Accidental Sweetheart
He held out a hand. “Oh, no. No, no, no. This isn’t a jaunty buggy ride in the countryside, Miss Tomlinson. Despite the fact that the roads have become clear in the valley, up by the canyon, the slopes will be treacherous at best. The debris field left from the avalanche will be unstable and full of the rocks and broken tree limbs that were brought down from the higher elevations. If we can get into the canyon at all, we’ll be headed into terrain kept in shade most of the day. That could mean encountering ice and even the threat of another avalanche.”
Lydia’s eyes seemed to snap, even though she maintained her neutral expression.
“Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Gault?”
How was he supposed to answer that question without getting himself into trouble?
“No, ma’am.”
He mentally grimaced when his tone emerged with a hint of a question.
Again, her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t remark on his inflection. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t proposing a buggy ride at all, Mr. Gault. I am fully aware of the hazards and consequences of the weather—which is why I intended to meet you at the livery. I’m certain that Mr. Smalls could be persuaded to loan me a mount. Rest assured, I’m a qualified rider.”
“We don’t have sidesaddles here at Bachelor Bottoms,” Gideon said with what he hoped was a negligent shrug. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on his quick thinking. There was no way that Miss Fancy Pants could get on a horse with all those ruffles and gathers and lace unless she used one.
Unfortunately, the moment she scowled, he realized that he’d managed to irritate her even further.
“I didn’t think that you would, Mr. Gault.”
“And you can’t be going anywhere in...that.” He made a vague gesture to the frilliness of her attire. “You’d freeze to death the minute we hit the shady patches.”
“What time, Mr. Gault?”
Her tone reminded him of Sister Grundy, his childhood Sunday School teacher. Miss Grundy’s voice had held the same thread of steel when Gideon had tried to bring a frog to church under the guise of “educating one of God’s creatures.”
He sighed and glanced at the clock over his desk. In the silence, the tick-tock of the timepiece seemed overly loud—and Miss Tomlinson’s toe tapping impatiently against the floor merely served as an accompaniment.
“How about one o’clock?”
The appointed time was less than an hour away—and by his standards, he doubted that any woman could get herself changed into suitable clothes and return to town. His sisters had never managed such a feat.
“Very well. One o’clock.”
With that, she strode past him in a wave of something that smelled like lemons and gardenias. In doing so, she managed to hook the door and pull it closed behind her with a resounding slam! that rattled the windows.
Gideon couldn’t help chuckling. Lydia Tomlinson might be a pain in the neck most days...
But she was like a firecracker with a faulty fuse. A body never knew what might set her off.
And oh, what fun it was to see what it took to get her to lose control.
* * *
Lydia marched down the boardwalk, a secret smile twitching at the corners of her lips. She really hadn’t meant to slam the door quite so hard...
But she’d needed to signal to her friends that Gideon Gault was no longer being distracted.
Within seconds, Stefania and Marie joined her, and the three of them walked down the boardwalk, heading out of town toward the Dovecote.
“Any progress?” Lydia asked.
“We were able to get five more men.”
Lydia shot a glance at the other girls, catching their barely submerged glee. “Five? How?”
“We threw a blanket over each of them and hauled them into the cook shack. From there, we explained the nature of our protest and how they could help.”
“And they all agreed to join our cause?”
“Klute Ingraham is still thinking about it. But Iona started plying him with pie, so I think his stomach will declare its allegiance soon enough. If that doesn’t work, Iona is prepared to mourn the fact that the stuffed ferrets he provided for decoration in the Dovecote need a new set of clothes for spring.”
Since Klute had a passion for taxidermy and dressing his creations in fanciful clothes, Lydia supposed that would keep him from comprehending the true nature of his situation. In essence, he was a prisoner to the mail-order brides. He and the other men they’d taken hostage would remain in their control until their demand was met: an end to the “no women” clause in the mine’s rule book.
“Well done! Where are you keeping this batch?”
“At the infirmary for now. Since Sumner has been forced to remain home with Jonah during his quarantine, we figured that no one would bother to look there.”
“And who do you have guarding them?”
“Greta and Hannah.”
Lydia laughed. Greta was a plump Bavarian woman who knew very little English. What words she knew, she offered in a big booming voice. Even if she bellowed her orders in German, she more than captured a man’s attention. Hannah was a sturdy farm girl from Ohio. The pair of them should be more than capable of guarding their captives.
“That brings our total to...”
“Thirty-seven!” Stefania offered proudly.
Lydia chuckled. “See what you can do this afternoon to bring that number even higher. I have an appointment to meet Mr. Gault to examine the pass. We should be gone at least an hour, but I’ll do my best to keep him out of the town proper for two.”
Marie and Stefania both offered her mock salutes. Then, they turned to retrace their steps so that they could relay their “orders” to the women who would lie in wait for the next batch of men who foolishly sought a meal, a haircut or a game of checkers in the company store.
Lydia knew that the ladies’ efforts wouldn’t remain undetected for much longer—she hadn’t thought that they would last this long. Indeed, she was surprised that the dip in the mine’s workforce hadn’t already become a problem. But with more and more snow disappearing every day, the brides had been desperate to find a way to get Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms to revise the company’s strict rules for employment.
In order to work at the prestigious and profitable Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine, the men had to sign an oath that they would abstain from drinking, smoking, gambling and cussing. And most egregious of all, in her opinion, women were forbidden on company property. That meant that married men were forced to live apart from their wives and families. And if a man happened to fall in love once he came to the territories, he was in big trouble.
Unfortunately, the owners of the mine hadn’t counted on a trainload of mail-order brides being stranded in their community. Despite the Pinkertons, who had been ordered to guard them night and day, many of the men had begun to form attachments with the ladies. Two of their own—Sumner Ramsey and Willow Wanlass—had even managed to marry a couple of the men. But those relationships—as well as so many others that had begun in secret—were already in jeopardy. If something wasn’t done—soon—these men would be faced with the loss of employment or separation from their families.
Such a situation was untenable, even to someone like Lydia, who had sworn off matrimony or any other forms of romantic entanglements. Therefore, she’d been assigned the task of keeping Gideon Gault in the dark about their efforts for as long as possible. She was to distract him, waylay him, monopolize his time, no matter what it took to do so.
Casting her eyes skyward, she offered up a quick prayer.
Dear Lord, please bless us in our efforts to keep these families together.
And please, please, don’t let me lose my temper with that insufferable man.
Chapter Two
Well before the appointed time, Lydia stood next to a docile gray mare, the reins held loosely in her hands. She was glad that she’d made the effort to arrive early. As she’d suspected, a quarter hour before they were meant to meet, Gideon Gault burst out of the Pinkerton offices and ran in the direction of the livery.
She wasn’t sure if he was considered off-duty or if he’d merely hoped to arrive at the livery incognito, but he’d changed his clothes, donning a pair of worn boots, brown wool pants, a brown leather vest and a brown shearling coat.
Perhaps the choice of so much brown was an attempt at camouflage, given the mud in Bachelor Bottoms. If that was the case, it didn’t work. In all that well-worn gear, there was no disguising the man’s musculature. Gideon Gault had long legs and broad shoulders—making Lydia wonder what sorts of activities were entailed with becoming a Pinkerton. A man didn’t get that kind of physique by trailing a bunch of women around Aspen Valley in order to keep the miners at bay.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gault.”
He’d been so mindful about missing the puddles in his dash across the street that her greeting brought him up short and he skidded to a halt, nearly plowing into her headfirst.
Automatically, he reached to lift his hat, but the action merely emphasized the montage of emotions that raced across his features: surprise, dismay, then utter resignation.
“Miss Tomlinson.”
“I see you were hoping that I would forget our errand.”
“No, ma’am, I—”
Even he must have realized the halfhearted objection because his lips twitched at the corners. “I had expected you to take a little longer.”
At least he had the grace to admit that much.
“And why would you think that?”
“Experience.”
“Oh. So, you’re one of the men at Bachelor Bottoms who’s been forced to live apart from a loved one?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I grew up with sisters. Five of them.”
Her brows rose. “It’s a wonder you survived, Mr. Gault.”
He didn’t miss her sarcasm. If anything, it made his smile even wider. “I’ve got battle scars, Miss Tomlinson. But, yes, I survived.”
The livery door opened and Willoughby Smalls walked out, leading a strawberry roan gelding.
“Thanks, Willoughby.”
Smalls grinned, his gaze bouncing from Gideon to Lydia. An accident at the mine had crushed the gentle giant’s throat years ago, robbing him of his ability to speak. But he still managed to communicate his thoughts by waving a finger between the two of them.
“Yes, we’ll be riding out together.”
“Despite the fact that Mr. Gault worked so hard to leave me behind,” Lydia muttered under her breath.
Smalls made a chortling noise, then moved to Lydia’s side. Bending, he offered his laced hands to help boost her into the saddle.
“Thank you, Mr. Smalls. You are too, too kind.”
She shot a glance in Gideon’s direction in time to see his ears redden ever so slightly.
As soon as her boot rested on Smalls’s palms, he hoisted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. She barely had time to throw her leg over the mare before landing unceremoniously in the saddle.
This time, it was her turn to feel a tinge of heat seeping into her cheeks as Gideon’s keen brown eyes raked over her form.
After she agreed to host a series of speaking engagements on women’s suffrage up and down the California coast, Lydia’s aunts had insisted that she be outfitted from head to toe in a proper wardrobe for the occasion. Because of that, Lydia had been burdened with more clothing—and trunks—than decency permitted. But for once, Lydia was grateful that her guardians had seen fit to provide her with a split riding skirt and tailored jacket—as well as a wool greatcoat to wear over the top. Granted, the matching hat was a trifle fussy. But she couldn’t miss the fact that Gideon was looking at her less like an annoyance and more like...
Well, like a woman.
“As you can see, Mr. Gault. I am more than prepared for the rigors of our outing.”
His mouth—which had dropped open ever so slightly when she’d sat astride the horse—snapped shut.
“We’ll see about that,” he said. Then he offered a soft clicking noise to his horse and headed the animal out of town.
“Thank you again, Mr. Smalls,” Lydia offered.
The man beamed up at her and waved.
Although Lydia had always been an avid rider, it took several moments to accustom herself to the mare and the unfamiliar tack. But once she’d loosened her grip on the reins and settled more firmly into the large saddle, she was able to relax and move with the animal.
“Is this something you do every year?” she asked, catching up to Gideon.
He looked at her questioningly. “What?”
“Ride out to examine the pass?”
He nodded. “Usually Jonah and I make the trip once or twice a week until we can see a possible path to the adjoining valley.”
“So, it’s not unusual to be completely cut off? Even with the railroad coming through?”
“The railway company tries to keep the tracks clear as long as they can. But eventually, even they have to call it quits. For the last couple of years, we’ve only been isolated for a few weeks. This year has been...unusual.”
Unusual.
That was one way of describing the situation. Nearly three months had elapsed since the avalanche. And this winter, the miners had been forced to contend with more than fifty stranded passengers who were living in their valley, eating their stores, using their supplies. In many ways, it was a blessing that spring had come early, even though there were those who weren’t looking forward to the consequences.
“Will you be relieved to see the back of us, Mr. Gault?”
When she met his gaze, Gideon looked as if she’d handed him a time bomb set to explode.
Laughing, she said, “I suppose that there’s no diplomatic way of answering that, is there?”
His eyes creased in amusement. “Like I said. I grew up with sisters. I’ve learned to recognize a loaded question.”
“Then let me rephrase. I know that your duties will be simplified. But I wonder if you will miss us in some small way.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Miss Tomlinson. I dare say that this valley will miss all of you when you’ve gone. You’ve brought a measure of joy to what would have been a dreary winter.”
Lydia supposed she shouldn’t put too much import into his words, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth that settled into her heart.
“I’m glad we weren’t a complete chore.”
He shook his head. “Not a complete chore.”
When she would have glared at him, he laughed. “Come now, Miss Tomlinson. You mustn’t take yourself too seriously. After all, our time together is limited.”
Yes. But did it have to be?
“I don’t suppose that your views have changed?”
He arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“When we first arrived, you and Jonah, Mr. Batchwell and Mr. Bottoms...well, you were all so certain that having females in the valley would be the ruin of the mine. Do you still think that way?”
She liked the way that Gideon didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to consider the question for some time before saying, “I would say that we’ve managed to make things work.”
“Are production numbers down?”
“No. From what I’ve seen, they’ve increased.”
“And the safety issues. Has there been a marked increase in injuries?”
She knew by the way he stiffened in the saddle that he had figured out the gist of her argument.
“No. We’ve had some problems—the tunnel collapse in December and the incident with Jenny Reichmann—”
“Which had nothing to do with the rest of us at the Dovecote.”
He inclined his head in agreement.
“Overall, I’d say that the men have been mindful of the risks of their job and have done their best to avoid any dangers they’ve encountered.”
“So, there is no hard evidence that the women have proven to be a distraction.”
“I can assure you that the men are plenty distracted, Miss Tomlinson. But there’s been no sign of it in their work. Yet.”
“On the other hand, there have been definite advantages to having us here, I believe. Take the food, for example...”
Gideon drew his mount to a halt, forcing her to do the same.
“I take it that you’re building up to a grand finale in this debate, Miss Tomlinson. Why don’t you cut to the chase?”
She reached to pat the neck of the mare.
“I meant nothing of the kind. I merely wanted to know—in your expert opinion—if you felt that men and women could coexist here at Bachelor Bottoms.”
He sighed and squinted against the bright sunshine that radiated from the upper slopes of the mountains.
“It doesn’t really matter what I think, Miss Tomlinson. I’m a hired man, like the rest of the miners. If you want to make headway with your argument, you’ll need to take it up with the owners.”
“But I would like your views on the matter, Mr. Gault. If the Misters Batchwell and Bottoms were to come to you and ask the same question, what would you say?”
He met her gaze so completely, so directly, that she nearly looked away.
Nearly.
“Honestly, Miss Tomlinson, I think that Aspen Valley would be better off with the women gone.”
The words clutched at her heart like an unseen fist. She should have expected such sentiments coming from one of the Pinkertons tasked with guarding the mail-order brides, but she’d thought—no, she’d hoped—that Gideon Gault might look past those challenges to the ways the girls had helped the community. Even he must see that a measure of happiness had come to Bachelor Bottoms, and the women were responsible for helping to make that happen.
“Now, how about we go check out that pass so you have an estimate for the rest of your stay?” Gideon said, urging his mount forward.
And for a moment, the chill that seeped into her body had nothing to do with the wind gusting down from the snowy peaks.
* * *
Gideon knew without being told that he’d disappointed Lydia with his answer. Although she tried to keep a blank face, he saw the light fade from her crystal-blue eyes only to be replaced with something that looked very much like...hurt.
As he led his mount up the slope, Gideon pushed that thought away. He was nothing to Lydia Tomlinson—so why would she care one way or the other? For the past few months, he’d been a thorn in her side, just as she’d been one in his.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t seem to shake away the feeling that—in his haste to get things back to normal again—he’d inadvertently denigrated the good the women had done.
His eyes automatically scanned the debris field left by the avalanche even as his mind worried over his conversation with Lydia. Despite what he’d said, he would be the first to admit that the ladies had improved Bachelor Bottoms—and he wasn’t merely referring to the change in their diet. The food they served at the cook shack—two hot meals and cold meats and cheeses for lunch—were above and beyond anything that Stumpy, the old mine chef, had ever prepared. During the past few cold winter months, the men had learned to treasure time spent over savory stews, rich breads and hearty soups. Gideon probably had a better idea than most the way that the women had carefully planned each repast to make the most out of the community’s dwindling supplies. They’d stretched the foodstuffs as far as possible, all without lessening the taste.
There were other ways the ladies had contributed even more. They’d nursed many of the men through illness and injury, brought order and warmth to their surroundings. Even the daily devotionals had grown sweeter from the sounds of their voices and Lydia’s touch on the pump organ. Gideon had no doubts that Aspen Valley would become quite dismal again when they left.
But they would have to leave.
Those were the rules of the mine. No drinking, smoking, cussing or women.
Perhaps Phineas Bottoms could be persuaded to take a second look at the requirements for employment, but Ezra Batchwell would never agree. Not in this lifetime or the next. The man was an ardent, confirmed bachelor—had been for as long as Gideon had known him. Gideon knew all about the rumors that the other miners whispered about the bearlike man who had helped to open up one of the most successful silver mines in the territories. That, as a young man, he’d been the victim of unrequited love—and after being refused, he’d vowed to live a life alone.
Gideon was sure that the story was so much hogwash. Ezra Batchwell was a businessman, through and through. He’d set his course on lifting himself out of the coal mines of Aberdeen and making his fortunes. And he’d done that. But that feat would be the very reason why he wouldn’t change his methods. Why would he tinker with success?
“Are things so very bad?”
Gideon jerked from his thoughts to find that Lydia remained by his side. Even more unsettling, she’d been watching him carefully—probably in an effort to read his thoughts again.
He forced himself to take in the slopes around him, the path of rocks and broken limbs. Up ahead, he could see the hulking shapes of the ruined railway cars poking through the drifts, looking like beached whales marooned from a sea of white. It wouldn’t be long before the carriages would be completely exposed. Once they were, a crew would salvage whatever the railroad might find useful. Then the twisted rails would be dragged out of the way so that the rail beds could be repaired, regraded, and lined with ties. Thankfully, the damage didn’t look nearly as bad as he and Jonah had supposed. Locomotives could probably start heading into the valley by summer.
But the women...
The women would be long gone by then.
He urged his mount the last few bounding strides to the top of the hill so that Gideon could look down, down, into the canyon below. For the first time in months, he could see the glint of the river and the muddy beginnings of a trail. There were still a few spots where negotiating the hairpin turns would be treacherous. But if the weather continued to warm up the way it had...
The brides could be carried out of the valley in a series of wagons by the end of the month.
“Gideon?”
He realized too late that she’d asked a question and still waited for an answer.
“Are things bad?”
He shook his head. “It’s melting a whole lot faster than any of us had anticipated.”
Her cheeks seemed to pale.
“How much longer do we have?”
He took a pair of field glasses from his saddlebags and peered through the lenses.
“If it doesn’t rain again? I’d say a week. Ten days at the most.”
He thought he heard her gasp. But when he lowered the glasses, her face was expressionless.
“That soon?”
Again, he couldn’t tell from her tone if he’d offered Lydia good news or bad.
Stuffing the field glasses back into place, he nodded. “You’d better tell the girls to start packing. As soon as we can get a rider through the pass to alert the railroad, and the trail looks steady enough for a team and wagon, we’ll start the evacuation.”
The word evacuation seemed wrong, somehow. As if the ladies were being taken somewhere better. Safer. But even though he knew they had to go—for the miners’ sakes as well as their own—Gideon couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, the men of Bachelor Bottoms would have done everything in their power to make them feel at home.
* * *
The sky was growing dark before Lydia had a chance to relay the information she’d gathered from her trip up the mountain. By the time she’d helped Mr. Smalls take care of her mare, checked in with the women preparing and serving the evening meal, then played the pump organ for the evening Devotional, her brain was a-swirl with the myriad tasks that still needed to be accomplished. Only then could she and the other mail-order brides announce their demands and begin a proper protest.
Did they have enough time?