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.
She lifted her skirts, ran, and plowed right into him. They went tumbling.
He must not’ve run after all.
Landing hard on top of him, she rolled on over and slid along the snowy ground on her back, then her belly, finally slamming against a snowdrift, which was frozen hard.
Trace crawled to her side on his hands and knees. “Are you all right, Deb? Speak to me.”
He shook her by the shoulders. That made her aware a bit. She lay still, her eyes closed, stunned. “I’m fine.” Not strictly the truth. “Just . . . the w-wind knocked out . . . of me. Give me a moment to catch my breath.”
He didn’t give her a moment. “I walked out, Deb, because I didn’t want to hear what you must be thinking, not after I confessed my evil. But I was a coward to walk out. I’ll give you your say. Then I’ll leave and stay far away. The men can eat your food and bring you supplies and firewood. I’ll stay away from you. I deserve to be cast out.”
She heard such despair and such loneliness. Gathering her wits, she rested a hand on his forearm. “Trace, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I have to. I’m not fit company for you, Gwen, and the children. There were no more trains the fall my pa was killed, but the next spring I finally found my way back to that trail and came upon another burned-out wagon train. Those men had struck again. Instead of following the trail to a town, I picked a lookout and waited. When the next train came, I was ready. I slipped through the woods, finding men waiting to dry-gulch the travelers. I killed any man I could find. Where your train spent the night, and mine, that’s the only stopping place for miles. Those men had plans to kill the pioneers in their sleep.”
“You said you killed every one of them you could draw a bead on. But what you really did was guard the passage along that trail. You watched for the outlaws, and when you found them waiting to attack another train, you stopped them.”
“I was full of anger and vengeance. ‘Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.’ Well, I hadn’t given any thought to that verse, though I read the Bible through the first winter. And I might not have stopped even if I had understood it. I wanted the men who killed my pa to suffer, to die for their crimes. I’m a top marksman, Deb. I aimed to kill.”
“Help me up.”
Trace’s hands were like velvet iron, the strength, the gentleness as he helped her sit upright. Then after a few moments, he lifted her to her feet. He held on until he was sure her knees wouldn’t wobble, then stepped respectfully back.
“Now, Trace Riley—”
“You’ve called me by my first and last name two times. It don’t seem like a good sign.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I can understand the anger you carried around, but I can’t judge as evil a man who protected innocent people from killers.”
Trace shrugged one shoulder. “I reckon I enjoyed it too much.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “And when the attacks broke off, did you go around killing other people and enjoy that?”
Trace’s dark brows slammed down. “Of course not.”
“And why is that? Why do you say, ‘of course not’?”
“I’m not a cold-blooded killer, Deb.”
“I thought you just said you were.”
Trace glared, then finally dropped his eyes to the ground, and kicked at the snow. “Don’t make light of what I did. I found a Bible in one of the burned-out wagon trains—most of the books came from there, or I found them tossed alongside the trail when folks were lightening their loads. Lately I’ve bought a few. But that Bible survived the fire when my pa was killed.”
“That explains its battered cover.”
“Yep, I figured maybe God had spared it just to give me a chance to read His Word. I could only read mighty slow at first, but I kept getting faster. I had four other books, so I spent the first winter reading them all through before spring came. I’ve read it through every winter since, and I’d catch a little more each time until I thought I started understanding all of it, which I see now is so foolish. I finally felt like ‘vengeance is mine’ was written with me in mind, or for men like me, but I was so angry and didn’t let it stop me.”
“And if you had understood those words, Trace? Would you have left the wagon trains unguarded? Is that what you think God would have wanted you
