It would also test this man Trace Riley. Because if the thieves and murderers hadn’t found and stolen the Scotts’ gold, maybe Trace would. Though not a treasure trove, it still had value, and Trace would show himself to be a man of honor . . . or not.
There was only one way to find out. She had to go look at the massacre.
“You can’t go look at the massacre.” Trace watched her hand off the child just as if he hadn’t spoken. He knew the woman wasn’t deaf.
She turned to him and, after meeting his eyes and no doubt seeing exactly what he thought, strode right past him toward the circle of burned-out wagons.
Not only was he not stopping her, he couldn’t even keep up.
“Miss Harkness,” he called to her back as she walked. He hustled to catch up, leading his horse, unsure where to tie the critter in this grassy stretch. He moved along fast. He sure didn’t want her getting there first.
As they left the little ears of the kids behind, he leaned close and whispered, “You don’t want to see what’s in that campsite, miss.”
“I know.” She gave him a frightened look. “Believe me, I know. But I have to.”
Trace didn’t know much about women. Practically nothing as a matter of fact. He’d seen a couple just these last few weeks when he’d been near Sacramento on his first cattle drive, but they bothered and confused him to the point they seemed kinda dangerous, so he’d stayed well back.
No chance of staying back now. He caught her arm, lightly, not yanking her around, but just wishing she’d let him get control of her. “It’s gonna be so ugly. Please don’t walk in there.”
She stopped, and his hopes rose. Looking up at him, she met his eyes. She was about four or five inches shorter than him so that her eyes were level with his mouth. He figured himself for around six feet tall—he’d never measured, didn’t even own a yardstick—which made her a bit over five and a half feet.
He saw dread and determination in equal parts. Her eyes were a shining bright blue that seemed to be lit from within because of their contrast to her dark brown hair, worn in a single braid down her back. But her hair was all a mess, with long strings of it escaping from both the braid and her bonnet and blowing around her face. Her heavy brown wool coat was buttoned up to her chin, and her bonnet matched the coat. Her skin—what little he could see of it—was deeply tanned, as anybody’s would be after long months on the trail.
He’d never been this close to a woman in his life, hardly ever been this close to a person in general, not since the wagon train he’d been on had been attacked all those years back, with him left as the only survivor. Although his hired men rubbed shoulders with him from time to time.
He knew exactly what she was about to see in that camp, and he looked at that pretty face and ached for her because, short of hog-tying her, the unwavering gleam in her eyes said she was going to stay with him.
“Have you seen a-a dead—?” His throat went bone-dry and he swallowed hard. It was such a terrible thing to be talking about, but seeing it was so much worse than talking of it. He felt a desperate need to stop her. “Have you seen a dead body, miss?”
“My ma and pa are both dead. I saw them.”
“Have you seen one that’s been burned?”
She flinched, and he felt like a brute. But he went on, trying to sound kind even though he hadn’t had much practice at it. A man talked, that was all. He didn’t concern himself so much with how he sounded to anyone. So he tried hard to wrangle a kindhearted tone to his voice yet wasn’t sure he managed at all.
“I would spare you having that vision. Once it’s in your head, it’s never forgotten.”
That got her attention, which had been on him anyway. But by the way her gaze had sharpened, he knew it was more so now.
“You’ve seen such a thing?”
“Yes.” His stomach twisted with the ugly memories that haunted him still, ten years after he’d seen the burned remains of his pa. He’d had to look in order to identify Pa, and it had haunted his nights for years. “I still have nightmares sometimes, and you will, too. Why do that to yourself?”
He realized he still held her arm and let go. “It’s nothing a body can forget. Ever.”
Her expression of dread deepened, and her eyes looked—were those tears?
Before he could bring himself to ask, she turned to face the wreckage and swiped the back of her wrist across both eyes. “I have no choice. There are things I have to search for. I’m hoping there is some canned milk for Ronnie. The Scotts had other things, including letters, that I hope survived and will tell the address of Maddie Sue’s father. He’ll need to be contacted. If the fire didn’t destroy everything, maybe we can even find diapers.”
Trace didn’t want to add thinking of diapers to this. “I reckon that sort of thing is all burned away. But I give you my word I’ll go through everything, and I’ll bring any canned goods that aren’t ruined, anything that didn’t burn. I’ll make a pile out here for you to choose from.”
He couldn’t bury the bodies, though, and that made him sick with regret. It would take hours, maybe days, to dig a grave for all those people. He had no shovel and doubted there was one with a handle that had survived the fire. The ground was most likely frozen.
And he had these four
