Accidental Sweetheart

by Lisa Bingham

  “Yes, sir!”

  Jonah’s brows rose. “I take it you’ve got a plan.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got a plan. I just have to hope that Lydia, Willow and your wife don’t skin me alive when they get wind of it.”

  * * *

  Willow froze, a pan of biscuits hovering halfway to the oven when she heard the distant tolling.

  “Isn’t that...”

  Charles grew still as well. “Yeah. It’s the alarm bell.”

  Since Batchwell and the babies had been dozing, Charles and his men had returned to the kitchen. Willow supposed that the warm, sunny room with its scents of spices and roasting meat had been preferable to these rough-and-tumble miners rather than the overly-decorated, shadowy confines of Batchwell’s bedroom. The men had gathered around one end of the farm table with cups of tea, coffee and Charles’s favorite oatmeal raisin cookies—the treat made all the more delicious since she’d announced that the storehouse’s stock of tea, cinnamon and oatmeal were nearly gone.

  Charles pointed to one of his men—Edward Shupe, if Willow remembered correctly.

  “You stay here with Willow and Batchwell. Get a rifle from Batchwell’s gun collection, just in case. The boys and I will go to town and see what’s wrong.”

  Willow hurriedly set the pan on top of the range and bumped the door shut with her hip.

  “Do you think something has happened in the tunnels?” she asked worriedly.

  The men seemed to share a quick glance.

  “I don’t think so,” Charles said, walking to place a quick kiss on her forehead. “We would have felt a bump in the mine,” he said, using the miners’ term for an explosion.

  Which meant that either Lydia and her protestors had been discovered, or there was some new emergency.

  Charles squeezed her shoulders. “As soon as you get those biscuits out of the oven, I want you to go upstairs with Batchwell and the babies. Once we’ve figured out the cause of the emergency, I’ll send someone to let you know. Otherwise, Batchwell will be insisting on getting down that hill.”

  “He’ll want to be there anyway. If you could send a buggy as soon as you’re able. I think that, between Shupe and I we can help him hobble as far as the drive.”

  Charles stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re a wise woman, Willow Wanlass.”

  She leaned into the caress, ever so slightly. And then he was gone, he and his men rushing outside and slamming the door behind them.

  “Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I’ll get that rifle.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Untying her apron, she hurried up the back staircase, then along the hall to the huge double doors. She hadn’t even finished flinging them open when Batchwell demanded, “What’s going on down there? What’s the problem?”

  His booming voice startled the children, causing them to jolt from their sleep. Adam was the first to begin crying—a demanding, strong little bellow that indicated that any soothing should start with him. Eva quickly followed with a sad whimper that began to build as she sensed her brother’s distress.

  “Mr. Batchwell, shouting at the top of your lungs will not bring the answers any quicker. You’ll only upset the children.”

  Judging by his shocked expression, Batchwell had never been chided in that manner—let alone by someone with Willow’s stature and gender. Taking advantage of that moment of silence, she bent to scoop Eva into her arms and transferred the infant to Batchwell.

  “Here. Since you woke them up, you can help to calm them.”

  Batchwell gaped like a fish thrown out of water, but his hands closed reflexively around the baby and he held her to his shoulder, one gnarled hand moving to automatically pat Eva’s back.

  Willow lifted Adam, then rocked side to side.

  “What in the world is going on in town?” Batchwell tried again, his strident whisper only slightly softer than his shout.

  “Charles has gone to find out.”

  “Charles! What was he doing here?”

  Willow opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again. Since Batchwell had believed the fib she’d told him about the gunshot from next door, she saw no reason to explain anything more. If the ruckus from below had the women as its root cause, Batchwell would find out about it soon enough. If not, there was no reason to tell him any sooner than necessary.

  “He came to see you,” she prevaricated, knowing she’d never be able to carry off a lie with any manner of success. “When you were asleep, he sat down to a cup of tea in the kitchen.”

  Along with the rest of his blasting crew.

  But Batchwell didn’t need to know that.

  “He said he’d send a runner back as soon as he had any information.”

  “I should be down there!” Batchwell thumped the arm of his chair, making Eva jump.

  “Mr. Batchwell, you need to remain calm. I’ve told Charles to send a buggy as soon as he’s able. When it arrives, we’ll help you outside and down that hill.” She pointed to the street below and the crowd that was beginning to gather from every corner of town. “They’ll need you down there, Mr. Batchwell. You’re the leader of this community and they’ll need your strong hand. I promise. I’ll get you to the heart of things as soon as safely possible.”

  The man blinked in surprise, and she reached down to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly. Despite her words, she expected him to continue raging until a buggy appeared. But to her surprise, he returned to absently patting Eva on the back while he studied the goings-on below.

  “You remind me a bit of my wife, Mrs. Wanlass.”

  Wife?

  Willow looked away from the crowd that now seemed to be dispersing to every corner of Bachelor Bottoms.

  “I didn’t know you were married, Mr. Batchwell.”

  Had he, like the other men, lived apart from his spouse all this time?

  “It was a long time ago.” Batchwell squinted up at her for a moment. “She had red hair, she did. Just like you.” His voice trailed away. “A tiny slip of a thing, was my Fionella.”

  Briefly, Willow wondered if that was the reason why Batchwell had seemed particularly antagonistic toward her in the beginning.

  “She was kind, like you. And shy.”

  He returned his gaze to the window, but she sensed he wasn’t seeing the scene below.

  “What happened, Mr. Batchwell?” Willow whispered, sensing a great sadness in his voice.

  “We were so young. Too young. She died in childbirth. Neither she nor the little gel survived.”

  “Oh, Mr. Batchwell.”

  Willow touched his shoulder again.

  Batchwell glanced down at the baby in his arms. Eva offered him a toothless smile and a gurgle of delight.

  “I’d forgotten what it was like...” Batchwell murmured, so softly that Willow almost didn’t hear him.

  Not knowing how to respond, Willow bent to place a light kiss on the top of Batchwell’s head.

  “Children have a way of reminding us what’s really important, don’t they, Mr. Batchwell?” she murmured.

  “Indeed they do, Mrs. Wanlass.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gideon met Charles and his men at the bottom of the hill. As they brought their mounts to a stop, Gideon grabbed the reins to his friend’s horse.

  “We think the Tommy Gang is about to storm the valley in an attempt to steal the silver.”

  Charles’s jaw worked and a steely expression settled over his features.

  “How many?”

  “Fifty or more. And they’ve got a cannon.” Gideon allowed himself a slight smile. “But I’m hoping you and your men can help me with that little problem, Charles.”

  Charles’s brow knit in confusion.

  “Do you think you and your crew could set up some charges along the road? I wouldn
’t mind taking a few members of their gang out—maybe even a cannon—before they get to town.”

  The grin that Gideon had grown accustomed to seeing on his friend’s face since his marriage to Willow returned full-force.

  “You heard him, boys! Get into that storehouse and get a couple of cases of dynamite, blasting caps and a spool of fuse. Watkins and Ellis, you two round up the plungers from the mine.”

  “What about the buggy that your missus wanted?”

  Charles shook his head. “They’ll be safer on the hill. Find someone in town to head up there with a message. In the meantime, let’s move as fast as we can!”

  Gideon released the reins and stepped back. Immediately, Charles urged his horse into a gallop, heading down the lane that bordered the row houses where he could gain entrance to the storage house through a back door.

  Dear Lord, please give them time enough to get things ready. And please, please, protect the good people of Aspen Valley.

  * * *

  Lydia and the other women burst through the door of the Dovecote.

  Since it had proved easier to prepare the meals in the cook shack and complete some of the baking at the Dovecote, there were only a few women working in the kitchen. They must have heard the bell as well, because they began peppering Lydia with questions as soon as the brides entered.

  Lydia held up her hands for silence. “The men think the Tommy Gang is going to raid the valley. I need everyone to gather baskets, pillowcases, crates—anything you can find. Collect every last bullet and shotgun shell and take it to the cook shack. Use the back path along the riverbanks. Gideon doesn’t want us to be seen from the road.”

  “We’ll never get the pumpkin cart through all that mud.”

  “Then we’ll have to carry everything. Take as much as you can hold, then come back again. We’ll do it as many times as necessary until the job is done.”

  The women immediately scattered.

  “Miriam and Myra. How much clothesline do we have?”

  The twins paused halfway up the stairs.

  “Clothesline?” Miriam stared at Lydia aghast for considering the laundry during such a crisis.

  “Yes. I know we don’t have a lot of time, but do you think that we could tie the rope to the base of the aspen trees on either side of the road. The riders will probably head toward town with some speed. If we keep the line fairly low to the ground, and they aren’t paying attention...”

  Myra clapped her hands. “Brilliant! Leave it to us to set it up.”

  She and Miriam immediately changed course toward the rear entrance and the cords that had been strung from a set of poles.

  “What else, what else, what else?” Lydia muttered to herself. “What else can we do?”

  A pair of women were already clattering down the stairs. They labored beneath bulging pillowcases full of ammunition. “What about the weapons we were using, Lydia? Surely they’d be more useful in the hands of the men than with us.”

  “Those of you who can shoot, keep your weapons, but load them this time. Take the rest to the cook shack.”

  Lydia strode to the cupboard, removing a revolver that they’d stashed there. Then she reached for the flour bag sitting in plain sight on the shelf. Ripping at the thread they’d used to sew it shut, she grabbed a handful of bullets and began loading the revolver. After she’d finished, she filled her pockets with more. Once the revolver was loaded, she unfastened the top three buttons of her bodice and retrieved the tiny derringer that rested in a special holster sewn into her corset. Her aunts had always insisted that she be prepared for any eventuality. Should she need to protect herself, she had her hatpin, the derringer and oftentimes a small revolver tucked into her boot.

  She quickly made sure the derringer was still loaded. Two tiny bullets rested in the double chamber. Then, she replaced the weapon in its hiding place, but left the buttons undone.

  She’d help the others get the ammunition to the cook shack, but then she had her own bit of business. Having ridden with her father in the past, she knew how he liked to work—and she doubted he would have changed his tactics over the years. He wouldn’t gallop into town. He’d find a vantage point above the action where he could analyze the attack and adjust his strategy as necessary.

  She fought the taste of guilt on her tongue. It was her fault that the Tommy Gang had come to the valley. She had no doubts that her father’s thirst for vengeance had spurred his desire to raid this particular town. He had come for her, and the stores of silver were merely the icing on the cake. Lydia had great faith that Bachelor Bottoms would rally against the force of the gang’s attack.

  But the man giving the orders?

  She shoved the larger revolver into her waistband.

  Lydia would take care of him herself.

  * * *

  As soon as Willow saw a horse and rider heading up the hill toward them, she handed Adam to Mr. Batchwell.

  “I’ll see what’s going on, then I’ll come right back and tell you.”

  Despite the warnings from Shupe for her to stay indoors, Willow stood at the gate waiting when the miner and his animal skidded to a halt.

  “Charles wants you to know that the town may be under attack by the Tommy Gang,” Craig O’Keefe rasped. “They’ve been spotted about two thirds of the way up the canyon. You and Mr. Batchwell are to stay here, where it’s safer. He’ll send a buggy as soon as he can.”

  The Tommy Gang.

  Willow had read about the infamous band of outlaws long before coming to America. In the girls’ school where she’d lived, some of the students had smuggled penny novels and periodicals into their dormitories. Sometimes, when they left for the holidays, Willow would borrow the forbidden texts. Although her reading skills were rudimentary, the thrilling stories of Indians and outlaws from the untamed territories halfway around the world had given her more than enough incentive to practice. She remembered the tales of the Tommy Gang quite well, most likely because there had been rumors that a young girl had ridden with the notorious band of men.

  “What about Shupe?” she asked, pointing to the miner who’d followed her outside.

  “He’s to stay here and protect you and Mr. Batchwell.”

  “We can protect ourselves! Get on that horse, Mr. Shupe!”

  Shupe reached for the other man’s hand and swung onto the horse behind him.

  “If you see anyone else,” the miner added, “send them down to the cook shack for further orders. Miss Tomlinson and the women are gathering up ammunition and bringing it there to distribute. The way things sound, we’re going to need every person we can get.”

  The words were barely out of the man’s mouth before he pulled on the reins. Then, with a sharp “hiyahh!” he urged his mount back toward town.

  Willow raced to Mr. Bottoms’s cottage. Those women who had been guarding their “captive” met her halfway.

  “Turn Mr. Bottoms loose. Those of you who know how to shoot with any degree of marksmanship, come with me. The rest of you are needed at the Dovecote to help retrieve the ammunition and take it to the cook shack. Hurry. Hurry!”

  She ran back to Batchwell’s mansion, three other women coming with her. She led them into Mr. Batchwell’s study and pointed to the gleaming weapons that lined one whole wall of the room.

  “I want you to take down every weapon and line them up on this desk.” Without a second thought, she swept her hand across the surface, clearing it of ledgers and hand-printed stationery. “Load them up here. There’s ammunition in that chest there. As soon as everything is prepared, bring rifles to Mr. Batchwell and me, along with a few boxes of bullets between us. Then, I want you to station yourselves on the upper balconies. Batchwell and I will take the ones facing the valley, you all take the rear of the house and the one over the side door. Whatever happens, no one gets inside, understand? They’ll be l
ooking for the owners to force a surrender, but they’re not going to get them.”

  She was heading toward the staircase when Iona appeared.

  “Where’s Bottoms?”

  “He’s gone down the hill.”

  Willow had hoped to keep the two men together, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

  “Go around the house and check the windows and doors. Make sure that everything is locked up tight and the shades drawn. Then head to Batchwell’s bedroom. I might need your help.”

  Iona nodded and left in a flurry of skirts.

  Willow stayed long enough to ready a pair of revolvers, then she ran up the stairs again.

  To his credit, Batchwell didn’t shout at her for having taken so long, but he clearly vibrated with impatience.

  “I don’t have much information,” Willow said, rushing into the room and laying the revolvers on the bed. Without even asking for permission, she moved to Batchwell’s large highboy and removed one of the drawers, upending the contents onto the floor. She quickly lined it with the babies’ blankets, then set each of them inside.

  The twins gazed up at her with wide eyes. They’d grown so much in the past few weeks that the two of them barely fit together in the makeshift cradle she’d made.

  “I’ll be right here, little ones.” She kissed each of them on the forehead, then slid the drawer under the high tester bed, hoping that, if a gunfight ensued, they would be safe from any stray bullets. The babies whimpered at the unfamiliar setting, but Willow knew she didn’t have the time to comfort them.

  She scooped the revolvers from the bed and handed one to Mr. Batchwell. “The Tommy Gang was seen in the canyon.”

  Batchwell’s face grew red, his brows pulling into the familiar scowl.

  “From what I understand, the whole community is getting ready to defend Aspen Valley.” She knelt so that she could meet him eye to eye. “Have you heard of the Tommy Gang?”

  Batchwell smacked the arm of his chair with his free hand. “Of course!”

  “Then you know what they’ll do. They’ll send the bulk of the gang storming straight through town. But a few of the men will be ordered to sneak around the back.”