The Accidental Guardian

by Mary Connealy

  Which must mean, Trace decided, that when a man kissed a woman, it was the next thing to a marriage proposal. And he sure didn’t think that was what he’d meant when he leaned toward her.

  Of course, he hadn’t been thinking at all. Or yep, he’d been thinking, but his head was all over in a wrong and confusing and fascinating place and stuck there solid as ice . . . only not cold at all.

  “This is probably why it’s a good thing I’ve never been around women. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He threw his arms wide. “I don’t know how to act right, how to treat a woman right. Prob’ly won’t never figure it out, neither. I remember my pa saying females could be notional, but I never really understood what that meant.”

  Deb shrugged. “I don’t know what it means, either. But men and women not understanding each other is a mighty common thing, I’d say.”

  “It’s a wonder they don’t do a better job of avoiding each other.” Trace would do his best to avoid Deb from now on, or at least avoid being alone with her. Because being so close to her, having her touch him the way she’d done, was one of the sweetest things he’d ever been part of, and if he had his say, he’d probably want to fetch himself that kiss he’d just been denied.

  And despite her words, he had a sneaking feeling she might just cooperate. In fact, it was all he could do not to test out that idea right here and now.

  “Time to go back,” he said too loud and fast. “We can see if Gwen is ready for a tour of the house.” Trace turned to the door, and Deb grabbed his wrist and sunk her nails in.

  “Ouch, let go.” Trace pulled against her grip, but she hung on and glared at him.

  “What’s the matter?” Trace rubbed at the little grooves where her fingernails were decorating his wrist.

  “I just, well, you won’t . . . won’t take . . . that is . . . Gwen is young. She’s mighty young.”

  Trace wondered if Deb had taken leave of her senses. “She’s not all that young.”

  Deb’s hand shot out again, but Trace dodged her this time. She might draw blood if he wasn’t careful.

  “She’s only eighteen.”

  “Well, that seems grown up to me. I was on my own in the wilderness at fifteen. Talk about ‘a voice crying in the wilderness.’”

  Deb’s expression changed then. He wasn’t sure what it had been before, something mighty strange. She’d seemed upset, angry, maybe her feelings hurt. That all made no sense. Now her eyes went wide and she reached for his wrist again. He didn’t jump back, just because her expression had become so kind. She caught his arm much more gently.

  “Did you cry out, Trace?” Her eyes got wider, and her bottom lip trembled. “Or did you just cry?”

  “Men don’t cry!” Trace was horrified. How had she known? “It means like hollering. The voice of one hollering in the wilderness. I’d rewrite that part of the Bible if I could. I think of that because once in a while I’d do some yelling, wishing someone would hear me.”

  Nodding, Deb said quietly, “I can’t imagine how lonely you must’ve been.”

  Her eyes fell shut as if the weight of the lids was beyond her. “I know I was always around people, Trace. I’m sure I can’t compare it, but running the newspaper, with no respect or thanks from my father, a woman doing a man’s job while the man got all the credit for it, I had days I felt so lonely I could’ve cried in the wilderness, too. Only I’d cry real tears.”

  Trace stood listening to her, the pain of that loneliness etching lines in her forehead. “I can see you’re a real smart woman, Deb, educated and a writer. So I may not understand words to mean just what you’re saying, but I don’t exactly think those are the same. My loneliness out here and yours in a city full of people. Maybe both things feel bad, though they seem mighty different to me.”

  Nodding silently for a time, finally Deb opened her eyes and lifted her chin. “Of course it’s different. Let’s go on in now. And my very much younger little sister, Gwen, a girl still, not a woman yet, can come out here and see the house with you. So long as you remember how young she is.”

  “You mentioned she’s eighteen. How old are you? Nineteen?” Trace decided maybe she had taken leave of her senses, so it’d be best to get her back to the house before she said something else crazy.

  “I’m twenty.” She said it with her spine straight and a glint in her eyes.

  “When is Gwen nineteen?”

  “Not for . . . for a few weeks yet.”

  Trace rolled his eyes, and they walked back. He was careful not to get too close—he didn’t want to set her off again.

  Or maybe he was just afraid that if he touched her right now, he just might haul her into his arms and kiss her.

  CHAPTER

  14

  “I’ll miss the noon meal today.” Trace headed for the cabin door after breakfast. “I should be back in time for supper. But don’t worry if I don’t make it. I might be out overnight.”

  Utah said, “The weather’s holding, Trace. I’ll push hard and get the second cabin done, then ride to catch up with you. It’s safer with a saddle partner.”

  Trace nodded but didn’t speak.

  Miss the meal . . . why? Out overnight . . . where? Safer from . . . whom? Deb struggled to follow the conversation.

  Utah and Adam headed for the door right after him. They either knew where he was going or they just didn’t care.

  “Wait!” Surprise made Deb’s voice louder than she’d planned.

  All three men wheeled around as if she’d cried out for help.

  “Why won’t you be here?” Honest to goodness, she shouldn’t have to ask that question. And yet it appeared she did have to. “Where will you be? When should we start worrying?”

  Trace tilted his head a little as if the world was lopsided—or rather as if her questions made no sense. “You shouldn’t ever start worrying. The Bible says clear as can be that we’re not supposed to worry. In Matthew, Jesus says, ‘Don’t be anxious about tomorrow, for—’”

  “Trace.” She cut him off with a near shout. “You’re missing the point.” She decided to use straight, simple questions that required brief answers. She’d interviewed a few reluctant witnesses in her day.

  “Where are you going that will take you away all day?” There, how could he dodge that?

  The men sidled past Trace and closed the door. Better than leaving it gaped open in this weather.

  “I’m going to hunt the outlaws who attacked you.” He didn’t sound as if he was reluctant but rather that she was wasting his time.

  “No!” Her heart lurched, and she rushed to him and clutched his wrist. “They’re dangerous. If they get their hands on you, they will kill you with no remorse. You saw what they did to the folks in that wagon train.”

  Trace leaned down a bit, and his eyes held an intensity that kept her silent. She thought of him as young, but right now he had all the authority of a much older man.

  “There is nothing to discuss. I have no choice but to go after those men.”

  “But how can you do so by yourself? You can’t hope to handle so many.”

  “How many do you think?”

  With a weak shrug, Deb said, “It seemed like a lot.”

  “The tracks I followed said three. Three men. All cowards who attacked innocent people while they were sleeping. My trouble won’t be fighting them off; my trouble will be catching that pack of yellowbelly vermin. I don’t want to shoot someone in the back, and you can bet they’ll run before they face an armed man who’s wide awake.”

  “But this isn’t your fight.”

  Trace narrowed his eyes, furrows appearing on his brow. “Deb, justice is every man’s fight. To right a terrible wrong and make evil men pay for their crimes is part of why I’m going, but there’s more. It’s not just about punishing the men who attacked your wagon train. These men are dangerous. They’ll hurt more folks if they aren’t stopped.”

  “You’re right. Of course they need to be stopped, and I admire that you
are willing to take that job on your shoulders. But, Trace, even if they are cowards, if you corner them, they’ll fight back. Can you just track them down, then go fetch the sheriff?”

  Trace held silent for a moment. “It may sound boastful, but I’m as good as anyone at following a trail or slipping up quiet on a man. So I’m not taking that big a risk. And I take no great pride in saying I’m lightning fast with my six-gun and a dead aim with a rifle. It comes very naturally to pull the trigger and hit what I’m aimin’ at. I’ve learned to be cautious and think twice when it comes to shootin’ because it’s a little too easy for me. My horse is strong, mountain born and bred. And if I have to leave the horse, you saw that I can run for miles, lope along with Wolf, and be just as quiet. I’ll take these men to the sheriff if I can, but I won’t sit safe at home while they plot another attack. It’s late in the year for another train to go through, but there are always a reckless few who try and make it, and usually they manage it. And if they try, these men might attack. Someone needs to be their guardian on that trail. I’m taking that job.”

  Deb held his wrist the whole time he talked. She looked into his deep blue eyes, until it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world. Finally, she said, “Please be careful, Trace. I would miss you terribly if harm came to you. I hate that you’re going alone.” Then she straightened her spine, and her face lit up. “I saw that man. I can recognize him. I should go with you.”

  “What? After what you just said about the danger? You can’t go.”

  Her hand closed on his wrist once more with a firm grip. “But don’t you see it will make you safer. You’ll be busy protecting me, and because of that, you’ll take far fewer risks.”

  Trace looked down at her, his head shaking. “I won’t let you take such a chance.”

  “Then I won’t let you take such a chance.”

  “You can’t stop me, Deb. But I can stop you. You have no horse, and no man here will share his with you for such a harebrained idea.”

  Deb frowned. “You could be standing right next to the killers. They could be sitting at the table in some diner while you ask questions. They’ll know you’re after them, but you won’t realize you’ve warned them. They could lie in wait. They could bushwhack you.”

  “I’m not that easy to bushwhack. I’m good in the woods, and you’re right, I don’t know what these men look like. It’s a good reminder, so I’ll be mighty cautious. I promise you, I’ll be careful. And I don’t plan to stay on the hunt for days. I’m going to ride to the nearest towns to the north, on the west side of Lake Tahoe, on the trail those men took. Then I’ll see if any wagon trains are coming through. If so, I’ll warn them and offer an escort. Please, trust me to be careful.”

  “I do trust you, Trace. But you should consider letting me come. I’m the only person alive who got a look at those killers, the only one who heard their voices. I could help you. I want them caught just as badly as you do.” She let go and straightened away from him. She hadn’t realized just how close she’d gotten.

  “I’ll check with cattle buyers and see if anyone’s tried to sell stock with altered brands. Mostly I’ll ride to the small settlements along the north fork of the trail we were on. That’s the trail you came down before the massacre. If I have to, I’ll ride all the way to Virginia City and Carson City. I won’t get that far today, though, and I hope I don’t need to go that far. I plan to ride hard and check as many places as I can, then come home for the night. I prefer it to sleeping on the trail, and I’m hopeful I can find evidence of these men fast. And checking for new wagon trains will be easy.”

  “Well, then, there’ll be food . . .” Her voice faltered, and she lifted her chin. “There’ll be food waiting for you when you get back. Make sure and knock on the door—no matter how late—and we’ll see you’re fed.”

  She missed touching him. She was leaving for California and knew that when she traveled on, she’d miss him for the rest of her life.

  “I’ll come for the food.”

  Deb nodded silently. The silence had an intensity that stirred him.

  “Goodbye, Deb.” He turned and left—almost fled. And she was glad because she was suddenly afraid that if he didn’t leave now, she might never want him to . . . ever.

  Steaming mad, Raddo stormed out of the Stoney Point Diner, slapping the bag of coins and itching to grab his gun and take every cent that cattle buyer had on him.

  “What’sa matter, Raddo?” Meeks asked.

  “The buyer just cheated me on the cattle. I couldn’t get him to pay a fair price.” Truth was, Raddo didn’t know what the going price was for the animals he’d driven in. Oxen, draft horses, some cattle. Ten animals in all. But it had to be more than ten dollars a head. Split three ways, this lousy hundred dollars wasn’t even enough for a man to have a good time in the saloon, let alone pay his old gambling debts.

  “Lousy, rotten, dirt-poor movers. Shouldn’t have come west if they didn’t have a better stake.” Raddo scowled at the money and hated to share it.

  Meeks and Dalt closed in around him, and Raddo handed each an equal share. These two were loyal as long as the cash flowed. Raddo had to respect that, as he felt the same.

  “The buyer didn’t ask no questions, did he, Raddo?” Meeks asked.

  “Nope, just took a look and made his best offer.” Though Raddo had wondered if that city slicker suspected the herd might’ve been stolen. Raddo had picked him because he had a reputation for not asking blamed-fool questions. But then he didn’t offer top dollar, either.

  Meeks looked at the pathetic stack of coins and shook his head. “We need more money, and the wagon trains are done for the winter.”

  Dalt made a sound that drew Raddo’s attention. A man was wise to listen carefully when Dalt talked.

  Once they were both listening, Dalt said, “I heard there are a couple more. They’re traveling late, but they’re pushing on, trying to make California before the snows close the trail. And the ones coming on are bigger than five wagons.”

  “We followed the longer train and decided we couldn’t take ’em,” Meeks said sullenly. “We were lucky that smaller group split off.”

  “We couldn’t handle a train with fifty wagons.” Dalt gave him a murderous look. “But these aren’t that big . . . a whole lot bigger’n five, though. No one even got his gun into play on that small train. We can handle a larger group. We have to unless we aim to starve this winter.”

  He threw his coins up in the air and caught them with a wicked swipe of his hand. “If we want more, we’re going to have to take more.” Dalt turned his black eyes on Raddo. “We can slip in and slit a few throats, kill as many in their sleep as we can before we open fire. Think we can handle a big wagon train that way, boss?”

  He said the word boss with a tone of mockery, and Raddo wasn’t about to push back. That was a good way of getting shot. Raddo had never killed a man with a knife, and it wasn’t something he looked forward to. A sleeping man at that. He wondered how he’d gotten so low and felt a pang of shame, then quickly stifled it.

  “Dalt’s right. We couldn’t take a train of fifty, but we can sure as certain handle a bigger train than five. I can’t live on this scrap of money. We’ll take on a bigger train this time. Each of us can quietly handle a few wagons apiece. Even the odds. We’ll thin the herd of fighting men until someone sets up an alarm. Then we open fire, shooting with both hands.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  The tracks were gone. Trace knew they would be, but he’d hoped to find something, some proof that a small herd had passed through.

  Even though there hadn’t been a wagon train since the one with Deb on it, there had been much travel on this same route throughout the summer. So there were plenty of signs to read. Like a broken wagon wheel, or a discarded pot with a hole rusted through tossed to the side of the trail—these could easily be from some other train. In fact, they almost certainly were.

  He watched the trail carefu
lly but kept riding, stopping at small settlements, asking questions. Learning nothing. The one encouraging thing he heard was that no more wagon trains had passed by. He thought he’d’ve been able to see those tracks, unless there’d been more rain. But he was glad to have it confirmed.

  No one had word that more were coming. But wagon trains didn’t always pass word forward along the trail. They rolled through when they rolled through, and you knew they were coming when they came.

  Everyone Trace talked to agreed there ought to be at least another one or two before the trail closed for the season. There often were a hardy—some might say foolish—few who risked a late crossing. And if they stayed on the main trail they could make it, for it was a heavily traveled road these days thanks to the California gold strikes and the Comstock Lode. They still snowed shut, but until they did, they were wide and well-traveled trails and didn’t snow shut as early, what with the trees cleared back from the trail and with men willing to dig through any drifts.

  So more wagon trains were expected, and it had to be soon or not at all.

  Trace wanted to stay on the trail, riding around the lake where a train might even now be heading toward him on its way to the Sierra Nevada crossing, with Sacramento or San Francisco as their final destination.

  The small group Deb traveled with had split off from the larger wagon train, heading south, the Scotts’ wagon aiming for the land Maddie Sue’s pa had claimed.