Accidental Family. Lisa Bingham

soon before emigrating from Scotland to Utah Territory where he became a farmer. It must have been thrilling for a poor orphan from Scotland to claim his own piece of land in the American West.

      I love to hear from my readers. If you’d like to get in touch with me, you can reach me at my website, www.lisabinghamauthor.com, or through my social media sites on Facebook, www.Facebook.com/lisabinghamauthor, or on Twitter, @lbinghamauthor.

      All my best to you,

      Lisa

      To my grandparents, whose “storybooks” were tales from their vast genealogical records. The histories of all those family members still provide a font of inspiration to tickle my imagination.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Bible Verse

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Dedication

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Extract

       Chapter One

      January 13, 1874

      Utah Territory

      Charles Wanlass waited until the sound of feminine laughter had dissipated into the darkness before stepping into the cold. He paused to ensure that the side door to the Meeting House had snapped into place. Then he hurried toward the miners’ row houses and his own quarters, the very last building on the left.

      From somewhere deep in the woods, he heard a woman’s voice call out.

      “Willow? Willow, where are you?”

      The cry was soon followed by a burst of laughter. Snatches of singing.

      Charles couldn’t help smiling. Normally, he and the other men in the Batchwell Bottoms mining community hated January. The merrymaking of Christmas was over, the wind had grown especially bitter and the nights were long and dark. With nothing to break the monotony but work, the days seem endless.

      This year, however, the occupants of the little community nicknamed “Bachelor Bottoms” were more than happy to put off spring for as long as possible. Less than a month ago, a freak avalanche had closed off the pass, marooning a trainload of women in the valley.

      And none of the miners looked forward to that moment when they would go.

      “Willow?”

      The cry was fainter this time, the giggling more disjointed.

      Charles wondered what could have happened to separate Willow Granger from the rest of the group. She was a shy little thing, so tiny she could fit under his chin. Sober and wide-eyed. He couldn’t imagine what could have caused her to escape the Pinkerton guards who had been tasked with keeping the women away from the miners.

      As he stepped inside and threw his hat onto a nearby table, he became aware of several things at once: footsteps running through the snow, a commotion of male voices, shouts from the center of town and cooing.

      Or the soft mewling of a cat. Or...

      A baby?

      In that instant, he became aware of a basket on the floor in front of him. It was heaped with blankets. A note pinned to the top read: “Please, please protect my little ones and keep them as your own. They are in more danger than I can express.”

      Crouching, Charles moved the blankets aside, revealing not one, but two cherubic faces.

      Tiny. So tiny.

      A surge of protectiveness rushed through him like a tidal wave, washing all other thoughts and emotions aside.

      Almost simultaneously, he heard footsteps charging into his home. He placed himself between the intruder and the basket. To his surprise, it