Deb’s mouth gaped open. Her hands clung to his. Which he appreciated a lot more than . . . say, if she took off running.
Plunging on, almost sick with fear, he said, “Marry me, Deb. Please give me this chance at such great happiness. I promise I’ll devote my life to—”
Deb tore one hand free of his and pressed her gloved fingertips to his mouth.
He stopped talking, and his heart sank. He braced himself to hear no.
“Yes,” she said.
And now his smile broke like the Nevada sun. His heart leapt with the joyful energy of the rivulets cascading down the mountain to Lake Tahoe.
“Trace, I just said, only moments ago, that this was one of the most perfect moments of my life, and now you’ve made it even more wonderful. You told me we’d spend the winter getting to know each other, and I should be thinking of you, deciding if we’d suit. And even this morning, I was thinking I needed to move on, begin the life I have planned. But when you asked me if I really wanted to run a newspaper, well, I’ve already given that a lot of thought. I don’t need a newspaper. And I don’t need the winter. I can think of nothing but you. I would be the luckiest woman in the world to have such a fine man as my husband.”
It was only pure grit that kept him from collapsing with relief. Instead, he dragged her into his arms and kissed her.
The cold was forgotten. The warmth of her embrace and their love for each other burned through him as her arms came around his neck.
The beauty of their kiss and the beauty of the lake wound around him, creating a moment as precious as any he could have imagined. It was a moment to inspire a man for the rest of his life.
“Are you done with your woman, Trace?” Tavibo stepped out from behind the rock that sheltered them.
Deb screamed.
Trace caught her in midair as she jumped back. He pictured her falling off the high ledge all the way down to the lake. A bad end to his proposal.
“It’s all right, Deb. He’s a friend. Tavibo is a Paiute and a good man. I’ve known him for years.”
“Friend?” Deb asked, her voice trembling, but no more screaming. “I’m sorry. I—my—I’m sorry.”
Tavibo nodded as if to accept the apology.
Holding her tight, because he’d have his hands full getting down there and fishing her out before she chilled clear to a chunk of ice, he asked, “Is there trouble? Why are you so far from your winter village?”
“The Paiutes watch the comings and goings of those we know, and many we do not know. We saw you ride away from your land with your woman.”
“I’m not his woman.”
Trace squeezed her tight. “Yes, you are.”
She tilted her head as if she’d never thought of it before, but now that she did, she said, “You’re right. I am your woman.”
Trace liked that.
“I saw you leave home. It is not a time for travel, so I wondered if you sought the men who killed all those from the wagon train. I had news of that and wanted to tell you, but I waited until you were well off the trail so I could be sure to talk to you alone.” His dark eyes shifted to Deb. “I’ve come to tell you I heard talk among those who trade with your people—that the wagon train that burned was found and the crime was blamed on Paiutes.”
Trace clenched his jaw. “I talked to a lawman in Carson City, and he said it was the first he’d heard of the massacre. Who found the train? Who passed on the gossip?”
“Maybe the men who did it started the talk?” Tavibo’s black eyes narrowed. “Better to blame others right from the beginning.”
“There’s another train going through that pass. We caught up with them last night and warned them. I’m going to watch over the path it takes. I’ve got several days because the wagons move so slowly.”
“The Guardian rides again, huh?”
“Can your people help me?” Trace asked. “These folks aren’t taking the trail that’s had trouble before. But I got close enough to hear the outlaws plan an attack. Because it’s new to me, I don’t know the good lookouts. I don’t know the most likely place for these men to lie in wait. They’ve had weeks to scout and find the best spots. If we had many eyes on that trail, the outlaws wouldn’t have a chance.”
His expression grim, Tavibo shook his head. “I am sorry, my good friend. Our Paiute village is headed south even now. They want to put many miles between them and the next attack. And they are making sure others see them on their migration so there will be evidence to protect them—that is, if the whites accept their own eyes as proof against a Native man.”
“Not even you can stay?”
“No, I let them go ahead so I could warn you of the talk, but I will ride hard now to catch up with them. I am sorry, but that is all I can do, and I think you know it’s necessary.”
“It is, and I do understand why. Thank you for passing this on.”
“I must ride now. It is our only hope to protect our people.” Tavibo looked at Deb and bowed. “Trace is a fine man. He will do well by you.”
As silently as he came, Tavibo walked back into the woods. Even watching him go, Trace lost sight of him within seconds.
Trace turned to Deb. “I hope you’ll get a chance to know him better. You’ll like him. He taught me a lot of what I know about life in the West—though I’d already learned some on my own.”
“If he’s your friend, Trace, then he’s mine
