The Accidental Guardian

by Mary Connealy

Deb tore one hand free of his and pressed her gloved fingertips to his mouth.

  He stopped talking, and his heart sank. He braced himself to hear no.

  “Yes,” she said.

  And now his smile broke like the Nevada sun. His heart leapt with the joyful energy of the rivulets cascading down the mountain to Lake Tahoe.

  “Trace, I just said, only moments ago, that this was one of the most perfect moments of my life, and now you’ve made it even more wonderful. You told me we’d spend the winter getting to know each other, and I should be thinking of you, deciding if we’d suit. And even this morning, I was thinking I needed to move on, begin the life I have planned. But when you asked me if I really wanted to run a newspaper, well, I’ve already given that a lot of thought. I don’t need a newspaper. And I don’t need the winter. I can think of nothing but you. I would be the luckiest woman in the world to have such a fine man as my husband.”

  It was only pure grit that kept him from collapsing with relief. Instead, he dragged her into his arms and kissed her.

  The cold was forgotten. The warmth of her embrace and their love for each other burned through him as her arms came around his neck.

  The beauty of their kiss and the beauty of the lake wound around him, creating a moment as precious as any he could have imagined. It was a moment to inspire a man for the rest of his life.

  “Are you done with your woman, Trace?” Tavibo stepped out from behind the rock that sheltered them.

  Deb screamed.

  Trace caught her in midair as she jumped back. He pictured her falling off the high ledge all the way down to the lake. A bad end to his proposal.

  “It’s all right, Deb. He’s a friend. Tavibo is a Paiute and a good man. I’ve known him for years.”

  “Friend?” Deb asked, her voice trembling, but no more screaming. “I’m sorry. I—my—I’m sorry.”

  Tavibo nodded as if to accept the apology.

  Holding her tight, because he’d have his hands full getting down there and fishing her out before she chilled clear to a chunk of ice, he asked, “Is there trouble? Why are you so far from your winter village?”

  “The Paiutes watch the comings and goings of those we know, and many we do not know. We saw you ride away from your land with your woman.”

  “I’m not his woman.”

  Trace squeezed her tight. “Yes, you are.”

  She tilted her head as if she’d never thought of it before, but now that she did, she said, “You’re right. I am your woman.”

  Trace liked that.

  “I saw you leave home. It is not a time for travel, so I wondered if you sought the men who killed all those from the wagon train. I had news of that and wanted to tell you, but I waited until you were well off the trail so I could be sure to talk to you alone.” His dark eyes shifted to Deb. “I’ve come to tell you I heard talk among those who trade with your people—that the wagon train that burned was found and the crime was blamed on Paiutes.”

  Trace clenched his jaw. “I talked to a lawman in Carson City, and he said it was the first he’d heard of the massacre. Who found the train? Who passed on the gossip?”

  “Maybe the men who did it started the talk?” Tavibo’s black eyes narrowed. “Better to blame others right from the beginning.”

  “There’s another train going through that pass. We caught up with them last night and warned them. I’m going to watch over the path it takes. I’ve got several days because the wagons move so slowly.”

  “The Guardian rides again, huh?”

  “Can your people help me?” Trace asked. “These folks aren’t taking the trail that’s had trouble before. But I got close enough to hear the outlaws plan an attack. Because it’s new to me, I don’t know the good lookouts. I don’t know the most likely place for these men to lie in wait. They’ve had weeks to scout and find the best spots. If we had many eyes on that trail, the outlaws wouldn’t have a chance.”

  His expression grim, Tavibo shook his head. “I am sorry, my good friend. Our Paiute village is headed south even now. They want to put many miles between them and the next attack. And they are making sure others see them on their migration so there will be evidence to protect them—that is, if the whites accept their own eyes as proof against a Native man.”

  “Not even you can stay?”

  “No, I let them go ahead so I could warn you of the talk, but I will ride hard now to catch up with them. I am sorry, but that is all I can do, and I think you know it’s necessary.”

  “It is, and I do understand why. Thank you for passing this on.”

  “I must ride now. It is our only hope to protect our people.” Tavibo looked at Deb and bowed. “Trace is a fine man. He will do well by you.”

  As silently as he came, Tavibo walked back into the woods. Even watching him go, Trace lost sight of him within seconds.

  Trace turned to Deb. “I hope you’ll get a chance to know him better. You’ll like him. He taught me a lot of what I know about life in the West—though I’d already learned some on my own.”

  “If he’s your friend, Trace, then he’s mine as well. Now let’s get back to town and out of the cold.”

  The sun lowered, and the wind picked up and drove the clouds away as they rode to Ringo. They talked quietly of the future, holding hands when the trail was wide enough to allow it.

  As they entered town, Deb noticed, tucked behind the boardinghouse, a little building of raw wood that was so new it hadn’t seasoned yet, with a roughly fashioned cross above the front door. A man wearing a parson’s collar stood at the open door, sweeping dust out onto the stoop—a small landing on top of three steps. He closed the door as he stepped out and went to work making sure the stoop was swept clean, too.

  Trace pointed to the building. “Let’s get married, Deb.” He flashed a smile that she could never look at enough.

  “Right now?” She thought of Gwen and wished she could be here. But how? If they went home, they’d have to go somewhere to find a preacher, and with winter coming, that might be dangerous. And not all settlements even had a parson living among them.

  Besides, she wanted to be married right now, this moment. Trace hadn’t spoken of love, but his words echoed with deep affection. She wondered if the words were in him and if she would ever hear them. And just because he hadn’t said the words, did it matter, when she was sure of his feelings toward her and that he held her in such warm regard?

  “Right now,” he replied. He sounded so confident, she set aside her regret about Gwen. Trace was her family now, just as surely as her sister was.

  “Yes, Trace. Let’s get married.”

  They rode to the rustic church, and the parson straightened from his sweeping to greet them. Though it was cold outside, he wore only a white shirt and black vest with his black pants. He was a stocky man, balding, with round glasses.

  “We’d like to get married, Parson,” Trace said.

  Deb nearly gasped to hear him tell someone else the news. The idea was still so new to her.

  Holding the broom in one hand, the parson adjusted his glasses with the other, and a smile that seemed to surround them spread across his face. “I’m Parson Stossmeier. I love performing wedding ceremonies. Hitch your horses and come on in. It’s too cold out here anyway. You can get out of the wind inside the church. I’ll run next door and fetch my coat, Bible, and prayer book. And I’ll bring back my wife to stand as witness.”

  Trace led Deb inside the church, which was only slightly warmer.

  Shivering from the long, cold ride, and from excitement and nerves, she wished they could light the potbellied stove that sat in one corner. But they’d be done and gone before it even began to warm the place. It was probably only lit for Sunday services.

  “Deb,” Trace said and took her hand, “thank you for saying yes. I’m going to promise, along with my vows to God, to do my best to make you happy all your life.” He lifted her hand and pulled off her glove. “I have no ring or any idea where I’d
find such. I only know a man gives a woman a ring because I read it in one of my books. I’m sure there isn’t a ring in Ringo.” He chuckled. “That sounds funny.” He kissed the back of her finger, right where a ring should be. “But I promise to buy you a ring just as soon as I find one.”

  “Hush now,” she said. “We won’t worry about such nonsense as a ring. Not when you’ve already given me so much. The beautiful home we will live in. So many things.” She fought the urge to start listing the things she was thankful for. She’d said it so many times. And she didn’t want this marriage to be out of gratitude only. She didn’t say yes because she wanted his protection, or anything else he could give her. She simply wanted to pledge her life to him . . . because she loved him.

  He leaned very close, so close she didn’t feel cold anymore.

  The church door swung open, and Parson Stossmeier strode in smiling, wearing a coat, his cheeks pink from the chill. Right behind him followed a lady only a bit shorter and a bit rounder.

  She was grinning, too. Wearing a heavy wool coat and a bonnet lined with sheepskin, the lady clapped her hands together and held them under her chin. “I’m Mrs. Stossmeier. Here to witness your vows. A wedding—how wonderful.”

  It was wonderful. The parson spoke their vows with good cheer. Trace and Deb repeated them before God. Afterward, the parson’s wife gave them both a big hug and invited them to share the evening meal with her and her husband.

  As kind as this couple was, Deb desperately wanted to be with her new husband right now. But she hesitated to say so. It seemed rude.

  “I appreciate that very much, ma’am,” Trace said, sliding his arm around Deb’s waist, “but the boardinghouse will provide dinner, and I’d as soon spend the evening alone with my wife.”

  “And well you should.” Mrs. Stossmeier beamed with approval. “It’s a night for romance. Thank you for including us in your happy occasion.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  Trace held Deb’s hand as they led the horses to the livery stable where they stripped off leather and some supplies. They left the horses and saddles behind, taking with them their bedrolls and saddlebags. Then they started walking toward the boardinghouse.

  He stayed so close to Deb, it wasn’t proper . . . not that he was sure. He had no notion of what was proper or not now that they were married. But he suspected even married folks ought to put a bit more space between themselves when out in public.

  It didn’t make him let her go. And she didn’t push him away as they walked through the softly falling snow. They went inside and were warm for the first time in so long, Trace shivered. Deb looked up at him and smiled and shivered, too.

  Trace led her to the innkeeper. “We just got hitched, sir. I paid for two rooms, but I . . . uh, that is, we need only one now.” He shivered again, and cold weather had nothing to do with it this time.

  Mr. Bolling gave them a generous smile. “Not to worry. If I’d turned renters away I might feel different—but probably not. I’m happy to refund your money.” He plucked a key off a row of nails behind him. “It’s just a few minutes until Ma rings the supper bell. I’ll show you to your room, then get the baggage you left and bring them to you. You’ve got a few minutes to take off your coats and wash up.” He pointed to the hallway that ran alongside the stairway. “Dining room is down thataway. We’ve got a good crowd tonight, so Ma made plenty.”

  Keeping up a running chatter about where things were and such, he led them up the stairs and down a short hallway to a corner room. He unlocked the door and then handed them the key, saying he’d be back shortly.

  Trace peeked into the room as the man walked away, then closed the door behind them. “It’s a nice-sized room,” he said to his new bride. “That fella’s being mighty kind to us.”

  Trace shed his gloves, coat, and hat and hung them on a row of pegs near the door. Deb did the same. There was a basin and a pitcher of water in the room, and they took the time to wash away a long day’s travel.

  The innkeeper returned with their few bags just as they’d finished cleaning up. “It’s a night for love. Come on down and eat, and if you don’t stay long, Ma and I’ll not be surprised.” He walked out chuckling.

  Trace closed the door and turned to pull Deb into his arms. “I just want a few minutes to let it sink in that you’re really my wife.” He sighed, leaned down, and rested his forehead against hers.

  He heard the faintest breath of a laugh from her. “It is surprising, isn’t it?” Deb wrapped her arms around his waist. They stood there together, quietly, at peace with the world.

  Then Trace lifted his head just far enough to see her eyes. He moved forward and kissed her. His arms tightened while hers rose to encircle his neck.

  He pulled her closer. Tilted his head and deepened the kiss. One of her hands slid from around his neck and rested, palm open, on his cheek. Her thumb brushed his lips.

  The dinner bell rang.

  Groaning quietly, Trace broke off the kiss. “All day long I haven’t given you a minute to do more than chew jerky. I don’t want to share a moment’s time with anyone else, but I suppose we’d better go eat.”

  Grinning, Deb nodded. “I’d forgotten about food, but you’re right.”

  The bell rang again, almost as if with the one ringing it knew they’d need a good nudge.

  Pulling away and taking her hand, Trace led Deb out and down the stairs. Though the food smelled delicious, nothing called to him like holding his new wife.

  Trace had a sudden thought about the night to come that had never entered his head when she’d been in the room with him. He missed a stair and had to grab the hand railing to keep from tumbling all the way down to the first floor. It was a relief he hadn’t managed to drag her down the stairs with him, head over heels.

  Deb caught hold of him. “Are you all right? What made you trip like that?”

  He wasn’t all right, yet he didn’t know how to bring it up—what it was he’d been thinking about when he stumbled just now. But then they were downstairs and in the dining room, other folks around them. Some had already gone in to take their seats at the table.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Trace said.

  He probably had to confess, but how could he? He had no idea what exactly went on between a husband and wife on their wedding night. Maybe no one knew such things and had to discover them on their own. And Trace feared his being alone so much had stunted a big part of his education.

  Of course, he lived on a cattle ranch so he had some idea. But without the hooves and such, he was afraid it was different for men and women.

  He didn’t see how she’d know, either.

  If they’d just stayed in the room, gone on the way they’d been going, he’d’ve never thought of it and they’d’ve been all right . . . at least he hoped so.

  Now, instead of being eager for the night to go on, he was terrified. He decided to eat real slow.

  Deb picked at her food. She wanted to ask for seconds, just to slow things down, but her stomach was in knots and her throat bone-dry. She could barely swallow the food she had.

  Her ma had died before there’d been time for a talk about . . . married things. And anyway, Ma hadn’t cared much for Pa and probably quietly prayed neither of her girls would ever get saddled with a husband.

  That was just a suspicion Deb had. No such words had been spoken.

  She practiced ways of telling her husband she’d like more time.

  We really don’t know each other well, Trace.

  I’d like more privacy before married . . . events pass between us. Privacy like they’d get while sharing Trace’s cabin with Gwen and two small children?

  Could we just check to see if the innkeeper still has two rooms available?

  Despite her best efforts to separate her meal of chicken and dumplings into bites of one drop per spoonful, Deb’s plate was eventually empty. She’d even lingered over a piece of pie. All the other guests had left the dining room, and the
innkeeper’s wife had glanced in on them rather nervously twice now, no doubt hoping to clear their table.

  Trace scraped his chair back so suddenly, Deb jumped. She stared at him as he nearly knocked it over and almost fell.

  He stood and gave her an overly bright smile. “I’m finished.”

  The way he said it sounded a little like the crack of doom. He had to mean with his meal, but something about his extremely, almost madly happy expression made her wonder if the words meant something else.

  Like perhaps he was finished delaying the inevitable.

  She cleared her throat and wiped her mouth. “Yes,” she said and stood.

  Trace offered her his hand.

  Grimly determined to do her wifely duty, she let him lead her out of the dining room. She didn’t know why he was in such an all-fired hurry.

  Deb slowly roused from what seemed like the deepest, most restful sleep of her life. Before she opened her eyes, she was aware that something seemed wrong. When she opened her eyes she knew it was the room.

  Had Trace and his men built yet another house?

  Then she realized she wasn’t in bed alone.

  She looked down and saw a strong arm draped over her belly and felt the solid form of someone lying beside her.

  And it all came back in a rush.

  Married.

  She had gotten married yesterday to Trace. She was now, good heavens, Deb Riley. She’d changed her name.

  Snuggled close against Trace, she knew she’d changed a lot of things.

  “You awake, wife?” Trace asked, his voice raspy from sleep and warm with affection. She couldn’t believe she could feel so close to another human being.

  “I am, husband.” She heard a quiet chuckle.

  “We’ve got a lot of stops to make today, people to talk to, many miles to travel, and a mighty big announcement to make to your sister.”

  “You’re right.” They rose to get on with the day.

  Deb went to the window to see if the deep snow had finally come.

  “Trace”—all her cheerful calm vanished—“get over here.” Instantly at her side, Deb said to him, “Look at that pair of oxen.”