The Accidental Guardian

by Mary Connealy

  As he drew near, she fought down the urge to break from her scant cover and run. She had watched Trace move through the woods with such assurance, and she realized that was exactly what Raddo wanted—to flush her out. That’s why he was so noisy. He couldn’t find her. She knew it. The place she’d chosen to secrete herself was so tiny, the merest bow in the heart of the tree roots.

  If she could just stay still. She filled her mind with prayers for protection and courage, calm and wisdom. She couldn’t fight these men and win. And she couldn’t outrun them. Common sense kept her from considering either.

  Raddo drew nearer. He wasn’t walking on the logs; instead he stomped along, hollering, jeering. The path he was on, as far as Deb could tell by listening, was going to take him right past the mouth of this little concave in the tree roots.

  Closer—yelling things so vile if she didn’t show herself, that she was tempted to surrender in the hopes of avoiding his fiendish plans.

  Closer—a step at a time. She could hear him muttering, trampling along with no more grace than a buffalo. Shouting her name. Shouting his threats.

  Closer still. Now he was right in front of her. He stopped. She could have reached out and tugged on his pant leg. Except then she’d have to boil her fingers to get the awful feeling off her hand.

  “Have you seen her?” He shouted loud enough to shake snow down out of the trees.

  One of his men shouted back. He was too close for too long. He’d see her or hear her or just plain sense that she was close.

  Finally, one step, then another, and he walked past. That was no reason to move, but she felt like she should. The other men were in hearing distance, though moving away from her. They’d gone three directions. Surely if she went the fourth . . .

  Utah heard a shout far to his right. Too far away to make out the words. Then came a return shout, about the same distance to his left. He turned to Adam and pointed left. Adam nodded quickly, and Utah realized he could see. The pitch-black night had turned to deep gray.

  Darkness covered so much. Utah had hoped to get very close in secret. Now they were running out of time.

  Adam vanished into the woods one way while Utah started another, then heard a twig snap only feet from him. Utah froze. There wasn’t another sound. He drew his gun, braced himself, and held his breath.

  Wolf had barked a few times and growled more. But now he’d gone silent, slowed down, and put his nose to the ground. Trace knew right where he was: a long way from home in a place that had nothing to do with a wagon train.

  Maybe the outlaw gang was holding back. Maybe they’d done their scouting and judged when the train would come, and for now they were holed up. But they hadn’t counted on Wolf.

  Trace found a heavy copse of trees, dismounted, and tied Black to them. Everything was on foot from now on. He slipped along, fast and silent as a ghost. He’d done plenty of it before.

  Wolf waited, then went on, then waited again. No one in this fight had the advantages of a critter like Trace had. Black would’ve been good too, but the horse had no sense about stepping on twigs.

  He moved on, his eyes alert in all directions. Keeping Wolf within sight.

  Then he heard something, so little, the sound maybe of cloth rubbing on bark. Freezing, he looked around and saw nothing. But something, or someone, was definitely there.

  This time she was doing it. She was running. It was time to get away from here.

  Deb gathered herself to jump out of the jumble of roots and run the fourth way, the direction none of the men had gone.

  And leave footprints with every step.

  That stopped her cold.

  Grimly afraid she should have gone, she yelled inside her head for being a coward. Yes, her hiding place was good, but she realized that the dark was turning to dawn. And her hiding place was only as good as the dark.

  A gunshot fired in the woods. Someone shrieked, but Deb couldn’t tell who. Her guess was Meeks. Another gunshot, this one sounding different from the first, fired over and over. It came from right where she’d heard the cry of what sounded like pain. But Meeks was a foul man. If that had been him crying out, it could have been with animal savagery. Because he’d shot someone.

  Briefly she hoped it was one of his own men. Out there in the dark, such a thing could happen.

  Though God had guided her to this place of temporary safety, she was rather pessimistic that things would be solved so easily. She braced herself for Raddo to come storming back, right past her. He didn’t come.

  Another shout. This one wasn’t Meeks. Was it Dalt? It sounded a distance from where the gunshots had sounded, but she couldn’t be sure in the dense woods.

  Then she heard a step, very nearly silent. Raddo sneaking back. An overwhelming panic washed over her, and she couldn’t stay still. She tensed her muscles to leap up and run, when someone slapped a hand over her mouth and held her in his grip.

  “Stay still.”

  The panic gave way to tears.

  Trace. Trace had found her. That was his footstep. Raddo hadn’t come back, or he’d headed directly to help his gang.

  Seconds passed. Trace eased his hand from her mouth and then kissed her. She flung her arms around his neck and wept while she held him tight.

  He’d come. She was so in love with him, and she’d tell him just as soon as she didn’t have to remain utterly silent.

  “Deb, are you here?” Utah whispered.

  The tears came faster. They’d all come to save her. And they’d done a fine job of it, too.

  Trace ended the kiss and pressed her face against his chest. She felt surrounded and protected and supported in every way.

  “I’ve got her, Utah,” Trace said quietly. “There’s a third man.”

  “The boss of the gang is still around.” Deb still clung to her precious husband. “When I ran, they went in three directions. Raddo went past me.”

  Utah came into view. “I’ll get after him.”

  “What was the gunfire?” Trace asked.

  “Adam ran into one of ’em. They both came up with a fire iron. There was no choice, and Adam won the fight. But he looked mighty sick.”

  Deb thought Utah looked a little sick himself.

  “I got one tied up, out cold. I didn’t have to shoot, but it was a near thing,” Utah continued. “He came up on me so quiet, and he didn’t know I was there until it was too late for him.”

  Trace slipped off his coat and slung it around Deb’s shoulders before she could protest, and then with the heat of his body warming it, she couldn’t stand to give it back. Still, she tried.

  “No, Trace. I was near the campfire with those men. You’ve been out in the cold all day and night.”

  “I’ve got a cloak on my horse. I’ll put it on.”

  “We’d better find Adam,” Utah said, “and pick up the man I caught. With one man still runnin’ loose, I don’t want Adam bushwhacked.”

  They found Adam, who’d rounded up all three of the outlaws’ horses.

  “Where’s the other one?” Adam asked as he threw the first outlaw over a saddle.

  “He must’ve just kept going. Just abandoned his partners. He couldn’t have known how much trouble they were in.” Deb shook her head and realized the dawn was full upon them now. But the day was gray, and fat flakes began drifting down.

  “That heavy snow we’ve been worried about, looks like it’s coming,” Trace said. “Unless we want an outlaw living with us all winter, we’d better head for home, drop Deb off, and get these men to Carson City.”

  They set out. Found where Utah left his man tied up and loaded him up, too.

  “That one they call Meeks.” Deb pointed to the dead man.

  “I saw Meeks when I followed them on foot and had a run-in with that grizzly.”

  “And Dalt is what I heard for the other—he’s the one who came to the cabin and kidnapped me, and he’s the one I saw at the massacre. The marshal in Ringo called him Dalton Callow.” Deb looked at
the two men in disgust. “The other calls himself Raddo. He’s the boss, the one who abandoned his men.”

  “His first reaction was to run like a yellow dog,” Adam said.

  “Well, no surprise he’s a coward,” Trace added. “We’ve known that about all of ’em from the first. Now, let’s head back for the ranch. Gwen’ll be scared.”

  “What about the wagon train, Trace?” Adam asked.

  “He ain’t gonna attack it alone. They’re safe now. I’ll bet they push hard through that trail with this snow coming down. They’ll run through the night if they have to. These varmints would’ve had a hard time attacking twenty-five wagons with everyone wide awake. I’m going to get home, then haul these men to jail. Carson City is closer than Ringo. I’d like to give ’em to the marshal, but I need to turn them in and get back before the winter closes in around us. It’ll be a running trip.”

  “I saw Raddo in Carson City,” Deb said. She walked close to Trace. “Remember I said that a man ran into me and was rude? That was him. So I can describe him now. When Dalt brought me to their hideout, I heard all their names and heard them threaten me and you, Trace. And they bragged about their monstrous plans for the wagon train. I can tell the sheriff all about it as a witness.”

  “You’d better come along then. We’re leaving as soon as we get home. We’ll ride hard and hopefully get back late tonight.”

  Trace went after Black and soon caught back up with them. Then they got to the horses Utah and Adam had left behind.

  “How did you find me, Trace? Utah and Adam followed the tracks, but how did you get here?”

  “Wolf led me right to this place. He was on a scent.”

  “Wolf is here?” Deb hadn’t seen him.

  Trace nodded. “Yep. He’ll turn up any minute.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  Wolf turned up about ten minutes after they got home. The wolf-dog was carrying a patch of blood-smeared denim cloth in his mouth.

  Trace stared at his dog awhile. “I reckon he caught up with Raddo.”

  “He definitely had pants on that looked like that.” Deb gave Wolf a closer look. “If he didn’t kill him, he must’ve scared him into a flat-out run.”

  “Probably treed him until Wolf got bored.”

  “Maybe that’ll run him off for good. With no men for his gang, and the sheriff in Carson City with a name and description, he’ll have to quit the country.”

  “Yep,” Trace said. “It don’t sit right to let him go, but I’ve barely got time to turn his men over and get back home. He ain’t likely to cause trouble for a while, not with Wolf’s fang marks planted in his backside.”

  Gwen had turned her worry into a need to bake. There was pie and fresh-baked bread, and she’d cooked a stew heavy with meat and vegetables. Though it was breakfast time, they were all starving and shaking with the cold. The meal nearly fixed them, though a few hours’ sleep would’ve done even more. But there was no time for that now.

  Adam returned to building the barn. He declared they could have the roof on before the snow made that impossible.

  Trace, Deb, and Utah rode hard for Carson City and turned over the men with plenty of questions to answer from the sheriff. They headed home in a snow so heavy Trace worried if they’d make it.

  He might have to carry Deb for the last few miles.

  She was afraid Trace might have to carry her the last few miles. The snow was now chest-deep on her horse. It was fluffy and that helped them forge on. Her horse’s head hung low. Her feet were numb to the point of scaring her.

  Beside her, Black was holding up better than the shorter mare she rode, but even that mighty horse was slowing down and breathing hard. To add a rider to the brave horse was cruel, and Deb refused to ask for help.

  Finally home came in sight. Deb might’ve cried with relief, but the tears froze before they could fall so she didn’t count it as crying.

  “Let’s get you inside, Deb.” Trace rode straight for the cabin. He swung down and lifted her off. She didn’t even try to stand.

  “You’re so strong, Trace,” she whispered against his chest.

  “I’ve had some practice with these winters.”

  Deb only distantly noticed Utah riding toward the barn, leading two horses. God bless these men who were caring for her. Then she was inside.

  “Gwen, drag the rocker close to the fire.” Trace’s voice was as weary as she felt. But he was carrying her.

  Gwen had Maddie Sue clinging to her ankles and Ronnie in her arm, propped on one hip. She rushed to Deb. Gwen did any doctoring they needed for the family.

  “I’ve got a huge pot of chicken soup ready. That’ll warm your insides.” Gwen’s voice was so laced with worry, Deb had to wonder how she looked.

  “I’m worried about her feet; they might be frozen,” Trace said. He set Deb in the chair, then grabbed kindling from the woodbox and went to build up the already-roaring fire.

  Gwen knelt at Deb’s feet and began pulling off her black lace-up boots. They were caked with snow, her stockings too. She did it all with Ronnie in her arms and Maddie Sue clinging to her.

  Deb sighed when she felt the flames. Trace finished with the fire and knelt in front of her. Looking up with an uncomfortable expression, he said, “Let me have Ronnie. I’ll go get her a pair of dry stockings.”

  Gwen nodded. Deb felt his awkwardness and appreciated that he didn’t undress her, even though a husband could certainly do such a thing.

  Trace left the room.

  Gwen helped Deb off with her woolen stockings. Snow fell off in chunks as they peeled away.

  With a gasp, Gwen picked up one foot and began rubbing it briskly between her hands. “Your feet are splotched with white, Deb.”

  Trace came back, saw Deb’s condition and, moving fast, gave Ronnie back to Gwen, knelt in front of Deb, unbuttoned his shirt and undershirt and took the foot Gwen was working on, lifted the other, and pressed them both against his bare chest.

  Shuddering, Deb felt the first prickle of pain.

  Gwen brought a blanket.

  “Do they hurt?” Trace asked, wrapping the blanket around her ankles.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.” He massaged the tops of her feet as the bottoms rested against his chest. “They’re not badly frozen.”

  They were starting to burn by the time the men trooped in, each carrying an armload of wood.

  Deb squirmed to be caught so underdressed, but the men ignored her, and Trace held on tight.

  “Riders coming in, Trace,” Utah said. He unloaded his armfuls of firewood into the box.

  Trace’s head came up, alert, braced for trouble. “Not one man alone?”

  Deb pulled her feet free and rushed to the window. Her feet were still icy cold but worked just fine. She peered outside. Two riders, wrapped in coats and scarves, hats pulled low, approached the house in the deep snow.

  “And neither of ’em has a bandage on his hind end?” Utah asked.

  Trace laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. He eased Deb aside. “Can’t really see his hind end with all those wraps.”

  “Neither of them is Raddo,” Deb said. “They aren’t stout enough to be him. And anyway, where would he have gotten a horse so quickly?”

  He could have stolen it. And he could’ve found someone else who rode the outlaw trail.

  “Raddo’s never come at anyone directly. He’s a coward. Neither of these men is him,” Trace said, watching every move they made.

  “No reason to think this is trouble.” He turned back to face the room. “Gwen, take the children to your room. Deb, go to our room and get wrapped up better. Shoes on. Pay attention to your feet if they start hurting overmuch.”

  “If they’re just travelers, invite them to dinner. Poor things.” Gwen swept both children up in her arms like a seasoned child wrangler and ducked into her room, shutting the door firmly.

  Deb was only a step behind, dressing quickly and warmly.

&
nbsp; Trace swung the door open. “Welcome,” he said.

  “Can we see to our horses?”

  Trace’s voice was as cold as the weather. “Let’s see if you’re stayin’ first.”

  Utah and Adam were alert, guns holstered but ready. They’d gone to opposite corners of the room so they had good angles on the men.

  One man stepped inside, eyes alert. He wore a cavalry hat and a long woolen coat that looked to be part of a uniform. Army maybe.

  One look in those sharp eyes and Trace knew this was a tough character. “Where you headed, stranger?”

  The man had a severe expression. “We’re on our way to right here. This is Trace Riley’s ranch, ain’t it?”

  Touching the brim of his hat, Trace said, “That’s me.”

  The man, for all his toughness, heaved a sigh of relief. “We made it. Thank heavens, the snow’s getting powerful deep. This is my sister, Penny Scott, and my name’s Cameron.”

  Trace’s eyes shifted to the other rider and realized it was a woman. Dressed like a man but with female eyes, which was about all he could see of her face.

  “Little Ronnie is named for you,” Deb said quietly as she emerged from her room.

  Trace glanced back. He’d hoped she would stay in the room longer. But if this was Cameron Scott, there was no reason to believe there was danger lurking about.

  “I’m sorry about your brother and his wife,” Deb went on. “But the children are in fine health. I rode out west with your family. The children and I survived the wagon train massacre. I’ll tell you everything that happened over supper.”

  “There’ll be no time for talking. We’ve got to get the children and go before the snow buries all the trails.”

  “Get them and go? You mean right now?” Deb’s eyes widened in horror, though Trace also saw grief. She was as much in love with those children as he was.

  “Yep, we’re going to have to rush. This is my first Nevada winter, though I rode the area with the cavalry some. Go get the youngsters.”

  “You can’t take them,” Deb said.