Trace paused, wondering just what he should say now. Had they discussed it enough? “Uh, Deb, you know . . .” He glanced at the bedroom and lowered his voice. “You know I’m The Guardian, don’t you?” Why whisper? Gwen had probably already heard them.
“Yes, of course.”
“So you know I’ve done this before.” Trace grasped her upper arms.
“That’s not it. But it does comfort me to know you’re skilled at these things. But you need to talk it over with me. And you would if you trusted me.”
“I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever known, Deb. I’m used to going my own way and, well, just thinking everyone else knows what needs to be done so it’s a waste of time talking it over. I’ll learn to discuss plans with you.” Trace leaned down and kissed her. “I’m going to be careful, Deb. I’ve never had such a worthy reason to get home.”
Deb nodded. “Get on your way. I appreciate knowing enough to aim my prayers where they’re needed most.”
He left the cabin and sorted through what’d just happened. All he could figure really was the simple fact that women were strange creatures.
Deb watched until Trace disappeared around a bend in the trail. Men were strange and that was that. She said dryly, “You can come out now, Gwen.”
She knew well and good that her little sister was listening. Or maybe Deb just knew that, in similar circumstances, she sure would be.
The door pushed open immediately, and Gwen carried both children out. “He wasn’t even going to tell you where he was going?”
“Nope. You heard every word he was going to speak.”
“Men are strange.”
“I’ve had the same thought myself.” Deb didn’t think Gwen went far enough. “They’re also knotheads.”
“And he’s The Guardian?” Gwen looked at the door as if she could see through it to judge Trace a bit differently.
Deb got on with her cooking. “Have you heard of The Guardian?”
“A few words here and there from the men. Do you think they all know it’s Trace?”
Deb lifted her shoulders helplessly and shifted her attention to a pile of turnips. “I have no idea, and we can’t ask because then they’d know when Trace might not want them to.”
“So what exactly is The Guardian?” Gwen sounded lost.
“I have so much to tell you. A lot more went on other than just a wedding ceremony. Let’s get on with feeding these hungry men. The ones who do stay around deserve a good meal.” She sounded a little snippy. With her husband off saving lives, the big half-wit, she really should be more gracious about it.
“What made you decide to marry Trace, anyway?”
That redirected her thoughts, and she was glad something did. She paused for a moment to remember his touch and his beautiful words. She also remembered that there’d been no talk of love. Which she’d so hoped for. She was sure he did love her . . . she hoped. But would she ever hear the words? The little scene they’d just gone through proved the man wasn’t overly thoughtful to a woman’s more delicate sensibilities. And when he protected her and fed her and built her a cabin, she didn’t think she had a bit of business fussing about it. Of course, she hadn’t said the words to him, either. She’d wanted him to say them first.
She didn’t tell Gwen everything. It felt too personal and intimate, both the proposal and for certain what came after the wedding, the time they spent together in the night.
But there was something that made for a wonderful story. “Trace took me riding to an overlook of a huge lake. He called it Lake Tahoe.”
“A lake? Up here?”
“Yes, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Honestly more beautiful than anything I’ve ever imagined. And while we stood there, he asked me to marry him. He made simple words sound as majestic and inspiring as that view.”
Deb went on to describe the wonder of Tahoe as best she could. She thought about giving up her dream of running a newspaper. It hadn’t been hard to do. Not when a man she loved offered her a home and marriage. But running a newspaper was different than writing. She could still do that. She knew newspapermen back home and one man from a magazine—and a few librarians who would send her more names. She could write about Lake Tahoe, describe its grandeur—such things were all the rage in magazines. If she sold her article, she might think of more to write. Were there stories to tell about the Comstock Lode? How about the pioneers and wagon trains? She could write about her own journey out here. Maybe she could earn enough to make Trace’s life a bit more comfortable, although truly, with this new house and all the helpful men, Deb’s life had never been more comfortable.
She told Gwen of the beauty she’d seen and the idea she’d had about writing. They spent the morning caring for the rambunctious children and cooking and talking about marriage and the oncoming winter.
After the men had eaten and headed out, Gwen said, “I’m going to put the children down for a nap. They fall asleep faster if I lie down with them, so it could be a while.”
Deb hung up a dishcloth and moved to wipe the table clean. “You go on, and if you fall asleep too, there’ll be no harm in it. We’ve got the roast on for supper and no more chores for hours. I might sit down and try to read one of Trace’s books.”
“You deserve a little time off your feet.” Gwen carried Ronnie and led Maddie Sue by the hand into the bedroom she now shared with them.
Deb went to the box they’d brought
