The Bachelor Meets His Match

No women are allowed at the Batchwell Bottoms mining camp—yet Dr. Sumner Havisham headed West seeking a job there. When an avalanche strands her and several mail-order brides, she’s up against strict rules—and stern mine superintendent Jonah Ramsey. But nothing will stop her—especially from helping Jonah, who needs her healing in more ways than one.

For Jonah, his job is a refuge from his past. He has good reasons to stay far away from the spirited Sumner, especially since he thinks he has nothing to offer. But as tensions rise, her caring and skill ignites a love he’d never thought he’d find. Can they save the dreams they’ve worked so hard for—and claim a life together?

“You can’t blame us if we took matters into our own hands, Mr. Ramsey,” Sumner replied.

“We’re using first names, remember?”

“Mr. Ramsey—”

“Jonah.”

“Jonah, I—” Sumner paused, then found herself unable to continue. As the light of the lantern coated his features, she became aware of deep lines of weariness fanning out from his eyes and bracketing his mouth.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, the silence of the dark Utah night or merely the fact that Jonah appeared as ill at ease in reporting the message as she did receiving it. But suddenly, she didn’t want to argue.

“You look exhausted, Jonah.”

Her comment clearly surprised him. “It’s been a long few days.”

“And I’ve managed to complicate them even further.”

In the lamplight his eyes were darker, warmer. Almost...kind. And even though she tended to bristle in his presence, tonight she couldn’t summon the energy or the animosity. Instead, a strange heat invaded her chest. She became intimately aware of the stillness of the night and the fact that the two of them were alone.

Completely and totally alone.

LISA BINGHAM is the bestselling author of more than thirty historical and contemporary romantic fiction novels. She’s been a teacher for more than thirty years, and has served as a costume designer for theatrical and historical reenactment enthusiasts. Currently she lives in rural northern Utah near her husband’s fourth-generation family farm with her sweetheart and three beautiful children. She loves to hear from her fans at lisabinghamauthor.com or Facebook.com/lisabinghamauthor.

Accidental Courtship

Lisa Bingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

—Philippians 4:12–13

Dedicated to David and Esther, Leonard and Mable and most especially to ElMont and Joyce. Thank you for all the wonderful stories.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Utah Territory

Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine

December 1873

“When’s the new doc getting in?”

Jonah Ramsey looked up from the ore reports he’d been handed and sighed. “He was supposed to arrive on the U an’ P passenger train last week. So...”

He took a gold watch from his vest pocket—a watch that had once belonged to his father. Absentmindedly, he brushed his thumb over the dents and scratches that proclaimed the timepiece had been through a battle or two—quite literally—then depressed the plunger so that the cover opened. It was already past noon.

“You think the doc’ll be on the fool thing today?” Gus Creakle looked up from his scribbling to squint against the brilliant December sun streaming through the office windows. “Because I got me a toe that’s plum mortified, I’m tellin’ you. I done dropped that idiot filin’ cabinet on it, an’ I’m afeard it’s gonna have t’ be cut off if’n it don’t get no doctorin’.”

Although there were daily locomotives that came through Batchwell Bottoms, a passenger train was more of a rarity. Once a week, it brought fresh miners to the valley, or took away those who were injured or who’d had enough. But even those were more infrequent now that winter was settling into the Rockies. It wouldn’t be long before the pass would become completely sealed off, and the miners would have to wait until spring for any contact with the outside world.

He worried what would happen if the doctor didn’t arrive before they reached that point.

Creakle scratched his chin with a stubby finger. “So what do y’ think, boss? Think the man will be on this week’s train?”

As if on cue, a faint whistle broke through the usual din of the mining camp, followed by the distant pant of the locomotive as it struggled to pull its cargo the last few yards of an uphill grade.

“You should have your answer within the next fifteen minutes, Creakle. Think you can hang on until then?”

Creakle considered the idea, his eyelids blinking, the tufts of hair on his balding pate poking out at odd angles until he gave the appearance of a ruminating owl. “Maybe. If’n I ain’t got no other—”

Creakle’s words died the same instant that a muffled boom echoed through the valley. Jonah felt a jolt through the soles of his boots. He threw the files onto the desk, snatched up his hat and coat and ran outside toward the yawning entrance to the mine.

From the corner of his eye, Jonah noticed he wasn’t the only person racing to find the source of the shudder. But even as he did, an uneasiness slid through his veins. Any man worth his salt knew what to expect when there was a “bump” in the mine. But somehow, the vibration that had sent him running hadn’t been quite right.

The other miners had come to the same conclusion. One by one, they stopped in their tracks, their breaths hovering in the frigid winter air.

From his spot a few yards ahead of them, Jonah turned in a slow circle, his eyes narrowed to near slits against the uncomfortable sheen of sunlight bouncing over newly fallen snow. From far away came the eerie whistle of the Union Pacific passenger train. Jonah could see the puffs of steam and soot as the stack of the locomotive emerged from the canyon, a pair of brightly painted passenger cars snaking along behind it.

“What’s going on, boss?” one of the men called out.

Jonah shook his head. “I don’t—”

But his words were drowned out by a loud crack. Then a rumble swelled up through the soles of his feet, vibrating his whole body.

“Would you look at—”

Jonah’s eyes skipped from the mine entrance to the two-story office, the Miners’ Hall, the livery, the company store and beyond to the row houses that were scattered like children’s blocks in front of the steep mountainside, then up, up, past the snowy cornice of Seesaw Point. At that moment, an entire wall of ice separated from the precipice and snow roiled down the slopes like a tidal wave, building up steam as it raced toward the valley.

“Avalanche!” someone shouted just beyond Jonah’s shoulder.

The men dived toward the shelter of the mine, the Miners’ Hall, the main offices.

Jonah instinctively leaped for the cover offered by one of the ore cars. Ignoring the stab of pain in his back, he hunkered low as a cloud of snow and vapor swallowed him whole. Gasping for air, he covered his head and his face while an icy blast of wind swirled around him, kicking up dirt and sleet and pine needles that pelted his cheeks and hands with such force they drew blood.

Then, just as quickly, the noise stopped.

Jonah waited, dragging cold, wet air into his lungs. His senses, keener than they’d been only a few moments earlier, picked out the slightest sounds: a plop of snow, the crack of a branch. A whimper.

For a moment, Jonah found himself lost in a wave of memories.

Thundering cannon.

Distant drums.

And pain, so much pain...

Opening his eyes, he took quick, shallow breaths, forcing the images away and ignoring the searing pain that traced down his spine—an injury forged in battle. Then he grabbed the rim of the ore car and hauled himself to his feet.

Around him, the mining camp looked as if it had come through the back end of a blizzard. The air was heavy with a gray mist, and several inches of ice and snow covered every surface. If it weren’t for the glitter of rocks and the dark green bits of broken evergreens, Jonah could have believed that they’d emerged from a storm.

Whirling, he blinked against the moisture and dust. Mine offices...fine. Mine opening...fine. Miners’ Hall, row houses, blacksmith shop, cook shack...check, check and check. They’d be digging themselves out of a few drifts, but there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage. As long as the timbers had held underground...

From far away, Jonah heard a plaintive, bleating whistle. It wavered, then trailed off completely.

“The train!” Jonah called out, already running toward the livery. “The snow must have pushed it off the tracks! Grab anything you can find—pickaxes, shovels, tools. Creakle!”

The daft man must not have taken cover when the avalanche hit, because he hovered in the office doorway, completely covered in white, bits of ice sparkling from his face and beard. If not for the blinking of his eyes, he could have been a children’s snowman.

“Head into the shaft, and make sure everything’s okay. Let them know that the encampment is fine, but the passenger train may be in trouble.”

Creakle lifted one snow-encased arm to offer a halfhearted salute. “Will do, boss!”

Jonah flung open the doors to the livery, rushing to the far stall where he kept his own dappled gelding. He didn’t bother with a saddle, but slipped the bridle over his mount’s head, then drew him into the center aisle.

As the men streamed in behind him, he gestured to the other stalls. “Harness all those mules. We may need them to pull the carriages out of the drifts. And get a couple of sledges hitched up, as well. God willing, there’ll be plenty of passengers needing a ride back into town.”

Then he was swinging onto the back of his mount and galloping toward the canyon.

* * *

Sumner Havisham blinked against the darkness, willing herself to focus on something—anything—that would reassure her that she was alive.

Dear Heavenly Father...help me...please...

Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and a wave of faintness threatened to swallow her whole, but she forced the dizziness away.

She would not pass out. She would not. She’d learned that lesson long ago, when she’d had a bout of scarlet fever as a girl and had collapsed in the nursery. She could still hear her step-brother’s scornful words.

Only girls get the vapors, Sumner. Only good-for-nothing, silly girls. How will you ever catch a husband if you act like that?

Her hands curled into tight fists, her jaw growing tight.

She hadn’t been a silly girl then, and she didn’t plan on being one now. Nor had she set her sights on marriage. She was a doctor, and she needed to behave like one. Especially when people’s lives might hang in the balance.

Inwardly, she took stock of herself, noting the bumps and bruises, the stinging pains. When she felt sure nothing was broken, she lifted a hand to the sticky wetness trickling down her forehead. Blood seeped from a cut near her hairline, and just below that, she found a lump on her forehead the size of a goose egg.

Go on, cry. Girls always gotta cry cuz they’re weak.

But she wasn’t weak. Never had been. Never would be.

“Ladies? Is everyone okay?”

Silence pressed against her, accompanied by odd creaks and groans. But finally, there was a faint cry.

“Here. I’m here.”

Sumner thought she recognized the voice of Miss Willow Granger, the shy woman who’d sat in the seat behind her. She hadn’t said much on their cross-country journey, but when she had, Sumner had recognized the broad vowels of Manchester’s working class and it had reminded her of home. “Willow?”

“Yes, miss?”

“Are you hurt?”

It was quiet for a moment, then, “No. I don’t think so. But I’m pinned by some fallen trunks.”

Another wave of light-headedness threatened to overtake her, and Sumner squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been so close to her destination! Only that morning, the train had left the fertile farmlands of Utah Territory to thread through the last mountain pass. The grade had become steeper there. They’d followed that course until the canyon had abruptly opened into a narrow valley, and she’d been sure that finally she’d reached Aspen Valley.

And then...

There’d been a roaring noise. A wall of snow slammed into the car, throwing them from their seats. Then they were tumbling...

Sumner opened her eyes again. As she finally began to focus, she could make out the confines of the railway car—unfamiliar now, with blackened windows and seats hanging giddily above her. Around her lay a flotsam of bags, loose articles of clothing, books...

“Do you think you can get yourself free, Willow?”

Sumner heard a rustling noise, then, “No. I’m wedged in tight.”

“Are any of the other women nearby?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s too dark to tell.”

This time, as Sumner gazed around her, she was able to make some sense of what she was seeing. The world wasn’t as dark as she had at first supposed. Instead, packed snow was preventing the light from shining inside.

Sumner tried to find the other women in the dimness, but since the railway carriage had tipped on its side, she couldn’t discern anything in detail. Instead, she saw a hand here, a foot there, a ruffled flounce.

She had to help them get out.

There was no telling how tightly the snow had sealed off the car. The women would need fresh air before Sumner could assess their injuries.

Sumner rolled her head to investigate, and there, just a few yards away, she could see a thin shaft of light piercing through the gloom.

“Willow, I don’t think I can make my way back to you, but if I can get outside...”

When the avalanche had struck, Sumner had seen a quick glimpse of a town in the valley. She’d even smiled when the other women had teased her about disembarking from the train at the famed “Bachelor Bottoms”—the nickname given to the mine for its peculiar regulations: no drinking, cussing, smoking, gambling or women.

How the mining community had decided on hiring a female doctor had been the source of speculation for most of their journey from Denver—especially since the passenger train had been reserved, primarily, for a handful of small families, a few widows and a group of mail-order brides heading for Salt Lake City, San Francisco and Seattle.

“If I can get out, I can get help from the mine.”

“Go, miss. The others are bound to rouse soon enough and I can tell them where you’ve gone.”

Behind her, Sumner heard a muffled moan, and she knew that she didn’t have any time to waste. The other women could be injured—perhaps seriously. But she couldn’t care for them in the dim light of the ruined carriage. And if there was a possibility of the car shifting or another avalanche thundering down upon them...

“Hold on, ladies,” she called out to anyone who might be conscious enough to hear her. “I’ll be back soon with help.”

Fighting the tangle of her skirts and the debris that littered what had once been a wall of windows, she crouched low and crawled toward that beam of light. Thankfully, she’d been seated near the front, so once she’d wriggled over the seats, she was able to brace open the ruined door and dig her way onto the mangled outer landing. Although most of the space had been compacted with snow, there was a small gap. If she could use the decorative railing to hoist herself up, she could probably push her way to the top.

Sumner rued the fact that she’d removed her mittens and heavy coat soon after boarding the train. Her fingers already throbbed with cold, but she refused to be cowed by the discomfort. As a physician, she knew that time was of the essence.

Help me, Dear Lord. Please.

Burrowing like a mole, she finally managed to maneuver her hand up to the gap above her. Biting her lip, she wedged the toe of her boot into the twisted iron railing and clawed at the ice, gradually making the aperture large enough for her head, her shoulders. Then, as she reached up, something snagged her wrist.

A squeak of surprise burst from her lips before she realized that it was another hand that gripped her. A very strong, masculine hand crisscrossed with faint scars.

She thought that a low voice called out, “Over here, boys!”

Relief swept through her. “Help is already here, everyone. Just hold on!” she called out to the gloom behind her.

A deep voice came from above. “Can you grab me with your other hand?”

“I—I think so.”

She wrapped her fingers around the broad, tanned wrist.

“I’m going to try to yank you out. Don’t let go.”

“Yes. O-okay.”

“You ready?”

“Yes, I’m—”

Sumner didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence before she was wrenched from her nest of ice. For a moment, her body seemed weightless, flying through the air, before she felt herself falling, landing over the body of her rescuer.

Sputtering, she struggled to catch her breath. Then her gaze latched on to a masculine face, dark wavy hair, a beard touched with threads of gray and eyes the same mix of brown, green and blue as the river that wound through the canyon gorge.

He regarded her with an equal measure of surprise before it became quite clear to her that he’d just figured out that she was a woman in a camp famed for its lack of females.

Sumner’s cheeks grew heated and she scrambled to stand up. But with the tangle of her skirts and the slipperiness of the ice, she wedged herself more tightly into the stranger’s embrace.

She could feel her cheeks growing hot, but every time she put a hand down to brace herself, she touched his arm, his shoulder, until—finally—two sets of fists grabbed her and pulled her upright.

She wavered for a moment, a swirl of dizziness nearly pitching her onto the ground again. In an effort to appear calm and collected, she planted her heels more firmly in the ice and stood with as much dignity as she could summon.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she murmured.

The miners on either side gaped at Sumner like a pair of landed fish.

At her feet, the stranger winced and pushed himself to a sitting position. He grabbed for a hat that had fallen into the snow, settled it over his brow, then gingerly rose to his feet.

Had she hurt him that badly?

Self-conscious, Sumner reached to smooth her hair—only to discover that the careful swirl of braids and curls had come completely unmoored. Even worse, as she tugged at her bodice, she discovered one sleeve had torn free and she’d lost a pair of buttons in a most inopportune spot. Nevertheless, other than the bump on her head, and some scratches on her hands, she appeared to be unscathed.

At least, that was what she presumed, until she looked up to find that nearly thirty men stood amid the wreckage of the train. Every single one of them was staring at her. Even the mules in the distance seemed to be giving her the eye.

“Hel-lo?” she offered hesitantly.

Except for a half-hearted bray from one of the animals, there was no response. It grew so quiet that she swore she could hear the snow crystalize beneath their feet. Her cheeks grew hotter.

She cleared her throat, gesturing to the wreckage around her. “We’ve had an accident...”

Honestly, Sumner. They already know that.

“An avalanche...”

They know that, too.

“There are more people in the various cars. I’d say about a half-dozen crew members, a couple of families with small children. Some more women. All totaled, I’d say...fifty or sixty of them.”

Obviously, the men hadn’t known that piece of information, because their impromptu game of freeze tag came to a halt and they moved, swarming toward the exposed corners of the passenger cars, shouting out orders.

Sumner hurried to help them, but a hand snagged her elbow, pulling her away from the railway carriage she’d just abandoned.

“I need to show them where to dig!” she retorted, realizing that the gentleman who held her at bay was the same one who had pulled her from the smashed railway car.

“They know what to do.”

“But—”

“You’ll only be in the way.”

Cuz you’re a girl.

The hard set of the stranger’s jaw and the crease between his brow told her plainly enough that, even though the man wouldn’t offer the words aloud, he was thinking them. Once again, she’d been summed up in a single glance and pigeonholed as useless, simply by virtue of her sex. And that brought a starch to her spine that the avalanche had nearly knocked from her system.

She refused to let one more man tell her what to do.

“I assure you, I won’t be in the way. I’m a doctor.” She flung an accusatory finger in the direction of the hole from which she’d been tugged as unceremoniously as a turnip. “There are injured women inside.”

His eyes narrowed. “A doctor?” he murmured in disbelief.

Sumner shook herself free of his grip and pulled herself to full height. Unfortunately, she still barely reached his shoulder, but she wasn’t about to let that fact deter her. “Yes. I’m Sumner Havisham. The mining camp is expecting me. I’ve been hired to serve as their company doctor for the next five years.”

His brows rose, nearly disappearing beneath the brim of his hat.

“You’re... Sumner Havisham.”

“Yes, of course. I have a copy of the signed contract...” She automatically felt for her reticule, then sighed, resisting the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. “It’s with my things.” She waved in the direction of the train.

The stranger sighed and stared at the ground as if pained, the pad of his thumb rubbing at the crease that appeared between his brows. Then he muttered, “Give me strength,” before gesturing to a wooden sledge a few yards away. “Why don’t you wait over there, miss—”

“Dr. Havisham.”

“Dr. Havisham. As the passengers are pulled free, we’ll bring them to you.”

When she would have argued, he held up a broad hand to stop her.

“The way things are, we’ve got to tread lightly over the debris path so we don’t end up crashing through a window, or starting another avalanche. None of this is stable.”

Sumner shivered at the thought, her gaze convulsively leaping up the slopes of the mountain where an enormous gash gouged through wind-carved whiteness. Broken trees and displaced boulders gave evidence to the churning power of the forces which had already given way.

“Please, Mi—Dr. Havisham. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Although her pride still prickled at being excluded, Sumner had to concede that this was hardly the moment to prove her strength of will, especially since Willow and the other women were awaiting rescue.

“If you think that’s best.”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Havisham. I really think it’s best.”

Sumner’s eyes narrowed. The tone of the man’s voice had held an irritating mixture of condescension and vehemence.

“And you are...”

He paused. Sighed. Then momentarily lifted his hat. “Jonah Ramsey. I’m the superintendent of the Batchwell Bottoms mine.”

She’d only been in the valley for a few minutes and she’d already managed to irritate one of the top officials—a fact she could ill afford.

Sumner wasn’t foolish enough to think that the owners of the Batchwell Bottoms mine had willingly chosen a female doctor. Not when the rules of the community were so strict against the gentler sex. She’d been astounded when her letters of introduction had been answered—and even more amazed when further correspondence had led to an offer of employment.

We would be honored to offer you a five-year contract at our establishment...

Sumner had hardly been able to believe she’d been so blessed. She hadn’t just received a job; she’d been offered a contract for five years.

It hadn’t been until after she’d sent her acceptance that she’d begun to feel the first needling doubts.

Why on earth would a mining community so well-known for its stringent rules—no drinking, no cussing, no women—been willing to hire her as their doctor?

She’d tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t an actual miner but a member of the support staff. Next, she’d bolstered her inner argument by reminding herself that her professors and fellow staff at Ludlow’s Hospital for Women must have offered her a glowing recommendation. There was nothing untoward about her job or her appointment as mine doctor, despite her gender.

And then she’d remembered one salient point. Although she’d answered every question put to her by Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms, neither one had ever asked her if she were male or female.

They’d just assumed that Sumner Havisham was a man.

Even now, her body filled with the same frustration that she’d felt that day. But by then, it had been too late to retrieve the letter or clarify the offer—even if she’d wanted to do so. It shouldn’t matter whether she was male or female as long as she could do the job. It shouldn’t matter if her name were Sumner or Sally or Madame X.

Weeks later, when she’d received instructions, a sum of money for supplies and the journey and her travel arrangements, Sumner had decided to give the owners of the Batchwell Bottoms mine the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe they’d be accepting of her and her skills. She would journey to Utah Territory and see what happened. True, the owners might try to force her to leave so that they could find a “more suitable male replacement.” But with the weather closing in and a signed contract in her pocket, she’d hoped she could force her hand—for a few days, a few weeks, a few months. Long enough for her to find another position somewhere in America so she wouldn’t have to return to England.

Where the men were even more unreasonable than those in the wild and woolly American territories.

She blinked, unable to keep herself from studying the man who stood in front of her. If anyone epitomized the rough and rugged men of the West, Jonah Ramsey fit the bill. He wore his hat low over his brow, and his hair exploded from below the brim in an unruly tangle of waves. His beard was full and needed a trim, and his eyes...

Those eyes could melt ice with their intensity.

And they were focused on her.

His gaze was so direct that it caused a prickling to skitter down her spine, but she ignored it. Instead, overlooking the fact that her appearance wasn’t entirely conducive to formal introductions, she held out her hand. Best to show the man at the very beginning that she considered herself his equal.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Superintendent Ramsey.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if she were behaving untowardly. She realized that Bachelor Bottoms had a “no women” policy, which probably meant they had a “no touching” policy.

Did that include shaking her hand?

Or was Mr. Ramsey one of those incredibly stuffy gentlemen who believed that a woman shouldn’t offer introductions herself, but should wait for a male relative to do so?

If Mr. Ramsey was waiting for any kin to offer such niceties, he would wait a very long time.

He reluctantly closed her fingers in his. Her skin was icy and numb from digging through the snow, but it wasn’t so cold that it didn’t immediately absorb the warmth of his clasp. In that brief instant, she became intimately conscious of the calluses at his palms, the strength of his grip and the long, slender fingers that nearly swallowed hers whole.

Then, just as quickly, he released her and began tugging on his gloves.

“If you’ll wait over there,” he prompted.

It wasn’t a complete dismissal, but it felt awfully close. Clearly, Mr. Ramsey wasn’t pleased with her identity or her profession.

Her spine stiffened and her chin tilted infinitesimally. Ignoring the disarray of her clothing and her disheveled hair, she picked up her skirts and marched with as much dignity and decorum as she could muster. She’d been treated worse before and she supposed that she would be again.

But if Mr. Ramsey thought that she would be dissuaded from practicing medicine in Bachelor Bottoms by such aloofness alone...

He had another think coming.

Chapter Two

It was well past midnight when Jonah brought a halt to the rescue operation on the hill. By that time, they were able to confirm that the railroad crew, nine farmers and businessmen, a widow, two families and forty-one mail-order brides had been found—all fifty-nine of them.

No. Make that sixty.

Because there was the doctor.

Sumner Havisham.

A woman.

Thanks to the Good Lord, there had been no fatalities. But some of the injuries had been severe. There were broken bones, gashes and head wounds. Two women and the conductor were currently unconscious, and they were already running low on medical supplies—which didn’t bode well for the rest of the winter. Especially since it didn’t look like anyone would be leaving Bachelor Bottoms anytime soon.

“You’re sure the pass is blocked?” Creakle asked for the hundredth time.

Jonah silenced him with a warning glance. “Let’s not spread that piece of news around, Creakle.”

“But you don’t know for sure, do you? I mean, once it’s light outside, y’ might see another way out,” Creakle said, his tone only minutely softer.

Obviously, Creakle was hoping that Jonah was exaggerating because the man’s expression fell and his eyes took on the woe of a little boy who’d been told Christmas was canceled. Being cut off meant that there would be no fresh supplies. No more shipments of food or goods. Even worse, no deliveries from Creakle’s beloved Montgomery Ward catalog.

“But there could be some other way out?” Creakle asked again, his tone full of both hope and dread.

“Maybe,” Jonah offered. But he doubted they’d find a different means to escape the valley. The debris field from the avalanche had filled the gap with more than fifty feet of snow. The locomotive and the passenger cars were destroyed, and Jonah was sure the rails would be warped or torn free. There would be no trains coming or going from Bachelor Bottoms until the snow melted. Even then, it might take months to repair the line.

“Mebbe we could get a man t’ hike over the top.” The suggestion was given half-heartedly.

Jonah had already entertained the same thought. He’d even sent one of the miners to test the slopes. But the drifts were unsettled and loose, and each step had threatened to cause another avalanche, so Jonah had been forced to call the fellow back. He wouldn’t risk a man’s life in a foolhardy attempt to get the women out of the valley. It could wait a day or two.

He hoped.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to see that while he and some of the other men had spent their time on the mountainside, the situation here in the mining camp was growing more critical than he’d first supposed. Just as he’d feared, the arrival of the women had upset the carefully regulated schedules of shifts and respites. Worse, there was a restlessness permeating the air—as if the wind itself could sense that things had changed at Bachelor Bottoms.

The men were no longer alone.

“How long have they been this way, Creakle?”

“An hour or so. ’Bout the same time Batchwell came stormin’ into the office and told me to send someone t’ tell you t’ come back t’ town fer a meeting.”

Jonah grimaced. A late-night conference with the owners wasn’t completely out of character. But Batchwell’s exact words as quoted by the runner was for Jonah to “bring along that chit,” meaning their new company doctor.

“I guess it was too much to hope that I could break the news about Sumner Havisham’s gender to Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms,” Jonah said ruefully.

Creakle chortled. “Word spread through the camp faster than that snow comin’ off the mountain. Mebbe you didn’t notice, but Batchwell and Bottoms hightailed it to the accident scene so quick I wouldn’a been surprised if the snow hadn’t melted ahead of them like the Red Sea parting for Moses.”

Jonah grimaced. He might not have seen the men coming, but he’d heard Batchwell shouting at the rescue party with such indignation that his bellowing had threatened to bring the rest of the mountainside down around their ears. Jonah’s only consolation had been the fact that Dr. Havisham had left with the first group of passengers to be taken into town. Jonah had told Ike Everett, one of the mule skinners, to take the passengers to the Miners’ Hall where the women could warm themselves and dry their clothes. Therefore, when Batchwell had stomped up the hillside, demanding to see the “lying, thieving, no-good charlatan,” Sumner Havisham wasn’t around.

Jonah might not approve of a woman parading around as a doctor, but he wouldn’t subject any gentle-born female to Batchwell’s anger. He had a short fuse and his temper could burn as hot as dynamite. After nearly twenty minutes of ranting about the avalanche, the mangled train and the stranded passengers, Jonah had thought the man had vented his anger once and for all. But judging from the lamplight blazing from the office windows, both Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms were waiting for round two.

Creakle snorted. “Looks like they’re ready t’ confront the lady doctor, and you get t’ be the witness.”

Right now, all Jonah wanted was a hot meal and a warm bed. He was cold and hungry and had long since lost his patience. He needed a few minutes of peace, quiet and solitude to push back the old demons that rattled inside him whenever his back seized up and burned like the blazes.

Many more days like today, and you’ll be pushin’ up daisies.

No.

Any moments of respite he’d hoped to have seemed far from likely. Even now, as he nudged his gelding onto the main thoroughfare, he sensed the hushed expectancy. The shivering anticipation. The need. Even worse, the air shimmered with a host of unusual noises.

Laughter.

High-pitched chatter.

Singing.

With each step his mount took, it became obvious that—while Jonah had been overseeing the rescue operation—the men who hadn’t been on the slopes or on duty had seen to the needs of the stranded passengers, the bulk of whom were women. Now they didn’t look inclined to leave. By the looks of it, half the men of Bachelor Bottoms stood on the road outside the Miners’ Hall. All of them within full view of the mine offices.

No wonder the owners were riled up again.

“We found a few menfolk—farmers and salesmen—and two small families on the train. They’ve been put up in the empty miners’ houses on the edge of town,” Creakle said. “A few of the miners doubled up so we had enough room for everyone. But the womenfolk...”

They’d been brought to the hall as a temporary situation, but it was apparent that they would have to stay there for a little while longer. There was no other building large enough to house that many females at once. Unfortunately, that meant that the men who were used to gathering there to play darts or checkers had nowhere else to go.

Jonah followed the direction of the men’s gazes toward the two-story building. Even though the evening was black as pitch, it was easy to see that the women had staked their claim on the frame structure. Soft lamplight painted the street with panes of buttery gold. Due to a lack of curtains, the women had seen fit to make do with what window coverings they could find. The openings were hung with lacy petticoats and brightly patterned shawls, scarves and dresses. Overall, the effect was warm and inviting and fanciful—and certainly more welcoming than the chilly miners’ shacks or the inquisition that awaited Jonah in the main office.

Even worse, now that the men had been drawn to the hall by the feminine sounds, they weren’t inclined to leave, even though there was little hope that they would ever be invited inside. Instead, dressed in their coats and hats and scarves, they pounded their boots to keep warm. But they didn’t talk. There was a nervousness, a giddiness and...a reverence to their vigil—as if they feared the women would disappear in a puff of smoke.

“The men have been at it since they ended their shift,” Creakle offered “By then, they weren’t needed on the hill, so’s they came to gawp at the ladies.”

Which meant Batchwell and Bottoms were probably close to a fit of apoplexy.

Jonah opened his mouth to order the men to return to their quarters, but before he could speak, one of the heavy carved doors to the hall flew open, and there, backlit in the lamplight, was Miss...

No.

Dr. Havisham.

Somehow, she’d found the time to clean herself up. Her face was washed, her clothes were changed and a voluminous apron covered her from hem to neck. She stood for a moment, her hands on her hips, frowning at the shapes she could see in the darkness.

“Get away now! Scat!” She shooed at them with the hem of her apron. “These women don’t need you spying on them like foxes eyeing a henhouse. Go home.”

Finally, the miners began slipping away into the shadows. As soon as the last man had turned away, Dr. Havisham sent a stern gaze in Jonah’s direction.

“Mr. Ramsey.”

Jonah brought his mount up short. He hadn’t been aware that Dr. Havisham could see him in the darkness. He’d been hoping to slip away unnoticed. That way, he could send someone to retrieve the woman and deliver her to the mine offices. Apparently, he wouldn’t escape a confrontation so easily.

“Yes, Miss...” She frowned and he quickly corrected himself. “Dr. Havisham.”

Her disapproving glance could have set fire to a bush at twenty paces.

“I might have expected such rude behavior from the workers, but not of their leader.”

For some reason, the woman’s clipped British accent and lilting cadence softened her reprimand. Jonah opened his mouth to explain that he’d just arrived and that he’d had no part in the silent vigil. But one glimpse of the spots of pink on her cheeks warned him that it would do no good. She had her dander up, that was for sure.

So he lifted his hat instead, murmuring, “Ma’am.”

Her lips pursed, causing a shallow dimple to appear in her cheek. A part of him wondered if that tiny crease would deepen if she laughed.

Dr. Havisham huffed. “I hope you’ll make it clear to your miners that we women aren’t to be stared at like monkeys in a menagerie, Mr. Ramsey.”

He tried not to laugh. She looked quite militant with her arms folded, even when she used that imperious tone and highfalutin words like menagerie. He wondered if she was always like this, quick to battle, eager to defend those she felt were in her care. Unfortunately, some of her bravado was negated by her obvious weariness. Dark shadows lingered under her eyes. A garish bruise made her look vulnerable and fragile. Judging by the number of people they’d pulled from the wreckage with injuries—both major and minor—Jonah wasn’t the only one who’d had a trying day.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “The evening Devotional was canceled due to our rescue efforts. There’s a morning Devotional scheduled to take its place when the hoot-owl and the early-bird shifts switch places. I’ll be sure to mention that the Miners’ Hall is off-limits to all the men.”

“Thank you,” she said. Then, since he’d conceded so easily to her argument, some of the starch wilted out of her posture.

Leaving her looking...lost...

Exhausted.

“How are all the passengers?” Jonah asked, somehow loath to see her disappear inside again. Now that her militant stance had eased, he couldn’t help thinking that Sumner Havisham might be considered a handsome woman. She wasn’t pretty exactly. She wasn’t sweet and dreamy with a Cupid-bow’s pout. No, she was sturdy. A little tall for a woman. Unconventional.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn heads. Especially in the territories where a fragile ingenue wouldn’t last a week.

No, this woman could hold her own.

“Now that I’ve had time to examine everyone pulled from the wreckage, I’m relieved to say that most of them are better off than I’d first believed. We’ve got a half dozen broken bones, lots of bruises and cuts, but no life-threatening injuries. Thankfully, the last of my unconscious patients roused a few minutes ago, which is a good sign. For most of the women and the few remaining crew members still housed in the hall, there’s nothing that some sleep and a good, hot meal won’t cure.”

A good, hot meal.

“I told Stumpy at the cook shack to bring you something.”

“Early this afternoon, a pair of men brought coffee and biscuits. Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. But many of the women were too dazed or upset to eat. There was no evening meal provided, probably because your...chef...was overwhelmed with the task of feeding the men who’d helped in our rescue. I’m sure the women can wait until morning. By then, I imagine their appetites will have completely returned.”

Botheration. Why hadn’t Stumpy sent something to the women when he’d fed the men? The last thing Jonah needed on his hands was a passel of hungry, angry women.

But quick upon the heels of that thought came another dilemma that Jonah hadn’t anticipated when the pass had been blocked. Although the mine stockpiled the necessary staples to see them through the winter, their supplies were made with two hundred hungry miners in mind. If they couldn’t get the stranded passengers through the canyon, their foodstuffs would need to be stretched. Jonah would have to send out a hunting party. And if they couldn’t make up what was lacking that way, they would have to cut the men’s daily allotment.

Which meant hungry miners.

Which meant trouble.

“And what about you, Miss Havisham? Did you take the time to eat?”

Her guilt was so obvious that he felt a tug of protectiveness. One that made him ashamed that he could be so easily swayed by a striking woman. No. Not striking. Inviting? How else would you describe a woman with such soft brown hair, brown eyes—even her dress was brown.

So why did the combination make him feel warm inside?

Jonah resolutely pushed that thought aside. He must be even more weary than he thought if he was entertaining such drivel. He’d long ago dedicated his career and his future to the Batchwell Bottoms mine. And he’d had no regret at signing an agreement to forego drinking, cussing or being in the company of women.

Which meant that it was time for him to focus on the job. And that meant summoning Dr. Havisham to the impending meeting with the mine’s owners.

Straightening in his saddle, he tried his best to look authoritative and imposing—even though his back felt as if it were on fire. Pushing aside the pain, Jonah pointed toward the mine offices. “If you’ll join me at that building there, the one at the end of the row, I’ll see to it that Stumpy brings you a plate.”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to—”

He sighed, lifting a hand to stop her.

“You misunderstand, Miss Havisham. I wasn’t offering a social invitation.” He hesitated before saying, “You’ve been summoned to a meeting with the owners of the mine—your so-called employers. I’ve been told to ensure that you get there as soon as possible. They want to have a word with you before you retire.” He waited one second, two, sure that she would object. When she didn’t budge, he prompted, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

When she finally spoke, she all but pushed the words through her clenched jaw. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll fetch a wrap.”

He hadn’t meant to imply that he would squire her to the offices himself.

As soon as the thought appeared, Jonah realized he was being churlish—and shortsighted. If Dr. Sumner Havisham were to march up the boardwalk without an escort...

Resisting a groan, he turned to Creakle, the only man brave enough to disobey Jonah’s orders to hotfoot it back to the row houses.

“Ya want me t’ take yer horse t’ the livery?”

It was the last thing Jonah wanted—because he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand up, let alone walk.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Creakle made a cackling noise. “I got no problem missin’ the fireworks that’re ’bout to go off in the office.”

“What do you mean?” Jonah handed the older man his reins.

“Yer forgettin’. They hired Dr. Havisham on the understanding that she was a he. She’s got a boy’s name, don’t she? So they’re probably thinkin’ she was up to some shenanigans in getting the job. Problem is...she’s got a five-year contract.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think she’s of a mind t’ give up an’ go home just cuz they tell her to.” He nodded in Dr. Havisham’s direction. “An’ she’s not likely to give in anytime soon. Not with a signed agreement. Don’t know whether they’ve thought of that. Seems to me, she prob’ly has the law on her side.”

Jonah winced at the thought. Then, knowing that there was no way around it, he swung his leg over the saddle and lowered himself to the ground. The pain that radiated through his body was enough to make him rethink the “no cussing” portion of his employment contract.

“Don’t s’pose there’s any way you could just go home an’ put yer feet up, is there?” Creakle asked once Jonah had managed to hold himself up under his own steam.

“No,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

Creakle grinned. “Then I’ll be leavin’ ye with my best wishes.” When the door to the hall opened and Dr. Havisham sailed out, Creakle added, “Yer gonna need it.”

* * *

Sumner didn’t need her ears to burn for her to know that Jonah Ramsey and the wizened Mr. Creakle had been talking about her. Their guilty looks were all the confirmation she required as she stepped outside.

“Evenin’ t’ ye, ma’am,” Creakle said—a vein of hidden mirth evident in his tone.

Before she could comment, he reined his mule in the opposite direction to the mine offices, pulling Mr. Ramsey’s horse behind him.

“Mr. Creakle won’t be joining us?” she murmured as the man disappeared.

“No. He’ll be needed at first light for the morning Devotional.”

“As will you,” she pointed out.

The man moved slowly, joining her on the boardwalk. In the lamplight that streamed from the hall windows, Sumner was able to see sharp lines of weariness bracketing his lips.

“True. But I’m used to an all-day shift, now and again.”

She wanted to point out that he’d had an all-day, all-night shift, but she feared that such a remark would allow a...personal note to enter into their conversation, and she supposed that wouldn’t be the wisest course of action.

“Shall we?” Jonah gestured to the office and she fell into step next to him.

She was surprised to find that, despite the rough-and-tumble surroundings, the boardwalk was wide and completely devoid of snow. The buildings—which had obviously been constructed with some haste—had been made to withstand the elements. On each building, a placard proclaimed the building’s purpose: Cook Shack, Barber Shop, Company Store. Bachelor Bottoms had the comforts of a real town, if in miniature.

However, the more she gazed around her, the more Sumner became aware of a lack of a feminine touch. There were no displays at the store, no curtains in the windows, no library, no schoolhouse—not that an all-male encampment would have children to educate. But it left an impression of starkness. Impermanence. As if the town knew that such austerity could not be tolerated for an extended amount of time.

“How long has the mine been here?” she asked.

“Seven years.”

She gaped at Mr. Ramsey. “Really? Everything looks so...new.”

Jonah nodded and she became aware of the way he moved with a gingerness that belied his powerful frame.

“The first five or six years...this was a tent city. Most of the buildings are less than a year old.”

“But how could you live here in the winter without some kind of shelter?” The air around her bit through her clothing and her breath hung in front of her face like a silver cloud. Why would anyone endure such conditions with only a tent for protection?

“I suppose a man can get used to anything if the job is right.”

She couldn’t prevent the way that her mouth gaped—and Mr. Ramsey must have taken exception to her disbelief because he said, “Most of the miners are immigrants from England, Scotland and Wales. There are some from Europe, and a few from the coal mines back east. All of them came here with empty pockets, hollow bellies or dreams for a better future. They can make twice at Batchwell Bottoms than they could at their old jobs. That’s a powerful incentive to any man.”

“And what was your incentive, Mr. Ramsey?”

He looked at her, meeting her gaze with an expression that was as fathomless as the shadows that surrounded them. In the light of the lanterns posted at intervals on the buildings they passed, she thought she saw a flash of pain, a loneliness. But just as quickly, the emotions were gone.

“That’s a conversation for another time.” His curt refusal set her firmly in her place. After all, she was a woman in a man’s world.

The unfairness of it all caused an old, familiar defensiveness to bubble up inside her.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, then snatched it back again when he stared down at it.

“You don’t like me very much, do you, Mr. Ramsey?”

His gaze was impatient. “I haven’t formed an opinion one way or the other, Dr. Havisham. I haven’t had time.”

“But you don’t like the idea of a woman doctor in your town, do you?”

He considered his words before saying, “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Haven’t I demonstrated that I’m more than qualified?” She waved a hand in the direction of the Miners’ Hall. “I’m highly trained and good at what I do. Shouldn’t that be the only factor in my employment?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re a woman.”

“Obviously.”

“And as a woman, you’ll cause trouble.”

“Do you think me so lacking in self-control? Or is it your men who can’t keep themselves in line?”

He huffed, clearly unwilling to enter into her argument, but she refused to let him dodge it—a fact she made clear by refusing to budge until he answered her question.

“I don’t think you or my men are morally weak, Dr. Havisham. I’m merely being realistic. Men will be men, and women will be women.”

“Meaning what? That a woman must be, by definition, weak?”

“No. Meaning that a man and a woman cannot be together without certain...situations coming into play.”

She huffed softly.

“Then there’s the fact that, so far, your only doctoring has been on women. I’ve seen the correspondence you’ve had with the owners. All your experience was completed at a charity hospital in Bristol.”

“A fact that has little relevance.”

“It will have a great deal of relevance when the next injured miner refuses to let you treat him. And if that’s the case, what use are you to any of us?”

The words shivered in the cold, echoing into the darkness.

You’re just a girl.

“We shall see about that, Mr. Ramsey.”

He shook his head, pausing a few feet from the door of the office. “Look, you asked me what I thought, and I told you the truth. I’ve been at this mine from the moment the first stick of dynamite was lit and the first timbers were put into place. I know these men like I know my own family. There’s a reason why no women have been allowed on the premises, and those reasons aren’t going to change just because you managed to get a contract under false pretenses.”

“False pretenses!”

“It’s pretty obvious that you misled the owners, falsifying your credentials—”

“My credentials are in perfect order!”

“Then falsifying your name. Come on, Dr. Havisham. Admit it. Your Christian name couldn’t possibly be ‘Sumner.’”

Indignation bubbled up in her chest so strongly that Sumner couldn’t prevent the words from spilling free. “For your information, at my christening, I was named Sumner Edmund Havisham. S-u-m-n-e-r. My father wanted his first son to be named after his father. So when I arrived, and my mother died soon thereafter, he was too disheartened to bother changing his mind.”

The words reverberated in the darkness, revealing far more than she’d ever intended. But now that they were uttered, she couldn’t withdraw them.

“Dr. Havisham, I presume.”

The stern voice came from a spot behind her, and when she turned, Sumner found the grim countenance of Ezra Batchwell regarding her from the open door of the office. She recognized his balding pate and dark curly hair from an article called “Entrepreneurs of the American West” in the Christian Observer, the same periodical which had drawn her to this remote place.

“I believe this conversation would be more suited to the privacy of our offices rather than the street, don’t you?”

Just when she’d hoped to impress the men of Bachelor Bottoms with her strength and dignity, she’d been caught hollering in the dark like a fishwife.

She thought she saw Jonah Ramsey’s lips twitch in amusement—and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to stamp her foot in frustration. But that would never do. Not if she hoped to repair the damage she’d already done.

“After you, Miss Havisham,” Jonah drawled, sweeping a hand in front of him to indicate that she should enter first.

“Doctor,” she reminded him.

“Dr. Havisham,” he corrected himself.

But he wasn’t able to completely stifle his amusement at her plight.

Chapter Three

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when Jonah stomped the snow off his boots, then let himself into the row house he’d been assigned when the buildings had first been erected.

As superintendent, he’d been given first pick of the living quarters and permission to be the sole occupant. But Jonah had seen no need for privacy or more space than he could handle, so he’d taken one of the smaller houses closest to the mine, then invited Creakle to room with him. The arrangement was practical, since Creakle spent as much time at the office as Jonah did. This way, he and Jonah could carry on their discussions in the off-hours, if they had a mind to do so.

Aware that Creakle would be asleep upstairs, Jonah moved quietly. He poked at the coals in the squat box stove in the corner, noting that Creakle had left a dented pot on the burner. A peek inside and a quick sniff made Jonah smile. Most of the miners had a preference for coffee—the blacker, the better. But Creakle had a fondness for cocoa. Where the man got the precious stuff, Jonah had no idea. Nevertheless, he was grateful that the older man had left him enough for a few cups.

Limping to the table, Jonah lifted a napkin from the tin plate, and found a hunk of bread, a large piece of cheese and slices of cold ham.

The sight of the food caused his stomach to rumble, and Jonah realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Thankfully, Creakle tended to look after him with the devotion of a maiden aunt.

Jonah threw his hat on the table and hung his jacket on the hook by the door. As he made the lamp brighter, he couldn’t remember ever being so tired. His body ached and his hands were raw from digging in the snow—even though Creakle had appeared at the avalanche site to distribute fresh gloves to everyone several times during the day.

Testing the bucket of water left near the stove, Jonah splashed a healthy measure into a basin, plunged his hands in to the wrists, then washed his face. Hissing at the sting of his wind-burned skin, he glanced at the clock on the far wall. Only three hours remained before he was scheduled to return for the morning Devotional where the men would indulge in an hour of worship before descending into the mine. He wasn’t sure if the ache in his back would let him nod off, but he sure meant to try.

His gaze slid to the stairs, knowing that a comfortable feather bed awaited him. But the steps looked like a sheer slope a hundred miles high, so...

He wiped his face off with an old towel, then sat on the edge of an old hickory rocker that had once belonged to his mother. Hissing, he nudged his boots off with his toes. A folded blanket lay on the table nearby. Next to it lay a bottle of liniment and a flannel.

Who needed a wife when Creakle was around?

He moved gingerly, mentally assessing new aches and old wounds. He wiggled his toes, then his feet, then allowed himself to breathe a little easier. Near as he could tell, he had no numbness or tingling other than that caused by the cold.

Safe for another day.

Jonah was about to settle back—even if it meant foregoing the warm cup of cocoa and the plateful of food—when there was a sharp rap at the door.

Now what?

Barring the entire mine collapsing, he wasn’t in the mood for company. But late-night interruptions were part of the job.

Hauling himself to his feet, he padded to the door, whipped it open and offered a curt, “What is it?”

He immediately regretted his harsh tone when he saw Miss Havisham standing on his doorstep, her hand poised to knock again.

“Dr. Havisham,” Jonah drawled. They’d parted company less than an hour earlier, and he would have thought that her pride would still be too dented to warrant a confrontation with Jonah. Yet, here she was, standing on his doorstep at an ungodly hour.

She lowered her hand and shifted uncomfortably.

“Mr. Ramsey. I...uh... I hope you’ll pardon my interrupting your night like this.”

So formal. So... British.

She chafed her hands together, but he was betting it had more to do with nerves than the cold.

When she didn’t speak, he peered behind her and said, “Actually, I think we’ve left night far behind us and we’re well on to morning.”

She grimaced, but didn’t appear inclined to leave. “Be that as it may, what I have to say won’t wait.”

He was beginning to understand why Batchwell and Bottoms had insisted on the “no women” clause. He sighed, holding the door wider. “Then you may as well come in.”

Her lips thinned. Which was a shame.

“I don’t think that would be...appropriate, Mr. Ramsey.”

“Miss—”

She scowled.

“Dr. Havisham,” he corrected himself quickly. “I think we sailed past appropriate hours ago. And I, for one, don’t intend to stand in the cold waiting for a formal invitation. So you can either come in where it’s warm, or you can hold your peace until morning.”

A crease appeared between her brows, but she didn’t move.

“If it will make you feel better, Gus Creakle lives here, as well. He’s as good a chaperone as you’re going to get in these parts, especially in the wee hours. I promise. Neither he, nor I, will bite.”

She finally offered a grudging, “Very well, then.”

He held the door open, allowing her to step inside, then closed it before the winter air could taint the warmth of the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

Her brows lifted.

“Creakle has a fondness for the stuff, and he’s left me half a pot.” He hooked a finger through a pair of tin mugs stacked on the open shelf above the dry sink.

She shook her head, but when he poured a healthy measure into one of the cups, he saw the way she breathed deeply of its heady scent.

“I insist, Dr. Havisham. A nice cup of cocoa will warm you up before you have to brave the cold again.”

Miss Havisham hesitated, but finally took it, wrapping her hands tightly around the mug.

Too late, Jonah realized that Dr. Havisham, for all her bravado, didn’t have a coat—and the dress she wore offered no real protection against the elements.

“Have a seat over there near the stove.”

He gestured to the worn, overstuffed chair that Creakle had ordered all the way from Boston nearly a half dozen years ago. It was old and scarred and had begun to conform to the shape of Creakle’s backside, but, other than Jonah’s rocker, it was the only comfortable chair in the house.

“Oh, I couldn’t. I—”

“Miss... Dr. Havisham,” he said, a trifle impatiently. “I’ve been on my feet all day, and good manners forbid me from sitting until you do.”

She looked instantly ashamed. “Oh, of course.”

Dr. Havisham brushed by him in a wave of something that smelled like...orange blossoms? Then she sank into the chair in a flutter of skirts. Funny how he hadn’t noticed until now that her dress was a good six inches too short. And the bust was a little too large. Had she borrowed it to replace the wet and torn suit she’d worn while tending to the wounded? Although the simple brown garment was serviceable enough, especially with the overwhelming apron, it couldn’t have offered her much warmth.

The thought made Jonah feel unaccountably...guilty.

“Would you like a blanket to put around your shoulders?”

She stiffened—as if the very idea was a mark of weakness, or worse, a sign that she’d strayed into the realms of impropriety.

“No. Thank you.”

He gestured to the food Creakle had left on the table. “Did Stumpy bring you a plate like I requested? Creakle’s left me more than I could eat.”

“I’m fine. But you should have your dinner, Mr. Ramsey. You must be starving.”

Her pronouncement was firm, but he saw the way her eyes skipped from him, to the plate, then back again. Ever so subtly, she moistened her lips.

Which told Jonah that Stumpy, cantankerous man that he was, probably hadn’t roused out of his bed long enough to send her anything.

“Please. I insist you have your dinner, Mr. Ramsey. We can talk while you eat.”

Jonah didn’t bother to ask her again. Instead, he grabbed another plate from the cupboard, then two knives and forks. After dividing the generous portions in half, he handed her the food and a set of utensils.

“Dig in,” he said curtly. “Or we don’t talk.”

She opened her mouth—and he was sure she meant to argue—but she finally offered a soft, “Thank you.”

Taking his own meal, Jonah settled into the rocker, wincing slightly.

“Do you want to say grace, or shall I?” he asked.

“Oh, I...uh—”

Obviously, she thought he was a complete heathen because his suggestion startled her. So Jonah bowed his head, closed his eyes and offered, “For this and all we are about to receive, we are truly grateful. Amen.”

“Amen.”

For the first time that night, Jonah was able to sink back into the rocking chair and allow the tension to flow from his tired muscles. But something about his expression must have alerted the doctor, because she eyed him with concern, and her close scrutiny had the power to set his teeth on edge. He’d seen that look often enough in the last ten years. It smacked of pity—and if there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was pity. But he managed to avoid her gaze by concentrating on tearing his biscuit in half and piling it with ham and cheese.

“Were you injured today?” she asked gently.

The woman was observant. He had to give her that at least.

“No.”

“You seem to be favoring your back. Have you pulled a muscle?”

“No, ma’am. It’s merely an aggravation of an old wound.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Honest, Doc.”

“Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

He shook his head.

“Because I’d be happy to take a look at you if you’d like.”

“No!” The protest burst from his lips with such vehemence that he quickly added, “I’m more than capable of applying liniment all on my own.”

Her eyes grew dark, causing a curious twisting sensation in his chest, but he pushed the reaction aside. He’d been to enough doctors and quacks to last a lifetime—and he certainly wasn’t about to add a female surgeon to the mix.

Even so, it was clear that Dr. Havisham was intent on gnawing the issue like a dog with a bone.

“But even if this complaint is one you’ve experienced before, you may have truly injured yourself today.”

He knew the last thing he needed was this woman pulling up his shirt to poke and prod at the scars on his back. Hadn’t he already seen what the sight did to the gentler sex?

Becca hadn’t been able to stomach the sight, even when the wounds had healed to pinkish scars. Jonah would be hanged before he’d allow another woman to get close enough to see them ever again.

“No. Thank you, Dr. Havisham,” he said with a firmness that bordered on rudeness. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe you should tell me why you’re here.”

She didn’t immediately speak. Instead, she regarded him with narrowed eyes. Brown, brown eyes.

“You are a very stubborn man, Mr. Ramsey. I might be able to help you. My schooling included a course in the latest advances in surgery and—”

He sighed. “I think we already went through your many qualifications during your interview with Batchwell and Bottoms.”

“As you well know, I left that discussion without managing to impress upon either gentleman the full extent of my education.”

He knew she was reliving each harsh word that had been uttered in the mining office. Although Phineas Bottoms had seen fit to listen in placid silence, Ezra Batchwell had not been so reticent. He’d accused Dr. Havisham of fraud, dismissed her competence and had even questioned her sanity. Then he’d vowed to ruin her if she didn’t leave the valley as soon as humanly possible.

Although Jonah would have been the first to admit that the mine was no place for a woman, he thought that Batchwell had been a little harsh. As one of the fairer sex, she should have been offered a gentler dismissal.

“Dr. Havisham, why are you here in Aspen Valley?” he asked, dodging her question with one of his own. “What on earth possessed you to sign up for employment at a silver mine?”

She met his gaze with a directness he wasn’t accustomed to receiving from a woman.

“Why should I confide in you, Mr. Ramsey? I asked you the same question mere hours ago and you refused to answer.”

There was a note of challenge in those melodic tones, and old memories threatened to swamp him. He was transported to another life...the company of another woman. But all that was gone now. In the space of a heartbeat, the thunder of cannon and men’s screams, he’d been stripped of that future—as well as his ability to ever feel so deeply about another woman again.

Jerking his gaze away, Ramsey offered, “Like most of the men here, I came in search of a new start. And you, Dr. Havisham?”

She poked the edge of her biscuit with her fork. “I wanted to go where I could do some good.”

“But why here? You admitted to the owners that most of your actual doctoring was at a women’s hospital.” When she didn’t explain, he added, “To put it bluntly, you’ve spent the last few years of your career as a baby doctor. Why would you come to the only community that would have no need of such services?”

She made a show of cutting a piece of meat, and loading her fork. Then she slipped the food into her mouth and chewed with great thoroughness before saying, “There was nothing in the advertisement that stated women weren’t allowed to apply.”

“I would have thought the ‘no women’ clause that this mine is well known for having would have been a huge clue.”

“The miners are forbidden to have emotional entanglements. There was no mention of the support staff having a similar rule.”

She was purposely taking the conversation in circles, and they’d been through all that with Batchwell and Bottoms, so Jonah decided to cut to the chase. “But why do you want to work here, Dr. Havisham?”

She placed her plate on the table. She hadn’t eaten everything, but she’d come close.

“You spoke of the men coming to Batchwell Bottoms to better themselves, Mr. Ramsey. Am I to be excluded of the opportunity because of my sex?”

“Come now, Miss Havisham. Why would you come to a mining community famous for its exclusion of women?”

She finally met him in the eye. “I’ve spent my life knocking down fences, Mr. Ramsey. Perhaps I saw it as another fence.”

Jonah could tell from the soft flash of her eyes and the thread of steel in her tone that she was telling him the truth—at least a part of it. From what little he knew of her already, he supposed that she’d been rebelling against the narrow confines of her gender since the moment that her father had seen fit to give her a boy’s name. Had the man held it against her that she hadn’t been born male? Or had he blamed her somehow for her mother’s demise?

There was obviously more to her motives than a simple act of rebellion, but the tilt of her chin made it clear that she wouldn’t be telling him anytime soon, because she took a quick sip of her cocoa, then asked, “I came here tonight because I was wondering when you and your men would be returning to the wreckage.”

His brows rose. “That was your emergency?”

“Yes. When will you be going back?”

“Near as I can tell...next spring.”

“But you can’t! You and your men have to go back tomorrow!”

Jonah took a deep swig of the cocoa, nearly burning his tongue. “Why’s that?”

“We...the women...we need our things.”

He offered a bark of laughter. “I’m afraid that some dresses and petticoats aren’t worth the lives of my men.”

“It’s not just dresses and petticoats, Mr. Ramsey. The women were rescued wearing only the most basic of clothing. If we’re to be marooned here for days—possibly weeks—we’ll need those bags.”

“Why? According to Batchwell, none of you will be allowed beyond the hall steps until such time as we can convey all of you to the nearest town.”

Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the lamp. For all intents and purposes, Dr. Havisham had been told that—contract or no contract—at the first possible convenience, she’d be sent packing.

“You and I both know that such an arrangement is unfeasible. At some point, the women will need to take the air.”

“They can take all the air they want. All they have to do is open a window.”

She shook her head. “That will never do. These women aren’t prisoners, Mr. Ramsey.”

“They aren’t exactly invited guests.”

“So they’re to be punished? From what I can see, the other passengers—the crew, the stranded farmers and businessmen, even the families—aren’t being held to the same constraints.”

Hoping to avoid a full-fledged argument, Jonah chose his words with care. “Not punished. Consider it...protected.”

“Protected? From what? Life?”

“This is a mining community, Dr. Havisham. By definition, that means that it is inhabited by a bunch of men.”

“Are your employees convicts? Of ill-repute?”

“No.”

“Then you hold them in so little esteem that you believe they will...what? Explode? If they get too close to an unattached woman?”

“Not at all, Miss Havisham.”

“Doctor.”

“Look... Sumner—may I call you Sumner?”

“No.” Her look was obstinate, but she finally relented. “Oh, very well.”

“All right... Sumner. The men here are tasked with a difficult and dangerous job—”

“The women have no designs on going into the mine, Mr. Ramsey.”

“If I’m to call you Sumner, then you must call me Jonah,” he offered impatiently.

It was clear that she was loath to embrace such informality, but he waited until she finally conceded.

“Very well. Jonah.” She took another sip of her cocoa. “The women will confine their activities to the town proper.”

“No.”

“No?”

“As I was saying, the men of Batchwell Bottoms have been chosen with great care. In order to even apply for a job here, they have to prove that they already have a good deal of mining experience. But that’s not the only measure of whether or not they’ll get a position. These miners have to prove that they are God-fearing men of good character—”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he stopped her with an upraised hand.

“—and then, they have to agree to certain stipulations—”

“I know, I know. No drinking, cussing, smoking, gambling and no womanizing.”

Clearly, she’d read the advertisement for employment carefully, even if she’d omitted mentioning that she was a woman applying for a man’s job.

“If you will remember, the advertisements state ‘no women.’ They do not use the term womanizing.”

“I simply assumed—”

“Then you assumed wrong. These men have given up a lot to be here—including tailoring their behavior to a certain code of conduct. But that’s not the most significant sacrifice they’ve made, Sumner. Most of these miners come from back east, the British Isles, Italy and Greece. In order to pay for their passages to the wilds of Utah, the vast majority of them have signed an agreement to work for five years to pay off the debt. Despite the nickname this place has earned, not all of them came to us as bachelors.”

He pointed to the window where the sky was already beginning to turn to gray. “Out there are fathers, brothers, husbands and sweethearts who have agreed to spend years away from their loved ones in order to make a new future, not just for themselves, but for their families. They’re willing to do the job and live with untold privations so that, one day, they can send for them.”

“I hardly think that our group would—”

“They will be a temptation.”

“One we can rebuff.”

“But worse,” Jonah continued, “they’ll be a reminder, Sumner. And sometimes, simply seeing a reminder of what you’re missing can be the cruelest form of torture.”

To her credit, she finally fell silent. For several minutes, she ruminated on his words.

“Are you missing someone, Jonah?”

The question was so unexpected—and far too personal for their short acquaintance—that for a moment, Jonah was taken aback.

Rebecca.

No.

She wasn’t his to miss. She hadn’t been for a very long time.

Jonah could have commented on Sumner’s lack of tact—not to mention her impudence. But he answered honestly.

“No. I’m here for the long haul.”

The words held grim finality when spoken aloud, but he couldn’t take them back. It was the truth. Rebecca, his former fiancée, had found a new man to share her life with. One who was free from unsightly scars. One whose body wouldn’t betray him one day, as Jonah’s was bound to do.

Sumner sighed and said, “Be that as it may, Mr. Ramsey—”

“Jonah.”

She grimaced. “Jonah. The women will still need their belongings.”

He couldn’t prevent a short bark of laughter. “And what’s so important that I should risk the lives of my men on unstable packs of snow less than a day after we’ve already suffered one avalanche?”

She lowered her mug, and he couldn’t account for the way it pleased him when he found that it was empty.

“You’ve spoken of the sacrifices of your miners. But what you haven’t yet acknowledged is that your employees aren’t the only ones sacrificing a great deal. Most of those women were on that train as a group of mail-order brides heading west, and they’ve paid just as dearly for their passages. They have no way to notify anyone about the delay they’ve encountered—so, who knows if they will have husbands waiting for them when they finally arrive at their destinations? Furthermore, the women brought all of their belongings with them—some of them valuable heirlooms and household goods needed to start their lives as married women. The longer their trunks lie moldering in the snow, the more the women will have lost precious ties to families and homes they’ve left behind. I think that even you would have to admit that being stranded here could hold untold ramifications.”

She paused, but it was clear that she wasn’t finished.

“Therefore, I think that it’s only reasonable for you and your men to provide these women with their belongings. As it is, most of them have little more than the clothes on their backs. Indeed, since you force me to be blunt, they have no extra...undergarments to tide them through until washing day. Very few of them have coats or scarves or mittens. And despite this valley’s fondness for its Miners’ Hall, there is a draft. Especially in the upper rooms. Added to that, these ladies will need combs, brushes and other personal items. The sooner, the better.”

“Or...”

“Or the women may find it necessary to protest by marching down Main Street.” She set her cup aside and rose to her feet. “And since many of them now have garments that are completely unwearable, your men may get more of a reminder of what they’re missing than you’d ever anticipated.”

With that, she sailed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Leaving Jonah wondering what would Miss Havisham be left wearing if she decided to make good on her threat?

* * *

“Sumner!”

Sumner moaned as the voice pierced her consciousness.

“Miss!”

She blinked, vainly trying to focus. But since she’d spent hours mulling over her conversation with Jonah Ramsey—reviewing every word the man had said—she’d wound herself tighter than a spring and sleep had become nearly impossible.

Her eyes drifted shut.

“Dr. Havisham, please!”

A hand shook her shoulder and Sumner’s eyes opened again. This time, she came face-to-face with Willow Granger.

“Willow?” she croaked. “How’s the leg?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve got a bruise big as a dinner plate, but most of the swelling has gone down.”

Willow was one of the reasons why Sumner had felt it necessary to approach Jonah at such an unreasonable hour. After tending to the woman’s leg, Sumner had found the girl crying in one of the rear supply closets. While the other mail-order brides had slipped out of their torn, wet clothing and hung their frocks to dry, Willow had clutched at the shapeless dress she wore. After divining that Willow had spent most of her adolescence in a strict charity school, Sumner had realized that the young woman had been unable to bring herself to strip down to her “shimmies” even if it was only in the presence of other women. Sumner had helped her to fashion a robe of sorts out of a pair of blankets so that Willow could rinse the mud from her hems and allow her dress to dry. For that, Sumner had earned herself a loyal assistant.

Willow regarded her with glittering blue eyes. In the early-morning glare, her skin was pale and spattered with freckles, and her curly red hair hung around her heart-shaped face like a wild mane.

Sumner cleared her throat, then rasped, “What is it, Willow?”

“There’s a man at the door. He says he’ll only talk to you.”

Jonah?

She scrambled up from the pallet on the floor. Automatically, her hands flew to her hair, and she squeaked when she realized that it was a mass of tangles.

“You’d better hurry. He said he didn’t have much time.”

Sumner glanced down at herself and fought the urge to squeal in protest. Besides being ill-fitting, her borrowed day dress was wrinkled, the print faded from years of wear. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about the way the hem nearly topped her boots.

She supposed she should be thankful she wasn’t answering the door in her all-togethers.

Nevertheless, she opened the door only a few inches and peered out, hoping it would prove unnecessary to step into the cold.

She sagged in relief when she found Creakle grinning at her, his hat in his hands. But she couldn’t help looking past him to see if Jonah was there, as well.

“Morning, missy!”

“Mr. Creakle.”

“This here’s Willoughby Smalls.”

Creakle pointed to his companion, who had to be at least seven feet tall with a squared-off jaw and a body as big and broad as a mountain.

“Mr. Smalls.”

“Willoughby don’t talk none, on account of how he was hit in the throat by a falling beam. But if you ever need some heavy liftin’, he’s your man.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smalls. I appreciate that kind offer.”

She thought the man might have blushed as he continued to stare at her, his grin growing wider with each passing moment. But when he didn’t speak, she finally prompted, “Did you men need something?”

“Oh. Oh, yes!” Creakle stepped back and made a flourishing sweep of his hand to something beyond her range of sight. “I’d ferget my head if’n it weren’t screwed on. Jonah asked me t’ make sure you got this.”

She slipped through the door and shut it tightly behind her. But when she saw the neat stacks of trunks and valises piled on the boardwalk, she couldn’t help gasping in delight.

“How on earth did Mr. Ramsey manage to do all this so quickly?”

Creakle snickered. “He offered the men two bits fer every trunk they managed t’ deliver before noon.” He nudged Smalls in the side with his elbow. “Willoughby an’ me have already made ourselves more’n five bucks a piece.” He glanced down at a watch he pulled from his vest. “I ’spect you’ll have the rest of it delivered by lunchtime.” He nodded and jammed his hat over his head. “Now, I know how you womenfolk like to have things just so, so’s I’m leaving Willoughby here t’ tote them trunks and boxes wherever you want them t’ go. Keep him with you as long as you like. He’s not due down in the mine until this evening.”

Creakle slid a glance in Smalls’s direction and the man nodded. Then, offering a hefty sigh, Creakle said, “Wish I could stay an’ help, but I’m needed at the office.” He touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Good mornin’ t’ you, ma’am.” Then he began marching in the direction of the mine offices.

It was only then that Sumner became aware of several men in black wool coats posted near the main door and at either end of the Miners’ Hall.

“Mr. Creakle!”

He turned, squinting in her direction. “Yes, ma’am?”

Sumner couldn’t think of a discreet way of asking, so she decided to be direct. “Who are these other gentlemen?”

The men in question turned, revealing that they had holsters strapped to their hips and carried rifles in addition to their revolvers.

“They’re the company Pinkertons, ma’am.”

Her gaze bounced over the Pinkertons, one by one. In addition to their identical wool coats, they wore dark navy tunics with shiny badges.

“Pinkertons? But why are they here?”

“This here’s a silver mine, Dr. Havisham. Y’ gotta have security in a place like this.”

She shook her head. “No, Mr. Creakle. That’s not what I meant. Why are these men here?”

She gestured with her finger to the Miners’ Hall.

Creakle shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Ramsey ordered it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Creakle began backing away from her.

“He said it was fer y’all’s protection.”

Protection?

Sumner stiffened, an old familiar resentment filling her like white-hot steam. Of all the low-down, sneaky, conniving tricks. A trio of armed Pinkertons had been stationed outside a building filled with women who were injured, traumatized and at the complete mercy of their unwilling hosts? And Mr. Ramsey wanted them all to believe that it was for their protection?

Apparently, she and Mr. Ramsey needed to have another talk.

Chapter Four

“Lord, give me strength,” Sumner murmured to herself as she slapped her best bonnet on her head.

“What are you going to do?” Willow asked, reluctantly holding up a hand mirror so that Sumner could check her reflection.

Sumner had tried her best to keep the news of the Pinkertons a secret, but she hadn’t been very successful. Although many of the mail-order brides had been diverted with checking the contents of their trunks, changing into fresh frocks and setting up a washing station, a few of them had noticed the armed men posted outside their door. As Sumner shrugged into her coat, she spoke softly to the small knot of women who stood with her.

Besides Willow Granger, there was Iona Skye, a widow in her sixties who had traveled with them since New York City. Unable to make ends meet on her own, she was destined for her sister’s farm in California. Beside her stood Lydia Tomlinson, an effervescent blonde from Boston, who, along with Iona, were the only women not contracted to become mail-order brides. Lydia was en route to San Francisco, where she would embark on a lecture tour to spread the word about women’s suffrage and temperance. The last few members of the group hovering around Sumner were a trio of brides-to-be, Ruth Hubbard, Stefania Nicos and Marie Rousseau.

“What are you going to say to the man?” Stefania whispered.

Lydia scowled. “She’s going to tell Mr. Ramsey that we aren’t convicts, we’re stranded travelers.”

The conversation washed over Sumner as she checked her hair and gown as much as the small mirror would allow. Thankfully, among the trunks and valises that Mr. Smalls had carried into the hall, she’d managed to find her own things—and therefore, a change of clothing, her brush and a fresh stock of hairpins. Through it all, she’d tried her best to maintain a semblance of calm, but inwardly...

Inwardly, she’d been seething.

“Please don’t let me lose my temper,” she whispered under her breath.

Lydia Tomlinson must have heard her because she cocked her head to the side and offered, “Nonsense. You need to go into the office with guns blazing, Sumner. Don’t hide your emotions behind that unflappable English charm. Otherwise, they’ll be locking us in soon. And I, for one, am already stir-crazy.”

The other women nodded in agreement.

“We all know that the arrival of the Pinkertons—and the weak excuse of their being here for our protection—is nothing more than an opening volley in a declaration of war.”

Sumner supposed the other women were right. After conversing with Jonah Ramsey, she’d deluded herself into thinking that the man could be pragmatic, perhaps even a bit empathetic toward the women’s plight. And for one brief second, when she’d seen their belongings on the boardwalk, she’d believed the man might be persuaded to look at the situation from the women’s point of view.

She’d obviously been mistaken. Sadly mistaken. Apparently, Jonah Ramsey was cut from the same cloth as her father, her stepbrother, her professors and all of the other opinionated males she’d encountered over the past few years. Clearly, Sumner seemed doomed to butt heads with men who were determined to squash women into what they felt was “their place,” and the superintendent of the Batchwell Bottoms mine was no different.

But this time, it wasn’t just Sumner who was being repressed. It was all of the women who were in her care. And it was time to set the record straight.

“How do I look?” she breathed, realizing that she’d already fussed over her preparations long enough.

Iona reached out to squeeze her hand. “You appear very calm, cool and collected. Every inch a lady.”

If only that were true.

“You’ll do fine, Sumner,” Willow offered quietly.

Sumner nodded, then opened the door and slipped outside while the rest of the brides were distracted with instructing Mr. Smalls where to move their trunks.

The frigid air against her hot cheeks was welcome as she turned toward the mine offices. But she’d only taken a few steps when she was halted by one of the Pinkertons. He even had the utter gall to brandish his weapon in warning.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’ve been asked to keep you here.”

“Your name?” she asked abruptly.

“Lester Dobbs.”

“Am I under arrest, Mr. Dobbs?”

The guard’s brows creased, his mustache twitching in confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then you can get out of my way or you can trail along behind me. But those are your only two choices because I intend to talk to Mr. Ramsey.” When the man didn’t budge, Sumner allowed a portion of her frustration to tinge her tone. “Now.”

To his credit, the Pinkerton tried to stand his ground—he even attempted to meet the blazing intensity in her gaze. Before long, Dobbs sighed, lowered his rifle and allowed her to pass. Even so, as she stormed toward the mining offices, he trailed along behind her, clearly embarrassed with the assignment he’d been given.

Sumner balled her hands into fists and increased her speed. What fueled her anger wasn’t the fact that she’d had to fight—tooth and nail—to gain an education and a career, that she’d been thrown the scraps of opportunities lavished on men with half the talent and dedication that she’d displayed in her chosen profession. No, what infuriated her was that these women—women who had been injured, stranded and placed in her protection—were to be so cavalierly mistreated just because someone had deemed them “inconvenient.”

No, no, no.

Since obtaining her diploma and emancipating herself from her father’s overbearing rule, she’d pledged that she would never allow a man to control her again—and that she would fight for the same rights for other women, as well.

But even as the frigid gusts of wind stung her cheeks, common sense managed to wriggle its way into her brain. After last night’s confrontation with the owners, Sumner knew she was walking a fine line. As much as she might rail against the men in charge, there was also a part of her that wanted—needed—to make a good impression.

After completing her medical training, she’d found it nearly impossible to find a position. The best she’d managed to scrape up was a midwife’s assistant’s job at a woman’s hospital in Bristol. She’d spent over a year scouring every advertisement she could find for work. So, when, on a whim, she’d applied to the Batchwell Bottoms mine and they’d offered a five-year contract, it hadn’t occurred to her that a mistake might have been made. She’d wanted this job so badly. When she’d realized the owners had assumed she was a man, she’d been so sure that she could impress the owners with her skills and make a place for herself in the wilds of the US Territories.

Unfortunately, during her first real meeting with Batchwell and Bottoms, they’d made it clear that she would never work as the company doctor.

But Sumner wasn’t about to give up without a fight. First, she had a signed, notarized, five-year contract. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Even more importantly, now that the avalanche had marooned her in the valley, she was the only physician available. All she needed was a little time to prove her talent for medicine.

As she clutched the doorknob to the office, her heart pounded, her knees trembled and all the energy drained from her.

She couldn’t storm into Mr. Ramsey’s office in a fit of pique.

Closing her eyes, she offered a quick prayer for guidance. Lord, please show me how to proceed. Help me to help others.

Feeling calmer, she took a deep breath of icy air.

Tact. That’s what the situation required. Tact and diplomacy.

Sumner glanced behind her to see that Pinkerton Dobbs had kept pace with her the entire way.

Lord, help me stay calm.

Knowing that if she waited another moment she might lose her nerve, as well, Sumner twisted the knob and plunged into the warmth of the mining offices.

In an instant, she was inundated with the scents of hot coffee, wood smoke and pine shavings. Homey, manly smells that swirled around her along with half-forgotten memories of her grandfather.

There had been a time when she’d been accepted for who she was, when Poppy had let her climb on his knee and chatter about her dreams of being a doctor. She’d been ten when Poppy had bought her a book with anatomical drawings. To her, the muscles and bones had been more beautiful than the fashion drawings found in the periodicals her stepmother tried to get her to read. But when her father had discovered the book hidden beneath her bed, he’d thrown it in the fire, then had made her stand and watch it burn.

Behind her, the latch snapped back into place and a brass bell offered a muted jingle. In that instant, all eyes swung in her direction and the three men in the office froze.

If the reaction hadn’t been so disheartening, Sumner might have laughed at the trio of comical expressions. Mr. Creakle, the only man she recognized from the previous day, sat slack-jawed from behind his desk. Another gentleman with sad, basset-hound eyes and jowls, was half-bent toward the fire, a chunk of wood held toward the blaze. The third fellow—who was little more than a gangly teenager—stood blinking at her from where he sat on a high stool, a collection of miner’s lanterns laid out on a table in front of him in various stages of completion.

The combined weight of their gazes was nearly overwhelming, but she managed to say, “I’d like to see Mr. Ramsey, please.”

They didn’t move, and Sumner resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. Honestly, she didn’t see a need for the Pinkertons. So far, what few miners she’d encountered at Bachelor Bottoms appeared completely tongue-tied in the presence of a female.

The young man suddenly sneezed, and that seemed to break the odd trance because the two other gentlemen shouted out simultaneously, “Boss!”

A moment later, Sumner heard boots clattering down the steps on the other end of the building. Then Jonah stepped into view.

Sumner had forgotten how tall he was. Tall and broad-shouldered. He filled the doorframe. In the sunlight streaming through the mullion windows, she could see the circular impression in his hair where his hat had been. The bright rays picked out threads of silver at his temples and in his beard. He wore a dark leather vest with a soft linen shirt beneath.

After so many years spent in schools and hospitals where men took great pains with their grooming, there was something almost...wild...about his appearance. Nevertheless, Sumner couldn’t fault Jonah’s casual disregard for current fashion. If anything, his lack of formality echoed the ruggedness of the terrain that surrounded them.

Sumner tipped her chin at an angle. “Mr. Ramsey, may I have a word, please?”

His lips thinned. “Miss... Dr. Havisham. There’s no need to thank me for your belongings.”

She had been about to thank him, regardless of the fact that it had taken an ultimatum to get him to oblige. But his tone was so...so...dismissive that she choked on the words, her spine stiffening to a rod of iron.

“A private word,” she rushed on.

She watched as one of his brows rose. Yet again, she was struck by the man’s unusual eyes. They were a mixture of brown and blue and green. But there was more to them than that. They were keen and probing. At the same time, they offered no clue to his own thoughts or emotions.

He heaved a sigh.

“Dr. Havisham, can this wait? Perhaps tonight I could find a few minutes to speak with you.”

“No!” she burst in without thinking. It wasn’t as if she were asking for an audience with the king. She just needed a few moments to talk to him about...

Oh, my, she’d forgotten why she’d been so determined to corner him in the first place!

Her gaze bounced from Creakle to the wide-eyed teenager to the droopy-jowled office worker to the door. And the dark shape that waited there.

The Pinkertons.

“No, Mr. Ramsey. It can’t wait. And if you can’t spare me a private word, then I’d be more than happy to air our grievances in front of you and your men.”

Ramsey sighed, straightening from the doorway. For a moment, she saw the way his features were lined with weariness, and she was reminded of the fact that he couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep. That, combined with the strenuous work of freeing the passengers and the back injury he’d refused to discuss, caused a prickling of guilt. Even worse, she realized that her impetuousness may have led to her confronting the man when he would be least likely to heed her concerns.

But before she could speak, Jonah reached toward a hall tree laden with coats, hats and scarves. Snagging a battered black hat that she remembered him wearing the night before and a shearling jacket, he gestured toward the door.

“Very well, Dr. Havisham. I was just on my way to the cook shack to grab a bite to eat. If you’d care to join me, we can both have our breakfast and I can give you about fifteen minutes of my morning.”

She doubted she would be able to press her case in such a short amount of time, let alone finish a meal. But the rigid set of his shoulders warned her that it would be futile to bargain with him on this point.

“Very well. Good day to you, gentlemen. Mr. Creakle.”

“Ma’am,” Creakle said with a wide grin.

The other two men dived toward the door to open it for her.

* * *

As they stepped from the office, Jonah clenched his jaw to keep from saying something to his employees. They’d nearly tripped over themselves to assist Dr. Havisham, and now the two of them had wedged themselves in the doorway as if they intended to follow Sumner and him to the cook shack.

Jonah shot them a glance. They began squabbling with one another as they untangled themselves, stepped back into the office and slammed the door.

Jamming his hat more firmly on his head, Jonah strode toward the cook shack, but after only a few steps, he realized that he was making the trip alone. Glancing behind him, he found Dr. Havisham with her hands on her hips, her feet planted firmly on the boardwalk.

Maybe Jonah had been too hasty in his original insistence that the women didn’t need their baggage. His gaze skipped over her form, taking in the saucy hat she’d pinned to the top of her head, and the tailored greatcoat that clung to her frame. He had to admit that, this morning, Sumner Havisham looked much more appropriate, more professional, than she had in the too-short dress the night before. In fact, if he were honest, he’d have to say that the fur collar framed the slender line of her throat in a way that was quite...fetching.

At least, it would be fetching if her chin hadn’t returned to that obstinate angle again.

Her brown eyes flashed, darting from Jonah to the Pinkerton who trailed her.

She speared the man with a withering glance. “Go away.”

When the guard didn’t budge, Jonah could feel the frustration sizzling through her slender frame. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she stamped her foot beneath the hems of her skirts.

“Send him away,” she said to Jonah.

Realizing that he’d probably pushed Sumner’s patience about as far as he dared, Jonah nodded in the man’s direction. Immediately, the Pinkerton returned to the Miners’ Hall.

Sumner opened her mouth, but before she could begin her diatribe, Jonah held up a hand.

“Please. Not until I’ve had some coffee and something hot to eat.”

She offered a curt nod and fell into step beside him.

They walked a few feet in silence before she asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

He shot her a quick glance, but there didn’t seem to be anything behind her question other than polite conversation.

“I’m doing well, Dr. Havisham.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You don’t appear to be moving as gingerly. Are you sure that you don’t want me to look at your back?”

“No!” After he realized that his interruption had been rather forceful, he adopted a lightness to his tone that he didn’t really feel, and offered, “I’m fine.” He opened the door to the cook shack and gestured for her to precede him, then murmured, “Coffee first, Dr. Havisham. Please.”

To her credit, she heeded his none-too-subtle reminder. After one more narrow-eyed glance, she swept into the building.

Jonah wasn’t sure if she’d decided to bite her tongue or if she’d guessed at the headache that pounded at his temples like a blacksmith on an anvil. Even worse, the heavy scents of black coffee, scorched beans and overcooked eggs hung thick in the room, causing even his stomach to clench. But to her credit, Sumner remained silent as he led her through the building with its rows of tables and benches toward the serving area at the back.

Too late, Jonah realized that if the two of them wanted a private word, this was the last place he should have brought her. Men who’d finished the night shift were still lingering over breakfast. As they moved through the room, a hush washed over them like a wave and all eyes turned in their direction—causing even Jonah’s hair to prickle at the scrutiny.

When they reached the warmth of the counter that separated the kitchens from the dining area, Jonah leaned in and called out to Stumpy, a miner who’d been drafted into running the cook shack after a runaway ore car had crushed his foot, forcing an amputation of his toes. The man had never really forgiven Jonah for switching him from mine duties to the cook shack. But the injury had left him with a lurching limp that was dangerous for mine work, and moving him to the cook shack had been the only way to save Stumpy’s paycheck at the time.

“Have the owners been in this morning?” Jonah asked.

“Been and gone,” Stumpy groused.

“Bring some coffee and a couple of plates to the private room. Dr. Havisham and I have a few things to discuss.”

Stumpy offered a low grumble that could have been an agreement or a complaint. Jonah didn’t wait for the man to make up his mind.

“This way, Dr. Havisham.”

He pointed down a narrow hall to a single door. Sweeping it open, he gestured for Sumner to precede him.

As she gingerly made her way past, Jonah was forced to look at the room with new eyes. A single window on the opposite wall offered far too much light to conceal the cubicle’s flaws. Although it was the only place in the cook shack that offered a place to eat with a real dining room table and chairs, there was no disguising the fact that the floor hadn’t been swept in some time—and who knew when the surfaces had been cleaned. Dirty glasses were stacked in teetering towers, the owners’ breakfast dishes scattered the scarred surface and maps and schematic drawings had long since taken the place of any linens.

Unaccountably, Jonah felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment, even though the cleanliness of the room didn’t fall beneath his purview.

“Here, let me...”

He pushed everything to one side, then used his hat to brush the crumbs and dust aside.

Dr. Havisham gingerly took her place just as Stumpy burst through the door carrying a wide tray with two plates, a pair of tin mugs and an enameled pot of coffee. He shoved the tray into Jonah’s arms, then limped from the room again without a word.

To her credit, Sumner offered a soft sound that was very close to a giggle. Then she reached up to take the tray.

“Here. Let me help.”

Before Jonah could respond, she’d begun setting the food and utensils on the table like a practiced dealer at a poker game. By the time he’d taken his seat opposite, she’d placed all of the silverware in their proper places and poured both of them a cup of hot coffee.

“Milk? Sugar?”

He shook his head, then watched as she added both to her cup so that the liquid was a caramel brown next to his own cup’s tar black.

Jonah took a quick swig of the liquid, then grimaced when it hit his tongue and the back of his throat like a brand.

“Shall I say grace this time?” Sumner asked, her eyes twinkling when she discerned his pain.

He nodded, slamming his eyes shut against the way they watered.

“Dear Lord above...we thank Thee for all of the many blessings which Thou has bestowed on us this day,” she began. “We thank Thee for Thy protection and deliverance and for our safe haven here in Bachelor Bottoms...”

Jonah couldn’t help cracking one eye open, but Sumner’s expression was one of rapt sincerity.

“We thank Thee for the men who have come to our aid. We thank Thee for the warmth of our shelter and the...sincere compassion and sincerity of our hosts.”

Again, he shot her a quick glance under his lashes.

“We pray, O Lord, that Thou will continue to bless us all with kindness and understanding. That Thou will help us to exist together in this valley as friends rather than adversaries. We pray that Thou will bless us with the means to help one another until Thou sees fit to free us from this...unfortunate situation.”

Jonah had both eyes open now, and was ready to offer his own two cents’ worth—as well as a hearty amen—but Sumner quickly added, “And please bless Mr. Ramsey most of all, that he might feel of Thy love, guidance and compassion. For this and the food before us which Thou hast provided, we are grateful. Amen.”

She opened her eyes, and smiled at Jonah with a sweet blankness to her expression, and Jonah was reminded of one of his mother’s sayings.

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, that one.

But he wasn’t fooled.

Sumner Havisham had given him as much time as she planned on doing. Coffee or no coffee, she was now ready to begin her verbal exchange.

Jonah mentally steeled himself for her arguments, aware that the good doctor planned to challenge his use of the Pinkertons. He’d known when he’d issued the orders that the women would eventually object. But the owners had insisted, and Jonah had agreed that such measures would keep interaction with the men at a minimum. Even so, there’d been a part of him that had regretted treating the women as little more than prisoners.

Knowing that it would be easier to counter Sumner’s arguments if he didn’t meet her eyes head-on, he began spearing chunks of fried potatoes onto his fork. Even so, he couldn’t miss the way that Dr. Havisham settled her napkin carefully over her lap, then stared down at her plate. He saw a flash of something that looked very much like horror.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” She lifted her fork, gingerly prodding her food. “Your meals are...hearty.”

“Mining is hard work.”

Dr. Havisham continued to stare at her plate with such ferocity that Jonah took another look himself. He was forced to admit that the food wouldn’t win any prizes. The portions were large, not pretty. Because Stumpy and his men were often needed in other areas of the Batchwell Bottoms enterprise, they’d taken to cooking all the food once a day, then serving things warmed up until the pots were empty. This often meant that the men were forced to eat leftovers until the food was completely gone. Then Stumpy and his crew would begin preparations all over again.

Unfortunately, Stumpy didn’t have a wide repertoire of menus, so after a time, the meals all started to look the same. This morning, overcooked beans had been slopped next to a mound of scorched eggs and a greasy pile of fried potatoes. The fare didn’t taste much better than it looked, but it was hot and filling and stuck to a man’s ribs during a hard day’s work.

“It must be difficult to feed all your men.”

“The shifts break things up so we don’t have to accommodate all of the miners at once. They’re given a hot meal at daybreak, another in the evening, then cold meats and biscuits in their buckets midway through the workday.”

She nodded, poking at the beans, which had begun to congeal into a lumpy brown pudding. Then she looked up, concern gleaming from the depths of her eyes. “We women will tax your winter stores of food, won’t we?”

Jonah considered offering her a blithe denial, but he knew she would see through his subterfuge. “We prepared for the men on hand until the end of April. Perhaps, we’ll have an early spring.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.