Wagon Train Proposal. Renee Ryan

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      Rachel pulled in a deep breath. “I was thinking about Grayson.”

      “What about him?”

      “I...just hope he still needs me to take over his household duties when we finally arrive.”

      But what if he didn’t? she wondered again. She couldn’t bear the idea of being useless in her own brother’s home, or worse, find herself a burden to him.

      “Of course he’ll need your help,” Emma said. “That’s been the plan all along.”

      Rachel gave a noncommittal nod, then promptly changed the subject. “I’d better get back to work. We have a lot to do before we enter the river.”

      A vision flashed of their belongings stacked from floor to canvas ceiling inside their wagon. They’d unloaded most of the items already, but there was still more. Several other tasks needed accomplishing, tasks that must be complete before the men finished building their raft. She shouldn’t be wasting time feeling sorry for herself.

      She started toward the back of the wagon.

      Emma reached for her. Not wanting to prolong their conversation any more than necessary, Rachel sidestepped the move as casually as possible. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, at least until she could manage a shift to a happier mood.

      “You’re sure that’s the only thing on your mind?” Emma’s hand fell away. “You’re not worried about the river crossing?”

      “Of course not.” She lifted her chin to punctuate her point. “I trust all will go according to plan.”

      Before she could say more, a group of young children rushed past them, sized small to smallest. Their unrestrained laughter rang out as they tossed a well-worn ball between them. Rachel marveled at their capacity to find joy in the moment, in their ability to take full advantage of this short respite.

      She used to recover from hardships that quickly. She used to take setbacks in stride. But her current situation proved far more difficult. For the first time in her nearly twenty years of life, Rachel was facing a solitary future. With no clear direction. No real purpose.

      No one to care for but herself.

      Though the youngest in the family, she’d seen to her siblings’ needs through the years. After Grayson left Missouri, Ben had worked their small ranch and Emma had nursed their father until he died. Rachel had run the household.

      When Grayson sent a letter encouraging them to join him in Oregon Country, Rachel and her siblings had embarked on this journey as a family. Their individual roles had been clearly defined, their stories tightly woven together.

      But now, Emma and Ben each had someone else in their lives. Someone they loved and who loved them in return. Rachel’s future was no longer linked with that of her siblings.

      Not that she begrudged them their happiness. She simply wanted to know where she belonged in the family now that roles were shifting and two more people had joined them.

      A sigh worked its way up her throat. This time she let it come, let it leak past her lips.

      The worry deepened in Emma’s gaze. Or was that pity Rachel saw in her sister’s eyes?

      Oh, no. She would not be pitied. Anything but that. “If we’re going to finish unloading the wagon before noon we better get to work.”

      Not waiting for a response, she pushed around her sister.

      “Rachel, wait.” Emma stopped her progress with a hand on her arm. “Why do I sense you’re hiding something from me?”

      “Because you’re overprotective of your baby sister?”

      “It’s not that.” Emma gave her a look of exasperation, the kind only one sibling could give another. “You’re sad.”

      Rachel started to deny the shrewd observation, then decided what would be the point? Emma would see through the lie. “Maybe I am. But only a very, very little. I’ve been thinking about—” she shrugged “—Mama.”

      And it was all Tristan McCullough’s fault.

      Though no one spoke of it anymore, he’d joined the wagon train for another, strictly personal reason other than merely to guide them along the last leg of their journey. With Grayson’s urgings, he’d also come to determine if Emma would be a suitable mother for his three young daughters. Rachel didn’t fault him for that.

      She actually admired Tristan’s commitment to his children. It was noble of him to want to provide them with a mother. Rachel knew what it was like to grow up without one. Hers had died of consumption when she was barely five years old.

      What would Tristan do now that Emma was engaged to Nathan Reed? Would he seek out someone else on the wagon train to marry?

      Unable to stop herself, Rachel’s gaze sought Tristan once again. As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned his head in her direction.

      For a brief moment, their glances merged. The impact was like a sledgehammer ramming into her heart. She nearly gasped.

      Her response to the man confounded her.

      But, really, he shouldn’t be so attractive, so capable and strong, so disappointed things hadn’t worked out between him and Emma.

      Why wouldn’t he be disappointed? Emma was beautiful and kind, nurturing and soft-spoken. She would have made Tristan’s daughters a good mother.

      Nevertheless, Rachel didn’t regret pointing out to the good sheriff that Emma wasn’t available to become his wife. She was, after all, in love with another man.

      Although, perhaps, Rachel could have chosen her words a bit more carefully. Perhaps, her delivery could have been slightly less forceful.

      “...and who could forget her cinnamon rolls?” Emma’s sigh jerked Rachel back to their conversation. “I wish Mama would have shared her recipe with us, or at least written the ingredients down somewhere.”

      Rachel pressed her lips tightly together. Apparently, her sister had been carrying on the conversation without her, talking about their mother’s skill in the kitchen. Rachel liked to think she’d inherited her own gift of cooking from their mother. She tried to pull up Sara Hewitt’s image from her memory.

      She came away empty, as always, and felt all the more alone for trying.

      “I miss her,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “So much.”

      She’d been too young when her mother died to remember her face or many of her physical attributes. But she did remember her soft, sweet voice. Her warm hugs and unending kindness. And how their father had never fully recovered from her death.

      “Oh, Rachel.” Emma shifted to a spot directly in front of her, a strange of sense of insistence in the bold move. “You know Mama loved you. Never forget that.”

      Rachel nodded. Of course she wouldn’t forget their mother loved her. She distinctly remembered Sara СКАЧАТЬ