“We’d be obliged if we could stay the night too, Goff.”
The man nodded. “I’d take you along as another sentry if I could talk you into it.”
“I’ve gotta be moving. I’m hoping to find these men and have them in jail soon. Maybe before you even get to the trail through the Sierras where they prey on folks.”
Goff nodded and turned, drawing his men into a tight circle.
“It’s a lot bigger group than we had,” Deb said. “Would those men dare to attack this large of a group?”
“It makes me sick to think they’d consider murder on this scale. But once they’ve begun killing, they may be cold-blooded enough to think five is the same as ten is the same as fifty.”
Trace shook his head and guided Deb to the fire the trail boss had pointed to as his own. There was a good-sized pot of stew bubbling on the fire, and they helped themselves.
“They’re a salty bunch.” Trace looked back at the wagon train as they rode away from it. “They’re gonna be ready for trouble.”
“I worried they might not take us seriously.” Deb rode at Trace’s side the next morning. She ached in every muscle right to the bone, but she’d kept quiet about it and mounted up.
She looked back at the wagon train, just starting to roll. A wagon train managed about ten miles a day, while a rider on horseback could push to one hundred. She and Trace wouldn’t make that because they had to stop along the way, but even so, they’d leave those folks far behind.
“I know a few of them didn’t. They just don’t believe a wagon train as big as theirs would be attacked. What more could we have done?”
Trace shook his head. “It helped that you told them what happened to you, Deb. I’m sorry you had to relive it.”
“Do you ever get over it? The sounds of the killing and the ugliness of what you find after?”
“I still carry it around in my head.”
“When you talked about ‘a voice crying in the wilderness,’ you were speaking about yourself, weren’t you?”
Trace jerked one shoulder almost sheepishly. “That verse reminded me of myself, John the Baptist out in the wilderness, except of course he got folks to come out and listen to him, so he couldn’t’ve been all that far out in the wilderness. Not like me. But it fit, me out in the wilderness, and the crying, well, I was powerful unhappy about my situation, so that’s how it struck me.
“But I was also struck by how John wasn’t really alone out there because he had God with him. My pa was a believer, but we never went near a church or talked much about faith or owned a Bible. That Bible I found was an anchor to hold on to. It reminded me God was with me in the wilderness.”
“I keep thinking our lives will quiet down some,” Deb said. “And I’ll be able to read in the evening, aloud to the children and to Gwen maybe. That would be a true pleasure.”
Trace’s lips quirked.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
He smiled wider. “I was thinking maybe you oughta read to all of us. To me and the men, along with Gwen and the little ones.”
“If the men ever quit working until all hours of the night, I’d be glad to. I’d enjoy it very much, except . . .”
She hesitated to say it, but it made sense.
“Except what?” Trace asked.
“It occurred to me that it’d probably be the most sensible thing for me to ride fast to fetch Gwen and the children, and join up with that wagon train back there. We’d get to California before winter after all.”
She was surprised how hard that was to say. She should be relieved to get back on the trail. She would move out and let Trace have his house back. Yes, they’d talked of knowing each other better, but her plans were to stand on her own. And she wanted that. She was strong enough and it burned in her, the desire to prove to the whole world—even a world that would never know—that she had always been the one in charge.
“You can’t go.” Trace reached across from his horse and caught her reins. He pulled both animals to a stop.
That distracted her from her inner talk, goading herself into going with those folks.
“Why not?”
“It’s too late in the season. That trail could snow shut right over your head.” He angled his horse around so that he faced west and she east. He could look right into her eyes this way.
“I’ll tell them on the train to push hard.”
“You might run right back into those outlaws like you did before. You and Gwen and the children could be killed.”
“I’ll be fine. You’re The Guardian, remember?”
“Of course I remember I’m The Guardian.”
“Now that you know the outlaws are active again, you will protect the wagon train, and me in it.”
“I’m going to stop them if I can, but what if I fail?” He reached now for her hand, white-knuckled on the saddle horn.
“You won’t.”
“Well, then what about the children? What about their uncle? You wrote to him.”
“I’ll write him again and tell him where to come.”
“What about . . . ?” Trace dropped her hand and dragged his hat off his head. He hung on to the brim as if the poor hat were making an escape. “What about me? I thought we were going to spend the winter . . .” He jerked one shoulder. “What about me?”
The hurt in his voice was her undoing, especially since, darn it, she didn’t want to leave him, either. “What about my newspaper?”
Trace looked up, and his eyes were warm and kind. How could he consider himself cold-blooded when he was so decent?
“I’m wondering if you even really want to run a newspaper.”
She scowled at him. “Of course
