Accidental Sweetheart

by Lisa Bingham

  “Willow, is she—”

  “Fine. She’s fine.” Gideon jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. “She and Batchwell are upstairs with the twins. Apparently, a group of women from the Dovecote stormed Bottoms’s cottage, taking him hostage. One of them accidentally discharged her weapon.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Wanlass asked, some of the wildness easing from his eyes when he realized his family was safe.

  “Not according to Lydia.”

  “Lydia?” Charles laughed. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  Gideon rubbed at the tight cords of muscle behind his neck. “She and the brides have staged a protest. They want Batchwell and Bottoms to change the rules and allow women into the valley so that the men can live with their families.”

  A slow smile crept over Charles’s features and Gideon pointed an indignant finger in his direction. “Not one word! I already know which side you’d take in the argument. I’m surprised you and that wife of yours aren’t in cahoots with the whole lot of them!”

  Charles held up two hands in surrender, laughing softly. “Fine. I won’t offer my two cents.”

  Once again, Gideon was struck by the difference in his friend. Until Willow had come along, Charles had seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even his devotion to his ministering duties had seemed a kind of private penance. But somehow, that tiny slip of a girl upstairs had healed something within him. In the space of a few weeks, Charles’s entire demeanor had shifted to a reflection of his inner joy and his faith in a benevolent God.

  Gideon felt like a traitor when he poked the air with his finger again. “Can I trust you and your men to watch over Batchwell for an hour or so? I need to go round up my men.”

  Charles turned to regard his fellow members of the blasting crew. “Any of you have a problem with that?”

  The men shook their heads and mumbled amongst themselves.

  “Looks like you’ve got an impromptu set of guards. We were pretty much done in the mine, and it’s not that long until the shifts change. Take as much time as you want.”

  “Thanks.” Gideon hesitated, then extended his sidearm toward Charles. “Here, you’ll be needing this.”

  Charles shook his head. “I think we can manage for now with the doors and windows locked. If we need something more, Batchwell’s got a whole collection of guns in his study.”

  Gideon nodded, holstering his weapon. “It might be past dark before I come back.”

  “No problem.” Charles scanned the gleaming tile and marble floors. “It appears that we’ll all be more than comfortable for the time being. Can’t say that I’ve ever spent much time in a house this grand before.”

  Gideon stepped forward to extend his hand. “Thanks, Charles.”

  His friend shook it, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Be on with you then.”

  Gideon hesitated one last time—not sure what he’d felt driven to say.

  Keep an eye out for Lydia, too.

  No. That wouldn’t be right. Charles was already in a tight spot, stuck between his loyalty to his job and employer on one hand, and his wife and family on the other. So rather than saying anything, Gideon strode outside instead, heading toward his horse. He’d find his men first. Then, he’d lay a trap for Lydia. As soon as the women lost their leader, they would capitulate.

  But even as the thought appeared, Gideon was no longer sure he could bring matters to such an easy solution.

  * * *

  Willow waited until she heard the sound of a horse hurrying toward town before creeping into the kitchen.

  “Is he gone?” she whispered.

  “Aye, he’s gone.”

  She grinned and rushed into Charles’s waiting arms.

  “You didn’t let on that you’ve been helping the women from the onset, did you?”

  Charles lifted her chin with a crooked finger. “D’ye think I’d be spillin’ the beans when the man unwittingly handed over Batchwell’s mansion to the enemy?”

  Willow’s nose wrinkled. “Not the enemy. Merely...”

  Charles bent to press a kiss to her lips. “A possible salvation, then?”

  At that, she laughed. “I think we’re somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.”

  “Do you want me to go tell Lydia that she can come present her demands?”

  Willow shook her head. “Not yet. Batchwell’s in no mood to listen right now. He heard the shot and I had to explain it away by telling him I’d dropped a baking pan. Even so, he’s...fretful and grumpy. Not the best of moods for a reasonable discussion.”

  “And you want Lydia kept in the dark because...”

  Willow made a face. “Because there’s something going on between her and Gideon.”

  Charles’s brows rose. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg. Gideon’s a confirmed bachelor, through and through.”

  Her lips tilted. “So were you, not so long ago. Give things a few hours. I think, if pressed, she’ll try to approach him again. It couldn’t hurt to see what comes of it.”

  Charles laughed softly, releasing her.

  “What do you want us to do in the meantime?”

  “Go visit with Mr. Batchwell. He won’t admit it, but he’s starved for company. Give him something to think about besides himself. While you’re doing that, I’ll get my baking done and dinner made. Any future discussions are bound to go better if he hears them on a full stomach.”

  Charles nodded, then gestured to his crew. “Come along, boys. Let’s go tell the old man about the progress in the new tunnel. That should sweeten his mood even more.”

  * * *

  Lydia huddled around the trestle table in the cook shack with the few women who’d been kept there to prepare enough food for their captives and the men who would soon be coming off shift.

  “Despite the fact that we failed to apprehend Batchwell, we’re in a good position. We have over a hundred men who will fail to show up for work. Perhaps, as soon as the rest of the miners head out of the tunnels, we can convince a few more to join their number. Until then, we have a bigger problem on our hands.” Wrapping her hands around her mug of tea, Lydia took a bracing swallow of the strong brew. Then she looked up, finding all eyes turned in her direction. “Gideon Gault. Now, more than ever, he will be determined to stop us.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  Lydia glanced at her fob watch, then set her mug on the table.

  “We have one hour before the whistle blows at the mine. We need to capture the man before he can spread the alarm any farther than he already has.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  Lydia stood. She smoothed her hair with her palms, then tugged at the hem of her shirtwaist.

  “Feminine wiles.” Lydia took a fortifying gulp of air. “Louise, get that skillet of yours. Emmarissa, find a blanket. It’s time we captured ourselves a Pinkerton.”

  * * *

  It took less than an hour for Gideon to realize how determined—and systematic—the women had been when they’d begun their protest. While searching for his men, he had discovered that half the buildings in town were locked and shuttered—and he had enough sense to know that it wasn’t due to a quarantine. He also knew that most of the men must be willing participants. Otherwise, they could have overpowered their female guards through sheer numbers alone.

  On the one hand, he was impressed. The women had managed to stage a full-scale revolt, right beneath the noses of the owners and the security forces who were tasked with guarding the mine. But that thought also rankled. In that moment, Gideon realized how sidetracked he’d become by Lydia Tomlinson and the Wanted poster. He’d intuitively known that something was wrong in Aspen Valley. But he’d allowed himself to become distracted for far too long before waking up to the situation at hand.

  And now there
would consequences before things could be put back to rights.

  He strode into the mine, knowing that he had less than an hour to get a tighter handle on the situation before it exploded in his face. As soon as he was deep enough into the tunnels that he could locate his crew, he drew their attention with a sharp whistle. After a moment’s hesitation, the men trotted over to him.

  Gideon shot each man with a hard stare. Although most of them held his gaze, a few shifted nervously.

  “How many of you are privy to the women’s shenanigans?”

  He waited, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable.

  Three men finally lifted their hands.

  “Hand over your sidearms. You are temporarily suspended from duty.”

  The other Pinkertons seemed shocked by the order until Gideon explained. “It seems our mail-order brides have staged a rebellion. For the past couple of days, they’ve kidnapped half the town and locked them up under the guise of a measles quarantine.”

  The men who’d handed over their revolvers shrank a little. The others displayed a montage of emotions: disbelief, outrage, amusement.

  “This couldn’t come at a worse time. If you’ll remember from your briefing this morning, our home office has reason to believe that there’s a credible threat against the stores of silver in the valley. We are vulnerable to an attack—and at the moment, we’re left undermanned and outmaneuvered by the same bunch of women we were supposed to be guarding!”

  By now, Gideon had their whole attention.

  He pointed to a pair of men. “You two come with me. I want the rest of you positioned at the mine entrance. No one goes in or out until I give the order.” He then turned to the men he’d suspended. “As for you all, the next few hours could determine whether or not you have a job when you leave this tunnel. You continue overseeing things here, near the face.”

  Gesturing to the men he’d assigned to follow him, Gideon strode back toward the surface. As they marched toward the dim patch of light at the end of the tunnel, Gideon called out to several other miners he could trust until he had an improvised force of two dozen men.

  He led his group to a spot, just within the shadows of the mine, then stopped, crouching down. Using his finger, he drew a map of the town in the dirt.

  “We’re going to set up a trap. I’m pretty sure if we can get our hands on Lydia Tomlinson, we can convince her to stop this nonsense once and for all. She’s the ringleader of this little circus.”

  He pointed to Bill Marsh. “Bill, you’re going to take these men to the Pinkerton offices and get them some weapons. You’ll head out this way, behind the buildings, along the river, then come into the building through the rear door.”

  He pointed to his men. “Garland, Otis, I want you to head to the pass. With everything that’s going on in town, I don’t want to leave us any more vulnerable than we already are. If you see, hear, smell or even think there’s something out of place, you come high-tailing it back to warn us.”

  “You six need to station yourselves on the rooftops.” He pointed to the miners in question, then to the sketch of each building. “I want you here at the mining office, the livery, storehouse, cook shack, laundry and warehouse. Lie down as low as you can on the rooftops. I don’t want anyone to know you’re there. The rest of you, scatter yourselves in whatever buildings haven’t been taken by the women. If one of the mail-order brides so much as shows a stitch of lace, I want her apprehended and locked up in the Pinkerton building. You can use our personal quarters upstairs.”

  “Why not put them in the jail?” Otis asked.

  “Because they’ve got a key to the cells and they’ve already broken one of their members out today.”

  Marsh laughed, but he had the sense to quickly disguise it with a cough.

  “This seems like a whole lot of trouble for a passel o’ women. Why don’t we let ’em have what they want?”

  “Because we’re out to save the jobs of every man in this community. These women think they can force Batchwell to change his mind and allow females to live in the valley.”

  Gideon heard a few indistinct murmurs and knew that many of the men present probably agreed with them.

  “But I want you to think long and hard. Which do you think Batchwell is going to be more likely to do? Give in to the women? Or fire the lot of us and hire a new workforce willing to follow his rules?”

  That sobered the group and dispelled the murmuring, just as Gideon knew it would. They’d all been around Batchwell’s temper enough to know that the man would do anything to save face in an argument. He wasn’t about to let a bunch of women take control of the mine he’d built from a tiny hole in the ground.

  “So, what’s your plan, Gideon?”

  “Right now, Batchwell is holed up in his house. Maybe, he realizes that the shot came from Bottoms’s house, maybe not. Frankly, I’d love to overtake the buildings and apprehend the women guarding them. But I can’t take the chance that one of the women might accidentally shoot someone. So, we’re going to launch a counterattack. One by one, I want you to isolate those girls posted outside the quarantine zones. As quickly and as quietly as you can, you’re going to sneak up behind them, apprehend them, and lock them up. Once we think we have most of the ladies’ lookouts, we’ll start ‘liberating’ their hostages and talking some sense into them. If we can do it before the shift changes, the men can head to work as they normally would and Batchwell will be none the wiser. Then we can concentrate on freeing Bottoms. By nightfall, this could all be over. Come morning, we’ll make the final arrangements to take the girls out of the valley. They’ll be in Ogden before Batchwell catches wind of the total scope of this fiasco. Hopefully, that will mollify him enough that he won’t start firing the whole lot of us.”

  Marsh pointed down to the map. “Where will you be in all of this?”

  “I’m going to do my best to get myself captured.”

  Marsh’s mouth gaped, but he quickly snapped it closed again.

  It was Otis who asked, “Why on earth would you do that, sir?”

  Gideon allowed himself a faint smile. “Because it’s the quickest way for me to get to Lydia Tomlinson.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gideon waited until he was sure that he’d given his men enough time to gather their weapons and assume their positions. Then he strode from the tunnel, head down. Once he reached the boardwalk, he slowed his pace. Removing his pocket watch, he pretended to fiddle with the stem.

  All the while, his body remained tensed. Alert. It took every ounce of energy he possessed to remain casual and slightly distracted.

  It wasn’t until he neared the cook shack that his nape began to prickle in warning. With so many years spent as a soldier—and eleven months spent as a prisoner of war—he’d learned to guard his back. A stray crust of bread in Andersonville could be enough for a gang of men to jump a person and beat him senseless.

  But rather than avoiding the danger, Gideon turned toward it, knowing that the cook shack would be a logical place for the women to make their move.

  Slipping the watch back into his pocket, he opened the door and made his way toward the table where a stack of mugs was kept next to a tureen of hot coffee—yet another convenience that the women had brought to Batchwell Bottoms. He could only pray that whoever lay in wait didn’t realize that he’d never been a coffee drinker.

  Sure enough, he’d only gone halfway when the door opened behind him. Gideon was sure that he heard the swish of skirts. Then a blanket dropped over his head.

  Clang!

  He only had a moment’s wherewithal to note a shuddering pain that shot from skull to boot tips. Then his world went black.

  * * *

  Lydia rushed out from the cooking area where she’d been conferring with the other women.

  “Why’d you hit him so hard?” Myra demanded.
/>   “He has a gun, Myra. Unlike ours, his is loaded.”

  Lydia shushed their bickering and sank to the floor. A lump was already forming on the back of Gideon’s head.

  Gingerly, she reached to touch the spot and the man moaned.

  A part of her shrank in desperation. She’d known that some of the women had taken to a skillet as their weapon of choice, but it wasn’t until now, with Gideon sprawled at her feet, that she’d seen the effects. The thought of Gideon bruised, dazed, unconscious, was causing inexplicable tears to prick at her eyes.

  “Gideon?”

  He groaned, but he didn’t open his lashes.

  “What should we do with him?” Miriam asked in such a practical tone that she could have been inquiring where to tote a basket of laundry.

  Honestly, Lydia hadn’t thought that far. She’d merely wanted Gideon to be out of the way so that they could finish their protest. She hadn’t considered anything beyond getting him off the street.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Myra said fearfully. “Anyone could come in.”

  Miriam nudged him with the toe of her shoe. “We could take him to the jail. It’s probably the safest place since we have Dobbs’s keys, and according to him, Gideon is the only other person with a set.”

  She knelt and rummaged through his vest pockets—and Lydia had to bite her inner lip to keep from snapping at the woman to be gentler.

  Crowing in delight, Miriam stood with the keys suspended between her fingers. “Here we are!” she announced as she dropped them into her pocket.

  “Come along, Myra. You take the arms, I’ll take the legs. Stand back, Lydia.”

  But Lydia couldn’t move. It seemed wrong, to cart the man around like a rolled-up carpet.

  “No!”

  The women regarded her questioningly, so she schooled her tone.

  “We can’t haul him across the road to the jail cells.”

  The two women still clutched him beneath the arms and around the legs.

  Miriam frowned. “Why not?”

  “He’s too heavy, for one thing. It’s over thirty yards to the Mine Office, and then we’d have to take him down a flight of stairs.”