CHAPTER
9

A knock on the door made Gwen jump. Then she looked over at Deb and shrugged sheepishly at her own taut nerves.

Deb shook her head, rushed to the door, and swung it open to the chilly October morning.

Trace stood there, tall and strong and heroic. It did something to her heart. She wanted to thank him again, for the one hundredth time.

“Come in.”

Trace looked over his shoulder.

Deb looked past him and saw the other men who’d been here last night.

“All of you, please, come in.”

Trace looked at Gwen, who had Ronnie on one of the beds, changing his wet britches. Maddie Sue lay across Ronnie’s wriggling body to hold him down. Gwen had made it seem like a game, but that was the way they tended the little cyclone most of the time. The boy didn’t seem to mind and was kicking for all he was worth while Gwen tried to wrestle him into a diaper without sticking him with a pin.

Maddie Sue looked over her shoulder at Trace. “Where’s Wolf?”

The dog barked and dashed past Trace’s legs to rush to the bedside.

“Wolf never comes inside.” Trace sounded baffled. “Not even on bitter cold nights. Not since he was a pup. I used to drag him in when it was so cold that the inside of the cabin was almost too harsh to stand. He ran back outside. Once, I managed to keep him in for almost an hour, though he howled at the door the whole time. When I finally opened the door, he threw himself into a snowdrift as if he was burning up.”

With a shrug, Trace added, “I’ve decided his fur is made to withstand winter. But it looks like he can’t withstand not being with Maddie Sue.”

Deb thought Trace looked a little . . . betrayed. Like a kid who found out his best friend was playing with someone else.

Then she remembered her manners. “Thank you all for giving up your beds last night.” She looked back at Trace. “Would you like me to get a meal on for all of you?”

Trace froze for a minute, as if her words had overwhelmed him, then perked up at the offer. And what man didn’t perk up for food? “None of us is a hand at cooking, Deb. We get by eatin’ mighty plain. You cooking would be a fine thing.”

The men all crowded in and pushed Trace over the doorstep. “I’d be pleased to get a meal on if you’ll tell me what food supplies you have and where I can get wood to build up the fire.”

There had been a small stack of wood by the fireplace, but she’d used it up trying to keep the little cabin warm. It was impossible with the wind whistling straight through the many cracks in the walls.

One of the men stepped back so fast he bumped into someone else, then almost shouted, “I’ll get wood.” He then vanished around the side of the cabin.

Well, she couldn’t really say he vanished because she saw him through the wall. The logs were so uneven, and so poorly chinked, she could see right through.

“We have chickens, ma’am. I’ll fetch eggs,” a gray-haired man offered with a grin. “The cow needs milking before we can eat.” The man was far enough inside he caught sight of a bucket sitting by the wall near the front door. He grabbed it and rushed off.

Gwen finished. Maddie Sue hopped off Ronnie and dove at the dog.

Ronnie burst into loud wailing tears and cried, “Want my mama!”

Cooing and whispering, Gwen picked up Ronnie, who kicked and thrashed in her arms. Gwen held him close, trying to comfort him.

“Mama, Mama.”

Maddie Sue had heard the little one cry plenty of times, it seemed, because she ignored him and tugged on the dog’s ears.

Ronnie’s crying got even louder. “Mama!”

“Poor little guy.” Trace brushed past Deb.

She’d expected him to run off with the other men. But now that the diapering was finished, he might stay. She swung the door shut.

“Mama!”

Trace reached for the toddler and pulled him into his arms.

“Papa?” Ronnie broke off the crying.

“Hush, little one, don’t cry. I lost my papa and mama, too.” Trace held him and, for no reason Deb could understand, the struggling and kicking stopped. The boy wrapped his chubby arms around Trace’s neck and cried softly now. Trace held him and patted him, murmuring things she couldn’t quite make out. Deb did hear Trace say, “The voice of one crying in the wilderness.”

He’d said that yesterday, and she’d been amused by it because it really fit Ronnie, and yet it missed the meaning of the Bible verse completely. As she was sure Trace knew.

Anything else Trace said was too softly spoken and meant only for Ronnie’s ears. The two swayed slowly, gently side to side.

Maddie Sue happily tormented the poor, patient wolf-dog. While the dog seemed to be content, Deb intervened to protect the poor critter and sat on the floor with Maddie Sue on her lap.

“Gentle touches, Maddie Sue. Be gentle with the nice dog.” She tried to teach the girl.

The crying eased until finally Ronnie lifted his face from Trace’s chest and looked down at the floor. Ronnie pointed down and said, “Dog.”

The storm had passed.

Trace lowered him to where Maddie Sue sat on the floor. Ronnie dropped down beside her, and Maddie Sue made a very precious effort to teach Ronnie how to be gentle with a wolf.

Gwen moved to block the fireplace. The boy tended to toddle straight toward whatever was most dangerous.

“I’ll go get some bacon and flour,” Trace said. “There are plenty of supplies in the root cellar. If one of you comes along, I can show you the place so you can help yourselves. I really appreciate that you’re cooking for us.”

Deb took a second to try to remember her pa ever once thanking her for anything.

“Deb, you go. I’ll watch the youngsters.”

Deb wondered at Trace’s courage when the others had run. She didn’t really blame them—they weren’t used to children, but neither was Trace as far as she knew.

As they walked outside, the sun was just barely easing the sky from black to gray. Deb looked around. Neither of the hired hands was in sight, although she did hear wood being chopped. She was tempted to shout that Ronnie was all done being diapered. But she figured the men would risk returning eventually. In the meantime, she followed Trace to a door covering a hole in the ground.

Trace held open the door and let Deb walk down the stone steps to his cellar. At the bottom he lit a lantern that he kept down here.

“There’s milk and eggs. The men could’ve waited until after breakfast to do chores.” She gave Trace a grin.

“That diaperin’ is enough to run off a man.” Trace smiled back. “What all do you need? I’ve got flour and a side of bacon. Sourdough starter that Adam knew how to make.”

He started picking up whatever he thought they’d need. “Utah and Adam haven’t been around little ones much. Sorry they ran off. But I don’t blame them one speck.”

“Let me help.” Deb reached out, and Trace handed her some of the supplies he carried. “I don’t blame them, either. But you’re made of sterner stuff, aren’t you?”

“Yesterday helped break me in.” Trace shrugged, not mentioning how it affected him to hear that little boy cry for his mama. No sense going over all of his own history, being stranded, losing his pa. That terrible loneliness. It’d all happened a long time ago.

“What makes you say ‘A voice of one crying in the wilderness’? That’s a Bible verse about John the Baptist.”

“Yep, and little Ronnie’s no preacher, least ways he’s not shown signs of it yet.” Trace finished gathering and walked to the stairs. “Go on up ahead. The steps are steep, and I can stop you if you start tumbling.”

“I appreciate that.” She passed him and headed up, not a bit unsteady.

“My men brought supplies of all kinds back from Sacramento, on a string of packhorses. I made good money on my beeves and had it to spend and paid them their time, so they added a few things they wanted. We’ve plenty to get through winter.”

“Even with four extra mouths to feed?” Deb asked.

He hesitated. Not so sure. “I’ll do some hunting. I’ve got a herd . . . so we’ve got food on the hoof. There are some chickens. I’ll keep us fed.”

Utah was visible by the chopping block, nearly behind the cabin, stacking wood at the speed of molasses in January. The sky was lighter from the approaching dawn.

Trace called to him. “Hurry up, the baby is dressed again.”

Utah shuddered, grabbed the wood, and followed Trace in. He seemed to be using Trace to block his view of the cabin until he was sure it was safe.

“Wolf’s gonna chew one of those kids up,” Utah muttered from behind Trace.

“He seems to love them. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw a Ts’emekwe when I lived with the Cayuse Indians, so I’m not saying this is the strangest, but it’s strange all right.”

Trace turned to look at Utah. “A what?”

“It’s kinda a wild man covered with hair. Heard it called Sasquatch. Bigfoot. A wild man. I described it to the tribe, and the Cayuse called it Ts’emekwe. They said they lived in the highest hills and fought shy of people. Pretty sure I saw one. And I once shot a buffalo, cut it open, and slept inside it to survive a blizzard. That was almighty strange.” Utah passed Trace and went to build up the fire.

Trace shook his head to knock loose the image of a wild man covered with hair living inside a buffalo, then set the flour and other supplies on the small table beside the things Deb had carried.

From where he knelt by the fire, Utah said, “I’ll start building a new house today.”

Deb gasped and turned from Utah to Trace. “You don’t have to do that. Not for us. Trace, you and your men have already done so much.”

“We were planning on building in the spring, miss,” Utah said. “But now that you’re here, we decided to get on with it and hope the weather holds until we can get the roof on. When I got back from the drive, I decided to talk Trace into building now anyway. I didn’t want to sleep in here all winter. So I reckon we’ll build two houses if we get the time.”

Deb looked bewildered. “Two houses?”

Trace nodded. “And I need you to write a letter.”

He saw Deb’s eyes light up. “To Maddie Sue’s pa, you mean? You can mail a letter?”

“Yep, Adam’ll make a trip to Dismal, the nearest post office. Three hours on a fast horse, one way. So he wants to get moving.”

“That’s wonderful. Where can I find paper and a pencil?”

Trace stopped in his tracks. “Uh, don’t you have that?”