Her Reluctant Lawman Match

Suffragist Lydia Tomlinson won’t stand for the rule banning women from the Batchwell Bottoms mining camp...even if protesting it means “kidnapping” miners to use as leverage. And with Pinkerton detective Gideon Gault guarding the mail-order brides, the women have chosen her to distract him. Now Lydia just has to pretend interest long enough to reach their goal...

Gideon promised to uphold the camp’s code of conduct, but he’s met his match in feisty Lydia. When a gang of outlaws threatens the town, he and Lydia must put their differences aside. And as they join forces to stop the thieves, he can’t help but wish her protest will succeed...so she can stay by his side forever.

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.

Also By Lisa Bingham

Love Inspired Historical

The Bachelors of Aspen Valley

Accidental Courtship

Accidental Family

Accidental Sweetheart

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Accidental Sweetheart

Lisa Bingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08441-3

ACCIDENTAL SWEETHEART

© 2018 Lisa Bingham

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Will you be relieved to see us gone?”

When Lydia met his gaze, Gideon looked as if she’d handed him a time bomb set to explode.

Laughing, she said, “I suppose there’s no diplomatic way of answering that.”

His eyes creased in amusement. “I grew up with sisters. I’ve learned to recognize a loaded question.”

“Then let me rephrase. I know your duties will be simplified. But I wonder if you’ll miss us in some small way.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I dare say this valley will miss all of you. You’ve brought a measure of joy to what would have been a dreary winter.”

Lydia supposed she shouldn’t put too much import into his words, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth that settled in her heart.

“I’m glad we weren’t a complete chore.”

He shook his head. “Not a complete chore.”

When she would have glared at him, he laughed. “You mustn’t take yourself too seriously. After all, our time together is limited.”

Yes. But did it have to be?

The blessings of thy father have prevailed above the blessings of my progenitors unto the utmost bound of the everlasting hills.

—Genesis 49:26

Dear Reader,

I hope that you enjoyed Lydia’s and Gideon’s story, Accidental Sweetheart. This is the third and final book in the Bachelors of Aspen Valley series, and I wanted to make sure that I finished everything with a bang! To my delight, much like the characters themselves, as soon as I started writing, Lydia and Gideon hijacked the plot and decided to have a rollicking good time. In addition, characters from the first two books, Accidental Courtship and Accidental Family, decided to help out. I had so much fun bringing everyone together for one last happy ending.

I love to hear from my readers, so if you’d like to get in touch, you can reach me at my website, www.lisabinghamauthor.com, or through my social media sites, www.Facebook.com/lisabinghamauthor, and Twitter @lbinghamauthor.

All my best to you,

Lisa

Dedicated to Joyce, my mother.

Thank you for always believing in me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

February 21, 1874 Utah Territory

Gideon Gault sensed trouble. Something strange was happening in Aspen Valley, something...unsettling. A thread of agitation ran through the community surrounding the Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine. It bubbled beneath the surface, filling him with anxiety—even though, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Pausing at the entrance to the mine, he planted his hands on his hips and squinted against the sun. For the hundredth time that day, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the street beyond.

“Problems?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Gideon acknowledged Charles Wanlass, the mine’s blasting foreman, and recent newlywed.

“I don’t know. Do things feel...odd...to you?”

Charles smiled. “Odd? In what way?”

“I don’t know. I just...”

Charles’s grin grew even broader, and Gideon grimaced. The man grinned a whole lot these days. Ever since Charles had married and adopted twin babes, Gideon’s friend existed in a perpetual bubble of happiness that was beginning to grate on Gideon’s nerves. Especially since Gideon seemed to be surrounded by miners who were afflicted with the same brand of besottedness.

“There’s something going on,” Gideon groused, trying again to explain the fact that, each day, he grew a little more skittish, a little more suspicious. He woke up with the sensation that something was off-kilter with Aspen Valley and went to bed sure that he’d missed something important.

But what?

“Maybe it’s the good weather that has you out of sorts,” Charles offered. His tone was a little too tongue-in-cheek for Gideon’s liking.

No, it wasn’t the weather. After months of snow, bitter cold and whipping winds, the valley had begun to enjoy a temporary thaw. For weeks, they’d basked in unseasonably bright sunshine. Seemingly overnight, the man-high drifts of ice that had once been pushed up against the buildings had melted to dirty mounds, while the thoroughfares grew thick with mud. Deep puddles made it hazardous to stand too close to the street since the passing wagons threw dirt and grime in every direction. And crossing the road...well, if a man didn’t want to lose his boots, he needed to use the wooden boards that had been laid down to provide a temporary bridge from the Miners’ Hall to the cook shack.

But all that was normal for Aspen Valley in the spring.

So, what had him feeling so antsy?

Gideon knew why the other men were restless. They lived in dread of the moment when the pass cleared and the fifty mail-order brides who’d been stranded at Bachelor Bottoms for the winter were forced to leave the valley.

Gideon couldn’t wait for that day. He’d finally have the women out of his hair, his unit of Pinkertons guarding the silver rather than the ladies’ dormitory, and his life back to normal.

“Maybe you’re just grumpy,” Charles said.

The man had the all-out gall to laugh and Gideon scowled. “Very funny.”

“You could drop by the house for something to eat. Willow was planning to bake today. She’d love to fatten you up.”

Tempting as that thought might be, Gideon shook his head. The last thing he needed was to follow Charles home right after the man’s shift. Although Charles and Willow tended to be reserved in public, Gideon knew they’d be goo-goo-eyed in their own row house. In his present mood, that was more than Gideon could handle.

“Maybe later. Right now, I need to get to the bottom of this.”

Jamming his hat on his head, he rested his hand loosely on his sidearm and strode to the boardwalk. Once there, he sauntered in the direction of the cook shack. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten that morning, and he was feeling peckish. This late in the day, he probably wouldn’t find any hot food, but he could grab some biscuits and cold ham and make himself a sandwich. That and a glass of milk ought to chase the restlessness out of his system and help him think clearly.

Ahead of him, he could see a pair of miners heading toward the Pinkerton offices and he grimaced. Hopefully, they’d keep walking.

Please let them keep walking.

If the men stepped into the Pinkerton building, Gideon would have to forgo the cook shack and head into the office to see what they wanted. His guards were already stretched too thin with their current duties. And if the miners sought the Pinkertons out, it was usually to ask for help in settling a minor dispute.

This day was going from bad to worse.

“Good morning, Mr. Gault.”

Gideon turned at the soft call, his hand leaving his revolver and lifting to his hat when he saw Stefania Nicos and Marie Rousseau, two of the mail-order brides who often volunteered to help prepare the morning meal.

“Miss Nicos. Miss Rousseau.”

The women shared a secret, inscrutable glance.

Where were their guards?

He turned back to call to the miners and ask them to alert his office that he needed one of his men, only to discover that they were nowhere in sight. That meant Gideon would have to escort the ladies safely home.

“Miss Nicos, I—”

The women had disappeared as well.

What on earth?

He glanced down the nearby alley. Nothing. Checked inside the door to the company laundry.

Nothing.

Where had they gone?

He hooked his thumbs into his belt and surveyed the street from one end of Aspen Valley to the other. Not even a stray dog roamed the boardwalk. It was as if the inhabitants of Bachelor Bottoms were being plucked out of thin air, and the mining community was gradually becoming a ghost town. There were no stray workers, no women, no wagons, no horses. If not for the dripping of the melting icicles, Gideon could have believed he’d been dropped into a painted backdrop for a melodrama.

Which only added to his uneasiness.

Gideon resumed his walk, his gaze restlessly scanning back and forth. Maybe it was time to get a team of men together and sweep the area. He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell his men to look for, but he’d think of something.

Sighing heavily, he gave up on the thought of a sandwich for now, passed the cook shack and headed to the three-story frame building that housed the Pinkerton office and their barracks. Opening the door, he called out, “Dobbs! We’ve got a pair of runners! Miss Nicos and Miss Rousseau are on the loose.”

Except for the echo of his own voice, there was no response.

Gideon had a unit of thirty men who’d been hired by the mine to guard the silver ore and provide security for the shipments being sent to Denver. But, since December, Ezra Batchwell had insisted that the Pinkertons spend their time hovering over the mail-order brides “for their own protection.”

Gideon snorted. In his opinion, the fifty-odd women who’d been marooned here when their train had been pushed down the mountain by an avalanche didn’t need any protection whatsoever. It would have been easier to guard the miners. In the past few weeks, the women had been testing their boundaries even more than usual—a result, no doubt, of the fact that Ezra Batchwell had broken his leg and had been confined to his home. Without his bullish insistence that the ladies be kept at bay, the brides seemed determined to challenge the willingness of Gideon’s men to corral them.

To be honest, the Pinkertons hadn’t tried that hard to rein them in. With the warmer weather, everyone in the valley knew it was only a matter of weeks before the women would be forced to leave. When that moment came, Aspen Valley would return to an all-male population. Even worse, they would lose the joy that the brides had brought with their fine cooking, bright smiles and effervescent personalities.

But that was the way things worked at the Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine.

“Dobbs! Winslow!”

Nothing.

The chance for a sandwich seemed to be getting further and further out of reach.

Gideon stepped outside. Once again, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. The roads, the boardwalks, were empty.

He knew that production had stepped up in the mine since a new tunnel had been blasted. Crews were larger, shifts longer. As soon as the canyon had cleared enough for repair crews, the railway lines would be restored and then the ore they’d amassed the past few months would be shipped out of the camp.

But that didn’t explain why there was no one around today.

A trio of miners exited the Hall, relieving Gideon’s misgivings slightly. Maybe things weren’t quite as strange as he—

“Mr. Gault.”

He stiffened. Without turning, he recognized the voice of Miss Lydia Tomlinson, one of the marooned women. As a self-professed suffragist, she’d become the unofficial leader of the ladies in the past few months. In Gideon’s opinion, the woman meant trouble with a capital T. She had a way of putting...ideas in the other brides’ heads. And since she didn’t have much regard for authority, she could be a handful.

Gideon mentally prepared himself, knowing that any conversation with Miss Tomlinson would prove to be an intellectual skirmish. She could talk a mule into surrendering his left hind leg if she had a mind to do so—and the mule would give it up willingly.

He leaned in to the Pinkerton office one more time—as if by some miracle, one of his men would appear and relieve him of the need to match wits with Lydia. But there would be no such deliverance. Instead, he was forced to step outside.

Automatically, his gaze swept the boardwalk, looking for the miners who’d come out of the hall—but there was no sign of them.

He was losing his ever-loving mind.

In the meantime, Miss Tomlinson scrutinized him from the tip of his hat to his dusty boots, then regarded Gideon as if he were slightly daft.

Sighing, he touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “And how are you this lovely morning, Miss Tomlinson?”

One of her brows lifted. Clearly, she’d caught the thread of resignation in his tone.

“Quite well, Mr. Gault. Nevertheless, I wondered if you and I could have a word.”

Gideon seriously doubted such a thing was possible. Lydia Tomlinson didn’t exchange a word. She talked and talked and talked. To be fair, she was an intelligent creature with a good head on her shoulders. But she could be so bossy.

“About?” he asked cautiously.

Her eyes narrowed. “You needn’t look like I’m proposing to escort you to a firing squad.”

Apparently, she could read minds as well.

Gideon purposely relaxed the line of his shoulders and tried his best to make his hands hang loose at his sides.

“There was no such stuff in my thoughts.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her lips thinned. “I wish to discuss a matter of business with you.”

Gideon couldn’t imagine what kind of “business” the two of them might share. But he supposed that since Ezra Batchwell was unavailable, and Jonah Ramsey had been quarantined at home with measles, Gideon was probably the next company man on her list with whom she intended to argue.

“What can I do for you?”

She shifted, her gaze roaming the streets around them. For a moment, sunlight slipped over her cheeks and highlighted the delicate curve of her jaw. She really was a pretty woman—tall, slim, with honey-colored hair. If she weren’t so...snippy...

“I would rather divulge the subject inside. Away from prying eyes.”

One last time, Gideon allowed his gaze to roam Main Street, from the mine opening to the slopes of the Uinta mountains in the distance. Near as Gideon could tell, there wasn’t a soul in town who could “pry.” But there was no use arguing the point.

He held the door wide. “After you, Miss Tomlinson.”

“You may call me Lydia, Mr. Gault.”

Gideon was pretty sure that if he used Lydia’s Christian name, his own mother would roll over in her grave. Clotilde Gault had been a stickler for proper social customs and morés, and an unmarried gentleman did not take such liberties with an unmarried woman—even if she did spout on about the emancipation of women and the equality of the sexes.

“How can I help you, Miss Tomlinson?”

Her lips pursed, ever so slightly, but thankfully, she didn’t press him into dispensing with the formalities.

“The ladies have been discussing the rapid melting of the snow.”

She paused, clearly waiting for a reaction, so he offered a noncommittal, “Oh?”

“By our reckoning, it seems as if most of the drifts have wasted into nothing. If this continues, we’re worried that the standing puddles around the Dovecote will soon flood into the house.”

So, she did have a logical reason for her visit.

“Jonah Ramsey and I have been keeping our eye on the water levels—or we were until he took sick. If necessary, he’s given orders to dig a series of drainage ditches to the river. But at this point, such efforts would probably be premature. Here in the high Uinta mountain range, spring can be unpredictable. These high temperatures could give way to a Utah blizzard at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen the weather change from freezing cold to blazing heat, to snow, hail and rain, all within a single afternoon.”

Lydia looked skeptical, but she didn’t push the point. Instead, she said, “The women would be more than happy to help dig should the need arise. I know with the new tunnel that manpower has been spread thin.”

Gideon’s mouth opened, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Somehow, he couldn’t bring to mind the image of Lydia or the other girls slogging through the mud with pickaxes and shovels, fashioning a trench that would stretch the hundred feet from the Dovecote to the Aspen River.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Miss Tomlinson. I’m sure that the mining company could gather a crew should we need it.”

She nodded, then lapsed into silence. Her gaze roamed the room, taking in the utilitarian office.

Unlike many of the other buildings in town, this one had not fallen under the women’s purview. While the cook shack, the Meeting House, and even the Miners’ Hall had been scrubbed and polished until they gleamed, this space was clearly run by men. Mud streaked the floors and the desks were littered with papers, logbooks and coffee mugs. The only nod to neatness was the rifles lined up on a rack against the far wall.

For some reason, the untidiness caused a warmth to steal up Gideon’s neck. Judging by the way Miss Tomlinson invariably dressed to perfection in frilly dresses with nipped-in waists, he’d bet she was a stickler for orderliness. Today, she looked especially fine in a red gingham dress with black braid trim.

“Was there something else, Miss Tomlinson?”

Rather than speaking, she moved restlessly around the room. Despite the warmth of the day, she wore delicate kid gloves the exact shade of crimson as the capelet that graced her shoulders.

Where did a woman find red leather gloves?

As she moved, Gideon felt compelled to shift to face her—until he had the sensation of becoming a sunflower tracking the orbit of the sun.

“I suppose that leads me to my main question,” she said, regarding him from beneath her lashes.

The look she offered him didn’t seem very...businesslike.

Gideon couldn’t help folding his arms across his chest. He instantly regretted the movement, wondering if she would interpret it as a defensive gesture.

Once again, he felt a prickling sensation. His instincts told him that Miss Tomlinson was up to something.

But what?

Gideon’s men had already relaxed their guard substantially since Batchwell’s accident. Short of allowing the ladies to wander all over town at will, what more could she want of him?

“Have you sent anyone to check the pass?”

Of all the questions he might have suspected she’d ask, that was the last one that would have popped into his mind. Even so, Gideon hesitated.

“Not yet. I’d planned on riding up that way later this afternoon.”

“Excellent. When should I meet you at the livery?”

It took a full second for her query to sink into his brain.

She wanted to go with him.

Not knowing how best to respond, Gideon stalled.

“Meet me?”

“Since the condition of the pass will determine the fate of the women, I think it’s only logical that I accompany you.”

He held out a hand. “Oh, no. No, no, no. This isn’t a jaunty buggy ride in the countryside, Miss Tomlinson. Despite the fact that the roads have become clear in the valley, up by the canyon, the slopes will be treacherous at best. The debris field left from the avalanche will be unstable and full of the rocks and broken tree limbs that were brought down from the higher elevations. If we can get into the canyon at all, we’ll be headed into terrain kept in shade most of the day. That could mean encountering ice and even the threat of another avalanche.”

Lydia’s eyes seemed to snap, even though she maintained her neutral expression.

“Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Gault?”

How was he supposed to answer that question without getting himself into trouble?

“No, ma’am.”

He mentally grimaced when his tone emerged with a hint of a question.

Again, her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t remark on his inflection. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t proposing a buggy ride at all, Mr. Gault. I am fully aware of the hazards and consequences of the weather—which is why I intended to meet you at the livery. I’m certain that Mr. Smalls could be persuaded to loan me a mount. Rest assured, I’m a qualified rider.”

“We don’t have sidesaddles here at Bachelor Bottoms,” Gideon said with what he hoped was a negligent shrug. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on his quick thinking. There was no way that Miss Fancy Pants could get on a horse with all those ruffles and gathers and lace unless she used one.

Unfortunately, the moment she scowled, he realized that he’d managed to irritate her even further.

“I didn’t think that you would, Mr. Gault.”

“And you can’t be going anywhere in...that.” He made a vague gesture to the frilliness of her attire. “You’d freeze to death the minute we hit the shady patches.”

“What time, Mr. Gault?”

Her tone reminded him of Sister Grundy, his childhood Sunday School teacher. Miss Grundy’s voice had held the same thread of steel when Gideon had tried to bring a frog to church under the guise of “educating one of God’s creatures.”

He sighed and glanced at the clock over his desk. In the silence, the tick-tock of the timepiece seemed overly loud—and Miss Tomlinson’s toe tapping impatiently against the floor merely served as an accompaniment.

“How about one o’clock?”

The appointed time was less than an hour away—and by his standards, he doubted that any woman could get herself changed into suitable clothes and return to town. His sisters had never managed such a feat.

“Very well. One o’clock.”

With that, she strode past him in a wave of something that smelled like lemons and gardenias. In doing so, she managed to hook the door and pull it closed behind her with a resounding slam! that rattled the windows.

Gideon couldn’t help chuckling. Lydia Tomlinson might be a pain in the neck most days...

But she was like a firecracker with a faulty fuse. A body never knew what might set her off.

And oh, what fun it was to see what it took to get her to lose control.

* * *

Lydia marched down the boardwalk, a secret smile twitching at the corners of her lips. She really hadn’t meant to slam the door quite so hard...

But she’d needed to signal to her friends that Gideon Gault was no longer being distracted.

Within seconds, Stefania and Marie joined her, and the three of them walked down the boardwalk, heading out of town toward the Dovecote.

“Any progress?” Lydia asked.

“We were able to get five more men.”

Lydia shot a glance at the other girls, catching their barely submerged glee. “Five? How?”

“We threw a blanket over each of them and hauled them into the cook shack. From there, we explained the nature of our protest and how they could help.”

“And they all agreed to join our cause?”

“Klute Ingraham is still thinking about it. But Iona started plying him with pie, so I think his stomach will declare its allegiance soon enough. If that doesn’t work, Iona is prepared to mourn the fact that the stuffed ferrets he provided for decoration in the Dovecote need a new set of clothes for spring.”

Since Klute had a passion for taxidermy and dressing his creations in fanciful clothes, Lydia supposed that would keep him from comprehending the true nature of his situation. In essence, he was a prisoner to the mail-order brides. He and the other men they’d taken hostage would remain in their control until their demand was met: an end to the “no women” clause in the mine’s rule book.

“Well done! Where are you keeping this batch?”

“At the infirmary for now. Since Sumner has been forced to remain home with Jonah during his quarantine, we figured that no one would bother to look there.”

“And who do you have guarding them?”

“Greta and Hannah.”

Lydia laughed. Greta was a plump Bavarian woman who knew very little English. What words she knew, she offered in a big booming voice. Even if she bellowed her orders in German, she more than captured a man’s attention. Hannah was a sturdy farm girl from Ohio. The pair of them should be more than capable of guarding their captives.

“That brings our total to...”

“Thirty-seven!” Stefania offered proudly.

Lydia chuckled. “See what you can do this afternoon to bring that number even higher. I have an appointment to meet Mr. Gault to examine the pass. We should be gone at least an hour, but I’ll do my best to keep him out of the town proper for two.”

Marie and Stefania both offered her mock salutes. Then, they turned to retrace their steps so that they could relay their “orders” to the women who would lie in wait for the next batch of men who foolishly sought a meal, a haircut or a game of checkers in the company store.

Lydia knew that the ladies’ efforts wouldn’t remain undetected for much longer—she hadn’t thought that they would last this long. Indeed, she was surprised that the dip in the mine’s workforce hadn’t already become a problem. But with more and more snow disappearing every day, the brides had been desperate to find a way to get Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms to revise the company’s strict rules for employment.

In order to work at the prestigious and profitable Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine, the men had to sign an oath that they would abstain from drinking, smoking, gambling and cussing. And most egregious of all, in her opinion, women were forbidden on company property. That meant that married men were forced to live apart from their wives and families. And if a man happened to fall in love once he came to the territories, he was in big trouble.

Unfortunately, the owners of the mine hadn’t counted on a trainload of mail-order brides being stranded in their community. Despite the Pinkertons, who had been ordered to guard them night and day, many of the men had begun to form attachments with the ladies. Two of their own—Sumner Ramsey and Willow Wanlass—had even managed to marry a couple of the men. But those relationships—as well as so many others that had begun in secret—were already in jeopardy. If something wasn’t done—soon—these men would be faced with the loss of employment or separation from their families.

Such a situation was untenable, even to someone like Lydia, who had sworn off matrimony or any other forms of romantic entanglements. Therefore, she’d been assigned the task of keeping Gideon Gault in the dark about their efforts for as long as possible. She was to distract him, waylay him, monopolize his time, no matter what it took to do so.

Casting her eyes skyward, she offered up a quick prayer.

Dear Lord, please bless us in our efforts to keep these families together.

And please, please, don’t let me lose my temper with that insufferable man.

Chapter Two

Well before the appointed time, Lydia stood next to a docile gray mare, the reins held loosely in her hands. She was glad that she’d made the effort to arrive early. As she’d suspected, a quarter hour before they were meant to meet, Gideon Gault burst out of the Pinkerton offices and ran in the direction of the livery.

She wasn’t sure if he was considered off-duty or if he’d merely hoped to arrive at the livery incognito, but he’d changed his clothes, donning a pair of worn boots, brown wool pants, a brown leather vest and a brown shearling coat.

Perhaps the choice of so much brown was an attempt at camouflage, given the mud in Bachelor Bottoms. If that was the case, it didn’t work. In all that well-worn gear, there was no disguising the man’s musculature. Gideon Gault had long legs and broad shoulders—making Lydia wonder what sorts of activities were entailed with becoming a Pinkerton. A man didn’t get that kind of physique by trailing a bunch of women around Aspen Valley in order to keep the miners at bay.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gault.”

He’d been so mindful about missing the puddles in his dash across the street that her greeting brought him up short and he skidded to a halt, nearly plowing into her headfirst.

Automatically, he reached to lift his hat, but the action merely emphasized the montage of emotions that raced across his features: surprise, dismay, then utter resignation.

“Miss Tomlinson.”

“I see you were hoping that I would forget our errand.”

“No, ma’am, I—”

Even he must have realized the halfhearted objection because his lips twitched at the corners. “I had expected you to take a little longer.”

At least he had the grace to admit that much.

“And why would you think that?”

“Experience.”

“Oh. So, you’re one of the men at Bachelor Bottoms who’s been forced to live apart from a loved one?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I grew up with sisters. Five of them.”

Her brows rose. “It’s a wonder you survived, Mr. Gault.”

He didn’t miss her sarcasm. If anything, it made his smile even wider. “I’ve got battle scars, Miss Tomlinson. But, yes, I survived.”

The livery door opened and Willoughby Smalls walked out, leading a strawberry roan gelding.

“Thanks, Willoughby.”

Smalls grinned, his gaze bouncing from Gideon to Lydia. An accident at the mine had crushed the gentle giant’s throat years ago, robbing him of his ability to speak. But he still managed to communicate his thoughts by waving a finger between the two of them.

“Yes, we’ll be riding out together.”

“Despite the fact that Mr. Gault worked so hard to leave me behind,” Lydia muttered under her breath.

Smalls made a chortling noise, then moved to Lydia’s side. Bending, he offered his laced hands to help boost her into the saddle.

“Thank you, Mr. Smalls. You are too, too kind.”

She shot a glance in Gideon’s direction in time to see his ears redden ever so slightly.

As soon as her boot rested on Smalls’s palms, he hoisted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. She barely had time to throw her leg over the mare before landing unceremoniously in the saddle.

This time, it was her turn to feel a tinge of heat seeping into her cheeks as Gideon’s keen brown eyes raked over her form.

After she agreed to host a series of speaking engagements on women’s suffrage up and down the California coast, Lydia’s aunts had insisted that she be outfitted from head to toe in a proper wardrobe for the occasion. Because of that, Lydia had been burdened with more clothing—and trunks—than decency permitted. But for once, Lydia was grateful that her guardians had seen fit to provide her with a split riding skirt and tailored jacket—as well as a wool greatcoat to wear over the top. Granted, the matching hat was a trifle fussy. But she couldn’t miss the fact that Gideon was looking at her less like an annoyance and more like...

Well, like a woman.

“As you can see, Mr. Gault. I am more than prepared for the rigors of our outing.”

His mouth—which had dropped open ever so slightly when she’d sat astride the horse—snapped shut.

“We’ll see about that,” he said. Then he offered a soft clicking noise to his horse and headed the animal out of town.

“Thank you again, Mr. Smalls,” Lydia offered.

The man beamed up at her and waved.

Although Lydia had always been an avid rider, it took several moments to accustom herself to the mare and the unfamiliar tack. But once she’d loosened her grip on the reins and settled more firmly into the large saddle, she was able to relax and move with the animal.

“Is this something you do every year?” she asked, catching up to Gideon.

He looked at her questioningly. “What?”

“Ride out to examine the pass?”

He nodded. “Usually Jonah and I make the trip once or twice a week until we can see a possible path to the adjoining valley.”

“So, it’s not unusual to be completely cut off? Even with the railroad coming through?”

“The railway company tries to keep the tracks clear as long as they can. But eventually, even they have to call it quits. For the last couple of years, we’ve only been isolated for a few weeks. This year has been...unusual.”

Unusual.

That was one way of describing the situation. Nearly three months had elapsed since the avalanche. And this winter, the miners had been forced to contend with more than fifty stranded passengers who were living in their valley, eating their stores, using their supplies. In many ways, it was a blessing that spring had come early, even though there were those who weren’t looking forward to the consequences.

“Will you be relieved to see the back of us, Mr. Gault?”

When she met his gaze, Gideon looked as if she’d handed him a time bomb set to explode.

Laughing, she said, “I suppose that there’s no diplomatic way of answering that, is there?”

His eyes creased in amusement. “Like I said. I grew up with sisters. I’ve learned to recognize a loaded question.”

“Then let me rephrase. I know that your duties will be simplified. But I wonder if you will miss us in some small way.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Miss Tomlinson. I dare say that this valley will miss all of you when you’ve gone. You’ve brought a measure of joy to what would have been a dreary winter.”

Lydia supposed she shouldn’t put too much import into his words, but she couldn’t ignore the warmth that settled into her heart.

“I’m glad we weren’t a complete chore.”

He shook his head. “Not a complete chore.”

When she would have glared at him, he laughed. “Come now, Miss Tomlinson. You mustn’t take yourself too seriously. After all, our time together is limited.”

Yes. But did it have to be?

“I don’t suppose that your views have changed?”

He arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

“When we first arrived, you and Jonah, Mr. Batchwell and Mr. Bottoms...well, you were all so certain that having females in the valley would be the ruin of the mine. Do you still think that way?”

She liked the way that Gideon didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to consider the question for some time before saying, “I would say that we’ve managed to make things work.”

“Are production numbers down?”

“No. From what I’ve seen, they’ve increased.”

“And the safety issues. Has there been a marked increase in injuries?”

She knew by the way he stiffened in the saddle that he had figured out the gist of her argument.

“No. We’ve had some problems—the tunnel collapse in December and the incident with Jenny Reichmann—”

“Which had nothing to do with the rest of us at the Dovecote.”

He inclined his head in agreement.

“Overall, I’d say that the men have been mindful of the risks of their job and have done their best to avoid any dangers they’ve encountered.”

“So, there is no hard evidence that the women have proven to be a distraction.”

“I can assure you that the men are plenty distracted, Miss Tomlinson. But there’s been no sign of it in their work. Yet.”

“On the other hand, there have been definite advantages to having us here, I believe. Take the food, for example...”

Gideon drew his mount to a halt, forcing her to do the same.

“I take it that you’re building up to a grand finale in this debate, Miss Tomlinson. Why don’t you cut to the chase?”

She reached to pat the neck of the mare.

“I meant nothing of the kind. I merely wanted to know—in your expert opinion—if you felt that men and women could coexist here at Bachelor Bottoms.”

He sighed and squinted against the bright sunshine that radiated from the upper slopes of the mountains.

“It doesn’t really matter what I think, Miss Tomlinson. I’m a hired man, like the rest of the miners. If you want to make headway with your argument, you’ll need to take it up with the owners.”

“But I would like your views on the matter, Mr. Gault. If the Misters Batchwell and Bottoms were to come to you and ask the same question, what would you say?”

He met her gaze so completely, so directly, that she nearly looked away.

Nearly.

“Honestly, Miss Tomlinson, I think that Aspen Valley would be better off with the women gone.”

The words clutched at her heart like an unseen fist. She should have expected such sentiments coming from one of the Pinkertons tasked with guarding the mail-order brides, but she’d thought—no, she’d hoped—that Gideon Gault might look past those challenges to the ways the girls had helped the community. Even he must see that a measure of happiness had come to Bachelor Bottoms, and the women were responsible for helping to make that happen.

“Now, how about we go check out that pass so you have an estimate for the rest of your stay?” Gideon said, urging his mount forward.

And for a moment, the chill that seeped into her body had nothing to do with the wind gusting down from the snowy peaks.

* * *

Gideon knew without being told that he’d disappointed Lydia with his answer. Although she tried to keep a blank face, he saw the light fade from her crystal-blue eyes only to be replaced with something that looked very much like...hurt.

As he led his mount up the slope, Gideon pushed that thought away. He was nothing to Lydia Tomlinson—so why would she care one way or the other? For the past few months, he’d been a thorn in her side, just as she’d been one in his.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t seem to shake away the feeling that—in his haste to get things back to normal again—he’d inadvertently denigrated the good the women had done.

His eyes automatically scanned the debris field left by the avalanche even as his mind worried over his conversation with Lydia. Despite what he’d said, he would be the first to admit that the ladies had improved Bachelor Bottoms—and he wasn’t merely referring to the change in their diet. The food they served at the cook shack—two hot meals and cold meats and cheeses for lunch—were above and beyond anything that Stumpy, the old mine chef, had ever prepared. During the past few cold winter months, the men had learned to treasure time spent over savory stews, rich breads and hearty soups. Gideon probably had a better idea than most the way that the women had carefully planned each repast to make the most out of the community’s dwindling supplies. They’d stretched the foodstuffs as far as possible, all without lessening the taste.

There were other ways the ladies had contributed even more. They’d nursed many of the men through illness and injury, brought order and warmth to their surroundings. Even the daily devotionals had grown sweeter from the sounds of their voices and Lydia’s touch on the pump organ. Gideon had no doubts that Aspen Valley would become quite dismal again when they left.

But they would have to leave.

Those were the rules of the mine. No drinking, smoking, cussing or women.

Perhaps Phineas Bottoms could be persuaded to take a second look at the requirements for employment, but Ezra Batchwell would never agree. Not in this lifetime or the next. The man was an ardent, confirmed bachelor—had been for as long as Gideon had known him. Gideon knew all about the rumors that the other miners whispered about the bearlike man who had helped to open up one of the most successful silver mines in the territories. That, as a young man, he’d been the victim of unrequited love—and after being refused, he’d vowed to live a life alone.

Gideon was sure that the story was so much hogwash. Ezra Batchwell was a businessman, through and through. He’d set his course on lifting himself out of the coal mines of Aberdeen and making his fortunes. And he’d done that. But that feat would be the very reason why he wouldn’t change his methods. Why would he tinker with success?

“Are things so very bad?”

Gideon jerked from his thoughts to find that Lydia remained by his side. Even more unsettling, she’d been watching him carefully—probably in an effort to read his thoughts again.

He forced himself to take in the slopes around him, the path of rocks and broken limbs. Up ahead, he could see the hulking shapes of the ruined railway cars poking through the drifts, looking like beached whales marooned from a sea of white. It wouldn’t be long before the carriages would be completely exposed. Once they were, a crew would salvage whatever the railroad might find useful. Then the twisted rails would be dragged out of the way so that the rail beds could be repaired, regraded, and lined with ties. Thankfully, the damage didn’t look nearly as bad as he and Jonah had supposed. Locomotives could probably start heading into the valley by summer.

But the women...

The women would be long gone by then.

He urged his mount the last few bounding strides to the top of the hill so that Gideon could look down, down, into the canyon below. For the first time in months, he could see the glint of the river and the muddy beginnings of a trail. There were still a few spots where negotiating the hairpin turns would be treacherous. But if the weather continued to warm up the way it had...

The brides could be carried out of the valley in a series of wagons by the end of the month.

“Gideon?”

He realized too late that she’d asked a question and still waited for an answer.

“Are things bad?”

He shook his head. “It’s melting a whole lot faster than any of us had anticipated.”

Her cheeks seemed to pale.

“How much longer do we have?”

He took a pair of field glasses from his saddlebags and peered through the lenses.

“If it doesn’t rain again? I’d say a week. Ten days at the most.”

He thought he heard her gasp. But when he lowered the glasses, her face was expressionless.

“That soon?”

Again, he couldn’t tell from her tone if he’d offered Lydia good news or bad.

Stuffing the field glasses back into place, he nodded. “You’d better tell the girls to start packing. As soon as we can get a rider through the pass to alert the railroad, and the trail looks steady enough for a team and wagon, we’ll start the evacuation.”

The word evacuation seemed wrong, somehow. As if the ladies were being taken somewhere better. Safer. But even though he knew they had to go—for the miners’ sakes as well as their own—Gideon couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, the men of Bachelor Bottoms would have done everything in their power to make them feel at home.

* * *

The sky was growing dark before Lydia had a chance to relay the information she’d gathered from her trip up the mountain. By the time she’d helped Mr. Smalls take care of her mare, checked in with the women preparing and serving the evening meal, then played the pump organ for the evening Devotional, her brain was a-swirl with the myriad tasks that still needed to be accomplished. Only then could she and the other mail-order brides announce their demands and begin a proper protest.

Did they have enough time?

As she hurried toward the Dovecote, she could see the glow in the windows caused by the myriad lamps. She’d probably missed dinner with the other girls, but she had no doubts that one of the women would have placed a plate of food in the oven for her. Hot tea, coffee or cocoa would be waiting on the stove.

She stumbled, coming to a stop. Now that the sun had dipped below the mountains, the air was brisk, and her breath hung in front of her like a gossamer cloud. Overhead, the skies had become cloudy again and a light misting rain was swiftly turning to sleet.

For a moment, Lydia peered at the Dovecote, seeing the building for what it was—an old equipment shed that had been converted into a haphazard dormitory. The outer boards were rough and peeling. The yard was a series of puddles and matted brown grass. Planks had been stretched over the worst of the mud to give the brides a walkway to a front door that looked like it belonged to a feed store more than a residence.

But the Dovecote had become a home. Even from yards away, Lydia could hear female voices, snatches of singing, laughter.

For a girl who’d never known the company of sisters—or young women at all, for that matter—the dormitory had proven to be an adventure. Lydia had learned so much about herself—how to have patience and understanding, to share the burdens and accomplishments of others. It was for that reason that she’d been persuaded to organize their current plan.

Had they started too late? Would they be able to do enough to disrupt the routines of Bachelor Bottoms and its owners? Would Batchwell and Bottoms realize the extent of the sacrifices they demanded of their men? Could Lydia get them to see that denying their employees of their wives and sweethearts didn’t just lessen the man, it lessened the entire community?

The door opened and Iona Skye, a regal widow in her sixties, poked her head out. “Is something the matter, Lydia?”

“No! No, I’m coming.”

Lydia hurried the last few yards, dodging into the warmth of the Dovecote.

As she’d anticipated, she was immediately inundated with the rich scents of perfume, baking bread and a hint of cinnamon.

Iona reached to help Lydia with her coat. “Let’s get you out of those wet things. You’ll catch your death.”

“It started drizzling as I turned down the lane.”

“Come here by the fire.”

Before Lydia quite knew what had happened, she found herself ensconced in a comfortable chair, a quilt draped over her lap, and a steaming cup of tea cradled between her palms.

“I’ll have your dinner ready in no time!” Marie called from the small kitchen area.

“No rush. Really.”

Lydia knew that her friends were trying to give her enough time to unwind from her busy day. Although they pretended to be involved with their own tasks, there was no disguising the way they hovered nearby. She saw no reason for prolonging their misery.

“I have news, so gather round.”

Immediately, the brides grabbed their chairs, upended crates, and even a few barrels—using the seating arrangements they’d managed to cobble together in the past few months.

“As you probably all know by now, I rode with Gideon Gault up the mountainside to check the pass.”

“And?” Stefania asked breathlessly.

“It’s worse than we thought. The snow has been beaten down by the heat and the rain. According to Mr. Gault, we have only a week—maybe ten days—until he and his men will organize a wagon train to force us out of the valley.”

“He said those very words? That we’d be forced out?”

Lydia held up a hand. “No. He didn’t say that exactly.” She sighed. “But I did manage to ascertain his true feelings. He thinks that we should all leave as soon as possible.”

“So, we can’t count on his becoming one of our allies,” Myra Claussen said mournfully. Her identical twin, Miriam, gripped her hand.

“I don’t see how we can change his mind. He seemed very adamant.”

“Which means we’re going to have to proceed very carefully. If Mr. Gault stumbles across our plans before we can get everything into place...” Iona murmured.

“He will do his best to stop us,” Lydia confirmed.

“What should we do?” Emmarissa Elliot asked from the opposite end of the room.

Lydia thought for a moment, her finger unconsciously rubbing at the ache between her brows.

“We’re going to have to step things up. In my opinion, we need at least a hundred men to join sides with us. Anything less won’t cause a pinch in the staffing of the mine.” Lydia pointed to Anna Kendrick. “Were you able to talk to Sumner?”

“Yes, but only briefly. She said that Jonah’s getting restless and it’s only a matter of time before he ignores her insistence that he remain quarantined from the rest of the men.”

Lydia turned to Millie Kauffman. “What about Charles Wanlass?”

“Willow said that he’s behind us a hundred percent. He’s even willing to talk to his own crew once we’re ready.”

“Good. What about Phineas Bottoms?” She turned to Iona and was surprised when the older woman blushed.

“I have tried to develop a...rapport with the man at the cook shack.”

“And...” Lydia prompted encouragingly.

“Do I have to?” Iona whispered.

“You know how important this is to us all.”

Iona shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but nodded. “I’ll ask him to join me for lunch tomorrow.”

“And...”

“And I’ll arrange to dine with him...alone...in the private room in the cook shack.”

“Do you think you can keep him occupied?”

Lydia didn’t miss the way Iona’s hands trembled before she gripped them in her lap.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent. That means the rest of us will need to strike the storehouse tonight.”

She glanced up at the mantel clock, noting the hour. “Those of you who are willing and able, dress warmly, and we’ll meet down here at midnight. Agreed?”

The women grinned and spoke together.

“Agreed!”

Chapter Three

Darkness hung thick and black as Lydia and the women crept toward the storage house.

So far, they hadn’t encountered any men—but the fact that they’d brought their number of “hostages” up to thirty-nine by the end of the night might have been partially responsible.

Marie Rousseau stumbled over a crack in the boardwalk and Lydia grasped her elbow to keep her from falling. The Claussen twins, Myra and Miriam, giggled, then corrected the path of the pumpkin wagon they pulled behind them.

“Shhh,” Iona whispered. “We can’t let anyone know we’re in town, let alone that we’re raiding the storehouse.”

“I feel positively wicked,” Millie Kauffman whispered with apparent glee.

“We’ve become outlaws,” Hannah added.

“We can’t be outlaws. We haven’t done anything illegal,” Miriam insisted.

“We’ve kidnapped nearly forty men,” Myra pointed out.

“I don’t think it can be considered a crime if they’ve agreed to the situation.”

“We’re about to burglarize the storehouse.”

“Honestly, Myra. You sound like you want to be breaking the law.” Miriam’s exasperation was so apparent that Lydia could nearly hear the woman rolling her eyes. “Besides, we aren’t taking anything, we’re simply rearranging something.”

“Shhh.” Lydia lifted her hand, her eyes roaming the shadows. There’d been a noise coming from the alley. A soft panting.

A dog darted from the shadows, and she wilted in relief.

“Let’s get this done as soon as possible and get back to the Dovecote.”

Lydia took a key from her pocket and unlocked the heavy padlock that secured the door. Then, she allowed the women to slip inside while she watched the street.

Once they had all safely entered, she closed the door again and reached for the lantern kept on a hook nearby. After lighting it with a friction match found in the iron holder, she adjusted the wick, then whispered, “Find the ammunition as soon as you can and load up your baskets and the wagon. We can’t stay here a moment longer than necessary.”

They hurried down the aisles, using the hand-drawn map provided by Dr. Sumner Ramsey until they found the spot where crates of bullets had been stacked on shelves.

Lydia held up the lamp, revealing boxes and boxes labeled by type and caliber.

“Ach. So, so many,” Greta murmured in her heavy German accent.

“Oh, dear,” Iona sighed. “I had no idea that the camp armed itself this heavily.”

“There’s no way that we’re going to be able to haul all of these back to the Dovecote, not even with the wagon.”

“We’ll take what we can, then come back tomorrow for more.”

Greta was the first to grasp one of the crates, pry it open with a cleaver from the cook shack, and begin removing the ammunition from inside. She quickly loaded an empty feed sack and placed it in the wagon. Beside her, the rest of the ladies sprang into action, filling baskets and pillowcases—and whatever else they’d managed to find to transport their booty.

Lydia hoped that such measures would prove unnecessary. She doubted that even Ezra Batchwell would resort to an armed confrontation in order to get the women to toe the line. But she didn’t want to take any chances. She’d anticipated that the disappearance of the weapons would capture someone’s attention, but she’d hoped that it would take them longer to realize that the bullets were gone. By that time, they would have hidden the ammunition so the men couldn’t change their minds.

A rattling came from the front of the storehouse and the women gasped.

“What’s that?” Stefania whispered.

“Shh!”

They froze.

Lydia barely dared to breathe as the rattling resolved itself into the unmistakable creak of the door.

“Give me the lantern!”

Marie scooped their only source of light from a nearby crate and handed it to Lydia.

“Stay here. I’ll do my best to get rid of whoever it is.”

She quickly strode down one of the side aisles, then cut back to the section of the storehouse that was reserved for food. Without even looking, she grabbed a bag from one of the shelves, then moved more slowly toward the front entrance.

Even though she’d been expecting to encounter someone on her trip back to the door, she jumped when a shape loomed out of the darkness. A gasp pushed from her lips when the lamplight slid over the man’s face.

Gideon Gault.

“Mr. Gault, you nearly scared the life out of me!”

He seemed just as surprised to see her.

“Miss Tomlinson. It’s after midnight. What on earth are you doing in the storehouse so late at night?”

“We had an...emergency at the Dovecote. One of the brides fell ill and we were out of...” Too late, she realized she didn’t know what she’d grabbed from the shelf. Glancing down, she grimaced. “Beans. We were out of beans.”

Gideon blinked at her with such a puzzled expression that she nearly laughed out loud.

“Beans?”

“Yes. It’s well known that a poultice made of beans and...and vinegar...is an excellent cure for...”

For what? What?

“Female complaints.”

In Lydia’s wide experience, nothing quelled a man’s curiosity faster than mentioning “female complaints.” But she’d forgotten that Gideon had been raised with five sisters, so apparently, he was made of sterner stuff.

“Beans and vinegar.”

“And mustard.” Lydia fought to keep herself from wincing. “And a dash of bacon grease.”

Lydia could feel panic beginning to flutter in her chest like a flock of moths, but she fought to keep her expression serene.

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No. Not really?”

The man eyed her with those coffee-brown eyes, and she was sure that he could see the deceit hanging over her like a black cloud, but he finally sighed.

“Where are your guards?”

Locked up in the Miners’ Hall.

“Guards?”

“The Pinkertons who are supposed to be watching the Dovecote.”

“I... I’ve no idea. We haven’t seen them all day.”

Honestly, that should have been the last thing to admit.

Gideon lifted his hand to the crease between his brows and rubbed the spot as if he had a headache. For the first time, she noted the exhaustion that lined his features.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Mr. Gault?”

“I could ask the same question of you, Miss Tomlinson.”

She gestured to the door. “I was heading there now.”

“Then I’ll escort you home.”

She balked at the idea, sure that he’d somehow divined that the dormitory was missing half of its occupants, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a plausible reason for refusing his offer.

“That would be much appreciated.”

She reluctantly blew out the lantern, knowing that she would be leaving her friends in complete darkness. Unfortunately, that fact couldn’t be helped.

Gideon held the door for her, allowing her to step into the cool night air.

“Do you have your key?”

“Yes, of course.”

To her consternation, he snapped the lock shut, effectively imprisoning the women who were still inside. Then he made a sweeping motion with his hand.

“After you.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, but with each step, Lydia grew increasingly uncomfortable. There was something...companionable about having Gideon escort her home. Something sweet. And that was not something she wanted to feel about the tall Pinkerton.

“You mentioned you had five sisters.”

There was a beat of silence and she realized she hadn’t asked a question, but had offered a statement of fact. Thankfully, Gideon seemed willing to follow her lead.

“Anna, April, Addie, Adele, and Adelaide. All five of them are older by several years.”

Lydia couldn’t help laughing. “So why weren’t you named Alfred or Abraham?”

“I think my mother was expecting another girl. She’d chosen the name Augusta. When I was born, she named me after my father instead.”

“He must have been proud.”

Gideon shrugged. “Unfortunately, my father had already passed of diphtheria.”

So, Gideon truly had been raised in a house with nothing but women. No wonder he’d found the arrival of the mail-order brides such a trial.

“Then Bachelor Bottoms must have seemed like a masculine haven when you arrived.”

Gideon shot her a look, and to her surprise, he didn’t offer a pithy answer. “Actually, for a little while, I missed a bit of feminine fussing from my family. I’d spent years in the Army, so I’d had enough of an all-male environment.”

His expression became strangely tight, his eyes shuttered.

“Then why did you come to the territories? Why not stay at home for a little longer?”

He shot her a glance, seeming to weigh whether or not he should confide in her. “By that time, my mother had died as well and my sisters had all married and scattered. I managed to visit them, but... I couldn’t bring myself to be a burden.”

“Family is never a burden, Mr. Gault.”

He eyed her curiously. “That’s not a response that I would expect from a woman fighting for...how do you put it? Female equality and emancipation?”

She sniffed. “Neither of those issues rule out the possibility of a family, Mr. Gault. I believe that women should be given the same rights and opportunities as men. But I also understand that most ladies feel a keen need to be wives and mothers.”

“Most ladies? Does that mean that you have no designs on ensuring such a fate, Miss Tomlinson?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Somehow, they had strayed into perilous territory.

“That is neither here nor there.”

“Mmm. So, you’re afraid to commit one way or the other?”

They’d reached the end of the boardwalk at the edge of town and when Gideon stepped into the lane, she stayed where she was, needing the added height so that she could meet his gaze. Eye to eye. Man to woman. Equals.

“I have committed myself wholeheartedly to the Cause, Mr. Gault. In doing so, I spend most of my time traveling and lecturing. Neither activity lends itself to a happy marriage or family life. Therefore, I have chosen to remain...unfettered.”

He seemed to consider her statement. “An interesting choice of words. Unfettered. Is that how you see marriage and motherhood? As a punishment or an impediment?”

“You’re purposely twisting my words.”

“No, I’m merely trying to understand them.”

She folded her arms tightly in front of her. “There are many women who—”

“We’re not talking about other women. We’re talking about you.”

“I...” She huffed. “I don’t see marriage or motherhood in a negative light. I merely don’t see it as part of my future.”

“Because...”

“Because I doubt there’s a man alive who would have the courage to put up with the likes of me!”

The words blurted from her mouth without any thought. But before she could retrieve them, Gideon Gault laughed.

“You may be right,” he offered.

There was no sting to his voice, no negative inflection. If anything, she sensed that he found the male population lacking in courage rather than the other way around. In any event, he resumed walking, forcing her to trail along behind him.

“So, you’ll be heading to California after this?”

She quick-stepped to catch up to him, nodding. “I begin my tour in San Francisco. Granted, many of my engagements have already passed and will have to be rescheduled, but I’m eager to get underway.” Peering up at him in the darkness, she asked, “Have you been to California, Mr. Gault?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve always wanted to go there, but so far, I’ve never had the chance.”

“I hear that it’s warm all year round and you can pluck lemons and oranges right from the trees.”

“Will your itinerary allow you such luxuries?”

He was teasing her now, so she responded in kind. “Oh, I’ll make time. I also want to stand on the shore so that I can write to my aunts and tell them that I’ve dipped my toes in the Atlantic and the Pacific.”

“Aunts?”

“Yes. My aunts have been my guardians for nearly a dozen years.”

“That must mean that you’ve lost your parents as well. I’m so sorry.”

Yes, her mother had died soon after she was born. But her father...

He might not be dead, but he was lost to her.

“There’s no need to be sorry. My aunts have been wonderful to me. They saw to it that I had the finest education and a loving home.” Even more importantly, they’d helped her leave her shameful past behind.

They were almost to the door of the Dovecote now and Lydia’s steps unconsciously slowed. For some reason, she felt reluctant to end their walk. Being able to talk to Gideon this way, openly, honestly, had shown her a different side to the man. One that was...companionable.

“Here you are,” Gideon announced needlessly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“In the future, perhaps you would be so kind as to wait for your guards to escort you around town?”

There was no sting behind the words, only weariness.

“You do realize that there’s no need for you and your men to trail us as if we had designs upon the company’s silver, don’t you?”

“I don’t think the silver is Mr. Batchwell’s main concern.”

“What else could we take? By your account, we only have a few weeks left in the valley at most.”

“Ah, but you and your friends have already stolen the affections of most of the men in Aspen Valley, which is why no one wants you to leave. That fact probably worries Batchwell more than his silver. So as long as I’m told to keep my men watching over the females in the Dovecote, that’s what I’ll have to do.” He motioned to the door. “I’ll wait here until you’re inside, and I’ve heard the bolt hit home.”

Lydia moved in a daze, entering and locking the door. After all her pestering and prodding, Gideon had admitted, of his own free will, that the women had touched the lives of the men in Bachelor Bottoms. Judging by his tone, he didn’t seem to mind.

She hurried to the window, pushing aside the curtain in time to see Gideon pausing to look over his shoulder. He must have seen her, because he lifted a hand to the brim of his hat.

She waved in return, waiting until he’d disappeared into the darkness. Then, she tossed the bag of beans onto the table and meandered upstairs to her room.

Once inside, she lit the lamp and adjusted the wick. As she did so, she caught her reflection in the mirror. For some reason, her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled with an inner energy.

How very odd.

Up to this point, she’d thought of the Pinkerton as something of a nuisance. But tonight, she’d had a peek into the gentleman behind the uniform, and she’d been surprised by what she’d found. He really was an interesting man. Although she’d learned a little about his family, there were so many things she still wanted to know.

Her hands lifted to her hair and she began removing the hairpins one by one. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she glanced at Iona’s empty cot and wished she could talk to her friend and get her opinion on the change in...

Iona.

The other girls were still locked in the storehouse!

Lydia jumped to her feet and raced pell-mell down the staircase. Then, after peeking out the front window to make sure that there was no sign of Gideon Gault, she ran as fast as she could back to town.

* * *

Gideon didn’t bother going back to the Pinkerton office and the barracks on the upper floor. He’d only gone a short distance into town before the old familiar restlessness began to bubble up inside of him.

He had to get away.

He had to keep moving.

He had to feel the wind in his hair and the roll of a horse beneath him.

By the time he’d reached the livery and saddled his gelding, he was breathing heavily and his lungs felt as if bands of iron tightened around them. The past seemed to suck him back into that dark place where flashes of battle crowded into his brain, pushing everything aside. Try as he might to stay rooted in the present, the coppery taste of fear tainted his tongue. His ears seemed to ring with cannon fire, and the stench of gunpowder and blood lingered in his nostrils. Then, just as quickly, the sensations shifted into something worse. Far worse.

Death.

Disease.

Untold suffering.

Swinging onto the back of his mount, he spurred it into a gallop as soon as the animal had cleared the threshold. Then he was riding, riding, up toward the mine where the intermittent lanterns illuminated the road.

Once he’d passed the opening, he was forced into slowing his horse, even though he wanted to keep flying through the darkness so that he could chase away the ghosts of his past and the sensation of being trapped. He doubled back in the other direction, taking a rarely used road that was little more than a set of wagon ruts etched into the grass.

It wasn’t until he found himself at the top of the slopes and looking down into the canyon that he brought his mount to a stop. Dragging the cool, damp air into his lungs, he closed his eyes, trying to push away the memories that seemed determined to wash over him and transport him to another time. He felt another mount beneath him, quivering as Gideon led it toward the noise and violence of the battlefield. He remembered the way it had reared back, unseating him, beginning a cascade of ill-timed events that would see him captured, then transported south.

To Andersonville.

His body and spirit railed against the images that flashed behind his eyes like malicious lightning bugs.

So much death.

Such despair.

As if his very soul depended on it, Gideon took deep breaths in an attempt to re-anchor himself in the present.

He would not give in to the past.

Not tonight.

Gradually, the sensations of misery and filth began to fade beneath the heady scent of pine and wet grass.

And something more. A faint hint of...

Gardenias and lemons.

An image of Lydia sprang into his head, pushing away the remembered ugliness of war. In his mind’s eye, he saw her in a montage of poses: militantly regarding him with her hands on her hips, challenging him with an imperious stare and smiling up at him in the darkness.

That thought lingered, becoming more real as he remembered the way that the moonlight had slipped over the curve of her cheek and sparkled in her eyes. Crystal-blue eyes the color of the Aspen River first thing in the morning.

The woman was full of surprises, he’d give her that. Until today, most of their encounters had proven to be a battle of wits. She’d seemed to delight in slipping away from the Pinkerton guards, and Gideon found secret pleasure in hauling her back into line.

But tonight...she’d been more open. More...

Real.

A man would have his hands full with a woman like that. If he didn’t keep her in line...

No. That kind of thinking is exactly what Lydia would expect of him. He could already hear her railing at him that the fairer sex wasn’t meant to be controlled. They were meant to be...

Loved.

But Lydia had made it clear that she didn’t want to be loved. At least not by a man. She intended to live her life as a champion for women’s suffrage.

Which was too bad. Because a woman like that could be a formidable force. Exasperating, yes, but she would also be fiercely loyal and devoted. No doubt, she would love a man with the same passion as she fought for women’s equality.

Gideon shook his head to rid it of such thoughts. Why was he even thinking of such a thing? Lydia Tomlinson was law unto herself. In a matter of days, she would resume her journey to California, and Gideon’s life and routine could return to normal.

It was better that way.

Much better.

As he shifted in the saddle, his horse nickered slightly. And somehow, the noise sounded like the animal was laughing at him.

Gideon’s gaze scanned the darkness of the pass one last time, taking in the glint of moonlight on the river below. And something more. A spark of light?

He leaned forward in the saddle, ruing the fact that he didn’t have his field glasses with him. For long moments, he scoured the area below him until he was sure that the glow had been a figment of his imagination.

He’d decided to return to town when he saw it again. A tiny flicker down by the riverbanks.

A fire?

For nearly a quarter hour, he watched, and in that time, the light neither grew larger or smaller—which meant it was being tended. Occasionally, Gideon would lose sight of it altogether—as if someone or something blocked it from view. Then it would reappear.

The sight wasn’t completely unexpected. The miners weren’t the only ones to make Aspen Valley their home. There were trappers and hunters who lived or crossed through the area. Farther north, beyond the next mountain range, there were farmers and ranchers trying to eke out a living in the fertile lowlands. If the pass had opened enough for Aspen Valley to contact the outside world, it only stood to reason that the outer world could come to them. For all Gideon knew, it could be the Pinkerton offices or the railway company trying to make contact.

But something about the idea of a stranger only a few miles away, with the Bachelor Bottoms warehouses full of silver ore and the Dovecote bursting with single women, caused the hairs at his nape to prickle. All thought of sleep skittered away. He would return to his quarters, retrieve his field glasses and leave word with his men that he’d be gone until morning. It shouldn’t take much longer than that to investigate what he’d seen and make up his mind whether added security measures were needed.

Chapter Four

Gideon hurried into the Meeting House with only seconds to spare—which meant that the only seats available were toward the front. He could feel the heavy weight of dozens of eyes settling upon him as he dragged his hat from his head and did his best to finger-comb his hair into place.

He probably looked a sorry sight. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, and his clothes were spattered with mud. His hand rasped against the stubble at his jaw and his stomach gnawed with hunger. After a fruitless morning where he’d been able to discover little more than the still-warm ashes of the fire he’d seen the night before, he’d needed the steadying influence of the morning Devotional to begin his day.

Leaning back in his pew, he allowed the prelude music to soak into his tired muscles. Around him, sunlight streamed through the windows of the Meeting House, forming bands of warmth that highlighted the crowded pews. Since the hours at the mine had been extended, there were only two shifts, rather than the usual three, which meant that more of the miners attended the early services. The benches were filled to capacity with men who’d finished their work. Their weary, dusty faces butted up against those miners who were clean and eager to get to their posts.

Gideon had always thought that the Devotionals were a symbolic leveler. Here, there were no rich men, no poor men, no handsome dandies or ugly mutts. They were simply children of their Heavenly Father seeking the influence of the Spirit.

His eyes skipped from row to row, stopping at the front pews on the opposite side of the room.

No, not just men. The women came as well. Since Ezra Batchwell had been sequestered in his house with his injury, the women had stretched the boundaries of their freedom—and he supposed that it was to their credit that they’d sought out the spiritual venue. This morning, they sat in two rows, wearing their best Sunday bonnets. Some of them glanced over their shoulders to smile shyly at the men behind them. But for the most part, they seemed lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the music being played by their leader, Miss Lydia Tomlinson.

Gideon would have been the first to admit that Lydia was a fine organ player. She managed to coax sounds out of the old pump instrument that he never would have believed possible. This morning, she was playing something lyrical, classical. Gideon had heard the melody before, although he wasn’t schooled enough to know its name. He only knew that the melody seemed to chase itself from high to low then back again, bringing to mind soaring birds. Or playful cherubs.

The moment the thought appeared, Gideon pushed it away. Honestly, the lack of sleep was making him quite fanciful—yet another sign that the time had come for the women to leave the valley.

But even as he told himself to keep his mind on his job, he couldn’t help watching Lydia as she bent over the keys. She seemed lost to the music, her fingers flying, her eyes slightly closed as she played from memory. She’d removed her bonnet before sitting down and the sun wove among the coils and curls, gilding her hair until it seemed to glow.

So beautiful.

Stop it!

He tore his gaze away, focusing resolutely on his hat, running the brim through his palms. But just when he’d begun to control his thoughts, the congregation rose for the first hymn, and without thought, his eyes strayed back to Lydia again.

He couldn’t account for the way he felt a sense of...peace when he looked her way, as well as a heady anticipation. He had no doubts that within moments of meeting up with her again, the verbal sparring would begin—and the thought gave him a jolt of energy that seemed entirely inappropriate.

Once again, he yanked his thoughts—and his gaze—away from Miss Tomlinson. With all his might, he concentrated on the benediction, then on the sermon being offered by Charles Wanlass.

Unfortunately, his friend chose today, of all days, to speak about love, commitment and faithfulness.

Gideon fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man had it bad. It was there in the way he gazed down at his wife, Willow, who sat on the front pew with her friends. Charles was completely and irrevocably in love with his bride and thoroughly besotted with the twins they’d adopted as their own. It was enough to make a body wonder what he was missing.

Almost.

Gideon would have to be blind not to see the transformation which had occurred in his usually taciturn friend—and in Jonah Ramsey as well. But that didn’t mean that such ideas of marital bliss would provide the same happy ending for Gideon. Much as he might want a sweetheart someday, he had to be realistic. He had nothing that he could offer a woman save an uncertain future. He could never settle down enough to make such a woman happy. Not when his nights were still often haunted by dreams of Andersonville and the savagery he’d witnessed. There were times when he woke screaming, his body trembling, his skin icy with sweat.

No woman should be asked to share such burdens.

Especially not one so refined as Lydia Tomlinson.

“Is somethin’ wrong, buddy?”

Gideon started at the whisper. Beside him, Gus Creakle eyed him with rheumy eyes.

“No. I’m fine.”

Creakle grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing beneath a lifetime’s worth of wrinkles.

“She’s a pretty little filly, ain’t she?”

“Shh!” Gideon glanced around to make sure the man hadn’t been overheard. But other than Smalls, who sat to Creakle’s right, the other men seemed tuned to the sermon.

“She’d make a fine little wife.”

“I’m not looking for a wife, Creakle.”

The man chortled, the white tufts of hair surrounding his bald pate quivering as if from an unseen breeze. “I don’t suppose a man is ever really lookin’. Most times, the notion falls in his lap.” He laughed again. “Either that, or the notion smacks him upside the head.”

“This is Aspen Valley, Creakle. A man can’t stay employed if he entertains such thoughts.”

Creakle huffed dismissingly. “Some things is more important than a job, you mark my words.”

“I happen to like my job.”

“But it don’t make you happy.” Creakle gestured to Charles who had paused in his sermon again to wink down at Willow. “Look at yer buddy there. He was a big ol’ lump o’ misery until that little gal came along.”

Gideon didn’t think he would go so far as to call Charles a “big old lump of misery,” but he had to admit that Creakle had a point.

“And Mr. Jonah. Well, now. That man has had his life handed back to him—and I’m not talkin’ about the way the doc operated on him. He’s finally lookin’ toward the future instead of the past.”

“I’ll admit that Charles and Jonah have found something special, Creakle. But I’m not shopping for what they’re selling. And even if I were, Miss Tomlinson would be the last woman I’d pursue.”

Finally, Creakle sat back, his eyes twinkling. His only response was, “We’ll see.”

But Gideon wasn’t paying attention any longer. He’d happened to glance toward Lydia, only to find that she was looking at him.

And there was something about her too-innocent expression that made his heart pump a little bit faster.

* * *

Lydia waited until the last miner had left the Meeting House before allowing her feet to still at the organ. The final chord died with a sigh, leaving a moment of heavy silence. Then, the women began gathering their things.

Iona brought Lydia her coat and bonnet. A wrinkle of worry had settled between the older woman’s brows.

“It’s only a matter of time before someone starts noticing that there are men missing from their shifts.”

Lydia had spent the night mulling over the problem and had finally come up with a temporary solution.

“I know, but I think I’ve come up with a way to prevent anyone from pinpointing our involvement for a little longer. I assigned Myra and Miriam to make some quarantine placards. With Jonah already diagnosed with measles, it’s not a stretch that there could be other cases.”

Iona’s eyes crinkled at the corners in delight.

“Not a stretch at all.”

“And we wouldn’t want the new cases to infect the rest of the population.”

“No. That would be horrible.”

“Make up a list of the men we have so far. As soon as we have the quarantine signs in place, we’ll take it to the mine. Who’s running things now that Jonah is being kept at home?”

Iona’s gaze sparkled with amusement. “Charles Wanlass.”

Lydia grinned, knowing that they had an ally who would take their list at face value, no questions asked.

“Wonderful. And you’ve arranged to have lunch with Phineas Bottoms?”

Iona’s cheeks grew pink. “Yes.”

“I know you’ll charm the socks off the man.”

The older woman offered a sound that was very near a girlish titter. “I doubt that, but I’ll do my best.”

“So that leaves...”

Lydia walked to the windows, watching as Gideon Gault strode across the street to the Pinkerton offices.

“What are you going to do with that one?” Hannah asked, nodding in the man’s direction. “The other men have been easy to sway to our cause, but he’ll never willingly concede.”

“He’s going to catch on and raise the alarm,” Sophie added with a note of doom.

“Then we’ll have to take him by force.”

The other women regarded her with wide eyes. So far, the men had been easy to catch—a blanket thrown over their shoulders or an invitation to the Dovecote. After a quick explanation from the women, they’d been willing to play along. But Gideon Gault would not prove to be so biddable. Even if they managed to kidnap the man, they would have to find a way to keep him hidden and under their control.

“We’re going to need those iron manacles we saw in the Pinkerton office,” Lydia said slowly. “And some of Sumner’s sleeping powders.”

Sophie gasped.

Hannah smiled.

“When will you make your move?” Iona whispered, despite the fact that none of the men were nearby to overhear them.

“As soon as we can gather our supplies and I can get the man alone. Get everything ready and bring it to the Dovecote. I’ll arrange to have the Pinkerton join us for a meal.”

* * *

Gideon’s stomach rumbled as he pored over the latest ore reports from the mine. With the rails damaged, there would be no trains arriving at the warehouse near the station in town. Batchwell Bottoms Mine employees were going to have to haul the ore through the pass, then far enough overland to hook up with the railroad. They would have to use teams and wagons for at least ten miles, maybe more. On Gideon’s end, that meant double the guards, double the headaches.

The entire situation wasn’t completely new to Gideon. He’d come to Aspen Valley a few years before the railroad had been completed, so he knew the challenges and dangers involved in shipping the silver by wagon. But with everything so unsettled in the mining community, and his morning spent looking for whoever had spent the night in the pass, his gut warned him there would be trouble ahead. Trouble with a capital T. Trouble with—

“Problems?”

He started, then burst to his feet when he looked up to find Lydia watching him with arched brows.

“So sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She offered him an innocent smile, but he wasn’t buying it. This woman managed to set off his inner alarms more than the thought of hauling a warehouse full of silver out of the valley.

“Miss Tomlinson,” he murmured, wondering how she’d managed to sneak up on him without a hint of warning. “I thought you promised me that you’d stick to your guard today.”

“He was busy helping Iona in the cook shack, and I knew I’d only be gone a few moments.”

She set a plate on the blotter of his desk along with a mug of coffee.

“I didn’t see you come into the cook shack after the morning Devotional, so I figured I’d bring the food to you.”

She lifted the napkin from the plate to reveal potatoes, ham, biscuits and two fried eggs with their glistening yolks staring up at him like eyes. Although Gideon wanted to tell her that her concern was unnecessary, his stomach rumbled in response. Too late, he realized he hadn’t eaten much the night before and nothing this morning.

“A man can’t work properly on an empty stomach.”

To Gideon’s consternation, she sat in the chair opposite, and it was clear from her posture that she didn’t intend to move anytime soon.

“Go ahead. I’ll keep you company while you eat.”

Gideon was pretty sure that her suggestion was a bad idea, but after she’d been kind enough to think of him, he supposed it would be churlish to send her out the door.

He reluctantly returned to his own seat.

“Would you care for a biscuit?” he asked, gesturing to the pair upon his plate.

“I’ve already had my breakfast, but thank you all the same. Go on.”

He bowed his head for a quick, silent prayer, then took up his knife and fork, but still couldn’t bring himself to wolf his food down in front of her. “You’re sure you don’t want anything?”

“Positive. But I’ll be a little put out if you don’t taste things while they’re hot.”

With that admonition in mind, he gingerly cut his meat. Within minutes, the savory goodness of the meal banished the rest of his reservations and he began to dine in earnest.

“Where are you from originally, Mr. Gault?”

He looked up, but sensed no guile behind her question, merely a casual interest in keeping him company as she’d originally stated.

“Ohio.”

“Really? When I think of Ohio, I picture rolling pastures and fertile farmland. Were you raised on a farm?”

Gideon shook his head. “My grandfather owned an ironworks, so I spent my younger days working with the smelters.”

Her brows rose. “How fascinating. Somehow, I never would have pictured you as a factory boy. You seem so...at home in the wilds of the territories.”

Gideon didn’t tell her that he’d once planned on taking over the ironworks for his grandfather, that he’d intended to double the size of the foundry and make Gault Industries a household name. During his time in the war, he’d fantasized about investing in modern machines and training their workforce with newer methods.

But he’d only been home a week before he’d realized that he couldn’t go back to the man he’d once been. As soon as he’d stepped into his grandfather’s offices, the walls had seemed to close around him, cutting off his ability to breathe. And the heat from the smelters had smothered him like a hot Georgia night. His grandfather had been forced to pull him out of the building to stop his screams.

Gideon wrenched his thoughts away from that moment. Looking up, he found Lydia watching him curiously. “I guess the wide-open spaces have grown on me.”

She opened her mouth, clearly intent on pursuing the subject, but to his surprise, she motioned to his plate instead. “Enjoy the potatoes and the ham,” she said. “We’ve used the last of them, I’m afraid. We’ve only got a few more sacks of dried carrots and onions, then we’ll be out of vegetables of any kind.”

Her words made the food all the more delicious.

“You’ve managed to stretch things to the last. You and your ladies should be congratulated. I think we ran out of root vegetables about mid-January last year.”

The compliment made her beam.

“Thank you, Mr. Gault. I’ll be sure to tell the ladies. They were worried that they hadn’t rationed things enough.”

“I daresay we can survive on meat and baked goods until the pass clears. Once we manage to get through the pass and can hook up with one of the telegraph lines, we can send for fresh supplies.”

The joy slipped from her features, and too late, he realized that his words proved to be a reminder that the women would be sent away long before such foodstuffs would arrive. He braced himself for an argument about why the women should be allowed to stay, but to his surprise, Lydia didn’t accept the bait. Instead, she rose to her feet saying, “I’ll send one of the other girls to fetch your plate in a little while. In the meantime, I wondered if you would be willing to join us at the Dovecote for a late lunch tomorrow...say three o’clock?”

His brows rose, and once again, he felt a niggling suspicion. Miss Tomlinson was up to something. He was sure of it. She was far too solicitous. Too...nice.

“Why?”

“Why what?” She blinked at him, her eyes so clear, so blue. And innocent.

“Why do you want me to come to the Dovecote for lunch?”

Again, she seemed to bat those incredibly long lashes.

“To eat?” she drawled as if he were rather dense.

“We could eat at the cook shack.”

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “The women have some questions about their upcoming journey. I thought it would be more efficient if they could ask you themselves—without being overheard by every Tom, Dick and Harry having a sandwich in the cook shack.”

Her explanation seemed logical—making his own response seem truculent. And yet...

He couldn’t escape the feeling that he was walking into a trap.

“What are you up to, Lydia?”

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let’s say you’re acting out of character.”

“Out of charac—”

Gideon stood. “Yes, out of character. Let’s face it, we’ve spent most of the last few months bickering with one another.” He waved to his empty plate. “And now, suddenly you’re worried about whether I’m eating enough or sleeping enough or—”

“I’m simply being polite!”

“Well, stop it!”

The words echoed in the small room, reverberating in a way that made Gideon realize he’d stomped right over churlish and marched on to childish.

“Fine,” Lydia huffed. “I’ll leave you alone—right now and for however many days I have left in this valley.”

He sighed, his head dropping. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so...”

“Suspicious?”

He conceded with a nod.

“It’s just that... I’ve got a lot on my mind and...” He met her gaze head-on. This time, she didn’t regard him with a neutral stare. Instead, her eyes glittered with a mixture of pique and irritation. “And I’d love to come to the Dovecote for lunch tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there at three.”

After a quick nod in his direction, she strode from the room in a rustle of skirts, the door slamming behind her.

He winced, then slowly sank back into his seat.

* * *

Once again, Lydia had barely navigated a few yards before being joined by a pair of women from the Dovecote. This time, Iona and Marie accompanied her on either side.

“Well?” Marie asked somewhat timidly.

“He agreed to meet for lunch at three.”

Iona smiled. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Lydia tried her best to tamp down the emotions whirling in her breast—excitement, trepidation and most astonishingly, guilt. “Yes. It’s a good thing. Because the man is already more suspicious than we’d supposed.” Her mind swung to the countless things that still needed to be done. “Do we have the placards in place?”

“Yes. The quarantine is now official.” Iona’s eyes sparkled in delight. “And just in time. The ‘measles’ seem to be spreading.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, a dozen men heard about our protest and volunteered to participate.”

“Really?” Lydia’s heart thumped at the thought.

“I believe Charles is responsible. He and Willow have begun inviting a few of the married men to their home. After plying them with Willow’s cookies, they’ve outlined how they hope to persuade Batchwell and Bottoms to change the rules. So far, their efforts seem to be working.”

“Wonderful. Are you ready for your lunch with Mr. Bottoms, Iona?”

The woman’s cheeks grew pink. “I’ve made a special meal complete with his favorite dried cherry pie for dessert.”

“And you’ll remember to subtly ask him for information on his views about the effect the women have had on the community?”

“Yes. I made up a little card with possible questions which I’ll keep tucked in my pocket. If I need to, I can peek at it under the table.”

Lydia reached to squeeze the woman’s hand, knowing that Iona felt uncomfortable being thrown into the role of femme fatale. But of the two owners, Bottoms was the most approachable, and Lydia had noticed of late that he seemed to follow Iona with his eyes. In Lydia’s opinion, that spark of interest should be encouraged.

“Very smart, even if I doubt you’ll need the prompts. Somehow, I think that you and Mr. Bottoms will catch on like a house afire.”

Again, the older woman’s cheeks flushed and Lydia knew that Mr. Bottoms wasn’t the only one anticipating the lunch alone.

“Have we had any progress infiltrating Mr. Batchwell’s home?”

Marie nodded. “A few days ago. He’s been kept abed with his leg, and up to this point, the only people he’s allowed inside have been the man he’s got working as his personal servant and a few mining officials—including Charles Wanlass.”

“My, my, my. Charles has been a busy boy, hasn’t he?”

“As the temporary Mine Superintendent as well as lay pastor, Charles has had plenty of excuses to go to the top of the hill,” Marie said with a sly grin. “Anyhow, for the last few days, he’s brought Willow with him.”

Lydia’s brows rose. When Willow and Charles had impulsively claimed a pair of abandoned twins as their own, Mr. Batchwell had proved to be their most formidable foe. Although Willow had never said as much, Lydia knew that the brusque, burly man had secretly terrified her. But after Charles had openly declared he would rather lose his job than Willow, she’d gained a wealth of confidence which, apparently, had extended to her relationship with Mr. Batchwell.

“Anyway, you know Willow. At first, she tut-tutted about his leg, then about the state of his house, then about how cold his meals were once they were brought up from the cook shack. She’s been going up for an hour or so every day since then to cook and tidy things up. According to her, Mr. Batchwell is as grumpy as ever, but he does seem secretly appreciative of her help.”

Lydia clapped her hands together, then rubbed them as she thought things over.

“It sounds like our efforts are coming along much better than I’d imagined—and just in time, too.” They had over sixty men purposely staying off the job through a fictional quarantine. Mr. Bottoms was about to be courted, and a spy had been inserted into Batchwell’s home.

The entire situation was better than she could have ever hoped. But there still remained one opponent who could bring their plan down before it could do any good.

Gideon Gault.

He’d already made his views clear on the situation. He would never come to the women’s aid. Not willingly.

Which meant that something had to be done about the man.

And much as she hated to admit it, Lydia needed to be the one to do it.

Chapter Five

Quincy Winslow stepped into the Pinkerton Office. He swept his hat from his head and thrust his fingers through his hair.

“We’ve got another warm afternoon on our hands, Boss.”

Gideon leaned back in his chair. After several hours of doing paperwork and payroll vouchers, he found himself grateful for the interruption. He knew that once the sun came out, he’d feel the same itching as his men to get out of doors and get something done.

“Any sign of Willems and Arbach?”

“Yeah. They were down in the tunnels. They took over Hansen’s and Clemente’s shifts.”

Gideon rubbed the aching spot between his brows. “Then where are Hansen and Clemente?”

“They’ve got the measles.”

“What?”

Gideon knew that Jonah Ramsey, the Mine Superintendent, had been diagnosed with measles by his wife, the only doctor in the area. But as far as he knew, keeping Jonah at home had managed to control the contagious illness.

“Yeah, they’re being quarantined in the Miners’ Hall with a few dozen men. From what I hear, there’s more at the infirmary.”

“How did that happen?”

Winslow shrugged. “The whole thing seems to have come on rather sudden. Some of the women have volunteered to nurse the men and keep the others away. They hung up signs to warn everybody off.”

Measles. How the illness had managed to take root this late in the season—after months spent isolated from the outside world—Gideon didn’t know. But he’d lost two good men.

“Have Tabbington and York come see me.”

“They’re quarantined, too.”

Gideon blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

“And Billingsly.”

That was five men gone—five men that he couldn’t afford to lose.

“Is that it?”

“As far as I’ve been able to tell.”

Knowing that it would be useless to finish up his paperwork, Gideon pushed himself to his feet and snagged his hat on the way out of the door.

“Where you going, boss?”

“I think it’s time I got to the bottom of this.”

The sun was warm against his face as he strode onto the boardwalk—making the air feel more like mid-May than the end of February. At this rate, they wouldn’t be worrying about how long the pass would take to open up, they’d be worrying about flooding.

Gideon made a mental note to take another ride through the mouth of the canyon. This time, he wouldn’t only be checking the road. He’d be examining the nearby stream as well. He knew full well that the Aspen River was already close to capacity. If the snowpack melted any faster, it would soon overflow its banks and Bachelor Bottoms would have a whole new problem on its hands.

Every time Gideon thought he finally had rudimentary preparations put in place, some new trouble popped up.

Like measles.

He had nearly made his way to the front steps of the Miners’ Hall when a pair of women popped up from the rocking chairs they’d pulled onto the boardwalk. Greta Heigle pointed to a white placard nailed to the porch supports and pointed an uplifted hand in his direction.

“Achtung! Stop!”

Gideon couldn’t account for the way he came to a halt so quickly his hat shifted forward on his brow. Settling it more firmly into place, he took a deep breath to ease the tension twining around his gut like vines.

“Ladies.”

Hannah Peterman joined Greta. The two women were shorter than average, but sturdy, forming an effective blockade.

“Please don’t come any further, Mr. Gault,” Hannah said.

“Quarantine!” Greta barked. The woman had very little English to her vocabulary, but she enunciated the word in a way that made it clear she took her job as guard very seriously.

Gideon braced his hands on his hips. This was uncharted territory for him. As the company’s hired law enforcement, he was usually the one in charge of security—for whatever reasons necessary. On one hand, he supposed that this...quarantine would fall under his purview. On the other hand...

He and his men were already shorthanded.

“What’s this business about a measles outbreak, Hannah?”

He didn’t bother to offer his comments to Greta. At the moment, her fierce expression warned him that she would remove him by force if she felt the measure necessary—and even though she was a good head smaller than he was, Gideon had an inkling that she could do it.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a rash of men coming down with the illness,” Hannah said.

“How on earth...” Gideon bit off his words when his tone filled with frustration—something he didn’t want the women to become privy to. If they knew how shorthanded the Pinkertons were becoming, no doubt they would use that information as part of their argument for allowing the women to remain in the valley for another month. Maybe two.

“I thought Jonah Ramsey was the only one affected—and he’s been off company property for nearly a fortnight.”

In truth, Gideon hadn’t thought that Jonah had contracted the measles at all. He’d suspected that it was Jonah’s way of lingering around the homestead for a few weeks as a makeshift honeymoon. But clearly, the man must have been ill—and now he’d somehow started a contagion.

“Are you sure these men actually have the measles?”

Hannah nodded. “Quite sure.”

“Ja!”

“How can you be sure if the doctor hasn’t been to town to see them?”

Hannah folded her arms. “She told us what to look for and how to treat anyone showing the symptoms.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind my examining the men?”

Both Hannah and Greta took a step forward—and their expressions grew even fiercer.

“If you go in, you don’t come out,” Hannah warned, a hint of steel coating her words.

“Quarantine!” Greta barked at him again.

“If I could speak to my men—”

“You don’t go in. They don’t come out.”

Gideon opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. If his own men had been this fierce in guarding the women all these months, Gideon probably wouldn’t be in the mess he was in today.

“I need a list of all the men affected. And I want to be kept updated at least twice a day.”

Hannah nodded, but Greta continued to glare at him in disapproval. Seeing no way around them, Gideon finally took a step backward and touched the brim of his hat.

“Good day to you, ladies.”

He continued down the boardwalk to the infirmary, wondering if he’d have more success there. But he was yards away when another pair of women stood—and judging by the way one of them brandished her knitting needles, he’d get no closer than a few paces. Funny, none of the women seemed to be contracting measles.

Realizing that it would be useless to tangle with the women now, he decided to come back later. After the female guards had changed.

Sighing, he stood indecisively with his hands on his hips, staring out at the quiet street, the growing puddles, and the dirty piles of snow that seemed to wither away with each moment that passed.

He had so much to do.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to pull his thoughts into line. They kept zigzagging from his quarantined men, to upcoming shipments of silver ore, to the itchy sense that he was somehow being maneuvered around a chessboard by some unseen force.

And he didn’t like any of it.

The tightness began in his chest even as his hands unconsciously curved into tight fists.

He needed to get away.

Now.

He altered his course, heading to the livery. With each step, he moved a little more purposefully, until he was nearly jogging by the time he reached the sprawling building.

Smalls had left the double doors wide open to catch the fresh breeze, and the animals inside must have found the scents of spring intoxicating. Over the edges of the stalls, Gideon could see the animals moving restlessly, their ears twitching, nostrils flaring. Apparently, the humans in the valley weren’t the only ones who suffered from spring fever.

Smalls appeared from the end of the long corridor that led to another similar set of doors opposite. His silhouette hung there for a moment, distinctive and broad and somehow reassuring.

“Any chance I can take a rig for an hour or two?”

Smalls’s eyebrows rose at the unusual request, but he immediately changed his course, holding up a hand with one finger lifted to indicate that it would only take a moment to hitch up a horse and a piano box buggy.

As he waited, Gideon moved to the stall where his own gelding was boarded. As soon as Gideon stepped into view, the animal dropped his head over the gate so that Gideon could scratch his ears.

“Hey, boy.”

Gideon could feel the animal’s eagerness to be saddled and taken out into the sunshine.

“Sorry, but you don’t take too well to being in the traces. You know that.”

The horse nickered softly, seeming to object.

“Next time. I promise.”

Gideon couldn’t account for why he’d ordered a buggy instead. When the pressure started to build inside him, he needed the power of a full-fledged gallop to chase the ghosts away. But today...

Today, he didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew that he needed something...different.

He heard Smalls moving behind him and turned to help the man bring a gentle mare from a neighboring stall. After leading the animal to where the small buggy awaited behind the livery, Gideon helped to harness the horse. Then he settled inside and gathered the reins.

Once again, Smalls’s brows rose questioningly. Gideon didn’t need words to know that the gentle giant was asking where Gideon planned to go.

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon murmured as if the question had been asked aloud. “I need to check the state of the river, take another look at the pass, maybe see how the Dovecote is faring after all this flooding.”

Smalls took a stub of a pencil and a stack of small cards from his pocket. After licking the tip of the pencil, he quickly wrote.

You feeling all right?

There were few people in the camp that knew the way Gideon sometimes struggled with the after-effects of the war. Willoughby had seen Gideon coming into the livery enough to know that sometimes, battle seemed only a heartbeat away and Gideon found himself needing to escape. “Soldier’s Heart” was the name some people used. Gideon would have thought “tormented” was a better term.

In either event, over the years, Smalls had seemed to instinctively know when Gideon needed to ride alone and when he’d needed a companion. On more than one occasion, Gideon had caught the man watching him from a distance, making sure that he didn’t become so immersed in his memories that he became a danger to himself.

“I’m fine, Willoughby. The weather’s getting to me, I think—same as it is everyone else. We’ve got the women we need to get out of the valley, then the ore.”

Smalls nodded, then bent to write again.

You take care of yourself.

Gideon nodded. “I intend to do that. We can’t afford for anyone else to catch this measles epidemic that’s sweeping through town.”

A grating chuckle caused Smalls’s shoulders to shake, even though Gideon didn’t quite catch the humor in anything he’d said.

The man stood back, offering a small salute.

Offering one last nod to his friend, Gideon slapped the reins on the horse’s rump and headed out into the mud and sunshine.

* * *

Lydia had barely reached the outskirts of town before she realized that she’d loaded her basket with far too many items. She still had quite a distance left to the Dovecote and her arms were already trembling. It wasn’t so much the foodstuffs that were making her muscles ache. It was the sugar sack that she’d packed with bullets. She should have known better than to bring them along.

Hearing the clop of hooves behind her, she moved to the grassy verge of the road. When the rider didn’t pass, she glanced over her shoulder, only to find a buggy pulling up alongside her. And who should be driving, but Gideon Gault.

“Can I give you a lift to the Dovecote?”

She debated the question for only a moment—and only because the bullets seemed to be burning a hole in her conscience. But the thought of carrying them all the way to the Dovecote when she’d been offered a ride...

“Thank you. I’d be beholden to you.”

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