Accidental Sweetheart. Lisa Bingham

the women had stretched the boundaries of their freedom—and he supposed that it was to their credit that they’d sought out the spiritual venue. This morning, they sat in two rows, wearing their best Sunday bonnets. Some of them glanced over their shoulders to smile shyly at the men behind them. But for the most part, they seemed lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the music being played by their leader, Miss Lydia Tomlinson.

      Gideon would have been the first to admit that Lydia was a fine organ player. She managed to coax sounds out of the old pump instrument that he never would have believed possible. This morning, she was playing something lyrical, classical. Gideon had heard the melody before, although he wasn’t schooled enough to know its name. He only knew that the melody seemed to chase itself from high to low then back again, bringing to mind soaring birds. Or playful cherubs.

      The moment the thought appeared, Gideon pushed it away. Honestly, the lack of sleep was making him quite fanciful—yet another sign that the time had come for the women to leave the valley.

      But even as he told himself to keep his mind on his job, he couldn’t help watching Lydia as she bent over the keys. She seemed lost to the music, her fingers flying, her eyes slightly closed as she played from memory. She’d removed her bonnet before sitting down and the sun wove among the coils and curls, gilding her hair until it seemed to glow.

       So beautiful.

       Stop it!

      He tore his gaze away, focusing resolutely on his hat, running the brim through his palms. But just when he’d begun to control his thoughts, the congregation rose for the first hymn, and without thought, his eyes strayed back to Lydia again.

      He couldn’t account for the way he felt a sense of...peace when he looked her way, as well as a heady anticipation. He had no doubts that within moments of meeting up with her again, the verbal sparring would begin—and the thought gave him a jolt of energy that seemed entirely inappropriate.

      Once again, he yanked his thoughts—and his gaze—away from Miss Tomlinson. With all his might, he concentrated on the benediction, then on the sermon being offered by Charles Wanlass.

      Unfortunately, his friend chose today, of all days, to speak about love, commitment and faithfulness.

      Gideon fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man had it bad. It was there in the way he gazed down at his wife, Willow, who sat on the front pew with her friends. Charles was completely and irrevocably in love with his bride and thoroughly besotted with the twins they’d adopted as their own. It was enough to make a body wonder what he was missing.

       Almost.

      Gideon would have to be blind not to see the transformation which had occurred in his usually taciturn friend—and in Jonah Ramsey as well. But that didn’t mean that such ideas of marital bliss would provide the same happy ending for Gideon. Much as he might want a sweetheart someday, he had to be realistic. He had nothing that he could offer a woman save an uncertain future. He could never settle down enough to make such a woman happy. Not when his nights were still often haunted by dreams of Andersonville and the savagery he’d witnessed. There were times when he woke screaming, his body trembling, his skin icy with sweat.

      No woman should be asked to share such burdens.

      Especially not one so refined as Lydia Tomlinson.

      “Is somethin’ wrong, buddy?”

      Gideon started at the whisper. Beside him, Gus Creakle eyed him with rheumy eyes.

      “No. I’m fine.”

      Creakle grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing beneath a lifetime’s worth of wrinkles.

      “She’s a pretty little filly, ain’t she?”

      “Shh!” Gideon glanced around to make sure the man hadn’t been overheard. But other than Smalls, who sat to Creakle’s right, the other men seemed tuned to the sermon.

      “She’d make a fine little wife.”

      “I’m not looking for a wife, Creakle.”

      The man chortled, the white tufts of hair surrounding his bald pate quivering as if from an unseen breeze. “I don’t suppose a man is ever really lookin’. Most times, the notion falls in his lap.” He laughed again. “Either that, or the notion smacks him upside the head.”

      “This is Aspen Valley, Creakle. A man can’t stay employed if he entertains such thoughts.”

      Creakle huffed dismissingly. “Some things is more important than a job, you mark my words.”

      “I happen to like my job.”

      “But it don’t make you happy.” Creakle gestured to Charles who had paused in his sermon again to wink down at Willow. “Look at yer buddy there. He was a big ol’ lump o’ misery until that little gal came along.”

      Gideon didn’t think he would go so far as to call Charles a “big old lump of misery,” but he had to admit that Creakle had a point.

      “And Mr. Jonah. Well, now. That man has had his life handed back to him—and I’m not talkin’ about the way the doc operated on him. He’s finally lookin’ toward the future instead of the past.”

      “I’ll admit that Charles and Jonah have found something special, Creakle. But I’m not shopping for what they’re selling. And even if I were, Miss Tomlinson would be the last woman I’d pursue.”

      Finally, Creakle sat back, his eyes twinkling. His only response was, “We’ll see.”

      But Gideon wasn’t paying attention any longer. He’d happened to glance toward Lydia, only to find that she was looking at him.

      And there was something about her too-innocent expression that made his heart pump a little bit faster.

      * * *

      Lydia waited until the last miner had left the Meeting House before allowing her feet to still at the organ. The final chord died with a sigh, leaving a moment of heavy silence. Then, the women began gathering their things.

      Iona brought Lydia her coat and bonnet. A wrinkle of worry had settled between the older woman’s brows.

      “It’s only a matter of time before someone starts noticing that there are men missing from their shifts.”

      Lydia had spent the night mulling over the problem and had finally come up with a temporary solution.

      “I know, but I think I’ve come up with a way to prevent anyone from pinpointing our involvement for a little longer. I assigned Myra and Miriam to make some quarantine placards. With Jonah already diagnosed with measles, it’s not a stretch that there could be other cases.”

      Iona’s eyes crinkled at the corners in delight.

      “Not a stretch at all.”

      “And we wouldn’t want the new cases to infect the rest of the population.”

      “No. That would be horrible.”

      “Make up a list of the men we have so far. As soon as we have the quarantine signs in place, we’ll take it to the mine. Who’s running things now that Jonah is being kept at home?”

      Iona’s gaze sparkled with amusement. “Charles Wanlass.”

      Lydia grinned, knowing that they had an ally who would take their list at face value, no questions asked.

      “Wonderful. And you’ve arranged to have lunch with Phineas Bottoms?”

      Iona’s cheeks grew pink. “Yes.”

      “I know you’ll charm the socks off the man.”

      The older woman offered a sound that was very near a girlish titter. “I doubt that, but I’ll do my best.”

      “So that leaves...”

      Lydia walked to the windows, watching as Gideon