by Lisa Bingham
Jonah was sure that Sumner would have been horrified if she could have seen herself in a mirror. She’d always been so...professional around him. But in this moment, she appeared flustered and agitated, and completely...
Adorable.
“She’s a looker, isn’t she?”
He started, realizing too late that the door behind him had opened. He frowned when he saw that Gideon Gault was watching Sumner, as well.
“Hello, Gideon. How’s the head?”
Normally, Gideon was in charge of the Pinkertons guarding the silver shipments. But he’d been one of the men injured when a portion of the roof had given way in tunnel six, so he’d been confined to his quarters with a concussion for more than a week.
“It’s fine.” Gideon grinned. “I’d heard that we had some new scenery in the camp, but I can see now that the stories didn’t do the women justice. Which one is the doctor?”
Jonah reluctantly pointed in Sumner’s direction, then wished he hadn’t.
Gideon offered a low whistle. “I can see why she’s caused such a stir.”
Jonah’s jaw clenched. It shouldn’t matter to him if Gideon admired Sumner. Jonah had no claims on the woman—and he had no intention whatsoever in allowing anything personal to come between him and the good doctor.
“The women are only here until the pass is clear. Then everything will return to normal.”
Gideon’s only response was, “Maybe.” Then he moved into the main room to take his place in the line.
Jonah was about to back away when Sumner suddenly glanced up. A flush crept up her cheeks and she reached to smooth her hair. But in the warmth of the kitchen, the tendrils immediately sprang into tight little curls again.
Unbidden, he wondered what the tresses would look like if the pins were removed and the chestnut waves were allowed to spill down her back.
No.
He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t allow himself to think of Dr. Havisham as anything but a colleague.
And a temporary one at that.
“Mr. Ramsey.” She moved toward him.
He noted that two of her companions watched them with open curiosity. He rued the fact that they weren’t alone so she couldn’t call him by his Christian name.
“Dr. Havisham.”
“Have you come in search of breakfast?”
“No. I mean...yes. I—”
Around her he lost the ability to think straight. “Actually, I’ve invited Mr. Bottoms and Mr. Batchwell to meet me here.”
Her brow creased and some of the light in her eyes dimmed. “Oh, I see. They still haven’t been told about our...arrangement.”
“I figured I’d break it to them easy.” He paused before adding, “After breakfast.”
To his delight, her brown eyes grew warm again. “Why, Mr. Ramsey, I do believe that there’s a bit of mischief buried deep in your soul.”
“Not mischief. But I’ve handled one or two negotiations in my time and I like to stack the deck in my favor whenever possible. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to arrange for one of the men to deliver the plates. There’s no sense getting the owners’ dander up until they’ve tasted the food.”
“Very well.”
“But once they’re done... I don’t know, maybe you could send one of the women in to warm up their coffee.”
She smiled, and how he loved her smile. She spent so much time being stern in order to persuade those around her that she was competent. But when she gave in to the joy within her, he could see that he wasn’t the only one with a “bit of mischief” in his soul.
“I think that’s a fine idea.”
“Good.”
Although he didn’t have anything more to say, he couldn’t bring himself to end the conversation. So he scrambled to think of something—anything—that would keep her standing there a little longer.
“Were you and the other women able to find everything you needed?”
She nodded. “Considering what you told me about the way your stores for the winter were limited, we tried to be as conservative as possible in our estimates. I’m afraid we’re having to cook more than we’d originally thought.”
“I’m sure the men will be delighted with whatever you and the other ladies have prepared. Later today, I’ll show you our storehouse where everything is kept, just to make sure that you have anything you need.”
“We’ll take a detailed inventory. That way, we’ll know how best to ration things. Then, once your hunting parties are able to supply us with more meat, we’ll stretch things as far as possible by making more soups and stews. No doubt, with the weather growing colder, the hot food will be welcome.”
“You’ll spoil us all, Dr. Havisham. It’s been a long time since my men have had a home-cooked meal. I don’t know how we’ll be able to return to Stumpy’s cooking once spring comes.”
And you’re gone.
He didn’t say the words, but they hung there in the silence.
Jonah could have kicked himself. He hadn’t wanted to say anything to displease her. But he’d managed to remind her that her position here at Bachelor Bottoms was tenuous at best. She immediately stiffened, some of the starch returning to her posture. He instantly regretted spoiling the moment and saying something that built the barriers between them again.
But wouldn’t it be far crueler to lead her to believe that things could ever be different? Regardless of the enticing aromas emanating from the kitchen, Batchwell and Bottoms would never agree to allowing women to live in the valley. Mining was dangerous work, and no matter how well-intentioned they might be, women were a distraction. Anything that pulled a man’s mind away from his job could get him hurt or killed. It was a fact of life. One that couldn’t be changed.
Jonah met her gaze, intending to put his thoughts into words, but the moment his eyes met hers, he knew they didn’t need to be said. She’d managed to read his mind, and for some reason, the thought made him squirm inside with something akin to guilt—even though he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong.
“If you’ll let us know when you’re ready to eat,” she said softly, a tightness to her tone that hadn’t been there before.
He offered a curt nod, but his response was unnecessary. She’d already turned to disappear into the kitchens again, her friends accompanying her—and none too soon. Mere seconds after their skirts had disappeared from view, the side door opened, letting in a gust of frigid air.
Ezra Batchwell was the first to enter, stamping his snowy boots.
“What was so important that you found it necessary to call an early meeting, Ramsey?”
“Some staffing issues, sir.”
Batchwell opened his mouth as if to continue his tirade, but at that moment, he must have caught a whiff of the tantalizing aromas, so he merely grunted.
Bottoms, with his halo of pure white, candy-floss hair, sidled past Batchwell, his nose already twitching.
“What’s that I smell?”
“Breakfast,” Ramsey said, leaning to open the door to the private dining room. “Stumpy made a few changes this morning.”
Bottoms rubbed his hands together and chortled. “‘Bout time, I’d say.”
He disappeared inside, and Batchwell, still making soft grumbling noises under his breath, followed.
Jonah leaned close to Creakle. “Go to the kitchen and get the plates. I don’t want them catching sight of the women until after they’ve eaten.”
Creakle grinned and saluted. “Sounds good to me.”
As Creakle hurried down the hall in his arthritic, uneven gait, Jonah turned to join them. But as soon as he cleared the threshold, he feared that the secret may have already been revealed. The room had been cleaned and polished to the brilliance of the Pearly Gates. A linen cloth had been placed over the table and all the cutlery, glasses and mug
s had been arranged to perfection. A platter of muffins waited from a nest made by a crisp linen napkin, and a crock of sweet butter was by its side. There was even an old cracked pitcher filled with fragrant pine branches gracing the center of the table.
Bottoms appeared oblivious to the improvements, but Batchwell eyed it all with open suspicion.
“Stumpy’s changed his crew,” Jonah said, not quite meeting the man’s eyes. He gestured for the man to sit. Then, before the other man could ask any questions, he said, “Have you given any more thought to tunnel three? I think it’s about played out, but I want your opinion before I start reassigning the men to other areas.”
* * *
“I think that we should all be congratulated,” Iona remarked as the line of miners finally gave way to a few stragglers looking for a meal.
Lydia laughed, wiping a hand over her brow. “We still have some flaws to our system, but overall, I’d say the morning was a smashing success!”
While Stefania and Marie handled the last few plates of food, Sumner and the other women huddled nervously near the doorway.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” Lydia said wryly, “but I’m almost looking forward to a few quiet hours in the hall.”
“Ideally, we should be getting a start on the lunchtime preparations,” Iona said, plunking wearily onto a nearby stool.” She leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “Any word from the men in charge?”
Sumner shook her head. For the past hour, they’d kept an ear turned toward the doorway to the private dining room, hoping that their efforts would be rewarded. True, it was hard work preparing food for that many men. They’d barely begun to wind down the breakfast service, and it was time to begin cutting the cold meats and cheeses that would be supplied for the miners’ work buckets.
“They’d be foolish not to accept our help,” Willow murmured. “We’ve done a good job this morning—and most of the other brides have already volunteered for the different shifts.”
“A sampling of your biscuits should be enough to persuade them,” Sumner said, making the shy woman blush.
Lydia grinned. “And judging by the number of men who’ve thanked us, the entire adventure has been a rousing success. I don’t know about you all, but I don’t like being indebted to someone. And since we’re using the company stores, I feel a lot better having contributed.” She chuckled. “As well as getting out of that dreary hall for a few hours.”
Sumner glanced impatiently at her fob watch. Her duties as a doctor were still needed by those who’d suffered more serious injuries, and she was keeping her eye on Jenny Reichman and another pregnant woman. But she was so anxious about the conversation being held in the private dining room that she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
As if on cue, Creakle appeared. “Mr. Batchwell and Mr. Bottoms are needing more coffee, if you’ve got some.” He grinned. “Mr. Ramsey told me to give you the go-ahead to come do it yerself, Miss Havisham, if you’ve a mind to do so.”
“Of course.”
She rushed to the enamel pots on the stove, nearly burning herself in her haste to comply. Wrapping the handle with a dishcloth, she grabbed the heavy vessel and followed Creakle.
As soon as she entered the room, she could feel Batchwell’s gaze on her like a brand. He sucked in a slow breath, his face growing mottled. If Sumner didn’t know such a thing was anatomically impossible, she would have expected steam to emerge from his ears. Bottoms, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closed, his fingers laced over his stomach.
Nerves swirled in her chest like a colony of startled bats. As she leaned forward to fill the mugs, her hands were shaking so hard that she feared she would spill most of it on the table. But at that moment, she glanced up, and although Ramsey remained stone-faced, she thought she saw him wink.
Once she’d topped the cups, she hesitated, wondering if she was just meant to show herself, or if she were required to say something. But it was Batchwell who spoke.
“I suppose that you’re responsible for these machinations.”
“Machinations?” she echoed, deciding that there was no point in admitting that for a moment she’d considered the fact that the kitchens might be the best way to curry favor.
“I suppose you thought this would be a means for you and your women to wriggle their way past the Pinkertons.”
Sumner knew that it wouldn’t pay to admit that the women had managed to get past the Pinkertons once before, so she merely widened her eyes in feigned innocence.
“Sir?”
“Come, Miss Havisham. Don’t be coy. I’ve no doubt that you and your women intend to use your time in the cook shack to finagle a proposal out of a bunch of hapless miners.”
Sumner couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Believe it or not, Mr. Batchwell. ‘My women’ as you call them, have no designs on your miners.” He scowled in open disbelief, so she continued. “Most of the women who volunteered to help today are already engaged to men farther west.”
He snorted. “Really, Miss Havisham. A bird in the hand...”
“Mr. Batchwell,” she interjected. “These women came here today with little more on their minds than to thank your men for the way they came to our rescue after the avalanche. They realize that our being stranded here has put a strain on your resources. To put it succinctly, the women felt beholden to your hospitality, no matter how grudgingly it might have been offered.”
At that, Batchwell shifted uncomfortably, but she thought the sleepy Bottoms’s lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.
“I don’t know about you, but most people don’t like being indebted to someone else. So, the women decided to find a way to offer something back.”
She paused, knowing she was straying into dangerous territory, but she wouldn’t allow their actions to be misconstrued as some sort of...amorous manipulation.
“To be quite blunt, Mr. Batchwell, the samples we had of your men’s cooking were...awful. We thought you might appreciate it if we could remedy that fact.”
“Hear, hear!”
The soft agreement came from Bottoms. His eyes blinked open. This time there was no disguising the twinkle in his eyes and the lilt to his voice.
“I, for one, am grateful to the women for their fine Christian sentiments. Stumpy’s a hard worker, but he’s never been much of a cook—and there isn’t a man who works with him who can claim anything different.” Bottoms stretched, then pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Havisham. And thank the other ladies. If you’re willing to help us, it would be miserly indeed to refuse that help.”
Batchwell began to sputter, but Bottoms turned his attention to his partner. “Enough of your complaining. I can’t remember when I’ve had a better meal—certainly not in this valley. And since I’m part owner of this mining property, I say they can continue to cook as long as they have a mind to do so. Really, Ezra. They’ll be so busy that they won’t have time to say ‘boo’ to anyone. Now get up and quit yer bellyachin’. We’ve got work to do.”
Batchwell continued to grumble, but he didn’t bother to speak directly to Sumner—which she supposed meant that she and the other women would be allowed to continue what they’d begun.
Batchwell stomped from the room, throwing open the side door and allowing a swirl of cold air to whirl around Sumner’s ankles. But before he left, Bottoms took some time to settle his hat over his white head with great deliberation. Then he looked up, his eyes twinkling with inner glee.
“Miss Havisham, will you pass on my thanks to your companions?”
“Of course, Mr. Bottoms.”
“And if you think of it, you might want to mention to them that I’m fond of pie.”
She smiled. “Any particular kind?”
“The sweet kind,” he whispered conspiratorially.
* * *
&
nbsp; Jonah waited until he heard the door close behind Bottoms before standing himself. As he reached for his hat, he felt as if he’d just won a race and a celebration was in order. If anything, having the women at the cook shack would complicate matters even more. Despite Dr. Havisham’s reassurances that the women had no designs on the miners’ affections, he’d already been told to increase the number of Pinkertons serving as their guards. “For their protection,” Batchwell insisted.
Jonah fought the urge to snort. From what he’d gathered so far, it wasn’t the women who needed the protecting. They were proving that they could take care of themselves.
Sumner’s breath escaped in a whoosh and her shoulders lost some of their steel.
“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or not,” he said. “You and the other women have signed up for a challenging chore.”
Her gaze was soft and uninhibited when she looked at him—and he was struck by her unguarded joy. “Yes, but it’s a fulfilling task.”
Jonah couldn’t help working the brim of his hat with his hands. “Is that the way you think of your doctoring, as well?”
She nodded. “It means something.”
“I’m sure that there are women who would say the same thing about being a wife and mother.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean for you to think that I thought running a home wasn’t important and satisfying. All in all, those roles are probably more important in many ways. But...”
He waited as she gathered her thoughts.
“You know that Scripture, ‘To every thing there is a season’?”
He nodded. It was one of his favorite passages.
“I strongly believe that sentiment to be true. And I think that, if we are mindful, the Lord will help us know how to use the gifts He’s given us.”
“So you’re not against being a wife and mother yourself?”
The moment the words were uttered, he wished he could retrieve them. Not only was the question incredibly personal, but they brought an intimate warmth to the room that hadn’t been there before.
