Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  Sumner knew she should draw away. No good could come from being this close to Jonah Ramsey. It would merely rile up the confusing emotions that were already sweeping through her like an avalanche. But her body moved of its own volition, her arms winding around his waist, her head tucking beneath his chin. Beneath her ear, the steady thump of his heart reminded her that she was thousands of miles away from her father. She was in the midst of the Utah wilderness, embroiled in an adventure unlike any that she’d ever encountered before.

  And she felt safe.

  “He was wrong,” Jonah murmured against the top of her head. “Your father should have been proud of you.”

  The words were a balm to her soul. Sumner didn’t bother to analyze why the insight of a stranger had the ability to offer her such comfort. For once, she allowed herself to close her eyes and embrace this man, this moment.

  But all too soon, reality intruded when a voice called from the main door, “Boss man, you in there?”

  Creakle. Sumner could have recognized his distinctive rusty-sounding voice anywhere.

  Jonah didn’t immediately speak; instead, he slowly stepped away.

  Sumner couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Not yet. Not so soon. But she needn’t have worried. When she sneaked a peek at his face, Jonah kept his gaze averted, as well.

  “Be right there, Creakle.”

  He reached for his ring of keys, removing two of different sizes. “One of these is for the storehouse, the other is for the doctor’s office. I’ll see what he needs, then let Creakle walk you back.”

  “That would be grand. I’ll examine him at the infirmary along the way.”

  His eyes smiled even though his lips remained straight. “That would be grand, as well,” he offered, borrowing her phrase.

  Yet, he didn’t move. Not for several very long moments.

  “Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She hadn’t planned on joining the evening shift, but now she was considering it.

  Jonah touched his finger to the brim of his hat and backed away.

  “Good day to you, then, Sumner.”

  “And to you, Jonah.”

  * * *

  As soon as she’d heard Jonah’s footfalls disappear into the shadows, Sumner grasped the lantern and hurried to meet up with Creakle. To her delight, Willoughby Smalls was also waiting on the boardwalk. As soon as he met her gaze, the large man swept the hat from his head, crushing it against his chest in a gentlemanly greeting.

  “Good evening, Mr. Creakle, Mr. Smalls. Jonah has been showing me your storehouse.” After locking the door, they began walking toward the center of the mining camp. But midway to the infirmary, Sumner changed her mind about examining Creakle in the doctor’s office. The rooms had been shut up for some time. It would be cold and drafty inside—and the previous occupant had left nothing useful in the way of medical equipment.

  Shooting a glance at Creakle under her lashes, Sumner said, “Mr. Creakle, I wonder if you would allow me to impose upon you and Mr. Smalls for a favor.”

  They had been walking in an awkward silence, but at her query, Creakle brightened, finally meeting her gaze.

  “It would be our pleasure, Miss Havisham.”

  Sumner had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that her title was Dr. Havisham.

  “Mr. Ramsey took me to the infirmary to gather supplies last night, and I managed to fill an old crate. But it’s too heavy for me to manage. Could you or Mr. Smalls carry it back to the hall for me?”

  Creakle grinned and his cheeks grew pink. “Consider it done.”

  It took only a few minutes to retrieve the crate. Smalls hefted it into his arms as if it weighed no more than a hatbox, then they continued on their way to the hall.

  “Are you sure that the box isn’t too heavy, Mr. Smalls? We could leave some things, then come back for them.”

  He shook his head, beaming at her.

  But as they closed the last few yards, Creakle’s breath came in soft pants and a pronounced limp became apparent. Sumner could see the man wincing with each step, and she was glad that Mr. Smalls was able to handle the supplies by himself.

  Sumner quickly ushered the men inside—and the sight of visitors after an afternoon spent cooped up in the hall had the women rushing to help.

  Just as Sumner had hoped, they offered the men tea and cookies and insisted they sit near the stove to warm up.

  The pink in Creakle’s cheeks turned to red, but he appeared to enjoy the fussing. Even Smalls grinned in delight. Sumner waited until the men were comfortably settled before saying, “Are you sure the box wasn’t too heavy for you, Mr. Smalls?”

  The gentle giant shook his head. A fragile teacup and saucer looked impossibly delicate in his ham-like fists.

  “And, Mr. Creakle, I couldn’t help noticing that you were limping.”

  He’d just taken a mouthful of cookie, so he waved dismissingly until he’d chewed enough to say, “I injured my foot some time ago, ma’am.”

  The other women oohed and ahhed in concern, just as Sumner had hoped they would.

  “Would you mind if I took a look at it? As a doctor?”

  Creakle’s pleasure dimmed, but when he saw that everyone was watching him expectantly, he nodded.

  Sumner turned to Willow, saying, “Could you gather my bag from upstairs while I fetch some warm water?”

  “Of course.”

  Willow gathered her voluminous skirts and hurried up the staircase.

  Sumner retrieved one of the washbasins, filling it with hot water from the teakettle, and a little from the freshwater basin. Then she carried them back to the table. As she did so, she could see that a group of women had gathered around Willoughby Smalls and plied him with more cookies and fresh tea. It didn’t seem to matter that Mr. Smalls didn’t speak. Rather, Myra and Miriam seemed to find his familiar face reassuring.

  “Mr. Smalls, if you had a bride heading your way, and the train didn’t show up as expected, would you wait for the woman in question, sensing that something had happened?” Myra asked.

  “Or would you think she’d abandoned the whole idea?” Miriam pressed.

  Smalls looked nonplussed for a moment, then awkwardly balanced his saucer in one hand and reached to pat Miriam on the shoulder.

  “You see, Miriam. I told you that they’d realize something was wrong. They might even inquire with the railroad.”

  “Which railroad, Myra? We took three different lines to get this far!”

  “Well, they’re bound to notice if one is missing.”

  Kneeling in front of Creakle, Sumner removed his boot and his sock, offering a soft tutting sound when she was able to expose the bruised and infected toe.

  “Mr. Creakle. What happened?”

  He regarded her sheepishly. “Dropped a filin’ cabinet square on the thing.”

  “Thankfully, you just caught the toe. Something like that could have broken your foot.”

  At her subtle reassurance that she didn’t find his injury inconsequential, he settled back in his chair.

  Willow appeared at that moment and Sumner removed a bottle of salts from her bag. “I’d like to have you soak your foot for a little while. Would that be agreeable to you?”

  He nodded, his gaze sweeping around the room and the women who were eager to dote on him. He even shot an envious glance at Smalls, who was listening raptly to the twins.

  “So I said we should become mail-order brides, and Myra said—”

  “We should find ourselves a set of twins!”

  “So that’s what we did!”

  Creakle dragged his attention back to Sumner. “If you think I should.”

  She sprinkled the crystals into the water. “These are some mineral salts boiled down from spa waters near Bristol
. I’ve found that they have a healing effect, especially with infection.”

  She gently eased his foot from the floor into the water.

  Creakle hissed, but when one of the women topped off his teacup, he was easily distracted, allowing Sumner to probe the toe.

  “I don’t think you’ve broken a bone, Mr. Creakle, but we’ll need to treat the swelling and the infection.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll give you a little bag of my special salts. After I’ve shown you how to soak the afflicted area, I want you to do the same treatment on your own at least twice a day. More, if you have the time.”

  He nodded.

  “Keep the water as hot as you can bear.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The spontaneous use of the title brought a jolt of pleasure. This was why she’d come to Bachelor Bottoms.

  For the first time, she felt a spark of hope. If she could help Creakle, it might encourage others to come to her with their ailments. It would simply take time.

  Sumner had never been much good at taking things slow. She tended to race in and try to get things done. But she was beginning to realize that to change the human heart, a person couldn’t hurry things.

  She smiled up at Creakle and he blinked at her.

  “Is that all?” he asked. Obviously, he’d expected direr treatment, perhaps even an amputation.

  “That’s all. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

  * * *

  Jonah knew the instant that Creakle returned—how could he have missed it with the man whistling a jaunty tune and slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the windows shudder? Then he called out, “Howdy, boys!”

  The murmured responses were too low for Jonah to hear. He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was nearly five. They’d be due at the evening Devotional soon enough.

  “Creakle seems mighty chipper,” Gideon Gault said. The Pinkerton was sprawled in one of the chairs opposite Jonah’s desk.

  The man was dressed in his Pinkerton blues for the first time in weeks. Since the man had become a close friend, Jonah was glad to see him up and about. But since Gideon had come to protest the use of his men for “guarding the womenfolk,” Jonah was ready for an interruption.

  “Hopefully, that means that the man let the doc look at his toe.”

  Gideon’s brows rose. “You’re encouraging it?”

  “I’m sick of his complaining. I mentioned it to Sumner and suggested she might want to take a look at it.”

  Gideon’s lips twitched. “Sumner. Seems you’re getting on well with the woman.”

  Jonah shook his head. “Just being cordial, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They were interrupted by an uneven set of footfalls climbing the steps. Then Creakle appeared in the doorway. For the amount of time he’d been gone, Jonah had begun to fear that Creakle had refused to have his foot examined at all—or the injury had been worse than he’d let on. But Creakle seemed to be in fine spirits.

  “Hey, Gideon!”

  “Creakle.”

  “It’s about time you came back,” Jonah grumbled. Unaccountably, he was feeling grouchy and out of sorts. The day couldn’t pass fast enough—something of a rarity for Jonah. Usually, he found no need to glance at the clock because the job was everything. But today...

  “Me an’ Smalls helped the doc lug some supplies back to the hall,” Creakle said as he took the seat next to Gideon.

  Jonah tossed his pencil onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. “Looks to me like you’ve been sampling some of their cooking, as well.” He gestured to the crumbs sprinkling Creakle’s coat.

  The man chortled. “They bake some mighty fine cookies. Next time, I’ll have to bring you some.”

  “You’re pretty pleased with yourself,” Gideon remarked, and Jonah was grateful that the other man had been the one to subtly ply the man for information.

  Creakle’s expression became positively smug.

  “The doc done looked at my toe an’ it’s feelin’ much better.”

  Jonah tried to look surprised. “That was kind of her.”

  “T’weren’t just kind. She’s the company doctor.”

  “What did she say?”

  “T’weren’t broken, but it was plumb mortified, just like I feared. She showed me how t’ soak it an’ gave me some special powder t’ put in the water.”

  Jonah nodded. “Sounds like good advice.”

  “’Course it is. The woman’s a doctor, isn’t she?” Creakle slapped the arm of the chair and stood. “Best be getting back to my work.” He stomped to the door, but paused before disappearing altogether. “Mebbe you should have the lady look at yer back.”

  Jonah scowled.

  “Couldn’t hurt y’ none.”

  “Get back to work,” he growled.

  It didn’t help that he could hear Creakle chortling all the way downstairs.

  Couldn’t hurt y’ none.

  But Creakle was wrong. There was nothing she could do for him. Not because she was a woman, but because there was nothing anyone could do for him.

  “He’s right, you know. The woman’s newly trained—at some fancy place in London, no less. She might have some up-to-date techniques.”

  Other than Creakle, Smalls, Batchwell and Bottoms, Gideon was the only other person in Batchwell Bottoms who knew about the injuries Jonah had sustained. As an ex-soldier, Gideon understood better than most how the shrapnel pressing against his spine hung over Jonah like a loaded gun. The two of them had actually served together in the same cavalry unit for several years during the war.

  “She’s a baby doctor,” Jonah insisted half-heartedly.

  Gideon waved that comment away. “She seems capable enough.” He laughed. “She’s given Batchwell a run for his money.” His expression lost its humor. “It might be worth a try. Then you could finally put the past behind you.”

  Jonah sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands as the old, familiar desperation threatened to overtake him. Unbidden came the remembered horrors of the battlefield.

  Though he fought the sensation, his pulse grew fast, thudding against his temples.

  And his back.

  He had no real recollection of the moment he’d been hit. He remembered ordering a charge and urging his mount into a gallop. Then...

  He was in a field hospital, laid out on his stomach, the rough wood of an old door his makeshift stretcher. He’d been pinned there for hours, unable to move, until finally, the surgeon had come to pull the pieces of scattershot from his back with an old pair of pliers.

  He’d been shipped home soon after. Spent weeks on his stomach, praying that he’d be able to walk again. And he had, in time. But not before he’d been told that several pieces of metal were still lodged next to his spine. To attempt to remove them would be too dangerous, so the shards of metal continued to plague him, a silent threat to his future.

  No. Not just his.

  “You can’t keep pining after Rebecca,” Gideon said softly.

  “I’m not pining.”

  “Maybe that’s the wrong word. Maybe it’s more like torturing yourself.”

  Jonah shook his head. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

  “Am I? Sometimes I think you put the memory of that woman up on a pedestal. And from my point of view, she doesn’t belong there. Any woman who would look down on a man for what you’ve been through—”

  “That’s unkind.”

  “Is it? Oh, I’ll admit she was a dutiful fiancée. She convinced her parents to take you into their home so she could dote on you. She lavished you with smiles and trays of goodies. For a week or two, she sat by your bed and promised her affection for you was eternal. But then she saw your scars.”

  Jonah clenched his jaw, wishing that his
friend didn’t know so much. Gideon had heard it all, right up to that point where Becca claimed she had a maiden aunt who needed a visit. Jonah had never seen her again. Within a week, he’d moved out of her parents’ home.

  “That’s not love, Jonah. That’s not even affection. I’d wager that if you thought about it really hard, you might see what the rest of us suspected. Rebecca was a fickle creature. She loved the idea of love, but she didn’t really understand it.”

  Jonah debated several long moments before saying, “She did what she had to do. Not everyone can live with an uncertain future.”

  Gideon sighed. “That’s a load of hogwash. We all live with uncertain futures, Jonah. That’s what makes life exciting.” With that, Gideon pushed himself to his feet and headed toward the stairs calling, “Creakle, where can I get me some of those cookies!”

  Jonah did his best to return to work, to add up the figures in the ledgers laid out on his desk. But when the numbers became jumbled and his brain couldn’t seem to remember how to perform the simplest sums, he stood so quickly that his chair rocked back on two legs before skidding into place again. Grabbing his hat and coat from where he’d left them on the corner of his desk, he stormed from the office, not knowing where he was going, but needing to escape the memories.

  It had been years, after all.

  He hardly ever thought about her anymore. She’d married someone else.

  His best friend.

  He quickened his pace, his breath hanging in front of him like a crystal cloud. Mindlessly, he strode down the boardwalk, not seeing where he was going or who might be in his way, until his lungs ached with the cold and his back had begun to burn. It wasn’t until he’d reached the storehouse at the far end of the road that he began to slow. His eyes fell on the door and he scowled, seeing that it was ajar.

  Finally, he had a target for the anger that swirled within him. The door should be locked at all times, and he had only himself to blame. He should have retrieved his key from Sumner some time ago—or at least checked to make sure that she’d locked it.