Wagon Train Proposal. Renee Ryan
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“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 woman had somehow slipped beneath his guard, made him wish for things he’d forgotten existed. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Breaking eye contact, he said a few quick words of farewell. It wasn’t until twilight turned the big open sky a deep lavender hue that he made his way back to Rachel, er, the Hewitt family. All around him crickets chirped, fires snapped, conversations buzzed. The sound of a mandolin accompanied pretty female voices singing a favorite hymn of his from childhood. Tristan could pick out Rachel’s above the others.
He realized he actually liked Rachel Hewitt.
Would his daughters like her, as well?
Although they needed a mother, Tristan wasn’t sure Rachel was the woman he wanted to fill that role. Something about her put him on guard. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow just anyone into his home. Especially a woman who made him think as much about himself as his daughters.
No good would come from mistaking what he needed in a wife, or what he was able to provide a woman in return. He’d already had his chance at love. He didn’t want another. Somehow, he doubted a marriage in name only would satisfy a young woman like Rachel Hewitt.
He approached the Hewitt campfire. As if she’d been watching for his arrival, Rachel rose to meet him.
Eyes glittering in the firelight, she handed him a tin plate. He bit back a grin at the large helping of salt-cured ham, beans and three—three!—biscuits. “Looks good.”
“Sit.” She motioned to an empty spot next to her future brother-in-law. “Eat.”
Dangerously charmed by her no-nonsense manner, Tristan settled on the ground and, avoiding eye contact with the disturbing woman, dug into his food.
“Where’s Ben?” he asked when his plate was nearly empty.
Abby’s father answered. “He and my daughter are out walking. It’s become a tradition of theirs.”
Tradition. The word stuck in Tristan’s mind, swirled there a moment, tugging at him, nagging at his composure. Siobhan had been one for traditions. His thoughts turned to his daughters and the Spartan existence the four of them lived. He had his hands full caring for them. He didn’t think much beyond getting from one day to the next.
What new traditions had he given his daughters? None, he realized, and decided a few changes were in order.
His gaze found Rachel. Perhaps, he thought with a slice of panic, the changes had already begun.
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