Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  The Bachelor Meets His Match

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

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

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

  “We’re using first names, remember?”

  “Mr. Ramsey—”

  “Jonah.”

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

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

  “You look exhausted, Jonah.”

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

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

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

  Completely and totally alone.

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

  Books by Lisa Bingham

  Love Inspired Historical

  The Bachelors of Aspen Valley

  Accidental Courtship

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  LISA BINGHAM

  Accidental Courtship

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

  —Philippians 4:12–13

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

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from His Forgotten Fiancée by Evelyn M. Hill

  Chapter One

  Utah Territory

  Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine

  December 1873

  “When’s the new doc getting in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Jonah shook his head. “I don’t—”

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

  “Would you look at—”

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

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

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

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

  Then, just as quickly, the noise stopped.

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

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

  Thundering cannon.

  Distant drums.

  And pain, so much pain...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Ladies? Is everyone okay?”

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

  “Here. I’m here.”

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

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Are you hurt?”

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

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

  And then...

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

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

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

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

  “Are any of the other women nearby?”

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

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

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

  She had to help them get out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Help me, Dear Lord. Please.

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

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

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

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