Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  To Sumner, the marks were a badge of honor, a symbol of a man who had fought for his country and had suffered dearly for it. To have endured so much pain—to still suffer discomfort—and live a productive, hardworking existence was something to be lauded.

  She lifted one of her hands to touch his cheek, then smooth the rumpled waves of his hair. “I find the whole effect rather dashing, personally. Every woman has a soft spot for a wounded hero. I know I do.” She thought she saw a hint of color seep into his cheeks. “Now, I’ll go in search of a clean shirt and dry footwear. Then you and I will head to the cook shack. I don’t know about you, but I’m positively famished.”

  * * *

  By the time someone had found him some clothes, socks and boots, it was closer to morning than midnight. Jonah knew that he should be tired, but for some reason, he was thrumming with energy. Even more, his senses were heightened. He was aware of the cool kiss of winter against his cheeks, the squeak of newly fallen snow under his boots, the tangy scents of wood smoke coming from the miners’ quarters.

  As he held the door to the cook shack open for Sumner, he was sure that he caught a whiff of her distinctive scent—orange blossoms—and he wondered if she’d dabbed the perfume on her wrists, her neck or maybe even her hair.

  The thought was intriguing. Sumner worked so hard to appear completely professional and competent. She wore severe clothing in dark colors and styled her hair in a way that wouldn’t draw attention to her femininity.

  Yet, she’d taken the time to apply a hint of scent.

  The cook shack had obviously been kept open all night long. Jonah could see a few remaining members of his crew lingering over empty plates and hot cups of coffee. The air was steamy and warm and redolent with the aromas of the meal that awaited them—the deep notes of beef, an accompaniment of yeasty bread and something rich and spicy that reminded him of childhood Christmases.

  As they made their way toward the serving area, Lydia Tomlinson rushed to greet them. Where Sumner had tried to disguise her femininity, this woman clearly embraced it. She wore a pink gingham day dress trimmed in lace and ribbons, with more lace and ribbons on her apron. Her hair was arranged in curls and braids and twists upon her head.

  But Jonah found his eyes kept sliding in Sumner’s direction nevertheless.

  “Go on through to the private dining room and I’ll bring your food to you,” the woman said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Lydia.”

  “We could eat here,” Jonah said quickly, gesturing to the other tables, not wishing for his men to get the wrong impression. He wouldn’t do anything that could cause even a hint of scandal to be attached to her name.

  “No need. The table is set and waiting. Besides—” Lydia leaned closer to murmur “—we’ve been told to let the owners know when you arrive.”

  Even with that threat hanging over his head, Jonah’s mood didn’t dim—and he wasn’t sure why.

  He gestured for Sumner to precede him, then hurried to reach around her to open the door.

  The moment he followed her, he could see that the womanly touch was becoming even more evident at the cook shack. Curtains made of feed sacks had been added to the windows. The table had been dressed with an embroidered cloth and a crock of holly adorned the center. More unbelievably, the places had been laid with real china, shiny silverware and cloth napkins.

  Jonah couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a napkin.

  He and Sumner had barely taken their places and settled the cloths in their laps before a pair of women entered. One of them plunked a tureen in the middle of the table, while the other brought a tray laden with bowls, a platter of corn bread, a crock of sweet butter and a plate of gingerbread cookies.

  Jonah’s stomach rumbled as the food was placed on the table. For the first time, he realized that it had been hours since he and his men had eaten the sandwiches that Sumner and the other women had provided. If they hadn’t shown that kindness...

  “Soup?”

  “Please.”

  She filled his bowl with a steaming stew made with chunks of beef and venison, a thick broth, bits of barley and diced vegetables.

  His brows rose and she seemed to read his thoughts because she explained, “We found several sacks of dried carrots and celery in your stores. The hunting party returned this afternoon with more than a dozen rabbits, several deer and elk. We’ve used the dried supplies sparingly. Just enough to augment the taste.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there. The food was rich and hearty. The cook had been liberal with the pepper, adding another layer of warmth to the fare.

  Sumner looked up and her eyes sparkled in amusement. “You have an overstock in spices in your warehouse. Hence, the gingerbread.”

  Jonah couldn’t help grinning in return. Stumpy had never been much of a cook and it didn’t surprise Jonah that years’ worth of spices had been left unused. Thankfully, they’d provided a boon when they needed it most.

  “They smell delicious.”

  The words had barely been uttered before the outer door flew open and a blast of cold air swirled into the room. Seconds later, Ezra Batchwell strode into the dining room, the capes of his greatcoat flapping around his shoulders like the wings of a giant bird.

  “Ramsey.”

  “Mr. Batchwell.” Jonah stood out of respect, even though he wanted nothing more than to ladle hot soup into his bowl. “Would you like to join us?”

  Batchwell’s eyes glittered in disapproval.

  “Miss Havisham.”

  “Dr. Havisham was kind enough to join me for dinner so that I could eat while she gave me an update on the men. You’re welcome to stay and hear the news.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed. “It’s nearly four o’clock in the morning.”

  “And neither of us has had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.”

  Batchwell must have realized that he was sounding churlish, because he grunted, then gestured for Jonah to take his chair. “Eat your food,” he said gruffly. Then, realizing he would have no answers to his questions until Jonah had satisfied at least part of his appetite, he reluctantly took his seat at the head of the table.

  Without looking his way, Sumner unobtrusively pushed the plate of gingerbread cookies toward the older man.

  Batchwell grunted. Then he reached for a cookie, oblivious to the fact that one of the mail-order brides had probably supplied the cookie cutter from her trunks.

  “Did you find a way out?” Batchwell asked after he’d finished the gingerbread and reached for another.

  Jonah spooned soup into his mouth and chewed slowly. He’d never lied to his bosses, and he didn’t intend to start. But he also knew what Batchwell wanted: the women out of the valley. Immediately.

  “We found a way out. Briefly. But after the second avalanche...there’s no way to get them through. Not until the pass melts.”

  Batchwell’s face darkened and he bit the head off the gingerbread man with tremendous force. Then he threw the rest of his cookie onto the plate and stormed from the room.

  Jonah waited several minutes before looking up from his soup to meet Sumner’s gaze. To his infinite surprise, she giggled. The stern, controlled Dr. Havisham giggled.

  And that made him laugh.

  Something that he hadn’t done in a very long time.

  Dropping his spoon into his empty bowl, he pointed to the plate of cookies.

  “Would you be so kind as to pass the cookies?”

  Sumner’s smile was warm and knowing—as if they shared a secret. Which he supposed they did.

  “With pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Sumner.”

  “You are more than welcome, Jonah.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Later that week, Sumner sighed when yet another miner entered the infirmary under the guise of “
visiting an injured colleague.” For days now, men had been traipsing in and out of the doctor’s office—so much so, that the constant traffic had allowed the chill from outside to infiltrate the rooms. Even worse, the men were more inclined to visit with her voluntary nursing staff, rather than those miners who still needed their rest.

  When the change in shifts caused a line to form outside the door, she finally stepped out and said, “Visiting hours are over. For today and tomorrow. All of these men need their rest.”

  “You heard the doctor,” Iona said, rising from a small table where the older woman had set up a temporary registration desk in an effort to control some of the traffic in and out of the building. “Go on now, Mr. Clackett. You’ve been in here for an hour now, and I daresay, you’ve spent more time talking to Miss Rousseau than to any of our patients.”

  The women were met with some good-natured grumbling, but the men retreated—led by Mr. Clackett, whose ears had turned a bright shade of pink. They trudged toward the meetinghouse, since the evening’s Devotional would begin in a matter of minutes.

  Closing the door behind them, Emmarissa snickered. “You have a beau on your hands, Marie.”

  Astonishingly, Marie’s ears grew just as pink as Mr. Clackett’s had been.

  “We share an interest in bird watching. That’s all.”

  Emmarissa grinned. “Oh, I’m sure that’s his only reason for visiting twice a day.”

  Sumner tried to keep a straight face, but when Marie suddenly grinned, she joined in with the other women’s laughter.

  “Despite the...agreeableness of their company,” Sumner warned, “if the men continue to flock toward the infirmary, Mr. Batchwell is bound to complain.”

  Iona grimaced. “I’ve seen the man pacing past the building at least a half dozen times the last few days. He peeks into the windows, but doesn’t come inside.”

  “For which we are grateful,” Lydia said with a sniff. “Judging by his expression, he’s spoiling for a fight.”

  Sumner sighed, moving from window to window, pulling down the bedlinens, which had been temporarily tacked into place until she and the other women could make or obtain more permanent curtains.

  “These men are still recuperating. For that, they need some peace and quiet.” She shot a glance at Marie. “Which means you might have to go bird watching somewhere else.”

  Even Marie laughed at that remark.

  Iona handed Sumner the clipboard where they had begun to make a list of visitors.

  “There has to be nearly a hundred names on this list!”

  “And we only have three men under your care,” Iona said dryly.

  It had taken a direct order from Jonah to keep them there. They still eyed Sumner with suspicion, questioning everything she did, but at least they’d allowed her to tend to them, albeit reluctantly. But then, she supposed it had more to do with the fact that her role had shifted more to nursing them back to health than diagnosis. They had no problem allowing a woman to fuss over them.

  As long as she wasn’t in charge.

  Which is why Jonah had been forced to intervene.

  The fact still rankled, but Sumner couldn’t allow her own feelings to get in the way of her patients’ care.

  Once the windows were covered, Sumner walked past each of the cots, ensuring the men were sleeping. Then she and the other women gathered in the kitchen.

  Although the personal quarters had only been in use for few days, the area was beginning to adopt a lived-in look. There were dishes stacked on the shelf above the dry sink, a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth on the table, a teakettle and a pot of water warming on the stove.

  The other women moved to the door, donning their coats and shawls.

  “Are you going to the Devotional, Sumner?”

  “No. I’ll stay here.”

  “You’ve been here all day,” Lydia objected. “Wouldn’t you like a change of scenery?”

  Sumner waved them away. “I have paperwork to finish.”

  Lydia looked doubtful. Obviously, the other woman was wondering why Sumner was being so careful with her record keeping when her future at Bachelor Bottoms was uncertain. But Sumner would not be caught derelict in her duties. Even if no one ever bothered to look through her files, she would know that she had done the best job possible.

  “You all go ahead.”

  “We’ll bring you and your patients some supper afterward,” Marie promised.

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  As the others stepped into the cold, Iona hesitated.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some company?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Willow is sitting with Jenny Reichmann, who’s been feeling poorly today. I told her she could find me here if Jenny grew worse.”

  “I could stay...”

  “Go. I’m in my element, you know. I want to enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Iona’s smile was filled with understanding.

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  A stillness settled over the infirmary as soon as the door closed and the women’s voices faded into the night. If it weren’t for the soughing snores of Mack Epcot, Sumner would have been left in total silence.

  She was just grasping a mug from the shelf to pour herself a cup of tea when the front door opened. Sighing, she wondered if she was going to have to lock her patients inside to keep the miners from—

  The thought scattered to the four winds when she looked up to find Ezra Batchwell looming in the doorway.

  “Miss Havisham.”

  She knew it wasn’t forgetfulness that caused him to omit her title, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Instead, she tried to appear unaffected, even though her heart was racing like a freight train.

  “Mr. Batchwell. I was about to pour myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  “No. This isn’t a social call.”

  She hadn’t thought that it was. Anticipating that he would want an update, she offered, “The men are doing much better. I think we’ve managed to ward off frostbite. I still worry about the hit Mr. Cowan took to the head, but he’s been able to converse coherently when he’s awake.”

  “I haven’t come for a recitation of their ills, either,” Ezra growled.

  Sumner dared to turn her back on him long enough to cross to the stove and fill her cup.

  “Really? Because I thought it was the welfare of your men that was always of upmost concern to you.”

  When she faced him again, she was sure that Mr. Batchwell had caught her unspoken challenge. If he was about to eject her from the infirmary, he needed to think about the consequences. He might not like the fact that he’d unwittingly hired a female doctor. But at the moment, she was the only physician he had.

  “I hope that you don’t think I’m naive, Miss Havisham.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He stabbed a finger into the air. “You and your women have insinuated yourselves into this community!”

  “We’ve volunteered to help, nothing more.”

  “You think that if you make yourselves...indispensable...you’ll be welcomed into Aspen Valley with open arms.”

  Sumner bit her tongue to keep from offering a tart rejoinder. It would do her no good to insist that the women would rather have continued on to their destinations.

  “Keep your women away from my men, Miss Havisham.”

  “My women?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Somehow, in this grand...debacle...you’ve become their leader. Whether this came about through accident or machination, I do not know. But things have become slipshod in the past few days, and your women have taken liberties with my authority.”

  Sumner opened her mouth to insist that the only liberties taken had been by the miners who had subtly begun to
bring little tokens of their affection to the women who worked in the cook shack or who had volunteered to help in the infirmary. But she wasn’t given the chance.

  “You have a week. No more. Then these men will be moved to their own quarters and this infirmary will be locked up tight again. Once that has happened, you and your women will confine yourselves to the Miners’ Hall other than to volunteer in the cook shack.”

  It didn’t escape her that she wouldn’t be allowed to care for the injured men, but the ladies’ efforts at improving the food offered to the camp could continue.

  “Mr. Batchwell, I—”

  He held up a hand, stopping her before her objections could be made.

  “That is all, Miss Havisham.”

  Then he stormed outside.

  * * *

  Jonah had barely stepped out of the meetinghouse when he found Ezra Batchwell planted firmly in his way.

  “I want the women out of the camp within three days’ time.”

  “There’s no way through the canyon.”

  “If you can’t get them through the pass, then get them out of the hall. I want them as far away from the mine and its outbuildings as you possibly can.”

  “We don’t have many structures that could house that many people at once.”

  “Get it done. Three days.” He stabbed at Jonah’s chest with a bony finger. “The reins of leadership have grown lax around here, and I want them tightened up before we lose so much control that we never get it back again. If they want to continue working in the cook shack, fine. But I want them escorted there and back by the Pinkertons.” He stabbed Jonah again. “And tell Gault to put some new men on the job! The ones you’ve got now are trailing along behind those women like a bunch of lapdogs. I want discipline. Discipline and order. In three days!”

  Then he stomped off, snow squeaking in protest beneath his boots.

  Jonah sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  The task he’d been given was all but impossible. There weren’t many buildings in all of Aspen Valley big enough to house all the women, let alone any that could be made habitable in three days. Even worse, it seemed churlish to push them out of the community—especially after all they’d done to help the miners. The daily meals alone entailed hours of work. Yet, they’d volunteered even more of their time when the men had been injured. And for that, Jonah would have to banish them to some unknown location and insist that their “protection” detail become their wardens.