CHAPTER
24

Trace held Deb’s hand as they led the horses to the livery stable where they stripped off leather and some supplies. They left the horses and saddles behind, taking with them their bedrolls and saddlebags. Then they started walking toward the boardinghouse.

He stayed so close to Deb, it wasn’t proper . . . not that he was sure. He had no notion of what was proper or not now that they were married. But he suspected even married folks ought to put a bit more space between themselves when out in public.

It didn’t make him let her go. And she didn’t push him away as they walked through the softly falling snow. They went inside and were warm for the first time in so long, Trace shivered. Deb looked up at him and smiled and shivered, too.

Trace led her to the innkeeper. “We just got hitched, sir. I paid for two rooms, but I . . . uh, that is, we need only one now.” He shivered again, and cold weather had nothing to do with it this time.

Mr. Bolling gave them a generous smile. “Not to worry. If I’d turned renters away I might feel different—but probably not. I’m happy to refund your money.” He plucked a key off a row of nails behind him. “It’s just a few minutes until Ma rings the supper bell. I’ll show you to your room, then get the baggage you left and bring them to you. You’ve got a few minutes to take off your coats and wash up.” He pointed to the hallway that ran alongside the stairway. “Dining room is down thataway. We’ve got a good crowd tonight, so Ma made plenty.”

Keeping up a running chatter about where things were and such, he led them up the stairs and down a short hallway to a corner room. He unlocked the door and then handed them the key, saying he’d be back shortly.

Trace peeked into the room as the man walked away, then closed the door behind them. “It’s a nice-sized room,” he said to his new bride. “That fella’s being mighty kind to us.”

Trace shed his gloves, coat, and hat and hung them on a row of pegs near the door. Deb did the same. There was a basin and a pitcher of water in the room, and they took the time to wash away a long day’s travel.

The innkeeper returned with their few bags just as they’d finished cleaning up. “It’s a night for love. Come on down and eat, and if you don’t stay long, Ma and I’ll not be surprised.” He walked out chuckling.

Trace closed the door and turned to pull Deb into his arms. “I just want a few minutes to let it sink in that you’re really my wife.” He sighed, leaned down, and rested his forehead against hers.

He heard the faintest breath of a laugh from her. “It is surprising, isn’t it?” Deb wrapped her arms around his waist. They stood there together, quietly, at peace with the world.

Then Trace lifted his head just far enough to see her eyes. He moved forward and kissed her. His arms tightened while hers rose to encircle his neck.

He pulled her closer. Tilted his head and deepened the kiss. One of her hands slid from around his neck and rested, palm open, on his cheek. Her thumb brushed his lips.

The dinner bell rang.

Groaning quietly, Trace broke off the kiss. “All day long I haven’t given you a minute to do more than chew jerky. I don’t want to share a moment’s time with anyone else, but I suppose we’d better go eat.”

Grinning, Deb nodded. “I’d forgotten about food, but you’re right.”

The bell rang again, almost as if with the one ringing it knew they’d need a good nudge.

Pulling away and taking her hand, Trace led Deb out and down the stairs. Though the food smelled delicious, nothing called to him like holding his new wife.

Trace had a sudden thought about the night to come that had never entered his head when she’d been in the room with him. He missed a stair and had to grab the hand railing to keep from tumbling all the way down to the first floor. It was a relief he hadn’t managed to drag her down the stairs with him, head over heels.

Deb caught hold of him. “Are you all right? What made you trip like that?”

He wasn’t all right, yet he didn’t know how to bring it up—what it was he’d been thinking about when he stumbled just now. But then they were downstairs and in the dining room, other folks around them. Some had already gone in to take their seats at the table.

“I’ll tell you later,” Trace said.

He probably had to confess, but how could he? He had no idea what exactly went on between a husband and wife on their wedding night. Maybe no one knew such things and had to discover them on their own. And Trace feared his being alone so much had stunted a big part of his education.

Of course, he lived on a cattle ranch so he had some idea. But without the hooves and such, he was afraid it was different for men and women.

He didn’t see how she’d know, either.

If they’d just stayed in the room, gone on the way they’d been going, he’d’ve never thought of it and they’d’ve been all right . . . at least he hoped so.

Now, instead of being eager for the night to go on, he was terrified. He decided to eat real slow.

Deb picked at her food. She wanted to ask for seconds, just to slow things down, but her stomach was in knots and her throat bone-dry. She could barely swallow the food she had.

Her ma had died before there’d been time for a talk about . . . married things. And anyway, Ma hadn’t cared much for Pa and probably quietly prayed neither of her girls would ever get saddled with a husband.

That was just a suspicion Deb had. No such words had been spoken.

She practiced ways of telling her husband she’d like more time.

We really don’t know each other well, Trace.

I’d like more privacy before married . . . events pass between us. Privacy like they’d get while sharing Trace’s cabin with Gwen and two small children?

Could we just check to see if the innkeeper still has two rooms available?

Despite her best efforts to separate her meal of chicken and dumplings into bites of one drop per spoonful, Deb’s plate was eventually empty. She’d even lingered over a piece of pie. All the other guests had left the dining room, and the innkeeper’s wife had glanced in on them rather nervously twice now, no doubt hoping to clear their table.

Trace scraped his chair back so suddenly, Deb jumped. She stared at him as he nearly knocked it over and almost fell.

He stood and gave her an overly bright smile. “I’m finished.”

The way he said it sounded a little like the crack of doom. He had to mean with his meal, but something about his extremely, almost madly happy expression made her wonder if the words meant something else.

Like perhaps he was finished delaying the inevitable.

She cleared her throat and wiped her mouth. “Yes,” she said and stood.

Trace offered her his hand.

Grimly determined to do her wifely duty, she let him lead her out of the dining room. She didn’t know why he was in such an all-fired hurry.

Deb slowly roused from what seemed like the deepest, most restful sleep of her life. Before she opened her eyes, she was aware that something seemed wrong. When she opened her eyes she knew it was the room.

Had Trace and his men built yet another house?

Then she realized she wasn’t in bed alone.

She looked down and saw a strong arm draped over her belly and felt the solid form of someone lying beside her.

And it all came back in a rush.

Married.

She had gotten married yesterday to Trace. She was now, good heavens, Deb Riley. She’d changed her name.

Snuggled close against Trace, she knew she’d changed a lot of things.

“You awake, wife?” Trace asked, his voice raspy from sleep and warm with affection. She couldn’t believe she could feel so close to another human being.

“I am, husband.” She heard a quiet chuckle.

“We’ve got a lot of stops to make today, people to talk to, many miles to travel, and a mighty big announcement to make to your sister.”

“You’re right.” They rose to get on with the day.

Deb went to the window to see if the deep snow had finally come.

“Trace”—all her cheerful calm vanished—“get over here.” Instantly at her side, Deb said to him, “Look at that pair of oxen.”

The big Holsteins disappeared down a trail into the forest.

Trace was gone, dragging on his clothes. Deb did the same, then pulled on her boots and laced them up quick as chain lightning. She left the room only a few steps behind him.

He didn’t tell her to stay behind and it was just as well, because she wasn’t letting him go after those oxen alone.

Sprinting out the front door of the hotel, she charged after Trace, dashing as only he could toward the livery. A man stepped out of the stable as Trace ran in, and they crashed into each other hard enough they both ended up on the ground. By the time Deb got there, Trace was on his feet again, the other man standing before him, gun drawn.

Had he run into a man quick to draw and shoot? Deb got to Trace’s side, but before she could say a word, she saw the silver star on the man’s vest. A lawman. Heaving a sigh of relief, she opened her mouth to talk, but Trace beat her to it.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m running because I just saw a man driving a pair of oxen I know are stolen. Those cattle came from the wagon train my wife rode west on. The men who attacked them left a lot of folks dead. If we can catch him, we—”

“Hold up there.” The snap in the lawman’s voice brought complete silence. He still had his gun out too, though it was pointed at the ground now. “Are you talkin’ about those black-and-white oxen that just left town?”

“You saw them? Good. Do you know—?”

“Quiet!” The lawman had black eyes and looked to be in a mood to match them. “I know the man who just left town. I passed him as I rode in. Name of Paddy Candle. I’ve known him for years. He just bought those oxen. They’re an unusual team, huge critters and a matching pair. I asked him about ’em and have no reason to believe Paddy would lie to me. I’d put his word above a stranger’s any day.”

“Well, we don’t mean to accuse an old friend of yours of nuthin’, Sheriff,” Trace said.

“I’m a US Marshal. Marshal Bates.”

“Trace Riley. And this is my wife, Deb. If he lives around here and has for years, then finding him will be easy. If you trust him, that’s good enough for me. But he had to buy that team somewhere, and like you said, they’re an unusual pair. We need to talk to him. We need to—”

This time Marshal Bates cut Trace off with a single hand gesture and a cold glare.

Trace glanced at Deb, and she could see he wasn’t going to just quit talking.

“I know Candle well. He’s an honest man, but he’s not a man who suffers fools. I agree that team is odd enough we need to find out where he bought ’em. He’ll talk to me alone, but he’s a man who won’t be pushed and is spoiling for a fight. If you show up, all upset, he’ll never tell you nuthin’ and enjoy watching you work yourselves up. You tell me what’s going on. I’ll handle Paddy alone. Then I’ll bring back any information I get from him.”

Trace pulled in a slow deep breath. Deb saw him fight his need to hurry. He said, “We ran out of our boardinghouse without breakfast when we saw that team. Come on back with us and share a meal, and we’ll tell you everything. We’ve got a story of a massacre, robbery, and it looks like there are plans for more of it. We’d appreciate your help, Marshal.”

Bates nodded in terse agreement.

Trace gestured for Deb to go ahead back to the boardinghouse. They weren’t really being slowed down much. They’d left what supplies they had in the room, and they normally would have eaten anyway. Those oxen had just sped their morning up. But now Marshal Bates would handle that, and they’d have a second lawman helping them find the killers.

After they’d told him the whole story, Bates said, “I know at least Dalt, that’s Dalton Callow. Last I heard he was in prison in California. I was working California then, so we knew he was an outlaw. He’s a mean one. I always knew he could’ve been a murderer. Must’ve served his time and got out. I don’t know any of his saddle partners. I’ll start hunting and see if anyone around here’s seen him, and who Callow runs with.”

Trace thanked the marshal for his help, then added, “We heard the name Luth, too. Anyone around here answer to that name?”

“I’ll have to think on that. If the real name’s Luther, is it the man’s first or last name?” He shook his head. “I can’t think of anyone named that right off. But I’ve got your description, and I’ll be digging around.”

“We’ll go back to that wagon train now, warn them. They can get some men together and scout the hills. These outlaws are there, waiting and watching.”

“You know how late it is in the season. And they’re fully warned. Better for them to head on through and keep moving. When they get to that stretch over the Sierra Nevadas, that’s when they need to be scouting the hills. Those three men after them may not even stay nearby. If I were them I’d push on to the trail and find overlooks and well-placed cover and get ready. I will make sure and talk to them and warn them they need to move on through on that trail, not lay up for the night. But you’re not going back. With yourself on edge and all those pioneers out there, there’s bound to be shooting trouble and the wrong folks are gonna get killed.”

Trace’s jaw tightened at the lawman’s words. “Fine, Marshal. Then we’ll go on as we planned, and on our way along the west side of Tahoe I’ll check in at all the settlements. My ranch is on past the end of South Tahoe so it’s right on our way.”

Marshal Bates huffed. “Best you just leave it be, kid.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed, and Deb held her breath. She didn’t know if the marshal was a good lawman or not, and as much as chasing bad men wasn’t her preferred activity, it chafed her to leave this to the gruff, bad-tempered old coot.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some help?” Trace asked. “You’re going after those Holsteins. You’re going out to the wagon train. You’re going to check in at the settlements. And it’s all gonna be in the next few days because this is all going to happen fast.”

“You let me worry about how I do my job.” The marshal looked mad enough to start arresting anyone in his sight.

“All right. We’ll leave it, Marshal, for now. But we’re not going to forget these men. See that you don’t, either.”

The man’s black eyes went cold as death, but he gave a hard, fast nod of his head. “You can be sure I won’t. I’ll go talk to Candle now, and I’ll warn the wagon train. Then I’m going to ride out to that wagon train massacre site, and I’ll spread the word at those settlements.”

“And it wasn’t the Paiutes.” Trace clearly didn’t like leaving the hunt to someone else, not one bit. But Deb could see he was looking at trouble if he got crossways of the marshal. “It’s not their crime, but there are a few things staged to look like it is.”

Nodding, Bates got up and headed out.

Trace said to Deb, “Let’s go home.”

She wished that meant they could be done with all this forever and ride home for the whole winter. But she sincerely doubted it was going to be that easy.