by Lisa Bingham
Don’t think about that now.
But even when she squeezed her eyes shut, she relived that moment when she’d admitted that she was guilty of bank robbery and cattle rustling. Gideon had eyed her with stark disbelief. He’d even had the audacity to laugh.
Until he’d realized that she wasn’t laughing with him.
She heard the sharp staccato sounds of his boots as he ascended the stone steps leading out of the stone cellar beneath the Mining Office. Only after he’d closed the heavy wooden door with a dull thump did she sink onto the cot.
“What you in here for, missy?”
She ignored the query thrown at her from somewhere beyond her sight. Shivering, she tugged at the blanket folded at the end of the unmade mattress and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Ruined.
Everything that she’d fought so hard to obtain lay in tatters at her feet. The life that she’d built with her aunts, the independence she’d won, the causes she’d championed. Even her attempts to bring a better life to Bachelor Bottoms would probably be negated. All because of her blood.
Tainted blood.
A chill shuddered through her entire body, causing her to clutch the blanket even tighter. She knew full well how gossip traveled in Aspen Valley. The news had probably spread through town before Gideon had finished twisting the key in the lock.
Lydia Tomlinson had been arrested.
Nighty-night under the starlight bright...
Her father had sworn that he would find a way to punish her for her betrayal. Clearly, his words had been prophetic.
She stiffened when a soft noise came from above, warning her that Gideon had returned.
So soon? What could he possibly want from her now? She had no intention of telling him anything more. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment deepen in his eyes.
“Lydia!”
The whisper was soft, urgent, but clearly female.
Lydia jumped to her feet, the blanket falling unheeded to the floor.
“Stefania? Over here!”
Two shapes separated from the dimness of the stairwell as Stefania and Millie rushed toward her.
“What on earth happened? Did he find out about the men we’ve captured?”
“No.” Lydia blinked, certain that the women were a figment of her imagination. “How did you get in here?”
Millie grinned. “I took Dobbs’s keys from him when he agreed to join the men in the infirmary.”
So, it was Dobbs who had been sending Millie love letters and snowdrops for the past few weeks.
“Hurry! We’ve got to get you out of here. We don’t have a minute to lose. Willow is heading toward Batchwell’s house and it’s time for Iona to meet with Mr. Bottoms.”
Unaccountably, Lydia felt a burst of hope. She had no illusions. All too soon, she would be back behind bars, and her speaking engagements in California would be a thing of the past. But she could finish what they’d all started here in Bachelor Bottoms. She could help make this a community of families.
As soon as Stefania turned the key, she burst out of the door.
“Hey! What about me?”
At the far end, the bars rattled, but she and the girls ignored the noise. Creeping up to the outer door, Lydia opened it a slit, peering in either direction to make sure their escape would remain unnoticed.
The alley looked quiet. The street beyond completely empty.
“We’ve already captured most of the men who were off shift,” Millie whispered. “So, unless you can see Gideon Gault...”
No. There was no sign of Gideon, but Lydia wasn’t taking any chances.
“Stefania, you and I will go around the back way, along the lane leading to the miners’ row houses. Millie, you go to the cook shack and get everyone else. Then we’ll meet on the lane that leads up to the owners’ homes.”
The other women nodded.
“Ready? Go!”
* * *
Gideon strode into the livery.
“Smalls? Are you here?”
His only answer came from the shifting of animals in their stalls and the bleating of the goats kept at the far end.
“Smalls?”
Sighing, Gideon strode to the spot where his own gelding was kept, knowing that he had to get out of here, had to ride, had to feel the wind against his face or...
Or what?
It wasn’t the images of Andersonville that crowded in close. It was Lydia, her head down, looking so small and fragile within the stone walls of the jail cell.
How could she be guilty of the crimes she’d admitted to doing? Yes, he’d known that Lydia could be militant and skirt the rules of Bachelor Bottoms. But there was an innate dignity about her, a passion for championing the underdog. He couldn’t imagine her storming into a bank and demanding that they hand over their cash.
He snorted, throwing his saddle over the roan’s back.
If that image was preposterous, it was even more nonsensical to think of her sneaking into a pasture in the dead of night to herd cattle away from their owner.
So, what had made her say she was guilty of such crimes?
As he finished tightening the girth and reached for the bridle hanging on a nearby peg, he tried to think of something—anything—that she’d said that could give her a motive for her behavior.
Aunts.
She’d said that she’d lived with a pair of maiden aunts.
Where?
Boston.
For how long?
Think, think!
Gideon led his animal out of the livery and swung onto its back. Then, nudging it with his heels, he urged it into a walk, a trot, a gallop, until he was riding out of town, the wind flowing around his face, the animal below him gloriously stretching out to its full speed. In a matter of minutes, Gideon had left Aspen Valley behind. Following the wagon tracks, he headed up, up to the spot where the ruined railway cars now sat completely exposed like children’s blocks thrown haphazardly down the hill.
Mindful of the rocks and broken tree limbs from the debris field, Gideon slowed the animal beneath him, picking his way through until he reached the mouth of the canyon. Breathing hard, Gideon looked down, down, into the winding ravine.
Although snow still lingered in the upper elevations, around the riverbanks, he could see the snaking path of the road. A few stubborn patches of slush and ice remained in the shady spots, but the primary problem now would be mud. Thick, cloying mud that would cake onto the rims of the wagon wheels—especially if they were loaded down with women and baggage. But if they waited much longer...
He noted the snake of the river, the swollen banks, the glint of whitecaps in the rapids. If the warm weather continued unabated, there would be flooding. The road could be swamped or washed out completely.
If he were to get the women out at all, it would have to be in the next few days.
For the first time, Gideon didn’t feel a jolt of relief at the thought. Instead, his anxiousness seemed to increase.
Why was he so torn? It wasn’t as if he and Lydia...as if she...
He shouldn’t even be thinking that way. She’d made it clear that he was nothing to her but a spirited opponent. Perhaps even a friend. While he...
What did he feel for Lydia?
Gideon tried to summon all of the old arguments—that he wasn’t a marrying kind of man, that he could never settle down to such a life...
That no woman should be burdened with the images that haunted him.
But the thoughts didn’t pull their weight the way they used to do. Instead, the idea of living the rest of his life alone pressed as heavily on his shoulders as his past.
Why hadn’t she trusted him enough to tell him the truth?
Even if she’d committed those crimes, she could have confided in him. He would have
done his best to help her. But without a full accounting, his hands were tied.
Frustration sizzled, building up, threatening to burst through his chest, but just as quickly, it fizzled away when he realized that he’d done nothing to inspire Lydia’s confidences. He’d been unwilling to listen to her arguments about Bachelor Bottoms—and he’d done his best to dissuade her from pursuing her goals. He could rail at her for not telling him more, but had he told her anything about himself save a few miserly details?
The gelding shifted restlessly beneath him, reminding Gideon that his duties lay behind him in town. He’d been hired to do a job, and the moment had come for him to see things through. As per the owners’ instructions, he needed to get the women out of the valley and set them back on the journeys they’d originally planned. Then, he had a stockpile of ore to guard and transport to the nearest railhead so that it could be shipped to Denver.
After that...
Well, maybe it was time to move on. Maybe he’d been at this job, this location too long. Maybe the mountains were closing in on him, making him skittish and likely to do things that were completely out of character. Maybe once he had some space and some time alone, he’d feel like his old self again.
But the thought seemed hollow. His gut told him that nothing would ever be that simple again.
* * *
“Is everyone ready?” Lydia whispered from where she and nearly a dozen women crouched behind a clump of sumac.
As she surveyed the group, the women nodded. Many of them held revolvers or rifles, while a few felt more comfortable brandishing rolling pins or skillets.
“Remember, we want to keep this whole affair as civilized as possible. Our objective is to have the two owners under our control so we can extend a list of demands and explain our argument. Hopefully, they’ll listen to reason.”
“And if they don’t?” Louise asked fearfully.
“Then we use the solidarity of the miners we’ve engaged in our protest to curtail production in the mine itself. Hopefully, once it becomes apparent that the profitability of their enterprise is in danger, they can be persuaded to negotiate.” Lydia offered them an encouraging smile. “Remember, we’re fighting for so much more than ourselves. We’re fighting for our community. Bachelor Bottoms has done well by itself. But this sterile environment cannot contain itself. Even before we arrived, the men were growing restless with their lot. True, some of the workers are bachelors who are here for the money and the adventure. But so many more of them are husbands with families, or men with sweethearts waiting for their return. Such isolation can only be maintained for a limited time before the heart revolts against such strictures. We’ve already seen how this valley has blossomed with the addition of a few feminine hands. Imagine what this place could be if there were homes and schools. If the sound of children’s laughter filled the air.”
The women around her murmured in agreement. Even Louise’s shoulders drew to a determined line.
“If we can do this...if we can capture Batchwell and Bottoms—today—our goals will be in sight.”
“Bravo!”
“Are we all ready?”
The small space resounded in a chorus of whispers.
“Yes!”
“We are!”
Lydia pointed to Willow.
“Willow, you go first. Get Boris to go into town on some sort of errand. As soon as we see him leave, we’ll send Iona in to meet with Phineas Bottoms.”
Willow nodded and turned the wagon carrying the twins. It rumbled softly over the uneven ground, marking their progress toward the mansion.
“Iona?”
Iona looked up. She was obviously trembling.
“Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
Lydia took the older woman’s hands in her own, noting the chill to her fingertips.
“Everything will be fine.”
“I know. But, I... I don’t want Phineas to think ill of me.”
Lydia suddenly realized that, for Iona, their mission had become entirely personal. With each encounter she’d had with Phineas, a glow had begun to settle over her.
“If he’s the man we think he is, he’ll be thinking of you, Iona.”
The woman offered a bashful, girlish smile.
“Is it that obvious?”
Lydia squeezed her hands again.
“You deserve every happiness, Iona.”
Her friend laughed nervously. “Even at my age?”
“There’s no age limit on happiness, Iona. Nor, apparently, on romance.”
“There he is! There’s Boris!”
The women hunkered even lower behind the copse of trees, waiting until the crunch of footsteps approached, then continued past them down the hill. Only after the sound had completely faded did Lydia whisper, “All right, everyone. Step one has been completed. Iona, you’re next.”
* * *
Willow made her way up the back staircase, then navigated the hall to Mr. Batchwell’s bedroom.
She knew she was taking a chance in bringing the twins with her. Despite the women’s plans for a non-violent protest, anything could happen.
But Willow doubted that taking the owners hostage would provide the outcome they all desired. She’d received the brunt of Batchwell’s ire in the past—and she had no illusions that anything other than her cooking had allowed her to encroach on the man’s inner sanctum.
To that end, she’d decided to wage her own silent battle against the crochety old gentleman. And for that, she intended to employ her sweetest weapons.
“Good morning, Mr. Batchwell.”
The man looked up from the book he’d been reading and scowled.
“Don’t you have someone who can watch those things?” he groused.
“Actually, no. There’s quite a lot going on in town lately. The pass is nearly clear and most of the women are busy with last-minute preparations. I thought I would do some baking in those huge ranges you have downstairs. Since I’ll have my hands full, I was hoping that you could keep an eye on the children. Adam is still asleep. The poor thing had a fitful night, I’m afraid. So, he’ll give you no trouble at all. Eva, it seems, is ready to play.”
She bent toward Mr. Batchwell with Eva cradled in the arm closest to him. As Willow had hoped, her daughter caught sight of Batchwell’s bushy sideburns and grinned, her arms waving.
Almost of their own volition, Batchwell’s hands reached for the baby and pulled her to his chest. Immediately, Eva began to coo and hum.
Not wanting to do anything to tarnish the moment, Willow turned to the bed where she grasped a pillow and blanket. Arranging them on the floor, she set Adam in the nest she’d formed.
Adam’s eyelids flickered, then proved too heavy for him to open, and he quickly settled back into sleep.
Batchwell tore his eyes away from Eva to look down at her twin.
“He’s a tough little bruiser, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” Willow said proudly. “But that one’s just as stubborn.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, Eva glanced up, but she soon returned to exploring the tip of Batchwell’s bulbous nose.
“Ach, she’s a bonny lass, she is,” Batchwell said, so softly that Willow nearly didn’t hear him at all.
Willow took that moment to walk toward the doorway. Once on the other side of the threshold, she paused. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to bake today, Mr. Batchwell?”
The man didn’t answer. Clearly, all his attention centered on the baby in his arms.
“Ring the bell if you need me,” Willow murmured. Then, smiling, she hurried downstairs again.
* * *
Iona didn’t need to announce her arrival at the cottage. She was several yards away when Phineas opened the door and welcomed her inside.
“Mrs. Skye.”
Iona couldn’t account for the way that the mere sound of her name on his tongue caused a frisson of delight to skitter down her spine.
“I think we know each other well enough that you should call me Iona.”
“Very well... Iona. And you must call me Phineas.”
Iona stepped inside his home, finding it exactly as she’d imagined—compact, quaint, warm.
“Phineas, I need you to listen to me,” she said, turning to him. Brazenly, she reached to take his hand. “Something is about to happen—I don’t have time to explain. Just trust me. You do trust me, don’t you? Even though we’ve only known each other a short time?”
He gripped her tightly, covering their twined fingers with his free hand. “Iona?”
“Please, tell me you trust me. I’ll explain everything later, but I want—no, need—to know that you won’t think badly of me. I’ve grown to care for you so much.”
His blue eyes brightened at the words.
“I couldn’t bear it if you thought I’d tried to deceive you.”
“Iona, I—”
The door suddenly burst open and the women stormed in. Instinctively, Iona stepped in front of Phineas, shielding him from the group, still gripping him tightly. He must have seen the weapons, heard the women’s cries, because he pulled her tightly against him, an arm wrapping around her waist. And even in that moment of confusion, the warmth and strength of his embrace caused tears to prick at the back of her eyes.
It had been so long since she’d felt this way.
Young.
Feminine.
And oh, so in love.
Bang!
The women screamed and dropped to the floor when one of the revolvers suddenly discharged. A chunk of ceiling rained plaster on them all as Phineas threw Iona to the floor, then protectively shielded her beneath his hunched shoulders.
Iona squinched her eyes shut, waiting for another volley. But there was only an uneasy silence, then Louise offered breathlessly, “So sorry. I must have accidentally left one of the bullets in the chamber.”
Above her, Iona could feel Phineas trembling above her.
Please, Lord. Don’t let him be too angry with me.
But when Iona dared to look up, she saw Phineas shaking with silent laughter. He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Iona, pulling her up next to him.
