Accidental Sweetheart

by Lisa Bingham

  “I take it that I’m the next captive in this wild revolt?”

  The women eyed him nervously.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t give the game away.” He pointed to the picture window that overlooked the town. Next to his tufted chair was a telescope mounted to a brass tripod. Phineas offered a delighted laugh. “Caught you throwing a blanket over a fellow a few days ago. That tipped me off.” He pointed a finger in their direction. “You gals are slick, I’ll give you that. Especially this morning. Now, that was a sight to behold. How many men have you taken so far?”

  Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly unwilling to divulge the information. But Iona—loving this man even more than she had moments ago—decided that if she’d asked for his trust, he deserved some in return.

  “Over a hundred.”

  Phineas’s eyes widened; his mouth opened. Then he let out a hearty guffaw. Only after he’d wiped away the tears brought on by his merriment did he manage to hold up his hands in surrender. “Well, tie me up before the Pinkertons come running. They’ll have heard the shot in town. But, do it in that chair over yonder so I can keep my eyes on the fun.”

  * * *

  Gideon had just reached the outskirts of town when he heard gunfire.

  Reining his horse to a stop, he tried to determine the direction of the report. But in such a narrow valley, the sound echoed off the hills, making a determination difficult.

  Standing in the stirrups, he glanced behind him, thoughts of the suspicious messenger fresh in his head. But there was nothing. Even more unusual, there was no one ahead of him, either. The street lay empty in the afternoon sunshine. If it weren’t for Bertrum Smithers’s old blue heeler trotting toward the cook shack, Gideon would have thought the community had been abandoned. It was only when one of his men came running from the direction of the mine that he felt a momentary relief.

  Gideon urged his mount in that direction, meeting the man halfway.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Winslow panted slightly as he drew to a halt. “Gunfire?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pointed up to the hill toward the owners’ houses. “I’m not sure, but I think it came from Bottoms’s place.”

  “Gather what men you can and meet me up there.”

  Gideon turned his mount toward the row houses.

  “But most of them are in the mine!”

  “I don’t care. Get them!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Gideon Gault is on his way up the hill, and he’s on horseback,” Phineas called out.

  Lydia and the other women had been conferring about how best to apprehend Mr. Batchwell, but the announcement brought them up short.

  “You three stay here,” Lydia said to Iona, Stefania and Millie. “The rest of you come with me. We have to get into the mansion before Gideon figures out what we’ve done.”

  They burst out of the door, brandishing their weapons, at the same time that Gideon appeared at the top of the hill. He seemed to size up the situation like a practiced general, because he didn’t stop. Instead, he rode full speed to Batchwell’s home, vaulting the horse over the back fence. Before Lydia and the other women could even make it to the gate, he ran into the side door—the one that they’d arranged to have left unlocked for their own attack—and slammed the door. As she raced to close the last few yards, Lydia heard the bolt strike home.

  She should have sent someone to Batchwell’s home the moment the revolver had gone off.

  “What do we do now?” Hannah asked, pressing a hand to her side as she fought for breath.

  Lydia thought for a moment, then shook her head. “He’ll have the remaining Pinkertons here in a matter of minutes—and they’ll be carrying weapons that are fully loaded.”

  The women turned, en masse, to stare accusingly at Louise.

  “I said I was sorry. I was sure that I’d emptied all of the bullets out. But I was in a rush and I...must have...missed one...” Her words petered out as the weight of her friends’ gazes grew even heavier.

  Lydia stomped her foot in frustration, strode a few feet away, then paused, trying to think things through as quickly as she could. Finally, she turned back to her allies.

  “All of you get back to Phineas’s house. We need a show of strength so they don’t decide to attack the cottage and rescue the man.”

  Hannah snorted. It wouldn’t take much rescuing since Iona had tied him so loosely to the chair that even a toddler could have escaped the bindings without much bother.

  “Go on, now. I’m going to hide over there in those trees and take note of who comes to Batchwell’s rescue. Then, when I have a better idea of what we’re up against, I’ll be back with more help.”

  “Maybe you should have our reinforcements load their weapons,” Hannah suggested.

  “No! No, we’re not going to do that. So far, we may have stretched the rules of propriety, but we haven’t broken any laws. All the men have agreed to help us, including Mr. Bottoms. I won’t have any of you go to...to prison for anything we’ve done.” She stumbled over the words, knowing that she would not escape the same fate. “Go!”

  She waited until the others had returned to Mr. Bottoms’s house, then she quickly moved to the same copse of trees where they’d hidden before all this had begun. Through it all, her heart pounded against her ribs.

  What must Gideon Gault think of her now?

  * * *

  Gideon bolted into the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt when he found Willow measuring flour from a bin. At the sight of him, she squeaked and dropped the scoop, causing a puff of flour to explode into the air.

  “Gideon!”

  “Where’s everyone else?” Gideon demanded, removing his sidearm.

  Willow shrank against the counter. “M-Mr. Batchwell is upstairs with Adam and Eva, a-and Boris has gone to t-town to get something to eat.”

  “And the women?”

  “Women?”

  “Where are all the women who came with you?”

  Gideon’s gaze was already scanning the room, the hall, the staircase. In this house, there were hundreds of little hidey-holes where Lydia’s cohorts could be lying in wait.

  “No one else is here. There’s only Mr. Batchwell, the twins, and...and me.”

  He searched her features. But if there was one thing he’d learned about Willow Wanlass, it was that she had no talent for lying. She telegraphed every thought and emotion she experienced in her wide blue eyes and expressive features.

  And right now, she was frightened.

  “Put the gun away, Gideon.” Her chin tilted in the air in false bravado. “Please. My children are here.” When he hesitated, she added, “I give you my word, no one else is here.”

  It wasn’t so much her vow that convinced him. It was that mother bear stance. She would protect her little ones, even if she thought she needed to protect them from him.

  Images swam through his brain—dinners with the Wanlass family, Willow doting on Gideon as if he were family, the twins.

  He lowered the revolver to his side.

  “Why are you here, Willow?”

  “I come every afternoon to cook for Mr. Batchwell.”

  “Since when?”

  “A few days now. Since Charles discovered that Boris was nearly beside himself from all of Batchwell’s demands.”

  That statement had a definite ring of truth.

  “Do you know what the women are up to?”

  A flush tinged her cheeks, but she remained mulishly silent.

  “It’s Lydia who’s the ringleader, isn’t it?”

  Again, she refused to answer, but her expression told him what he needed to know.

  How had Lydia managed to escape the jail cell? She couldn’t have been inside for more than ten minutes.

  �
�Tell me what they plan to do next, Willow.”

  She shook her head. “I—I can’t.”

  “‘Can’t’ or ‘won’t’?”

  “Can’t! I don’t live in the Dovecote anymore, remember? I’m not privy to their plans. I was merely asked to send Boris to town and leave the side door open.”

  The words were said so grudgingly, that Gideon felt bound to believe them. There was an air of rushed confession to the statement—as if the thought of any sort of deceit had proved too onerous to bear.

  “Get upstairs, Willow.”

  “But—”

  “Go upstairs where it’s safer. They’ve already fired on someone once, and they may decide to do it again. I’ve got reinforcements coming, but until then, I have to do whatever I deem necessary to keep Mr. Batchwell safe. So, go upstairs and see to your children.”

  She seemed rooted to the floor for several long seconds, but then she wiped her hands on a dish towel gathered up her skirts and headed toward the staircase.

  Gideon, on the other hand, moved to the door, gently drawing aside the curtain with the tip of his finger.

  “I know you’re out there, Lydia,” he murmured to himself. “Show me what you intend to do next.”

  As if she’d somehow heard him, Lydia stepped into sight. She moved to the gate leading into the yard, carefully keeping the intricate wrought iron between them. When she stood there for several moments, not moving, Gideon realized that the next move would have to be his.

  Cautiously, he unlatched the door, opened it, then stood within the threshold. But mindful of the fact that she might not be as alone as she appeared, he went no farther.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here, Lydia?”

  She actually seemed pained.

  “You know full well what we’re trying to do, Gideon. I was quite up front with our intentions.”

  “You said you wanted to change the rules, not stage a coup.”

  She shrugged. “Desperate times often call for desperate measures.”

  “You can’t honestly think that kidnapping the owners would put them in the proper frame of mind to alter their views.”

  “Perhaps not. But eventually, they would have to negotiate.”

  Gideon shook his head. “That would never happen. These are powerful men with plenty of money at their disposal. It’s only a matter of time before you’ll be overpowered.”

  “Granted. But time is something that is already in short supply. You’re already making plans to force us out of the valley. At least this way, we’ve stood up for ourselves—and for the men who are tired of living alone.”

  “They agreed to the rules before they came here.”

  “True. But agreeing to some imaginable existence isn’t the same as living it.” She tipped her head. “Did you realize how alone you’d be, Gideon?”

  “I have no problems being alone.”

  “Really? Perhaps if you had someone you cared about, you wouldn’t spend so much time riding out of town as if you’re being chased.”

  Perhaps. Or maybe, by being alone, he kept his memories from tainting anyone else.

  But even though he’d repeated that thought to himself a thousand times before, the words seemed false this time. If he were to find a woman who loved him, really loved him, he might find strength in sharing his struggles.

  “You’re a bachelor, Gideon. Imagine if you had a wife. Children. How much harder must it be for those men? They spend their lives waiting for the notes from home. Those infrequent reminders of the lives that are carrying on in their absence. Think of Quincy Winslow. The last letter he received before the avalanche was a message warning him that his wife had given birth to twins. It’s bad enough, knowing that your own flesh and blood has come into the world a lifetime away, but to then be informed that the babies and their mother were fighting for their lives? For three months, he’s had that uncertainty hanging over his head. I can’t imagine the torment he’s suffered, night and day, wondering what has happened since then. Do you know that he visits Willow and the babies several times a week? Merely to hold another set of twins, to draw strength from their tiny bodies, so that he can convince himself that maybe, just maybe, his own sons have survived?”

  Gideon knew full well what Lydia was talking about. He’d been at the Wanlass home on more than one occasion when Winslow had come to visit. And Willow, bless her soul, had understood how much the man had needed those stolen moments with her children.

  “There are other ways to change the rules, Lydia.”

  “Are you sure? Because when I discussed the possibility with you only days ago, you adamantly insisted that Batchwell would never agree to discuss the matter with us.”

  Gideon desperately tried another tack. “Violence isn’t the answer. You can’t go around shooting people—and where did you get the gun, anyway?”

  She sniffed in indignation. “Do you honestly think that women who were brave enough to travel the breadth of the country to new lives wouldn’t find the means to protect themselves?”

  Lydia had a point—and Gideon, short-sighted male that he was, hadn’t even thought that the myriad trunks he’d helped to carry from the shattered railway cars could have held a stash of weaponry.

  “Is anybody hurt?”

  The look Lydia shot him could have withered grass at thirty paces. “Absolutely not. The incident was an unfortunate accident by a more...inexperienced member of our group. One that I can assure you won’t happen again.”

  Gideon couldn’t account for the relief he felt.

  “Stop this now, Lydia. Before things go too far. Before—”

  “Before someone ends up in jail?”

  The air shivered with the memory that she’d been behind bars less than an hour earlier.

  “How did you get out of your cell, Lydia?”

  She shrugged. “Someone from the Dovecote let me out. One of your men was rather careless with his keys.”

  Dobbs. It had to be.

  “You know he’ll be reprimanded for the lapse. He might even lose his job.”

  “If the women aren’t allowed to stay in Aspen Valley, I don’t think he’ll be planning to resume his duties. It seems that he’s already asked a certain girl to marry him.”

  The romance had apparently blossomed right beneath Gideon’s nose and he’d been too blind to see it. Then again, if he were honest with himself, Gideon would have to admit that he’d been so intent on avoiding interacting with the women—and Lydia in particular—that he’d delegated most of the responsibilities for guarding the brides to his employees.

  “You could end this yourself, Gideon, by allowing us to see Mr. Batchwell.”

  He shook his head. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Then we might have to push you out of your stronghold, Gideon.”

  “You wouldn’t force your way in. I’d have to fire upon your little band of protesters. You wouldn’t risk it. Not while Willow’s here with the babies.”

  He knew that he’d struck a point in his favor when her chin dipped, ever so slightly.

  “Then, we are at an impasse,” she said flatly. “Nevertheless, if you would be so kind, I’d like to ask you for one favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Relay a message to Mr. Batchwell.”

  “And what would that message be?”

  “‘Do the right thing and allow these families to be together.’”

  “Or what?”

  “Nothing. That’s the entire message.”

  Gideon waited a heartbeat. Two. For the life of him, this whole situation felt wrong. A part of him yearned to be on the other side of that fence, fighting with Lydia rather than against her.

  But he shook his head instead. “He’ll never give in, Lydia. Once he hears what’s been going on in his camp, he may c
onsider doing more than hauling you and the other ladies out of the valley. He could possibly take legal action. You forget that Batchwell hasn’t always been a wealthy man living in a luxurious mansion. He came from humble stock, grubbing in the Scottish mines from the time he was six years old. He fought his way out of the tunnels to become a man of power. This mine is his wife, his baby, his everything. He will see your interference as a threat. And he would regard any concession he might make, any change to the rules, as a sign of weakness. That’s something he will not allow to happen.”

  In the distance, he heard shouting, the sound of hooves on the gravel.

  “Get out of here, Lydia,” he said. “Before the men get here.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Go!”

  Still she hesitated. But as the noises grew louder, she finally backed away.

  “This isn’t personal, Gideon. I’m merely doing what I think is right.”

  Then she turned, running toward the cottage.

  Gideon’s eye followed her every step of the way, saw her dodge into the unfinished garden, stumble over the matted grass, then pound on the door. In an instant, the panels opened and she disappeared as the first riders thundered up the hill and galloped toward Batchwell’s mansion.

  This isn’t personal, Gideon.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the sight of her, her hands fisted, her chin held high, her eyes flashing with determination.

  Gideon knew that she might believe the statement. But from his perspective, she’d been oh, so wrong. In that instant, with the words still ringing in his head, the current situation had become incredibly personal to Gideon.

  Because he feared he was falling in love with his ardent little suffragist.

  And somehow, he had to find a way to help resolve this mess before the consequences became any direr.

  * * *

  To Gideon’s surprise, it wasn’t a group of Pinkertons who rode to his rescue. Instead, Charles Wanlass and a half-dozen men from his blasting crew strode through the door and into the kitchen.