Accidental Sweetheart. Lisa Bingham

can I do for you?”

      She shifted, her gaze roaming the streets around them. For a moment, sunlight slipped over her cheeks and highlighted the delicate curve of her jaw. She really was a pretty woman—tall, slim, with honey-colored hair. If she weren’t so...snippy...

      “I would rather divulge the subject inside. Away from prying eyes.”

      One last time, Gideon allowed his gaze to roam Main Street, from the mine opening to the slopes of the Uinta mountains in the distance. Near as Gideon could tell, there wasn’t a soul in town who could “pry.” But there was no use arguing the point.

      He held the door wide. “After you, Miss Tomlinson.”

      “You may call me Lydia, Mr. Gault.”

      Gideon was pretty sure that if he used Lydia’s Christian name, his own mother would roll over in her grave. Clotilde Gault had been a stickler for proper social customs and morés, and an unmarried gentleman did not take such liberties with an unmarried woman—even if she did spout on about the emancipation of women and the equality of the sexes.

      “How can I help you, Miss Tomlinson?”

      Her lips pursed, ever so slightly, but thankfully, she didn’t press him into dispensing with the formalities.

      “The ladies have been discussing the rapid melting of the snow.”

      She paused, clearly waiting for a reaction, so he offered a noncommittal, “Oh?”

      “By our reckoning, it seems as if most of the drifts have wasted into nothing. If this continues, we’re worried that the standing puddles around the Dovecote will soon flood into the house.”

      So, she did have a logical reason for her visit.

      “Jonah Ramsey and I have been keeping our eye on the water levels—or we were until he took sick. If necessary, he’s given orders to dig a series of drainage ditches to the river. But at this point, such efforts would probably be premature. Here in the high Uinta mountain range, spring can be unpredictable. These high temperatures could give way to a Utah blizzard at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen the weather change from freezing cold to blazing heat, to snow, hail and rain, all within a single afternoon.”

      Lydia looked skeptical, but she didn’t push the point. Instead, she said, “The women would be more than happy to help dig should the need arise. I know with the new tunnel that manpower has been spread thin.”

      Gideon’s mouth opened, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Somehow, he couldn’t bring to mind the image of Lydia or the other girls slogging through the mud with pickaxes and shovels, fashioning a trench that would stretch the hundred feet from the Dovecote to the Aspen River.

      “I don’t think that will be necessary, Miss Tomlinson. I’m sure that the mining company could gather a crew should we need it.”

      She nodded, then lapsed into silence. Her gaze roamed the room, taking in the utilitarian office.

      Unlike many of the other buildings in town, this one had not fallen under the women’s purview. While the cook shack, the Meeting House, and even the Miners’ Hall had been scrubbed and polished until they gleamed, this space was clearly run by men. Mud streaked the floors and the desks were littered with papers, logbooks and coffee mugs. The only nod to neatness was the rifles lined up on a rack against the far wall.

      For some reason, the untidiness caused a warmth to steal up Gideon’s neck. Judging by the way Miss Tomlinson invariably dressed to perfection in frilly dresses with nipped-in waists, he’d bet she was a stickler for orderliness. Today, she looked especially fine in a red gingham dress with black braid trim.

      “Was there something else, Miss Tomlinson?”

      Rather than speaking, she moved restlessly around the room. Despite the warmth of the day, she wore delicate kid gloves the exact shade of crimson as the capelet that graced her shoulders.

       Where did a woman find red leather gloves?

      As she moved, Gideon felt compelled to shift to face her—until he had the sensation of becoming a sunflower tracking the orbit of the sun.

      “I suppose that leads me to my main question,” she said, regarding him from beneath her lashes.

      The look she offered him didn’t seem very...businesslike.

      Gideon couldn’t help folding his arms across his chest. He instantly regretted the movement, wondering if she would interpret it as a defensive gesture.

      Once again, he felt a prickling sensation. His instincts told him that Miss Tomlinson was up to something.

       But what?

      Gideon’s men had already relaxed their guard substantially since Batchwell’s accident. Short of allowing the ladies to wander all over town at will, what more could she want of him?

      “Have you sent anyone to check the pass?”

      Of all the questions he might have suspected she’d ask, that was the last one that would have popped into his mind. Even so, Gideon hesitated.

      “Not yet. I’d planned on riding up that way later this afternoon.”

      “Excellent. When should I meet you at the livery?”

      It took a full second for her query to sink into his brain.

       She wanted to go with him.

      Not knowing how best to respond, Gideon stalled.

      “Meet me?”

      “Since the condition of the pass will determine the fate of the women, I think it’s only logical that I accompany you.”

      He held out a hand. “Oh, no. No, no, no. This isn’t a jaunty buggy ride in the countryside, Miss Tomlinson. Despite the fact that the roads have become clear in the valley, up by the canyon, the slopes will be treacherous at best. The debris field left from the avalanche will be unstable and full of the rocks and broken tree limbs that were brought down from the higher elevations. If we can get into the canyon at all, we’ll be headed into terrain kept in shade most of the day. That could mean encountering ice and even the threat of another avalanche.”

      Lydia’s eyes seemed to snap, even though she maintained her neutral expression.

      “Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Gault?”

       How was he supposed to answer that question without getting himself into trouble?

      “No, ma’am.”

      He mentally grimaced when his tone emerged with a hint of a question.

      Again, her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t remark on his inflection. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t proposing a buggy ride at all, Mr. Gault. I am fully aware of the hazards and consequences of the weather—which is why I intended to meet you at the livery. I’m certain that Mr. Smalls could be persuaded to loan me a mount. Rest assured, I’m a qualified rider.”

      “We don’t have sidesaddles here at Bachelor Bottoms,” Gideon said with what he hoped was a negligent shrug. Inwardly, he congratulated himself on his quick thinking. There was no way that Miss Fancy Pants could get on a horse with all those ruffles and gathers and lace unless she used one.

      Unfortunately, the moment she scowled, he realized that he’d managed to irritate her even further.

      “I didn’t think that you would, Mr. Gault.”

      “And you can’t be going anywhere in...that.” He made a vague gesture to the frilliness of her attire. “You’d freeze to death the minute we hit the shady patches.”

      “What time, Mr. Gault?”

      Her tone reminded him of Sister Grundy, his childhood Sunday School teacher. Miss Grundy’s voice had held the same thread of steel when