Wagon Train Proposal

She wrenched her gaze free and focused on Donny. A beat later Delores Jensen rushed across the soggy grass, calling out her son’s name. Her voice held a frantic, high-pitched note.

“Oh, Donny.” She dropped to her knees and tugged her son against her. Complaining she was holding him too tight, the boy squirmed free.

Attention still on her son, Mrs. Jensen regained her feet. She pressed a kiss to the boy’s head and then gave Tristan a shaky smile. “Thank you, Sheriff.” Her wide gaze was filled with equal parts terror and relief. “Donny can’t swim. You saved his life.”

“I was merely in the right place at the right time. Rachel was only one step behind me.” His voice came out low and gruff, but his eyes were gentle as they fell on her. “I’m confident she would have caught Donny if I hadn’t gotten to him first.”

Not true.

Rachel had been too far behind the boy. She started to say as much, but the other woman spoke over her. “Nevertheless, your quick reflexes prevented certain disaster.”

Donny, already losing interest in the adult conversation, asked his mother if he could go back and play with the other children again.

All heads swung in the direction of the Hewitt wagon. Abby had taken over where Rachel had left off. Mandolin in hand, she set about organizing the boys and girls in a semicircle, their backs facing the riverbank. Clearly, she was about to sing a song for them.

It was a perfect ploy to keep the children away from the unfolding drama at the water’s edge. Rachel smiled as one of the smaller girls climbed onto her future sister-in-law’s lap. Her brother’s fiancée would make a superb mother one day.

Her smile slipped as a startling wave of longing took hold. She desperately wanted what her siblings had found on the trail. Family. A secure future. Love. She had to believe her time would come.

She just needed a little faith.

“Thank you, again, Sheriff.” Mrs. Jensen pulled her son close to her side. “Come on, baby, let’s get you into some clean, dry clothes, then you can play with the other children.”

Mother and son ambled away, Donny grumbling over the delay.

The moment they were alone again, Rachel became enormously attuned to the man standing beside her. She could feel his focus on her, intent and unflinching and, while he hadn’t moved, it was as though he’d grown larger, more solid.

Aware of his presence, of his strength and big, broad shoulders, she stifled a sigh. Every one of her senses seemed unnaturally heightened, her every heartbeat full of raw emotion.

Had to be a result of her scare with Donny, and not because the handsome sheriff was standing a little too close, a little too large and imposing.

An uncomfortable sensation swept through her, something she’d never experienced before meeting Tristan. “We both know I wouldn’t have caught Donny in time.”

“You would have.” There was more than just kindness in the remark. But also a certainty in her ability to save the child that had her glancing his way and taking in his handsome profile.

He stared out over the rushing water, his expression thoughtful.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked aloud.

He turned his head, held her gaze. “I’ve watched you with the wagon train children. I’ve seen the lengths you go to in order to ensure their safety. If necessary, you would have jumped in the river to save that boy.”

“Which is practically what you did, yourself.”

He reached to the ground, picked up the hat that had fallen off in the commotion and shoved it back on his head. “I did what needed to be done.”

He was such a good man, humble and brave, and if Rachel wasn’t very, very careful, she could find herself caring for him beyond what was wise. “It was more than that. Had you not acted with lightning speed, Donny would have drowned.”

There. She’d said the words aloud. No more dodging the reality of the situation, no more pretending he hadn’t saved a child’s life this morning.

“I’m glad I saw the boy heading toward the river when I did.” His gaze turned inward, his thoughts hidden from her in the shadows created by his hat. “There’s been enough loss on this journey already.”

He was right, of course. The outbreak of measles had taken a toll on the emigrants, hitting many families hard. Not to mention the snakebite that had killed Abby’s mother, and the other mishaps along the way.

The journey across the Oregon Trail had been truly harrowing. Yet many blessings had occurred, as well. Several potential disasters similar to the one today had been averted, and love had been found.

Rachel promised herself she would focus on the positive aspects of the journey from this point forward. She would thank God daily. Offer up her praise for the things that had gone right rather than lament over the things that had gone wrong.

She sneaked a glance at Tristan’s face. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes had turned sad. Had his thoughts turned to his own loss? A loss he shared with his three precious daughters. Daughters he hadn’t seen in weeks.

“You must miss your girls terribly.”

The silence that followed her words seemed to last an eternity. “I do.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “Violet, Lily and Daisy are the heart of me.”

Even the girls’ names captured Rachel’s awe, inspiring thoughts of delicate petals. Soft pastel colors. Sweet, guileless faces. “They must be adorable little girls.”

“They’re beautiful, three tiny copies of their mother.” The smile he gave Rachel was full of poignant emotion and that same look of tempered sadness. “They have Siobhan’s petite build, her red hair and pale blue eyes. They also have her personality. Most of the time, they’re like any other children their age. But at others they seem unsure of themselves. They need a mother’s love and encouragement.”

No wonder Tristan was disappointed things hadn’t worked out with Emma. Rachel’s sister was soft-spoken, caring and would have been a perfect choice to mother three little girls.

Wishing to offer him comfort, knowing the potential danger to her heart, she reached out to touch his arm. She immediately thought better of the move and quickly dropped her hand back to her side. “Grayson’s letter mentioned you’ve been a widower for two years. Is that correct?”

And there she went, overstepping again, speaking out of turn, bringing up a subject that wasn’t any of her concern.

Instead of pointing out the inappropriateness of her question, Tristan nodded. “It is.”

The sorrow she felt for this man and his daughters made her want to weep. Thus, she continued asking questions. Either that, or give in to her tears. “How old are your girls now?”

“Daisy is six and takes her role as big sister seriously.” He let out a breath of air. “She’s far too mature for her years. Lily is four, sweet and full of imagination, a little wild at times, which I must say, I kind of love about her. Violet is but two years old.”

Rachel did a quick mental calculation. If his youngest was only two years old that meant his wife had died in childbirth. Just like Grayson’s wife, Susannah. Both men had suffered a similar tragedy, though Tristan’s loss was newer.

Only two years had passed since his wife died. During that time, he’d raised his daughters on his own while also serving as the town sheriff. Friends and neighbors had provided some help, but that wasn’t the same as a wife. “I’m truly sorry it didn’t work out with Emma.”

She meant every word.

“A match between us wasn’t meant to be.” He swung his gaze down to meet hers. “I’m confident the Lord will provide another solution, in His time.”

Such faith. Rachel found herself admiring him even more. She had so many questions, questions about his daughters, about his life in Oregon City. Now wasn’t the time.

She turned to go, then spun back around. “Tristan?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you find someone who will make a wonderful mother for your daughters.” She would add the request to her daily prayers.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

With nothing more to say, she left him to the various tasks he still had in front him.