Accidental Sweetheart

by Lisa Bingham

  Unfortunately, in the time it had taken Adam to fall asleep, Eva had grown tired and fractious. She whimpered against Lydia’s shoulder, one hand flailing piteously.

  Nevertheless, Willow seemed completely unfazed. “I timed things this way.”

  Lydia didn’t have the slightest idea what that remark meant, but she dutifully followed her friend down a long hallway to the front of the house.

  Juggling the tray, Willow opened a pair of double doors and stepped inside.

  The room laid out before Lydia could have graced any palace. Gleaming mahogany floors had been scattered with intricately patterned Oriental carpets. The walls were covered in gold damask silk, and heavy draperies framed the windows. The fireplace on the opposite wall was so large, an entire side of beef could have been roasted inside of it. And the mantel...

  For a confirmed bachelor, Ezra Batchwell had a fanciful side. The woodwork surrounding the roaring blaze had been festooned with vaulting stags, woodland animals and the carved busts of what Lydia could only assume were representations of Mother Nature.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Batchwell.”

  The man sat in a tufted chair near the fire rail. His foot, splinted and swathed in bandages, had been propped on a gout stool laden with pillows.

  “Where’s Boris?” he grunted peremptorily.

  “We sent him into town.”

  Batchwell thumped the end of his walking stick on the ground, causing Eva to start in Lydia’s arms.

  “But I need him here!” Batchwell roared, his heavy eyebrows poised thunderously over dark eyes.

  “He needed a breath of fresh air, and we were happy to provide him with it.”

  “I’m the master of this house!” He punctuated his shout with another bang of his walking stick.

  Eva reared back, then began to cry, her sobs growing more and more frantic. She seemed to search the room for her mother, but for once, Willow didn’t respond.

  “Now, look what you’ve done, Mr. Batchwell.”

  Lydia’s jaw nearly dropped. Willow—shy, reticent Willow—had scolded Mr. Batchwell like a seasoned schoolmarm.

  “Why is that...thing...in my house?”

  Lydia couldn’t tell who grew louder, Eva or Mr. Batchwell.

  “That thing is a baby, Mr. Batchwell.” Willow set the tray on a small round table near the window. “You know full well she’s my daughter. Her name is Eva.”

  She cut her eyes toward Lydia, and surprisingly, Willow seemed to be indicating that Lydia should hand the child to Mr. Batchwell.

  “Lydia, could you help me with this table please? It’s too far away for Mr. Batchwell to reach.”

  Again, Willow gestured ever so subtly in Mr. Batchwell’s direction. Lydia prayed that the woman knew what she was doing.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Without giving the man an opportunity to refuse, Lydia placed the squalling infant in Mr. Batchwell’s arms.

  To his credit, the man reacted instinctively, his arms closing around the baby, but his expression couldn’t have been more thunderstruck if Lydia had dropped a bucket of ice into his lap.

  Then, the most amazing thing happened. The baby stopped crying. She regarded Batchwell with wide tear-laden eyes, seemingly mesmerized by the curly tuft of hair surrounding his balding pate and the wiry mutton-chop whiskers.

  For a moment, Batchwell didn’t seem to know how to respond. He continued to gaze at the baby with a thunderous scowl, but when Eva offered him a watery smile, he sank deeper into his chair.

  Lydia and Willow lifted the table, carrying it to a point near Batchwell’s elbow. Then, when the man seemed to be held in a trance, Willow gestured to the bed.

  “Could you help me with the linens?”

  Lydia and Willow made quick work of changing the sheets—and even here, Lydia could see evidence of Willow’s feminine touch. A length of crocheted lace had been tacked to the hem of the newly laundered linens, and several threadbare spots had been darned so skillfully that the work was hardly visible. Having seen Willow’s needlework before, Lydia knew that her friend was probably responsible.

  “If we get another sunny day, I’d like to air your blankets and pillows outside on the line, Mr. Batchwell.”

  The man grunted, but made no other reply. Instead, he’d moved the baby to the crook of one arm and dunked his sandwich into his soup with the other. Taking absentminded bites, he continued to stare down at Eva as if she were a curious oddity.

  “If you can handle things here, we’ll clean up in the kitchen, then come back to fetch the baby.”

  Again, a grunt.

  Willow grabbed Lydia’s hand, pulling her into the hall where the two of them hurried out of earshot before bursting into laughter.

  “‘Wicked’ isn’t the only word that should be used to describe you, Willow. I believe I should add ingenious as well.”

  Willow beamed. “I’d hoped something like that might happen. Come on. Let’s clean up like we said, then come retrieve her. Her good mood will only last so long.”

  * * *

  “Gideon! We’ve got a rider coming into town!”

  Gideon looked up from where he and Smalls had been examining the condition of the wagons needed to haul the ore out of the valley. Since the coming of the railroad, the wagons had been used more for transportation than freight. Now, they would all have to be returned to service and reinforced for the long haul of the precious metal.

  “Who is it?”

  Winslow shrugged. “No one seems to know him. He’s not from around these parts.”

  Gideon’s thoughts immediately skittered toward the encampment he’d examined. He’d spent the better part of an hour trying to pick up the trail, but hadn’t had much success. With so much ice on the road and the melting snow, the hoof prints had seemed to disappear into thin air.

  Even so, the news that a rider had arrived from the outside world didn’t offer him any comfort. If this was the person who’d camped in the canyon—and he’d come to Aspen Valley on official business—why had it taken him so long to show up?

  “I’ll be back,” he said to Smalls.

  The huge man nodded, but he must have sensed Gideon’s unease, because he followed him out of the wagon shed and onto the main thoroughfare.

  Gideon crossed the road to the Pinkerton offices, then stood at the edge of the boardwalk. As the horse and rider ambled toward him, he took the time to study the man. Dusty black hat, blue jacket, black holster. The fact that he was wearing a Pinkerton uniform should have allayed Gideon’s suspicion, but the prickling at the back of his nape merely intensified. Gideon knew every detective from here to Denver, and there was nothing familiar about this man’s face. That didn’t mean that someone couldn’t have been hired. It simply meant...

  Who knew what it meant? Gideon’s normal routines had been upended and turned inside out since the avalanche and he couldn’t seem to get himself back into a proper working mode.

  The rider came to a halt a few feet away. Touching a finger to his hat, he offered, “Howdy.” He grinned. “Seems the pass is finally clear enough for me to come find you boys.”

  He swung to the ground, then looped a pair of bulging saddlebags over his shoulder. His boots squelched in the mud as he tied the reins to the hitching ring on one of the main supports.

  “The name’s Jubal Eddington.”

  He held out a gloved hand and Gideon shook it. All the time, his gaze scanned the man’s face. No. He didn’t know him. He was older than most Pinkertons in these parts, probably in his midsixties. When he lifted his hat to swipe at the sweat on his brow, Gideon could see that his hairline had receded and turned to gray.

  “I’ve got some correspondence for you from the offices in Denver and Ogden. Then, the railway company asked me to deliver a few things since I was headed this way.”

  Gide
on jerked a finger behind him. “Come on in. I’ll have one of my men round up something for you to eat while I go through everything. I might need you to take a reply back. You’ll probably want to stay the night, so we’ll find a cot for you upstairs.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve been told to head right back.”

  “You’re sure? It’ll be completely dark in an hour or so.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Again, Gideon studied him. He found no reason not to take the man’s words at face value. But the stranger’s eagerness to leave rankled. He’d have to make camp as soon as darkness fell anyway. Why not sleep in a comfortable bed rather than the mud?

  “Have a seat.”

  The man sank into the chair in front of Gideon’s desk just as Lester Dobbs burst through the door.

  “Dobbs, this is Jubal Eddington. He’s brought us some things from the Ogden office.”

  Eddington tossed the saddlebags onto the desk and Gideon began removing the letters, packets and papers that had been stuffed inside. Automatically, he sorted them—Pinkerton business, mine business, personal correspondence to various residents and miscellaneous items that would need to be examined to assess their import.

  “Looks like this is going to take a while. Dobbs, why don’t you take Mr. Eddington to the cook shack and scrounge up something for him to eat? Once you’re done, I’ll have a better idea of whether or not I’ll need to send a response back.”

  Eddington seemed reluctant, but Dobbs, ever solicitous, held open the door.

  “Sure thing, boss. Mr. Eddington, you’re in for a treat. The ladies have been cooking a hearty ham and bean soup tonight with thick slabs of corn bread for dunking. It’s been windy today, so after your long ride up the canyon, it will warm you from the inside out.”

  Eddington rose and trailed behind Dobbs like an obedient puppy, but it was only when the door was closed that Gideon was able to concentrate on the piles laid out on his desk. Once again, he went through the stack he’d designated as mining business. In these, the envelopes had clearly been directed to Batchwell, Bottoms or Jonah Ramsey. When he found one addressed to himself, Gideon slid it over to the Pinkerton pile.

  In the personal stack, he riffled through them, noting that most of the letters had been addressed to his men, no doubt from their wives or sweethearts. He placed those on the far corner of his desk where his fellow detectives could help themselves. There was also a thick envelope that held more loose papers inside, which he set at his elbow. The others—addressed to a few of the women—he set near the far edge. He’d take those to the evening Devotional. No doubt, the women would want to read them as soon as possible.

  Next, he addressed the Pinkerton correspondence. The first few envelopes contained the usual reports and information bulletins from offices all over the country. There was an updated payroll chart that was supposed to have taken effect in January. Gideon smiled. A little bonus was in store for his crew. They’d be pleased to hear that. An enclosed announcement proclaimed that there would be a new office opening in the southern part of the territory, job openings in Colorado and Texas, and a supervisor position available this summer in San Francisco. Such news often brought a change to Gideon’s staff when some of the men decided to move on to postings where they could bring their wives and families.

  The thought brought a niggling to his conscience when he realized that Lydia had hoped to make Aspen Valley such a community. Gideon knew that Isaac Clemente would welcome such a change. He used all of his leave time to visit his wife Anna and their two sons, who had taken up residence in Ogden, forty miles away. Usually, it was only a half day’s journey by passenger train to get there. But with the railroad unable to come into town for the next few months, Gideon was sure the man was chomping at the bit to find a way to visit them. If Anna and the boys were able to live here...

  Stop it.

  He reached for another envelope and tore it open. But he’d only read a few of the lines when the prickling suspicion he’d felt for days now spread through his whole body, causing his nerve ends to jangle. His eyes raced to read the missive even as his brain sluggishly tried to assimilate the information.

  Beware of a possible plot to steal the current cache of silver...credible evidence...remain alert...anticipate large opposing force...take every precaution...

  The door opened and Gideon quickly swept the letter into the lap drawer when Eddington appeared.

  “Finished already?”

  Eddington shook his head. “The women are still setting things up, so they told me to come back after something called...evening Devotional.”

  “That’s right. We usually meet before the meal, but if you’re hungry...”

  “No. I can wait and eat with the rest of your men.” The man’s gaze slid over Gideon’s blotter, noting the different piles. “It looks like you’re still busy. Do you mind if I wash up in the meantime?”

  Gideon shook his head. “There’s water kept warm on a box heater in that back room there. Privy’s outdoors.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once again, Gideon waited until the man’s footfalls had disappeared. But rather than removing the letter from his desk, he removed a key instead. He carefully twisted the lock, then scooped the rest of the Pinkerton correspondence into the drawer beside it and locked that as well before slipping the key into his tunic pocket.

  His gaze fell on the last pile of miscellaneous correspondence. Sorting through them, he found five thick envelopes addressed to Lydia Tomlinson, a package for Dr. Sumner Havisham, a flier for scenic railway tours and a packet of folded Wanted posters. Gideon and other lawmen in the area were to be on the lookout for the John Kinney Gang, the Jesse Evans Gang...

  A brief glance at the pictures provided and the information that the outlaws worked several hundred miles south of town had Gideon setting the posters to the side. But when he moved on to the next one he froze.

  The fairly recognizable sketch of a woman stared back at him along with the caption:

  Wanted!

  Lydia Angelica Tomlinson, age twenty-three.

  Bank Robbery and Cattle Rustling!

  Chapter Nine

  Lydia and Willow were able to wash the dishes and stow the leftovers in the larder in record time. Through it all, they kept their ears cocked for the sound of Mr. Batchwell’s bell or Eva’s cry. But the silence continued. Finally, as Willow loaded a sleeping Adam back into the wagon, Lydia volunteered to retrieve Eva.

  She crept up the stairs, wondering what she would find once she rounded the corner into the bedroom. But the sight that met her eyes was inexplicably tender. Eva lay fast asleep in the crook of Batchwell’s arm while his own head lolled against the wing of the chair. With his features slackened in slumber, the man didn’t look nearly so fierce. Instead, he seemed completely benign, grandfatherly...kind.

  Not wanting to disturb him, Lydia carefully lifted the baby into her arms. Eva started, but didn’t open her eyes. Within seconds, she’d settled back asleep, her mouth pursing in a sucking motion for a moment before relaxing.

  Lydia reached for a quilt that had been folded at the foot of the bed and settled it as best as she could over Mr. Batchwell’s lap and shoulders. Then, not quite sure why she felt compelled to do so—only that his drooping head and slack jaw reminded her of Aunt Rosie when she fell asleep in front of the fire—Lydia leaned over to squeeze the man’s shoulder.

  “Sweet dreams, Mr. Batchwell.”

  * * *

  Gideon sat on the far side of the cook shack, his plate untouched. In truth, he hadn’t been hungry—not after the meal that Lydia had given him mere hours ago. Gathering the food had been a ruse to give him a reason for being here with the other men. Even better, it gave him a vantage point where he could watch the newly arrived messenger eating at a table with Dobbs, Winslow and three miners.

  “You look like you’v
e got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  Gideon glanced up to see Charles Wanlass holding an enamelware cup and a plate of gingerbread cookies.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  Gideon nudged the chair with his toe.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Charles settled into his place, then took a sip from his mug. Judging by the dust coating his clothing, he and his blasting crew had been working hard in the mine.

  “You’re not eating at home tonight?”

  Gideon would have thought that, after giving his sermon at the evening Devotional, Charles would have gone home to Willow and the children.

  “She’s been taking meals up to Mr. Batchwell, so she told me we’d push our own meal back an hour or so.” He gestured to the cookies. “Still, I couldn’t resist a cuppa and a little something to tide me over.”

  Knowing how hard Charles worked, the man had to be starving. It was a testament to his new family that he was willing to wait until they could all be together.

  “How are things going below ground?” Gideon asked.

  “Good. Really good. My crew blasted another section of the rock face away this morning, lengthening the tunnel. That new seam of silver seems to get bigger the deeper we go. That should mollify Batchwell a bit.”

  Despite his best efforts, Gideon’s attention was split. Over and over again, he kept studying the messenger. Try as he might, he couldn’t help thinking that something was...off about the man. Granted, he wore the uniform well and seemed to know all the right things to say. He hadn’t gone to Devotional with everyone else, but a man couldn’t be faulted for that. When Gideon had hung back to watch him, Eddington had done little more than take a slow walk around the camp. There’d been nothing suspicious in his actions, but...

  What was it?

  Maybe it wasn’t the man at all, but the information he’d brought with him. That Wanted poster of Lydia.

  It couldn’t be genuine, could it?