by Lisa Bingham
“I don’t know what I feel,” he offered honestly. The fact that he’d shared such an intimate thought with anyone—let alone one of the mail-order brides who had been the bane of his existence since being stranded in the valley—should have shocked him to the core. But there was something about Iona, her proud bearing, the wise eyes, that reminded him of his own dearly departed mother. Somehow, he knew that his confession would be safe with her.
“I daresay she’s experiencing a portion of the same confusion.”
Gideon chanced another glance in Lydia’s direction.
“You think so?”
“Yes. There seems to be a lot of that going around lately.” Her tone was wry. “It’s as if the spring thaws are sending all of our emotions topsy-turvy.”
Gideon couldn’t help but smile. “You sound like you’re not immune to the situation.”
“Definitely not. I am discovering that, contrary to what I’d always believed, there is no age limit to happiness or the Lord’s blessings. Sometimes, such things come when we least expect them.” She reached to pat his knee, much as his mother used to do when she wanted to emphasize a point. “Just remember that in the next few days, hmm?”
She stood and returned to the cook shack, leaving Gideon to wonder why he felt as if he’d been forewarned.
Chapter Ten
Lydia found herself lagging behind the other women as they left the cook shack and headed back to the Dovecote.
Nighttime had fallen in the past few hours. Without the sun to cast its rays, the air had grown chilly and the breeze had the ability to nip through their clothing and cause them to hurry.
Nevertheless, Lydia found herself unconsciously isolating herself from their chatter and seeking the silence of the evening.
She didn’t realize how far away the women had become until a shape stepped out of an alley, blocking her way. Lydia gasped, realizing that one of the Pinkertons had stopped her.
No. Not one of their Pinkertons.
Although the gentleman wore the blue uniform, she didn’t recognize his face. And after so many days and weeks and months at Bachelor Bottoms, Lydia knew everyone in the community.
She’d borrowed a shawl from one of the other women and her hand automatically reached to pull the wrap tighter to her neck. She’d heard a stranger had come to Aspen Valley with correspondence from the outside world. The news had spread like wildfire through the cook shack, so much so, that the place had been a-buzz by the time Lydia had returned to the kitchens to help. But since she’d spent the remainder of the evening in the preparation area, she hadn’t seen the stranger.
Until now.
The man lifted his hat. “Miss Tomlinson.”
His tone was polite. Respectful. But for some reason, the greeting unsettled her. The fact that he already knew her name was disconcerting, making her feel as if she were at a disadvantage in the conversation.
“Good evening.” She didn’t bother to ask for his own name in return. In her opinion, any man who would boldly confront a woman on the boardwalk at this time of night without having been properly introduced, strained the bounds of polite society, if not safety. Her aunts would have been appalled—and since they’d taught Lydia how to defend herself from impertinent gentlemen, he was fortunate he wasn’t contending with the business end of a hatpin or the single shot derringer tucked into her corset.
“You ladies sure know how to cook. I don’t think that I’ve tasted anything so delicious in...well, in a very long time.”
She tipped her head in what she hoped was an imperious, dismissing manner. More than anything, she wanted to catch up to her friends. For the first time since coming to the area, she longed to see one of the guards who’d been overseeing their safety for last few months.
“If you’ll excuse me...” she murmured, hoping he would realize she wasn’t in a mood to converse.
“Of course, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you. I simply wanted to offer my thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome. Good evening.”
This time, she didn’t bother to wait for him to move. She stepped into the street in order to make her way around him, quickening her gait.
“Oh, and Miss Tomlinson, you be sure to have yourself a good nighty-night under the starlight bright.”
Lydia stumbled, a tingling numbness settling into her fingertips and toes.
Have a good nighty-night under the starlight bright, Lydia Lou.
She whirled to confront the man, but just as quickly as he’d appeared, the stranger had disappeared.
Nighty-night under the starlight bright...
Images thundered through her brain. A rat-infested tenement...a revival tent...a camp under the stars...
And being afraid. So very afraid.
“Lydia?”
She jumped, whirling again, her hand automatically reaching overhead for the jeweled hatpin that Aunt Florence had designed with her own two hands. The steel shank was sturdier than most, and kept razor-sharp.
But when her eyes focused on the shadow approaching her, she wilted in relief.
Gideon.
His name burst from her lips and she couldn’t help lurching toward him.
Gideon automatically grabbed her elbows, steadying her. “Is something wrong?”
“No. No, I—”
Nighty-night under the starlight bright...
Only one person had ever used that phrase with her. Even now, the words brought a rush of helplessness and fear. Because once he’d uttered the words, her father would offer a litany of empty promises.
One more job, Lydia Lou. Then we’ll live in a big house with plenty of food and you can go to school...
“Lydia?” Gideon shook her slightly, drawing her attention back to the dark intensity of his gaze. “Has someone hurt you?”
“No. I—I fell behind the others and...”
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her encounter with the stranger. As far as she knew, the man’s choice of words could have been a coincidence.
But the thought rang hollow. The whole encounter—his stopping her on the boardwalk, engaging her in conversation, employing that oh, so familiar phrase—hadn’t been a coincidence.
It had been a message.
“Lydia, where are your guards? I told a pair of men to accompany all of you home before they turned in for the night.”
“They’re with the other girls. I—it was my own fault. I didn’t keep up with them and—” She found herself scouring Gideon’s features, taking comfort in their familiarity. “Gideon,” she asked hesitantly. “Will you walk me home?”
It would have been so easy for him to refuse—or to ask one of his men to come to her aid. But the man didn’t even hesitate. Instead, he gripped her hand and pulled her forward.
“Of course.”
To her relief, he didn’t release her once they’d begun to walk down the lane. Instead, he wove their fingers together, making it clear to her that he didn’t plan to leave any time soon.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Lydia opened her mouth to talk about the stranger dressed in the Pinkerton uniform, but she found she couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t ruin everything. With a few well-chosen words, the man had stripped away years of training, education and confidence, leaving her feeling like...
A frightened little girl.
But she couldn’t bring herself to lie and say that nothing was wrong, either. At this point, she didn’t think she could summon enough bravado to make the assertion believable.
“Maybe later. But not right now.”
To his credit, he seemed willing to follow her lead.
“Oh, I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved several envelopes. “A messenger made it through the pass and brought mail
for the mining officials and my own office. These were mixed in with them.”
He paused long enough to hand them to her, but still kept ahold of her hand.
There was enough moonlight for her to make out the familiar, loopy scrawl. “My aunts!” She tucked the envelopes against her chest. Her eyes prickled with tears and an unaccustomed lump settled in her throat.
Just when she needed them most, her aunts had found a way to bolster her courage yet again.
“I thought I should bring them to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you! I’ll read them as soon as I get to the Dovecote.”
They settled into a companionable silence accompanied by little more than the crunch of their footfalls on the gravel and the chatter of the bare-limbed aspen trees swaying in the breeze. Lydia found the experience remarkable. Normally, she would feel compelled to fill the void of silence with conversation. But here, tonight, it felt right to remain quiet. In the stillness, she could concentrate on the warmth of his hand around hers, on the stray sweep of his thumb over her knuckles.
It wasn’t until the Dovecote loomed into sight—big and bare and gleaming with lamplight—that she knew she had to speak.
“Thank you, Gideon.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me home. For making me feel safe.” She hesitated before adding, “For not pummeling me with questions or chiding me for being afraid of the dark.”
He stopped, and with a slight tug, forced her to face him. “We’re all afraid of the dark at some time or another.”
She huffed in disbelief. “I doubt you’ve ever had that problem.”
His features settled into an expression that appeared curiously...sad.
“You’d be surprised.”
She remembered then that he had his own memories that sometimes came to haunt him.
“The war,” she murmured.
“Sometimes, it feels like I’ve only stepped away from that life for a few moments and it will reach out to snatch me back.”
His words echoed her own storm of emotions so completely, that she couldn’t help whispering, “What do you do when you feel like that, Gideon?”
He squinted into the darkness. “I get on the back of my horse and ride.”
She’d seen him on several occasions, leaning low over the neck of his gelding, galloping toward the foothills or along the river road. Each time, she’d wondered what had happened to drive him to ride as if someone pursued.
“Do you manage to escape the memories?”
A part of her wondered if his solution would work for her. Could she outrun the past? Could she drive back the sensation that no matter how much she learned, how much she progressed, how much she fought, she would never be able to erase the stain of her childhood from her soul? That she would never be good enough to deserve someone like Gideon Gault?
Gideon shook his head, and she wished that the moonlight hadn’t cast so much of his face in shadow.
“No. But sometimes the wind against your face and the roll of the horse’s gait can...help you gain a new perspective.”
Somehow, Lydia didn’t think that solution would work too well for her. At this moment, if she were to saddle a horse and ride out of town, she doubted she would be able to stop. Now, more than ever, she wanted to escape. She wanted to go back to being that naive woman who had boarded a train with utmost confidence in her abilities.
Unfortunately, she’d committed herself to Bachelor Bottoms, to the mail-order brides, and to seeing their protest through to the end. Only then would she be able to leave. Hopefully, before her father could catch up to her.
Gideon reached to skim her cheek with the tip of his finger, anchoring her back in the present, to this moment.
To him.
The caress continued, moving to her temple, her brow.
“Does it help? Having a new perspective?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes a good ride clears my head and helps me think more clearly. At other times, it merely helps me to sleep at night.”
Lydia unconsciously squeezed his hand, knowing what he meant. She’d had her own share of evenings where the gnawing of her belly and the overwhelming sense of fear were so real that the border between dreams and reality had seemed to disappear.
They’d reached the porch by now, and Lydia reluctantly stepped onto the stoop. For a moment, the lamplight cast a buttery glow over Gideon’s features. She inexplicably clung to the tenderness she saw reflected there. And something more. An awareness that even though the two of them had thought they existed on opposite ends of the spectrum...
They were really more alike than either of them would have ever thought possible. Lydia wanted to invite him inside so that they could continue their conversation. But she had no idea if the rest of the brides had gone to bed or if they’d lingered in the keeping room for cups of tea and giggling confidences. A part of her didn’t want to share Gideon with the other girls. Not yet.
“Good night, Gideon. Sleep well tonight. And thank you.”
His finger traced her cheek again. “It was my pleasure, Lydia. I hope you know you can approach me any time you need help.”
She nodded, knowing that he would come to her aid if requested, but also knowing that, where her father was concerned, she could never allow herself to ask. The mere thought of Gideon knowing that she had once ridden with the infamous Tommy Gang was something he must never know.
Astonishingly, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a brief, fleeting kiss on her knuckles.
“Sleep well, Lydia,” he murmured, echoing her own sentiment. Then he added, “Sweet dreams.”
Then he released her and disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
For the first time in weeks, Gideon skipped his nightly visit to the livery. Instead, without really having any memory of how he’d come to be there, he let himself into the Pinkertons offices through the back door. Here, the men had added a few comfortable chairs, a box stove, and a cupboard to hold a few foodstuffs, plates, mugs and utensils.
When he entered, Dobbs looked up from where he’d been pouring coffee out of an old battered pot.
“Hey, boss. Would you like some?”
“Nah. Do we have any milk left?”
Dobbs pointed to a pitcher on the corner of the counter. “Winslow brought some fresh on his way back from the cook shack.”
Gideon knew that the overture had been done more for him, rather than for the men to mix with their coffee, and he appreciated the gesture. It spoke to the fact that his group of detectives were friends as well as coworkers.
“Everything quiet?”
“Seems to be. I hope you don’t mind, but I doubled the guard around the ore warehouse. There’s something about knowing the canyon is completely passable that’s had me feeling a little antsy lately.”
Finally. Someone else was picking up on the same anxiousness that Gideon had been feeling for days.
“Tomorrow morning, I need to have a word with everyone. The Ogden office sent a letter warning me that they’ve heard some rumors about someone planning to steal the ore before we can get it shipped to Denver.” He thought of the note still locked in his drawer. “I haven’t had time to read it through, but once I have, we need to come up with some solid security measures, especially once we start hauling things out by wagon.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Let everyone know we’ll meet right after the morning Devotional, as soon as Mr. Eddington leaves for Ogden.”
“Oh, he’s gone.”
“What?”
“He came back about twenty minutes ago, packed up his things, and headed out of town.” Dobbs eyed Gideon over the rim of his mug. “I took the liberty of saddling a horse and trailing him to the mouth of the canyon.”
A cold finger seemed to trace the length of Gideon’s spine. It didn’t make s
ense for the man to leave now with the darkness and the cold settling in. But nothing about the man’s arrival had really made any sense.
“Spread the word that we’ll meet at first light. Before Devotional.”
“You got it.”
Dobbs set his empty mug on the counter, then left the room. The thud of his footfalls marked his progress upstairs.
Gideon waited until the sounds had faded away before pouring himself a glass of milk and heading into the front office. After lighting the lamp at his desk, he sank into his chair and reached for the key he’d tucked in his pocket. As he did so, he was struck by the sight of several deep gouges that had been etched into the wood around the lock.
Reaching for the lamp, Gideon held it up to the drawer.
Someone had been trying to force the lock.
His fingers fumbled with the key, the hole seeming to be two sizes too small, before he finally managed to twist it into place. As soon as he was able, he jerked the drawer open, his shoulders sagging in relief when he found that the correspondence from the Pinkerton offices was right where he’d left it. Apparently, the stout, ugly desk that had been supplied to him by the mining company had been strong enough to prevent the attempted theft.
Gideon immediately dismissed the idea that one of his men or a miner could be responsible for the vandalism. Although he had no proof, he would guess that Eddington was to blame.
But why? If the man had wanted to tamper with the mail, he could have done so before delivering it.
Unless it had never occurred to the stranger that he could be handing Gideon a warning. Too late, Gideon realized that Eddington must have seen the way he’d swept the letter into his desk, locking it hurriedly away when the man had entered the offices unannounced.
The inconsistencies that Gideon had filed away—the man’s age, his odd manner, the way he’d seemed to frighten Lydia—now seemed all the more telling. The fire Gideon had seen and the fact that no stranger had appeared in Aspen Valley for two more days heightened Gideon’s sense of caution. He had the feeling that unseen forces were swirling around Aspen Valley like the beginnings of a whirlpool.
