The Accidental Guardian

by Mary Connealy

  Deb decided her sister had a point and took both children with her into her room to dress, as well. Good heavens, the men had been right there.

  Being married certainly addled a woman’s mind.

  As she quickly pulled on her clothes and told the children a very brief version of what getting married meant, she heard the men speaking in muffled voices outside the room. The kitchen door opened and closed, and a few moments later, Trace came into her room.

  He was in his longhandles, and come to think of it, at least one of the other men had been, too.

  It was not a proper beginning to the day.

  And then it got worse.

  CHAPTER

  26

  “I won’t be back until this is over, Deb.” Trace packed food into a satchel. His bedroll was beside the satchel, all of it on the kitchen table. He finished with the food and then wrapped the satchel in his blanket, all set to tie on the back of Black. Wolf was coming, too.

  He heard an odd sound and looked up, expecting to find a wounded cougar in the kitchen with him.

  It was his wife. Standing between him and the front door. And from the look on her face, he’d’ve been better off with the cougar.

  Gwen lifted both children by wrapping her arms around their bellies and heading to her bedroom. The door shut with a loud crack. He heard Maddie Sue say, “Why are we in here? Why is Deb yelling at Trace?”

  Then a shushing noise from Gwen. Strange. Why were they in there? And Deb wasn’t yelling.

  “What’s the matter?” He rushed to Deb’s side, expecting to find she’d stepped on a nail or something.

  “You’re leaving?” She was speaking in a really high—and loud—voice. He’d never heard that exact tone before. “We’ve been married for two days and you’re leaving?”

  He’d said that, hadn’t he? Just now. Then he thought he might know the problem. “Don’t worry, I’m coming back.” He’d already said that, too.

  What was she thinking? That he was moving away? That he didn’t like being married? That he was thinking of hunting for gold in San Francisco?

  Women were so confusing.

  “And just when will that be?”

  Good, now he could reassure her. “I’ll be back as soon as I find the outlaws and haul them to jail or kill them.”

  There was that sound again. He glanced down. She was standing solid on her two feet, so it couldn’t be a nail.

  “What’s the matter?” He’d asked that before, but no answer had been forthcoming. At least not one he could make any sense of.

  “Do you think that maybe you should have told me about this?” She spoke in an odd way, slowly, one word at a time. He was pretty sure her teeth were clenched.

  “I’m telling you right now, Deb.” He should have told her before. He was listening, learning.

  She drew in a deep breath. She flexed her hands, and it was only then that he noticed she’d made them into fists.

  “I mean, leaving the ranch, heading out on a mission that might just get you killed. Seems to me like the sort of thing a married couple should discuss. Not a simple announcement that you’re leaving and you’ll be back once you’ve either captured or killed three brutal murderers, all by yourself. As if you weren’t leaving on a life-or-death trip and might never see me again.”

  Well, he didn’t plan on dying, but then who did? “We’ve talked about me guarding that trail. I’m The Guardian. I know we talked about that. How could this come as a surprise?” He paused to study her. “But it has. I expected you to know what I had to do, and you didn’t. So I am sorry. And now, would you like to sit down and talk about it? About why I think I have to go and protect those people?”

  As he said it, he felt his temper stir a little.

  He’d talk her through his plans, slowly, give her lots of unimportant details. Of course, he hadn’t really thought of the details. Pack food, head for the trail. What other details were there?

  He caught her arm and guided her to the table and tugged on her overly stiff knees to get her to sit down. He dragged a chair around to sit in front of her.

  “I never for a second thought of this as something that would get me killed. I’m not reckless, and I won’t face down three armed men. I’m smarter than that.” Yep, temper again. She was insulting him, though she might not quite realize it.

  “I want to get there ahead of the wagon train so I can scout the area. Given time, I’ll find the likely spots where the dry-gulching cowards will hole up. The best overlooks on a trail are easy to see. Then I’ll find shelter for myself of some kind. I’ll be out over several nights because, by my reckoning, the wagon train won’t be coming through the most dangerous stretch of the trail for at least three more days, maybe as many as five, but I think three ’cause they’ll be pushing hard. They need to get through the last bad stretch before the weather turns bad. The outlaws will get there ahead of them and find their hiding spots. I’ll be waiting for them when they arrive.”

  There, he’d said a powerful lot of words right there. That’d make her happy.

  “I am furious, Trace.”

  Or maybe it wouldn’t. He listened real close so he could figure out what had upset her. None of the men had said a thing when he’d told them he was going, except Adam had teased him about hiding out because he didn’t want to help build the barn, and Utah had offered to come along.

  He couldn’t believe they might get that barn built this fall. He’d never dreamed—

  “I married you just two days ago.”

  Oops, he’d meant to listen . . . had she been talking long?

  “Now without so much as a by your leave, without talking one word of this over with me—”

  How could she not know he had to go? Surely that’d been as plain as the nose on her face. Of course he was going. Did the woman have no common sense?

  “—you make a decision to leave that might end in your death. You might never come home.”

  “I’m really good at guarding a trail, Deb, and sneakin’ up on men in the wild. I move quiet as a ghost. Wolf and Black are knowing critters, and nothing can sneak up on them without their knowin’ it, and they’ll be going with me. No man will hear me. No man will attack me. If I have to run, no man can catch me.”

  “Can you outrun a bullet, Trace?”

  The woman had a sharp tongue, and that was that.

  “It’s honestly an easy way to catch these bushwhackers. They’ll split up and watch the trail. They’ll be separated, and I can get them one at a time, tie ’em up tight and, before you know it, I’ll have ’em slung over their horses, and I’ll parade ’em right to Ringo and hand ’em over to the marshal. They’ll never be able to hurt anyone again. And since I saw them, you won’t even need to testify.”

  Of course, Deb had been the one to see them in the act of murder, so he’d best not make any promises. “Or if you do need to testify, I’ll ride home and fetch you.” He smiled and hoped that was enough. His throat was startin’ to hurt from all this yammering.

  She surged to her feet and jammed her hands on her hips. Trace stood to face her. He was a newcomer to this husband business, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t the way a woman stands when she’s cheered up and the talkin’ is over. Then her arms dropped, and the angry expression faded from her face. She launched herself right into his arms.

  He held on to her tight and forgot figuring her out. It was way more fun to hold a live, warm woman in his arms.

  “Trace, I know we’re new at being married, and I’m not going to try and convince you not to do what you think needs doing. You’re a good and honorable man, and that’s one of the best things about you. But . . . if only you would talk to me, I’d like to know what’s going on. When you left the first time you barely said where you were going. Now you’re doing it again. I want to know.”

  Trace paused, wondering just what he should say now. Had they discussed it enough? “Uh, Deb, you know . . .” He glanced at the bedroom and lowered his vo
ice. “You know I’m The Guardian, don’t you?” Why whisper? Gwen had probably already heard them.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So you know I’ve done this before.” Trace grasped her upper arms.

  “That’s not it. But it does comfort me to know you’re skilled at these things. But you need to talk it over with me. And you would if you trusted me.”

  “I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever known, Deb. I’m used to going my own way and, well, just thinking everyone else knows what needs to be done so it’s a waste of time talking it over. I’ll learn to discuss plans with you.” Trace leaned down and kissed her. “I’m going to be careful, Deb. I’ve never had such a worthy reason to get home.”

  Deb nodded. “Get on your way. I appreciate knowing enough to aim my prayers where they’re needed most.”

  He left the cabin and sorted through what’d just happened. All he could figure really was the simple fact that women were strange creatures.

  Deb watched until Trace disappeared around a bend in the trail. Men were strange and that was that. She said dryly, “You can come out now, Gwen.”

  She knew well and good that her little sister was listening. Or maybe Deb just knew that, in similar circumstances, she sure would be.

  The door pushed open immediately, and Gwen carried both children out. “He wasn’t even going to tell you where he was going?”

  “Nope. You heard every word he was going to speak.”

  “Men are strange.”

  “I’ve had the same thought myself.” Deb didn’t think Gwen went far enough. “They’re also knotheads.”

  “And he’s The Guardian?” Gwen looked at the door as if she could see through it to judge Trace a bit differently.

  Deb got on with her cooking. “Have you heard of The Guardian?”

  “A few words here and there from the men. Do you think they all know it’s Trace?”

  Deb lifted her shoulders helplessly and shifted her attention to a pile of turnips. “I have no idea, and we can’t ask because then they’d know when Trace might not want them to.”

  “So what exactly is The Guardian?” Gwen sounded lost.

  “I have so much to tell you. A lot more went on other than just a wedding ceremony. Let’s get on with feeding these hungry men. The ones who do stay around deserve a good meal.” She sounded a little snippy. With her husband off saving lives, the big half-wit, she really should be more gracious about it.

  “What made you decide to marry Trace, anyway?”

  That redirected her thoughts, and she was glad something did. She paused for a moment to remember his touch and his beautiful words. She also remembered that there’d been no talk of love. Which she’d so hoped for. She was sure he did love her . . . she hoped. But would she ever hear the words? The little scene they’d just gone through proved the man wasn’t overly thoughtful to a woman’s more delicate sensibilities. And when he protected her and fed her and built her a cabin, she didn’t think she had a bit of business fussing about it. Of course, she hadn’t said the words to him, either. She’d wanted him to say them first.

  She didn’t tell Gwen everything. It felt too personal and intimate, both the proposal and for certain what came after the wedding, the time they spent together in the night.

  But there was something that made for a wonderful story. “Trace took me riding to an overlook of a huge lake. He called it Lake Tahoe.”

  “A lake? Up here?”

  “Yes, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Honestly more beautiful than anything I’ve ever imagined. And while we stood there, he asked me to marry him. He made simple words sound as majestic and inspiring as that view.”

  Deb went on to describe the wonder of Tahoe as best she could. She thought about giving up her dream of running a newspaper. It hadn’t been hard to do. Not when a man she loved offered her a home and marriage. But running a newspaper was different than writing. She could still do that. She knew newspapermen back home and one man from a magazine—and a few librarians who would send her more names. She could write about Lake Tahoe, describe its grandeur—such things were all the rage in magazines. If she sold her article, she might think of more to write. Were there stories to tell about the Comstock Lode? How about the pioneers and wagon trains? She could write about her own journey out here. Maybe she could earn enough to make Trace’s life a bit more comfortable, although truly, with this new house and all the helpful men, Deb’s life had never been more comfortable.

  She told Gwen of the beauty she’d seen and the idea she’d had about writing. They spent the morning caring for the rambunctious children and cooking and talking about marriage and the oncoming winter.

  After the men had eaten and headed out, Gwen said, “I’m going to put the children down for a nap. They fall asleep faster if I lie down with them, so it could be a while.”

  Deb hung up a dishcloth and moved to wipe the table clean. “You go on, and if you fall asleep too, there’ll be no harm in it. We’ve got the roast on for supper and no more chores for hours. I might sit down and try to read one of Trace’s books.”

  “You deserve a little time off your feet.” Gwen carried Ronnie and led Maddie Sue by the hand into the bedroom she now shared with them.

  Deb went to the box they’d brought over from the old cabin. Trace and his cowhands had been too busy for reading. They’d been working late into the cold nights to get the barn under cover before the winter set in. She bent over the heavy box and removed its lid, then lifted out the Bible. She’d start there. Though a believer, Deb admitted she hadn’t spent enough time with the Holy Scripture. She’d been run ragged by the newspaper.

  She laid it aside to replace the box lid just as a board creaked behind her. One of the children had left the room. Smiling, Deb straightened to turn and see who’d escaped.

  Before she could look behind her, a callused hand slapped hard over her mouth.

  An arm like a vise clamped around her waist and pinned her arms to her sides. Lifted clean off her feet, she was whirled around and carried right outside the wide-open door. Squeaking and thrashing, she tried to gain someone’s attention.

  While the man wasn’t large, he was strong enough that she couldn’t even feel him straining himself as he carried her. He never stopped moving. He strode straight for the trees while she kicked and wrenched her arms to get free.

  There were two horses waiting, grazing. Another man came out of the woods, smiling wickedly at her. The man who had her leapt onto a horse, dragging her along, and nudged the horse with his knees. Without saying a word, they rode out of the small clearing away from the cabin.

  The other man came up close, and reaching across from his horse, he quickly bound her hands in front of her. The horses never stopped walking.

  Still not a word was spoken. They didn’t do a thing to draw attention to themselves.

  Terrified, she realized how calm they were behaving about everything. How silent. The horse’s gallop might’ve sounded an alarm. He hadn’t had to untie the well-trained horse or let Deb loose more than a second. They moved for long minutes while she twisted and fought. Furious, desperate, she bit the hand of the man who had her. Hard. He made a ruthless move that nearly jerked her teeth out, then shoved her chin up and held her jaw and mouth shut tight.

  Finally, the distance must’ve been enough because the man holding her leaned forward, and his words were more hiss than a whisper. “You do that again and I’ll knock you cold. I may do it anyway. You’re a heap of trouble.”

  She twisted her head, and he let her. He sneered as she saw who had her.

  The recognition blazed in her eyes. The only man she’d seen at the wagon train massacre. A filthy, brutal murderer had her in his grip.

  “Know me, don’tcha? I reckon you’re mighty scared. Well, I need you alive for now, and I’ll do my best to keep you that way, because we’re using you for bait to draw that man of yours out so we can kill him. He doesn’t know I saw him in those woods when t
he grizzly startled us, but I did. And we followed the two of you all the way home. Havin’ the two of you out of the way’ll make it a lot easier to attack another train. You just sit tight. The only thing I need from you is screaming—which you’ll do when the time is right. I don’t need that for hours yet.”

  “Shut her up, Dalt,” the second man said with cold cruelty. “She’s gonna twist loose if we ain’t careful.”

  Another move with the hand cut off her breath.

  She fought the grip. He tightened it. There was no way to find even the smallest hint of air through her mouth or nose. The world began to narrow and her lungs heaved, fighting to inhale. She fought his grip with everything she had, and then her strength faded as her lungs starved. The narrow world went dark, and her last thoughts were of Trace and how, instead of being silently hurt because he didn’t tell her he loved her, she wished she’d told him. What difference would it have made whether he’d said it back or not? At least he’d’ve known.

  God, deliver me. Give me the sense and strength to know what you want me to do, and when.

  She realized her wild, silent prayer was, in its own way, the voice of one crying in the wilderness.

  That was her last thought before the world turned pitch-black.

  CHAPTER

  27

  God, please protect Deb while I’m away.

  Trace was flooded with a powerful need to pray. And he did pray that he could catch these men without killing and without being killed. But suddenly that wasn’t enough. He was called to a prayer that was . . . deeper. He prayed for his wife left at home. He wasn’t sure why God put it on his heart, but it was a pleasure to pray for her, so he did as he galloped toward the trail through the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

  When he was close he, Black, and Wolf faded into the woods. He knew of a cave in this area that wasn’t usually a spot to hibernate. Finding it, he went in prepared to back out and search on if it was inhabited. A fight with a bear or a mountain lion was bound to be noisy, and Trace was aiming to be as silent as fog.