Gwen had turned her worry into a need to bake. There was pie and fresh-baked bread, and she’d cooked a stew heavy with meat and vegetables. Though it was breakfast time, they were all starving and shaking with the cold. The meal nearly fixed them, though a few hours’ sleep would’ve done even more. But there was no time for that now.
Adam returned to building the barn. He declared they could have the roof on before the snow made that impossible.
Trace, Deb, and Utah rode hard for Carson City and turned over the men with plenty of questions to answer from the sheriff. They headed home in a snow so heavy Trace worried if they’d make it.
He might have to carry Deb for the last few miles.
She was afraid Trace might have to carry her the last few miles. The snow was now chest-deep on her horse. It was fluffy and that helped them forge on. Her horse’s head hung low. Her feet were numb to the point of scaring her.
Beside her, Black was holding up better than the shorter mare she rode, but even that mighty horse was slowing down and breathing hard. To add a rider to the brave horse was cruel, and Deb refused to ask for help.
Finally home came in sight. Deb might’ve cried with relief, but the tears froze before they could fall so she didn’t count it as crying.
“Let’s get you inside, Deb.” Trace rode straight for the cabin. He swung down and lifted her off. She didn’t even try to stand.
“You’re so strong, Trace,” she whispered against his chest.
“I’ve had some practice with these winters.”
Deb only distantly noticed Utah riding toward the barn, leading two horses. God bless these men who were caring for her. Then she was inside.
“Gwen, drag the rocker close to the fire.” Trace’s voice was as weary as she felt. But he was carrying her.
Gwen had Maddie Sue clinging to her ankles and Ronnie in her arm, propped on one hip. She rushed to Deb. Gwen did any doctoring they needed for the family.
“I’ve got a huge pot of chicken soup ready. That’ll warm your insides.” Gwen’s voice was so laced with worry, Deb had to wonder how she looked.
“I’m worried about her feet; they might be frozen,” Trace said. He set Deb in the chair, then grabbed kindling from the woodbox and went to build up the already-roaring fire.
Gwen knelt at Deb’s feet and began pulling off her black lace-up boots. They were caked with snow, her stockings too. She did it all with Ronnie in her arms and Maddie Sue clinging to her.
Deb sighed when she felt the flames. Trace finished with the fire and knelt in front of her. Looking up with an uncomfortable expression, he said, “Let me have Ronnie. I’ll go get her a pair of dry stockings.”
Gwen nodded. Deb felt his awkwardness and appreciated that he didn’t undress her, even though a husband could certainly do such a thing.
Trace left the room.
Gwen helped Deb off with her woolen stockings. Snow fell off in chunks as they peeled away.
With a gasp, Gwen picked up one foot and began rubbing it briskly between her hands. “Your feet are splotched with white, Deb.”
Trace came back, saw Deb’s condition and, moving fast, gave Ronnie back to Gwen, knelt in front of Deb, unbuttoned his shirt and undershirt and took the foot Gwen was working on, lifted the other, and pressed them both against his bare chest.
Shuddering, Deb felt the first prickle of pain.
Gwen brought a blanket.
“Do they hurt?” Trace asked, wrapping the blanket around her ankles.
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” He massaged the tops of her feet as the bottoms rested against his chest. “They’re not badly frozen.”
They were starting to burn by the time the men trooped in, each carrying an armload of wood.
Deb squirmed to be caught so underdressed, but the men ignored her, and Trace held on tight.
“Riders coming in, Trace,” Utah said. He unloaded his armfuls of firewood into the box.
Trace’s head came up, alert, braced for trouble. “Not one man alone?”
Deb pulled her feet free and rushed to the window. Her feet were still icy cold but worked just fine. She peered outside. Two riders, wrapped in coats and scarves, hats pulled low, approached the house in the deep snow.
“And neither of ’em has a bandage on his hind end?” Utah asked.
Trace laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. He eased Deb aside. “Can’t really see his hind end with all those wraps.”
“Neither of them is Raddo,” Deb said. “They aren’t stout enough to be him. And anyway, where would he have gotten a horse so quickly?”
He could have stolen it. And he could’ve found someone else who rode the outlaw trail.
“Raddo’s never come at anyone directly. He’s a coward. Neither of these men is him,” Trace said, watching every move they made.
“No reason to think this is trouble.” He turned back to face the room. “Gwen, take the children to your room. Deb, go to our room and get wrapped up better. Shoes on. Pay attention to your feet if they start hurting overmuch.”
“If they’re just travelers, invite them to dinner. Poor things.” Gwen swept both children up in her arms like a seasoned child wrangler and ducked into her room, shutting the door firmly.
Deb was only a step behind, dressing quickly and warmly.
Trace swung the door open. “Welcome,” he said.
“Can we see to our horses?”
Trace’s voice was as cold as the weather. “Let’s see if you’re stayin’ first.”
Utah and Adam were alert, guns holstered but ready. They’d gone to opposite corners of the room so they had good angles on the men.
One man stepped inside, eyes alert. He wore a cavalry hat and a long woolen coat that looked to be part of a uniform. Army maybe.
One look in those sharp eyes and Trace knew
