Rachel Hewitt really was quite pretty, even after a full afternoon of uncomfortable travel. She was also competent and unafraid to exert herself, loyal to a fault and clearly loved her family with a ferocity he admired.
For weeks, Tristan had convinced himself he’d joined the wagon train to find a mother for his daughters. Now he wondered—did he want a wife for himself, as well?
The thought brought a pang of something sharp and sad in his gut. Not quite guilt, not quite loneliness, and he realized two years had come and gone since Siobhan’s death. Two long, lonely years. He missed having someone in his life, missed sharing the ups and downs, the hardships and the triumphs.
No, that wasn’t completely true. He had someone in his life. Three very special, very precious little girls who needed his full attention, his protection, his daily love and support. Something vaguely like homesickness spread within him.
A soft female voice slid over him. “Tristan?”
He found Rachel staring up at him, her dark eyes searching his face. He immediately smoothed out his expression, evened out his tone. “Yes?”
“You’re welcome to join me, I mean...my family tonight for supper. I often make too much food, no need to let it go to waste.”
The invitation itself didn’t catch him by surprise, but rather the way Rachel issued it, with a shyness he didn’t often attribute to her. He cleared his throat, hooked his hands behind his back, looked out over the mountains in the near distance. The idea of sharing a meal with her felt...somehow...right.
And yet completely and utterly wrong.
Allowing himself to become too close to her, even over a simple meal, could prove a mistake.
Or the wisest decision you’ve made in years.
He shook his head.
“I appreciate the offer,” he began carefully, fighting off a fresh wave of loneliness and an unwanted surge of longing. “But I must decline.”
She didn’t understand his response. He could tell by the way her eyebrows pulled together.
“I have too many duties pressing in on me,” he found himself explaining, “and...”
He faltered, made another attempt to explain himself, but words failed him and so he just stood there, hands still clasped behind his back, feeling stubborn and awkward and far too out of control for his liking.
“I tell you what.” Rachel’s fingers closed over his arm, squeezed gently, then dropped away. “I’ll make you a plate and keep it warm until you have time to eat.”
The offer was given casually yet again carried a hint of shyness in the tone that he didn’t usually associate with this woman.
Instantly charmed, he relented. “Thank you, Rachel. I’d appreciate that.”
“Well, then, consider it done.” She locked gazes with him, smiled. Warmth wrapped around his heart and gently caressed the ache there, an ache he’d lived with for so long he’d nearly grown used to the sensation.
This small, outspoken, opinionated
