The Accidental Guardian

by Mary Connealy

  Trace smiled. “It’s got one other way out. I tossed up a gate right quick, here and on the other end, and slick as that I had started in the ranching business.”

  He leaned his arms across the top railing and enjoyed the clouds skimming by overhead, hiding and revealing the moon. Then he asked the question he really didn’t want to know the answer to. “What made you ask me to come out here?”

  Deb rested her arms on the gate and, because she was shorter, it was the perfect height for her to rest her chin. “What made you say ‘if’?”

  “If? What?” He couldn’t remember.

  “You said, ‘If Deb, Gwen, and the youngsters leave, I’m not going to want to live in this house by myself.’ Are you thinking we might stay?” She turned to face him. “Is it something that’s . . . well, you didn’t say it as if you were dreading it.”

  Oh, yep, he remembered that. Trace looked down at her. “I reckon it was my own hope talking when I said if. We had a moment together when I was giving you the tour of the new house. A moment when I came close to . . . to kissing you.”

  Deb’s eyes dropped, and even in the dark he saw a blush on her cheeks. She remembered that just fine.

  “Yes, you did,” she said.

  “And since then I’ve had it in my head more than once.” He reached out for her hands. She took them and held on tight. “That we might . . . might spend this winter seeing if we suit each other. What I said to my men about living alone, I’ve been mighty lonely for a long old time. Adam’s who I hired first, and I’d been here alone for years. I hired Utah just a couple of months ago for the cattle drive. My hired men have made my life better. And then you came along. Are you helping because of the simple knowledge that we need help, or is there more? Could there be more?”

  Deb’s heart pounded until she felt it in her ears. She certainly hoped he couldn’t hear it!

  She swallowed. Then, because her throat was still bone-dry, she swallowed again. He looked at their clasped hands, very bold. She’d never held a man’s hand before, not really, and certainly never kissed one. Truth be told, it wasn’t that she was so upright and moral—something she might have believed once. Now she knew she’d never wanted to do such a thing. No man had ever compelled her this way.

  “I’ve given very little time to thinking about marriage. For the last few years, since my mother died, I’ve been running the newspaper, and that’s long hours that never let up. As soon as one newspaper gets printed and spread around, I’m right back to work on the next edition.”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “A hard job for a woman.”

  That irked her a little. “It’s a hard job for anyone.”

  “It sure as certain is.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I haven’t been around women much, so if I say something that hurts you, I swear it’s out of clumsiness. I might be saying rude things to everyone I meet, my hired men, the folks in the general store in Dismal. I had a . . . a rough spell when I was left out here, and whatever civilized manners I had, and living mostly alone with Pa, I’m sure they were mighty scarce . . . well, I lost them.”

  “It’s not you, Trace. Not exactly, anyway. I’m just so tired of working so hard for my pa and for the men of businesses who bought ads from my paper, and getting no respect from them. I’m a little sensitive on the subject.”

  “Sensitive?”

  “Okay, I want to crack someone over the head.”

  Trace laughed. “That’s a little more than sensitive.”

  She scowled at him, but there was a twinkle in his eye and it lifted her spirits. “I’ll try to be less sensitive—also less furious—at least to you.”

  “I hope you can, because I have nothing but respect for the strong and steady hand it took to run that newspaper every day. And I’m so blessed by all the help you’ve given me, all while caring for two children. I can see how you try to lift burdens off Gwen’s shoulders.”

  “She does the same for me.”

  “You are wonderful, loyal sisters. You’re never alone so long as you have her.”

  It was almost impossible to resist Trace’s kindness; she’d had so little of it from a man. But how did she dare go from service to her father to another man who, she sadly feared, was interested in her mainly because she could cook and he was lonely?

  “Trace, thank you so much for saying such kind things to me. I am sure we will spend the winter getting to know each other better, but I want you to think about a question I have. Are you really interested in me? Or are you interested in any woman’s company?”

  Frowning, Trace said, “I’m not planning to wait until you say no and then toss the idea at Gwen, if that’s what you mean. I never gave a moment’s thought to a woman before I met you.” A light blush appeared on Trace’s cheeks. “Well, I mean, sure I’ve given women a few thoughts, but never a specific woman—not until you. Gwen is a wonderful woman, but something in you . . .” His blush deepened and he shrugged.

  For a time Deb didn’t think he’d go on. “Something in you draws me. I suppose that sounds stupid, but it’s true. It’s you I want to take walks with. It’s you I want to talk to. I know we’ll get to know each other over the winter, so you can just forget what I said about thinking of me in a special way.”

  She seriously doubted she could.

  “We’ll just let things—” he stopped, swallowed hard—“go along however they will.”

  For a moment, something flared in his eyes. He was going to kiss her, and Deb wasn’t sure if she wanted that or not. But then he let go of one of her hands and turned her so they were walking back toward the cabin.

  “Anytime you want to go out and have a private talk with me, just know that I will for sure say yes.”

  “I enjoyed our walk, Trace. I would like to take another one sometime.”

  “That would be my pleasure.” Trace smiled so wide his teeth gleamed in the dark.

  She liked the warmth and strength of his hand. As they walked, the only noise that broke the silence was the whack of a hammer near the bunkhouse. It was full dark, but the moon and stars above the scudding clouds lit the yard up almost as bright as day.

  More building. More planning. Deb knew now that some of this planning had to do with her. She tightened her grip on his hand.

  Wolf growled low in his throat. He whirled to face the woods and raced away.

  Trace took two running steps, then turned back to Deb. “We’ve come too far from the house. I can’t leave you alone here and I left my gun behind.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s get you back and I’ll alert my men.”

  “What is it, Trace?”

  “I have a notion, including why Wolf broke off the chase last time—when we were walking home. Let’s hurry.”

  They ran toward the ranch yard. As they came close enough, Trace yelled, “Someone come and get Deb! Wolf smelled trouble.”

  The hammering stopped. Boiling motion in the night made Deb feel safer, even safer than she’d felt with Trace.

  Adam appeared out of the dark. Armed. “Which way?”

  Trace pointed and said a few quick, harsh words.

  Adam vanished in the direction Wolf had run. Trace kept her moving. Utah was a few paces behind. He’d probably been on the roof.

  Trace shouted, “Take her and guard the women.”

  Deb saw Trace run off toward the old cabin where he’d been staying since the new cabin was done. Utah hustled her toward the new one. An instant later, Trace was outside, gun in hand, sprinting after Wolf, hard on Adam’s heels.

  Utah escorted her inside. He must have thought of the sleeping children in the back room because he didn’t speak, and he shut the door quietly and threw a heavy beam across it to bar the entrance.

  Gwen shot up from her rocking chair. She looked from Deb to Utah and whispered urgently, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Utah spoke quietly, but he managed to scare Deb to the bone. “The boss said I’m to guard you.”

&nb
sp; “Wolf growled and ran into the woods,” Deb said. “Just like what happened on the trail home. Trace and Adam went after him.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  Trace caught up with Adam and rushed on past. He recognized the trail Wolf was on and knew where he was going so he could run flat-out.

  This time he’d keep going. He thought he knew who was out there and why Wolf had broken off the chase before. And Trace hadn’t been able to keep up the pursuit before with the women and children left defenseless behind him.

  The growling ended, and Wolf was back, wagging his tail. Trace ran on. “Dumb dog.”

  Yet if Trace was right about things, the dog was smart to end the chase.

  It was almost pure dark in the woods, and Trace knew he couldn’t follow his prey if they got off the trail. But it was such a narrow trail. The woods on both sides were near to impenetrable. He also thought the one he pursued had probably calmed Wolf down to make him turn back. Suddenly he ran head on into a man, and the two of them went flying to the ground.

  Trace recognized him the minute he quit tumbling and his head cleared. “Tavibo?”

  “Yes, Guardian, it is me,” said Tavibo, a Paiute Indian who had befriended Trace shortly after Adam had come.

  “Don’t call me that. My name’s Trace and you know it. Why are you upsetting Wolf? Why didn’t you just come to the door?” Trace heard someone coming. “That’s Adam. No need to worry. He’s a good man.”

  Tavibo caught Trace’s arm and dragged him off the trail.

  Trace could have called out, but he wanted to hear what Tavibo had to say and he wasn’t a man to stick around when he didn’t want to. So he let Tavibo lead him about twenty paces off the trail before they stopped. He heard Adam run past, and Tavibo stood in utter silence until they were out of earshot.

  “I tossed your fearsome wolf a hunk of venison, patted him on the head, and sent him back to you.”

  “He is fearsome when he needs to be. When he came back so calm, both times, I decided whoever was out there wasn’t too dangerous.”

  “Not to him, I’m not. Not to you. But trust me, Guardian, I can be dangerous.”

  “Don’t call me—”

  “I have great worry about that wagon train that burned,” Tavibo said, cutting him off.

  “You worry that the Paiutes will be blamed?” A cold wind wasn’t enough to explain the chill of dread that raced up Trace’s spine.

  “Yes. My people are peaceful and have done nothing to deserve soldiers.”

  The trees swayed so thick, even with their leaves shed, Trace couldn’t see a single star.

  “I’m working on finding the men who attacked the wagon train,” Trace said. “I’ve been to a few settlements on the west side of Tahoe, but I haven’t spoken of the attack. I’d know the stolen horses and cattle if I saw them. But I don’t want to warn the outlaws so I’m not just yelling questions at everyone I see. They left their slaughter behind not knowing they left witnesses. I saw what they did. They used arrows similar to what the Paiute use. They left behind a hatchet carved with Paiute symbols. I know they are hoping someone will blame you and not search for the true killers. But I wasn’t fooled. And what these outlaws don’t know is that there were four survivors.”

  “I saw you traveling home with two women and two children.”

  “One of the women was close enough to hear voices, one unusually high-pitched, and see a face. She says it was done by white men.”

  Trace heard Adam heading back down the trail.

  “I go. I do not want to see more white men.”

  “No, wait, you should meet him, and you should feel free to come to the ranch.” Trace looked in the direction Adam walked. “We could—” He looked back. Tavibo was gone, slipped away into the night.

  Trace walked back to the trail and whistled. No sense making an armed man nervous. Adam came back from where he’d passed Trace on the trail. Adam was a good tracker, but in the dark he’d never seen Trace turn off.

  “What’s going on?” Adam asked.

  “I found out who Wolf went after. It’s a Paiute named Tavibo.”

  “I’ve heard you talk of him, but he’s never wanted to meet me.”

  “He fights shy of white folks, and Native folks too if they’re not of his tribe. I have known him since about the time you hired on, Adam. I’ve done some trading with his village. He told me he saw the wagon massacre site and wanted to make sure I knew it wasn’t his people who did that.”

  “The varmints who done it wanted Paiutes to be blamed?”

  “Yep.” That was one of the reasons Trace had immediately suspected the same men who’d killed his pa. They’d done the same.

  They headed down the mountainside together, single file because the trail they followed was so narrow that branches brushed at their shoulders and tore at their pants.

  “I knew those killers had left false signs. But others might read it different. Tavibo doesn’t want the cavalry to decide they need to force Native people out of the area.”

  Adam said, “You sure enough run like the wind, Trace.”

  “I learned to be fast and how to run a long time.”

  “We need to clean up a little at the bunkhouse,” Adam said. “But that’s all we’ll do for the night. We got a good day in and helped the women settle in a bit more to the new cabin.”

  “The women! We’d better hustle back. They might be scared. I’m gonna run to cut their worryin’ time short.”

  “You’d best do that. Deb sure does seem to enjoy fretting over you.” Adam chuckled.

  Trace was glad for an excuse to run away from the teasing. He took off like a bullet, charging down the hill. “Utah, we’re back!” Trace hollered. Another man with a handy gun, and Trace didn’t want to startle anyone with a twitchy trigger finger.

  Utah swung the door open.

  “There’s no danger. It was a Paiute man I call friend. I’ll tell you about it later. Adam’s just behind me, headed for the bunkhouse to pack up for the night. I’ll be out as soon as I talk with Deb and Gwen.”

  Utah gave one hard nod of his head and swept past Trace without a word, holstering his gun as he walked away.

  Deb faced him, wide-eyed. Gwen sat in her rocking chair in front of the fire. They both had their guns out and ready but were setting them aside as he came in.

  “It was an Indian, an old friend of mine. He doesn’t trust the whites, but he tolerates me on rare occasions. He’s worried about that massacre being blamed on his people.”

  Both women nodded and visibly relaxed. “I’m gonna be gone a long while tomorrow, maybe even overnight, and maybe more than one night. So don’t fret about me if I don’t get home for a while.”

  “Where are you going?” Deb seemed overly curious. Trace wondered if that was the way of newspaper reporters.

  “Today I went along the west side of Lake Tahoe, following the trail the killers took, but tomorrow I’m going up the east side. I’ll stop in those settlements and in Carson City. I need to find any wagon trains still traveling and warn them, ask if anyone’s seen those stolen horses and cattle. If there aren’t any more trains, there still might be late travelers. I can tell the sheriff to put them on alert. Then I’ll ride on around the north end of the lake and down the west side. There were a few settlements I missed today.”

  “And you think that might take days?” Deb asked. There was a funny note to her voice that Trace didn’t recognize. Almost like she’d miss him. Well, if that wasn’t what her tone meant, he decided he’d just believe it anyway, because he’d miss her, too.

  “I want others watching for the outlaws, and I want to make sure folks know the danger that’s out there. However long it takes, I’m going to stick with it until I make these low-down rats sorry they came back out of their hole.”

  Deb took a few long strides and grabbed his arm. “Came back out? You mean you think you know who they are? You mean they’ve done this before?”

  “I know t
hey’ve done this before. All the signs I read say they’re the men who killed my pa.”

  “They’ve been killing all this time? Didn’t you say your pa died ten years ago?”

  “Yep. And no, they didn’t keep killing. The attacks broke off, and I started to believe the men who’d done ’em were all dead.”

  “What made you believe that?” Deb asked.

  Trace decided she needed to know the truth. If he was going to think of a future with her, she’d best know everything . . . or most everything. “I believed it because I found another burned-out wagon train in the spring after my pa was killed. I recognized it as being attacked by the same men. And after that, I guarded that trail in secret, watching for them to strike again. And when they did—” he gathered all his strength and shoved the words out, and they came laced with all his anger and pain and grief—“I personally killed everyone I could draw a bead on.”

  Trace saw the horror on her face, the revulsion. Now she could do nothing but despise him. He’d ruined his chances with her almost before he’d gotten one. But they couldn’t build a future on lies. He turned to leave.

  “Trace, wait!” No doubt the reason she called out was to tell him he was as bad as those men who’d killed the folks on her wagon train. He couldn’t bear to hear the words leave her mouth. He ignored her and left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. The picture he’d been forming of his future turned to ashes.

  He headed for the barn, anywhere there was no one to talk to. He could never face her again. He’d live in his cave again. He’d hunt his food and cook over an open fire. He’d give care of the ranch to Adam and tell him to send a message next spring when Deb was finally gone.

  He had to figure out a way to never go back.

  “Trace Riley, you get back here!”

  Deb charged out the door, swinging it shut hard behind her. It was a good thing the house was sturdy because she might’ve knocked it down.

  Trace looked over his shoulder without stopping. She saw . . . it looked like . . . fear.

  He kept striding away as if he planned to continue his escape.