Accidental Sweetheart. Lisa Bingham

anticipated, she was immediately inundated with the rich scents of perfume, baking bread and a hint of cinnamon.

      Iona reached to help Lydia with her coat. “Let’s get you out of those wet things. You’ll catch your death.”

      “It started drizzling as I turned down the lane.”

      “Come here by the fire.”

      Before Lydia quite knew what had happened, she found herself ensconced in a comfortable chair, a quilt draped over her lap, and a steaming cup of tea cradled between her palms.

      “I’ll have your dinner ready in no time!” Marie called from the small kitchen area.

      “No rush. Really.”

      Lydia knew that her friends were trying to give her enough time to unwind from her busy day. Although they pretended to be involved with their own tasks, there was no disguising the way they hovered nearby. She saw no reason for prolonging their misery.

      “I have news, so gather round.”

      Immediately, the brides grabbed their chairs, upended crates, and even a few barrels—using the seating arrangements they’d managed to cobble together in the past few months.

      “As you probably all know by now, I rode with Gideon Gault up the mountainside to check the pass.”

      “And?” Stefania asked breathlessly.

      “It’s worse than we thought. The snow has been beaten down by the heat and the rain. According to Mr. Gault, we have only a week—maybe ten days—until he and his men will organize a wagon train to force us out of the valley.”

      “He said those very words? That we’d be forced out?”

      Lydia held up a hand. “No. He didn’t say that exactly.” She sighed. “But I did manage to ascertain his true feelings. He thinks that we should all leave as soon as possible.”

      “So, we can’t count on his becoming one of our allies,” Myra Claussen said mournfully. Her identical twin, Miriam, gripped her hand.

      “I don’t see how we can change his mind. He seemed very adamant.”

      “Which means we’re going to have to proceed very carefully. If Mr. Gault stumbles across our plans before we can get everything into place...” Iona murmured.

      “He will do his best to stop us,” Lydia confirmed.

      “What should we do?” Emmarissa Elliot asked from the opposite end of the room.

      Lydia thought for a moment, her finger unconsciously rubbing at the ache between her brows.

      “We’re going to have to step things up. In my opinion, we need at least a hundred men to join sides with us. Anything less won’t cause a pinch in the staffing of the mine.” Lydia pointed to Anna Kendrick. “Were you able to talk to Sumner?”

      “Yes, but only briefly. She said that Jonah’s getting restless and it’s only a matter of time before he ignores her insistence that he remain quarantined from the rest of the men.”

      Lydia turned to Millie Kauffman. “What about Charles Wanlass?”

      “Willow said that he’s behind us a hundred percent. He’s even willing to talk to his own crew once we’re ready.”

      “Good. What about Phineas Bottoms?” She turned to Iona and was surprised when the older woman blushed.

      “I have tried to develop a...rapport with the man at the cook shack.”

      “And...” Lydia prompted encouragingly.

      “Do I have to?” Iona whispered.

      “You know how important this is to us all.”

      Iona shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but nodded. “I’ll ask him to join me for lunch tomorrow.”

      “And...”

      “And I’ll arrange to dine with him...alone...in the private room in the cook shack.”

      “Do you think you can keep him occupied?”

      Lydia didn’t miss the way Iona’s hands trembled before she gripped them in her lap.

      “I’ll do my best.”

      “Excellent. That means the rest of us will need to strike the storehouse tonight.”

      She glanced up at the mantel clock, noting the hour. “Those of you who are willing and able, dress warmly, and we’ll meet down here at midnight. Agreed?”

      The women grinned and spoke together.

       “Agreed!”

       Chapter Three

      Darkness hung thick and black as Lydia and the women crept toward the storage house.

      So far, they hadn’t encountered any men—but the fact that they’d brought their number of “hostages” up to thirty-nine by the end of the night might have been partially responsible.

      Marie Rousseau stumbled over a crack in the boardwalk and Lydia grasped her elbow to keep her from falling. The Claussen twins, Myra and Miriam, giggled, then corrected the path of the pumpkin wagon they pulled behind them.

      “Shhh,” Iona whispered. “We can’t let anyone know we’re in town, let alone that we’re raiding the storehouse.”

      “I feel positively wicked,” Millie Kauffman whispered with apparent glee.

      “We’ve become outlaws,” Hannah added.

      “We can’t be outlaws. We haven’t done anything illegal,” Miriam insisted.

      “We’ve kidnapped nearly forty men,” Myra pointed out.

      “I don’t think it can be considered a crime if they’ve agreed to the situation.”

      “We’re about to burglarize the storehouse.”

      “Honestly, Myra. You sound like you want to be breaking the law.” Miriam’s exasperation was so apparent that Lydia could nearly hear the woman rolling her eyes. “Besides, we aren’t taking anything, we’re simply rearranging something.”

      “Shhh.” Lydia lifted her hand, her eyes roaming the shadows. There’d been a noise coming from the alley. A soft panting.

      A dog darted from the shadows, and she wilted in relief.

      “Let’s get this done as soon as possible and get back to the Dovecote.”

      Lydia took a key from her pocket and unlocked the heavy padlock that secured the door. Then, she allowed the women to slip inside while she watched the street.

      Once they had all safely entered, she closed the door again and reached for the lantern kept on a hook nearby. After lighting it with a friction match found in the iron holder, she adjusted the wick, then whispered, “Find the ammunition as soon as you can and load up your baskets and the wagon. We can’t stay here a moment longer than necessary.”

      They hurried down the aisles, using the hand-drawn map provided by Dr. Sumner Ramsey until they found the spot where crates of bullets had been stacked on shelves.

      Lydia held up the lamp, revealing boxes and boxes labeled by type and caliber.

      “Ach. So, so many,” Greta murmured in her heavy German accent.

      “Oh, dear,” Iona sighed. “I had no idea that the camp armed itself this heavily.”

      “There’s no way that we’re going to be able to haul all of these back to the Dovecote, not even with the wagon.”

      “We’ll take what we can, then come back tomorrow for more.”