Wagon Train Proposal

Though it took incredible strength of will, she did not look back to check if he was still on the riverbank. Not even once.

* * *

Tristan watched Rachel walk away, her head high, her shoulders perfectly square with the ground. She had him good and rattled, which was nothing new. The woman put him on edge. What was different this time around was the reason for his unease.

Something about Rachel Hewitt made him want to spill his secrets. Secrets he hardly knew he carried, so deep had he buried them in his mind.

The piercing cry of an eagle slashed through the air, jerking his attention to the sky. The clouds had disappeared, leaving a hard, brittle blue that looked ready to crack with the slightest provocation.

Lowering his gaze to the fast-flowing water swollen from the morning’s rainstorm, a belated sense of relief nearly buckled his knees.

Not only had he saved a little boy’s life but he feared he’d saved Rachel’s, as well. Tristan knew enough about the youngest Hewitt’s personality to know she would have jumped in the river to save the child. Though she’d proved herself anything but fragile, she was a small woman, with fine bones and delicate features. Regardless of her intent, the rapids were strong at this juncture in the river. She would have been carried her away with Donny.

Tristan’s gut twisted at the thought. He instinctively rolled his shoulders, as if the gesture alone could shrug off his agitation.

Frowning, he surveyed the immediate area, left to right, right to left, widening the arc with each additional pass. Fort Nez Perce was busy with motion. Fatigued yet hopeful emigrants readied themselves for the final leg of their long journey.

The noise was constant, sounds of people coming and going, bartering for one last load of supplies, striking deals, negotiating bargains.

A thief was among them and headed straight for Oregon City.

Tristan snatched a quick breath of air.

Though still small by American standards, Oregon City was growing rapidly. Set on the east side of the Willamette River, just below the falls, the town boasted several businesses, including a blacksmith, a cooper, a general store and the new mercantile Grayson Hewitt had opened several months ago. They also had a small sawmill and a recently built flour mill.

Most of the residents were farmers working their own homesteads. But more and more people were choosing to live in town. Tristan had worked hard making Oregon City safe for its residents. Even without the threat of a thief, this current influx of emigrants would change the face of his town.

He prayed it would be for the better.

Mind on the future, he wove his way around the perimeter of the fort. The intense bartering dragged him back to the past, to his early days in Oregon Country. He and Siobhan had arrived with their two young daughters, with nearly no money and unspeakable hope in their hearts. So optimistic, both of them. So naive.

He missed Siobhan desperately. They’d weathered many storms together. The loss of her was like a gaping hole in his soul.

There’d been a dangerous moment when he’d nearly told Rachel how Siobhan’s death had nearly destroyed him. If it hadn’t been for his daughters, he didn’t know if he would have survived the grief. For the girls’ sake, he’d put aside his sorrow and had done what needed to be done. One step at a time.

One day at a time.

It hadn’t been easy at first. It still wasn’t. Most days were just plain difficult. With Siobhan it had been the two of them against the world. They’d grown up on neighboring farms in Ireland. Had fallen in love at nearly the same moment. Had left for America with the promise of a better life compelling them.

Tristan had acquired a piece of property east of the falls with the idea of farming the fertile land. But Siobhan’s third pregnancy, fraught with problems, had necessitated abandoning the property and moving to town. Things had started to look up. And then she’d gone into labor.

Darkness filled Tristan’s soul at the memory. He shut his eyes momentarily and shoved aside his bleak thoughts.

“Sheriff, can you give us a hand?”

Welcoming the distraction from the depressing memories, he strode over to the raft where Ben Hewitt and Nathan Reed were laying out logs. He counted ten of equal length resting side by side. Matching triangular dovetail notches had already been cut on either end of each log.

Tristan took a quick count, grimaced. They would need at least six more logs if the Hewitts hoped to put all of their belongings on the finished raft.

“What can I do to help?”

“After we set this support beam in place, we need you to go behind us and secure each log with this.” Ben tossed him a thick, sturdy length of rope. “Once we’re through here, we’ll start on the next raft.”

Tristan looked at the pile of raw timber, realizing the men had cut down enough trees for two complete rafts, one for their family and one for Ben’s fiancée and her father, or so he assumed.

Taking the rope, Tristan started securing the crossbeam to the first log, cinching each knot tighter than the one before. The Littleton and Jensen men worked on their own rafts a little farther down the river.

Amos and Grant Tucker were another hundred yards beyond that point, already loading their belongings onto their raft. A favorite among the other emigrants, the fraternal twins presented the picture of honor and Christian integrity.

Although their loyalty to each other was without question, something about the two didn’t sit right with Tristan.

His instincts hummed a warning. Perhaps he was on edge because of Donny’s near-drowning, or perhaps it was more.

Tristan narrowed his eyes.

Amos and Grant had already finished building their raft and were almost done loading up their considerable belongings—a lot of material possessions for two young, single men.

Once he was through here, Tristan would make it a priority to have a word with the Tucker brothers. He predicted a very interesting conversation.

Chapter Four (#ulink_13b656d4-b9d3-5864-b5be-c0261606e43e)

Midday approached with alarming speed. To Rachel’s utter dismay, the Hewitt wagon was still nearly half-full. While Abby continued entertaining the children with her singing, Rachel and Emma unloaded the rest of their belongings.

On their immediate left, Abby’s father quietly organized the contents of his own wagon. Over the past few months, Rachel had grown fond of Vernon Bingham. A short, thin man with a slight paunch, he sported a horseshoe patch of gray hair beneath a bald pate. Though not especially handsome, he had a pleasant disposition. And a ready smile.

Even with a hint of the sadness lingering in his blue eyes, he looked younger and healthier than when they’d left Missouri.

Prior to the fatal snakebite, his wife had been the heartier of Abby’s parents. Martha Bingham’s untimely death was a startling reminder that disaster could, and often did, show up at the most unexpected moments on the trail.

Rachel attributed the sting she felt in her eyes to thoughts of Mrs. Bingham’s shocking demise and the void the woman’s death had created in her family. Though no longer a child, Abby was now motherless. And Mr. Bingham was a widower.

That last thought brought to mind another widower.

Pressing a hand to her heart, Rachel glanced in the direction of the river to where Tristan worked side by side with her brother and Nathan. All three men had rolled up their sleeves, but Tristan’s forearms were especially strong and muscular.

She knew he was a carpenter by trade. That certainly explained his dexterity with hammer, chisel and rope.

Watching him now, Rachel’s stomach dipped before she had a chance to prepare for the sensation. She blinked and looked away quickly. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stifle the sigh that leaked past her lips.

“Rachel?” Emma’s concerned voice rang out from the interior of the wagon. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, Emma, no. I’m sorry.” To her embarrassment, she realized she’d been wasting precious time staring at Tristan. “I was...just—” she swallowed “—lost in thought.”

Hoping to avoid additional questions, she took the stack of folded blankets from her sister’s arms and set the pile on top of a nearby trunk.

Emma stared at her a long moment but thankfully ducked back into the wagon without voicing her thoughts aloud.

For the next half hour they worked in silence, Emma handing Rachel items from the wagon, Rachel finding a place for them with their other possessions.