Accidental Sweetheart Page 6

  “To eat?” she drawled as if he were rather dense.

  “We could eat at the cook shack.”

  She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “The women have some questions about their upcoming journey. I thought it would be more efficient if they could ask you themselves—without being overheard by every Tom, Dick and Harry having a sandwich in the cook shack.”

  Her explanation seemed logical—making his own response seem truculent. And yet...

  He couldn’t escape the feeling that he was walking into a trap.

  “What are you up to, Lydia?”

  She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let’s say you’re acting out of character.”

  “Out of charac—”

  Gideon stood. “Yes, out of character. Let’s face it, we’ve spent most of the last few months bickering with one another.” He waved to his empty plate. “And now, suddenly you’re worried about whether I’m eating enough or sleeping enough or—”

  “I’m simply being polite!”

  “Well, stop it!”

  The words echoed in the small room, reverberating in a way that made Gideon realize he’d stomped right over churlish and marched on to childish.

  “Fine,” Lydia huffed. “I’ll leave you alone—right now and for however many days I have left in this valley.”

  He sighed, his head dropping. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so...”

  “Suspicious?”

  He conceded with a nod.

  “It’s just that... I’ve got a lot on my mind and...” He met her gaze head-on. This time, she didn’t regard him with a neutral stare. Instead, her eyes glittered with a mixture of pique and irritation. “And I’d love to come to the Dovecote for lunch tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there at three.”

  After a quick nod in his direction, she strode from the room in a rustle of skirts, the door slamming behind her.

  He winced, then slowly sank back into his seat.

  * * *

  Once again, Lydia had barely navigated a few yards before being joined by a pair of women from the Dovecote. This time, Iona and Marie accompanied her on either side.

  “Well?” Marie asked somewhat timidly.

  “He agreed to meet for lunch at three.”

  Iona smiled. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  Lydia tried her best to tamp down the emotions whirling in her breast—excitement, trepidation and most astonishingly, guilt. “Yes. It’s a good thing. Because the man is already more suspicious than we’d supposed.” Her mind swung to the countless things that still needed to be done. “Do we have the placards in place?”

  “Yes. The quarantine is now official.” Iona’s eyes sparkled in delight. “And just in time. The ‘measles’ seem to be spreading.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, a dozen men heard about our protest and volunteered to participate.”

  “Really?” Lydia’s heart thumped at the thought.

  “I believe Charles is responsible. He and Willow have begun inviting a few of the married men to their home. After plying them with Willow’s cookies, they’ve outlined how they hope to persuade Batchwell and Bottoms to change the rules. So far, their efforts seem to be working.”

  “Wonderful. Are you ready for your lunch with Mr. Bottoms, Iona?”

  The woman’s cheeks grew pink. “I’ve made a special meal complete with his favorite dried cherry pie for dessert.”

  “And you’ll remember to subtly ask him for information on his views about the effect the women have had on the community?”

  “Yes. I made up a little card with possible questions which I’ll keep tucked in my pocket. If I need to, I can peek at it under the table.”

  Lydia reached to squeeze the woman’s hand, knowing that Iona felt uncomfortable being thrown into the role of femme fatale. But of the two owners, Bottoms was the most approachable, and Lydia had noticed of late that he seemed to follow Iona with his eyes. In Lydia’s opinion, that spark of interest should be encouraged.

  “Very smart, even if I doubt you’ll need the prompts. Somehow, I think that you and Mr. Bottoms will catch on like a house afire.”

  Again, the older woman’s cheeks flushed and Lydia knew that Mr. Bottoms wasn’t the only one anticipating the lunch alone.

  “Have we had any progress infiltrating Mr. Batchwell’s home?”

  Marie nodded. “A few days ago. He’s been kept abed with his leg, and up to this point, the only people he’s allowed inside have been the man he’s got working as his personal servant and a few mining officials—including Charles Wanlass.”

  “My, my, my. Charles has been a busy boy, hasn’t he?”

  “As the temporary Mine Superintendent as well as lay pastor, Charles has had plenty of excuses to go to the top of the hill,” Marie said with a sly grin. “Anyhow, for the last few days, he’s brought Willow with him.”

  Lydia’s brows rose. When Willow and Charles had impulsively claimed a pair of abandoned twins as their own, Mr. Batchwell had proved to be their most formidable foe. Although Willow had never said as much, Lydia knew that the brusque, burly man had secretly terrified her. But after Charles had openly declared he would rather lose his job than Willow, she’d gained a wealth of confidence which, apparently, had extended to her relationship with Mr. Batchwell.

  “Anyway, you know Willow. At first, she tut-tutted about his leg, then about the state of his house, then about how cold his meals were once they were brought up from the cook shack. She’s been going up for an hour or so every day since then to cook and tidy things up. According to her, Mr. Batchwell is as grumpy as ever, but he does seem secretly appreciative of her help.”

  Lydia clapped her hands together, then rubbed them as she thought things over.

  “It sounds like our efforts are coming along much better than I’d imagined—and just in time, too.” They had over sixty men purposely staying off the job through a fictional quarantine. Mr. Bottoms was about to be courted, and a spy had been inserted into Batchwell’s home.

  The entire situation was better than she could have ever hoped. But there still remained one opponent who could bring their plan down before it could do any good.

  Gideon Gault.

  He’d already made his views clear on the situation. He would never come to the women’s aid. Not willingly.

  Which meant that something had to be done about the man.

  And much as she hated to admit it, Lydia needed to be the one to do it.

  Chapter Five

  Quincy Winslow stepped into the Pinkerton Office. He swept his hat from his head and thrust his fingers through his hair.

  “We’ve got another warm afternoon on our hands, Boss.”

  Gideon leaned back in his chair. After several hours of doing paperwork and payroll vouchers, he found himself grateful for the interruption. He knew that once the sun came out, he’d feel the same itching as his men to get out of doors and get something done.

  “Any sign of Willems and Arbach?”

  “Yeah. They were down in the tunnels. They took over Hansen’s and Clemente’s shifts.”

  Gideon rubbed the aching spot between his brows. “Then where are Hansen and Clemente?”

  “They’ve got the measles.”

  “What?”

  Gideon knew that Jonah Ramsey, the Mine Superintendent, had been diagnosed with measles by his wife, the only doctor in the area. But as far as he knew, keeping Jonah at home had managed to control the contagious illness.

  “Yeah, they’re being quarantined in the Miners’ Hall with a few dozen men. From what I hear, there’s more at the infirmary.”

  “How did that happen?”

  Winslow shrugged. “The whole thing seems to have come on rather sudden. Some of the women have volunteered to n
urse the men and keep the others away. They hung up signs to warn everybody off.”

  Measles. How the illness had managed to take root this late in the season—after months spent isolated from the outside world—Gideon didn’t know. But he’d lost two good men.

  “Have Tabbington and York come see me.”

  “They’re quarantined, too.”

  Gideon blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “And Billingsly.”

  That was five men gone—five men that he couldn’t afford to lose.

  “Is that it?”

  “As far as I’ve been able to tell.”

  Knowing that it would be useless to finish up his paperwork, Gideon pushed himself to his feet and snagged his hat on the way out of the door.

  “Where you going, boss?”

  “I think it’s time I got to the bottom of this.”

  The sun was warm against his face as he strode onto the boardwalk—making the air feel more like mid-May than the end of February. At this rate, they wouldn’t be worrying about how long the pass would take to open up, they’d be worrying about flooding.

  Gideon made a mental note to take another ride through the mouth of the canyon. This time, he wouldn’t only be checking the road. He’d be examining the nearby stream as well. He knew full well that the Aspen River was already close to capacity. If the snowpack melted any faster, it would soon overflow its banks and Bachelor Bottoms would have a whole new problem on its hands.

  Every time Gideon thought he finally had rudimentary preparations put in place, some new trouble popped up.

  Like measles.

  He had nearly made his way to the front steps of the Miners’ Hall when a pair of women popped up from the rocking chairs they’d pulled onto the boardwalk. Greta Heigle pointed to a white placard nailed to the porch supports and pointed an uplifted hand in his direction.

  “Achtung! Stop!”

  Gideon couldn’t account for the way he came to a halt so quickly his hat shifted forward on his brow. Settling it more firmly into place, he took a deep breath to ease the tension twining around his gut like vines.

  “Ladies.”

  Hannah Peterman joined Greta. The two women were shorter than average, but sturdy, forming an effective blockade.

  “Please don’t come any further, Mr. Gault,” Hannah said.

  “Quarantine!” Greta barked. The woman had very little English to her vocabulary, but she enunciated the word in a way that made it clear she took her job as guard very seriously.

  Gideon braced his hands on his hips. This was uncharted territory for him. As the company’s hired law enforcement, he was usually the one in charge of security—for whatever reasons necessary. On one hand, he supposed that this...quarantine would fall under his purview. On the other hand...

  He and his men were already shorthanded.

  “What’s this business about a measles outbreak, Hannah?”

  He didn’t bother to offer his comments to Greta. At the moment, her fierce expression warned him that she would remove him by force if she felt the measure necessary—and even though she was a good head smaller than he was, Gideon had an inkling that she could do it.

  “I’m afraid we’ve had a rash of men coming down with the illness,” Hannah said.

  “How on earth...” Gideon bit off his words when his tone filled with frustration—something he didn’t want the women to become privy to. If they knew how shorthanded the Pinkertons were becoming, no doubt they would use that information as part of their argument for allowing the women to remain in the valley for another month. Maybe two.

  “I thought Jonah Ramsey was the only one affected—and he’s been off company property for nearly a fortnight.”

  In truth, Gideon hadn’t thought that Jonah had contracted the measles at all. He’d suspected that it was Jonah’s way of lingering around the homestead for a few weeks as a makeshift honeymoon. But clearly, the man must have been ill—and now he’d somehow started a contagion.

  “Are you sure these men actually have the measles?”

  Hannah nodded. “Quite sure.”

  “Ja!”

  “How can you be sure if the doctor hasn’t been to town to see them?”

  Hannah folded her arms. “She told us what to look for and how to treat anyone showing the symptoms.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind my examining the men?”

  Both Hannah and Greta took a step forward—and their expressions grew even fiercer.

  “If you go in, you don’t come out,” Hannah warned, a hint of steel coating her words.

  “Quarantine!” Greta barked at him again.

  “If I could speak to my men—”

  “You don’t go in. They don’t come out.”

  Gideon opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. If his own men had been this fierce in guarding the women all these months, Gideon probably wouldn’t be in the mess he was in today.

  “I need a list of all the men affected. And I want to be kept updated at least twice a day.”

  Hannah nodded, but Greta continued to glare at him in disapproval. Seeing no way around them, Gideon finally took a step backward and touched the brim of his hat.

  “Good day to you, ladies.”

  He continued down the boardwalk to the infirmary, wondering if he’d have more success there. But he was yards away when another pair of women stood—and judging by the way one of them brandished her knitting needles, he’d get no closer than a few paces. Funny, none of the women seemed to be contracting measles.

  Realizing that it would be useless to tangle with the women now, he decided to come back later. After the female guards had changed.

  Sighing, he stood indecisively with his hands on his hips, staring out at the quiet street, the growing puddles, and the dirty piles of snow that seemed to wither away with each moment that passed.

  He had so much to do.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to pull his thoughts into line. They kept zigzagging from his quarantined men, to upcoming shipments of silver ore, to the itchy sense that he was somehow being maneuvered around a chessboard by some unseen force.

  And he didn’t like any of it.

  The tightness began in his chest even as his hands unconsciously curved into tight fists.

  He needed to get away.

  Now.

  He altered his course, heading to the livery. With each step, he moved a little more purposefully, until he was nearly jogging by the time he reached the sprawling building.

  Smalls had left the double doors wide open to catch the fresh breeze, and the animals inside must have found the scents of spring intoxicating. Over the edges of the stalls, Gideon could see the animals moving restlessly, their ears twitching, nostrils flaring. Apparently, the humans in the valley weren’t the only ones who suffered from spring fever.

  Smalls appeared from the end of the long corridor that led to another similar set of doors opposite. His silhouette hung there for a moment, distinctive and broad and somehow reassuring.

  “Any chance I can take a rig for an hour or two?”

  Smalls’s eyebrows rose at the unusual request, but he immediately changed his course, holding up a hand with one finger lifted to indicate that it would only take a moment to hitch up a horse and a piano box buggy.

  As he waited, Gideon moved to the stall where his own gelding was boarded. As soon as Gideon stepped into view, the animal dropped his head over the gate so that Gideon could scratch his ears.

  “Hey, boy.”

  Gideon could feel the animal’s eagerness to be saddled and taken out into the sunshine.

  “Sorry, but you don’t take too well to being in the traces. You know that.”

  The horse nickered softly, seeming to object.

  “Next time. I promise.”
>
  Gideon couldn’t account for why he’d ordered a buggy instead. When the pressure started to build inside him, he needed the power of a full-fledged gallop to chase the ghosts away. But today...

  Today, he didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew that he needed something...different.

  He heard Smalls moving behind him and turned to help the man bring a gentle mare from a neighboring stall. After leading the animal to where the small buggy awaited behind the livery, Gideon helped to harness the horse. Then he settled inside and gathered the reins.

  Once again, Smalls’s brows rose questioningly. Gideon didn’t need words to know that the gentle giant was asking where Gideon planned to go.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Gideon murmured as if the question had been asked aloud. “I need to check the state of the river, take another look at the pass, maybe see how the Dovecote is faring after all this flooding.”

  Smalls took a stub of a pencil and a stack of small cards from his pocket. After licking the tip of the pencil, he quickly wrote.

  You feeling all right?

  There were few people in the camp that knew the way Gideon sometimes struggled with the after-effects of the war. Willoughby had seen Gideon coming into the livery enough to know that sometimes, battle seemed only a heartbeat away and Gideon found himself needing to escape. “Soldier’s Heart” was the name some people used. Gideon would have thought “tormented” was a better term.

  In either event, over the years, Smalls had seemed to instinctively know when Gideon needed to ride alone and when he’d needed a companion. On more than one occasion, Gideon had caught the man watching him from a distance, making sure that he didn’t become so immersed in his memories that he became a danger to himself.

  “I’m fine, Willoughby. The weather’s getting to me, I think—same as it is everyone else. We’ve got the women we need to get out of the valley, then the ore.”

  Smalls nodded, then bent to write again.

  You take care of yourself.

  Gideon nodded. “I intend to do that. We can’t afford for anyone else to catch this measles epidemic that’s sweeping through town.”

  A grating chuckle caused Smalls’s shoulders to shake, even though Gideon didn’t quite catch the humor in anything he’d said.