Accidental Sweetheart. Lisa Bingham

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.”

      Greta was the first to grasp one of the crates, pry it open with a cleaver from the cook shack, and begin removing the ammunition from inside. She quickly loaded an empty feed sack and placed it in the wagon. Beside her, the rest of the ladies sprang into action, filling baskets and pillowcases—and whatever else they’d managed to find to transport their booty.

      Lydia hoped that such measures would prove unnecessary. She doubted that even Ezra Batchwell would resort to an armed confrontation in order to get the women to toe the line. But she didn’t want to take any chances. She’d anticipated that the disappearance of the weapons would capture someone’s attention, but she’d hoped that it would take them longer to realize that the bullets were gone. By that time, they would have hidden the ammunition so the men couldn’t change their minds.

      A rattling came from the front of the storehouse and the women gasped.

      “What’s that?” Stefania whispered.

      “Shh!”

      They froze.

      Lydia barely dared to breathe as the rattling resolved itself into the unmistakable creak of the door.

      “Give me the lantern!”

      Marie scooped their only source of light from a nearby crate and handed it to Lydia.

      “Stay here. I’ll do my best to get rid of whoever it is.”

      She quickly strode down one of the side aisles, then cut back to the section of the storehouse that was reserved for food. Without even looking, she grabbed a bag from one of the shelves, then moved more slowly toward the front entrance.

      Even though she’d been expecting to encounter someone on her trip back to the door, she jumped when a shape loomed out of the darkness. A gasp pushed from her lips when the lamplight slid over the man’s face.

       Gideon Gault.

      “Mr. Gault, you nearly scared the life out of me!”

      He seemed just as surprised to see her.

      “Miss Tomlinson. It’s after midnight. What on earth are you doing in the storehouse so late at night?”

      “We had an...emergency at the Dovecote. One of the brides fell ill and we were out of...” Too late, she realized she didn’t know what she’d grabbed from the shelf. Glancing down, she grimaced. “Beans. We were out of beans.”

      Gideon blinked at her with such a puzzled expression that she nearly laughed out loud.

      “Beans?”

      “Yes. It’s well known that a poultice made of beans and...and vinegar...is an excellent cure for...”

       For what? What?

      “Female complaints.”

      In Lydia’s wide experience, nothing quelled a man’s curiosity faster than mentioning “female complaints.” But she’d forgotten that Gideon had been raised with five sisters, so apparently, he was made of sterner stuff.

      “Beans and vinegar.”

      “And mustard.” Lydia fought to keep herself from wincing. “And a dash of bacon grease.”

      Lydia could feel panic beginning to flutter in her chest like a flock of moths, but she fought to keep her expression serene.

      “And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

      “No. Not really?”

      The man eyed her with those coffee-brown eyes, and she was sure that he could see the deceit hanging over her like a black cloud, but he finally sighed.

      “Where are your guards?”

       Locked up in the Miners’ Hall.

      “Guards?”

      “The Pinkertons who are supposed to be watching the Dovecote.”

      “I... I’ve no idea. We haven’t seen them all day.”

       Honestly, that should have been the last thing to admit.

      Gideon lifted his hand to the crease between his brows and rubbed the spot as if he had a headache. For the first time, she noted the exhaustion that lined his features.

      “Shouldn’t you be in bed, Mr. Gault?”

      “I could ask the same question of you, Miss Tomlinson.”

      She gestured to the door. “I was heading there now.”

      “Then I’ll escort you home.”

      She balked at the idea, sure that he’d somehow divined that the dormitory was missing half of its occupants, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a plausible reason for refusing his offer.

      “That would be much appreciated.”

      She reluctantly blew out the lantern, knowing that she would be leaving her friends in complete darkness. Unfortunately, that fact couldn’t be helped.

      Gideon held the door for her, allowing her to step into the cool night air.

      “Do you have your key?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      To her consternation, he snapped the lock shut, effectively imprisoning the women who were still inside. Then he made a sweeping motion with his hand.

      “After you.”

      They walked in silence for several minutes, but with each step, Lydia grew increasingly uncomfortable. There was something...companionable about having Gideon escort her home. Something sweet. And that was not something she wanted to feel about the tall Pinkerton.

      “You mentioned you had five sisters.”

      There was a beat of silence and she realized she hadn’t asked a question, but had offered a statement of fact. Thankfully, Gideon seemed willing to follow her lead.

      “Anna, April, Addie, Adele, and Adelaide. All five of them are older by several years.”

      Lydia couldn’t help laughing. “So why weren’t you named Alfred or Abraham?”

      “I think my mother was expecting another girl. She’d chosen the name Augusta. When I was born, she named me after my father instead.”

      “He must have been proud.”

      Gideon shrugged. “Unfortunately, my father had already passed of diphtheria.”

      So, Gideon truly had been raised in a house with nothing but women. No wonder he’d found the arrival of the mail-order brides such a trial.

      “Then Bachelor Bottoms must have seemed like a masculine haven when you arrived.”

      Gideon shot her a look, and to her surprise, he didn’t offer a pithy answer. “Actually, for a little while, I missed a bit of feminine fussing from my