Lisa Bingham - Accidental Sweetheart

“Miss Tomlinson,” he murmured, wondering how she’d managed to sneak up on him without a hint of warning. “I thought you promised me that you’d stick to your guard today.”

“He was busy helping Iona in the cook shack, and I knew I’d only be gone a few moments.”

She set a plate on the blotter of his desk along with a mug of coffee.

“I didn’t see you come into the cook shack after the morning Devotional, so I figured I’d bring the food to you.”

She lifted the napkin from the plate to reveal potatoes, ham, biscuits and two fried eggs with their glistening yolks staring up at him like eyes. Although Gideon wanted to tell her that her concern was unnecessary, his stomach rumbled in response. Too late, he realized he hadn’t eaten much the night before and nothing this morning.

“A man can’t work properly on an empty stomach.”

To Gideon’s consternation, she sat in the chair opposite, and it was clear from her posture that she didn’t intend to move anytime soon.

“Go ahead. I’ll keep you company while you eat.”

Gideon was pretty sure that her suggestion was a bad idea, but after she’d been kind enough to think of him, he supposed it would be churlish to send her out the door.

He reluctantly returned to his own seat.

“Would you care for a biscuit?” he asked, gesturing to the pair upon his plate.

“I’ve already had my breakfast, but thank you all the same. Go on.”

He bowed his head for a quick, silent prayer, then took up his knife and fork, but still couldn’t bring himself to wolf his food down in front of her. “You’re sure you don’t want anything?”

“Positive. But I’ll be a little put out if you don’t taste things while they’re hot.”

With that admonition in mind, he gingerly cut his meat. Within minutes, the savory goodness of the meal banished the rest of his reservations and he began to dine in earnest.

“Where are you from originally, Mr. Gault?”

He looked up, but sensed no guile behind her question, merely a casual interest in keeping him company as she’d originally stated.

“Ohio.”

“Really? When I think of Ohio, I picture rolling pastures and fertile farmland. Were you raised on a farm?”

Gideon shook his head. “My grandfather owned an ironworks, so I spent my younger days working with the smelters.”

Her brows rose. “How fascinating. Somehow, I never would have pictured you as a factory boy. You seem so...at home in the wilds of the territories.”

Gideon didn’t tell her that he’d once planned on taking over the ironworks for his grandfather, that he’d intended to double the size of the foundry and make Gault Industries a household name. During his time in the war, he’d fantasized about investing in modern machines and training their workforce with newer methods.

But he’d only been home a week before he’d realized that he couldn’t go back to the man he’d once been. As soon as he’d stepped into his grandfather’s offices, the walls had seemed to close around him, cutting off his ability to breathe. And the heat from the smelters had smothered him like a hot Georgia night. His grandfather had been forced to pull him out of the building to stop his screams.

Gideon wrenched his thoughts away from that moment. Looking up, he found Lydia watching him curiously. “I guess the wide-open spaces have grown on me.”

She opened her mouth, clearly intent on pursuing the subject, but to his surprise, she motioned to his plate instead. “Enjoy the potatoes and the ham,” she said. “We’ve used the last of them, I’m afraid. We’ve only got a few more sacks of dried carrots and onions, then we’ll be out of vegetables of any kind.”

Her words made the food all the more delicious.

“You’ve managed to stretch things to the last. You and your ladies should be congratulated. I think we ran out of root vegetables about mid-January last year.”

The compliment made her beam.

“Thank you, Mr. Gault. I’ll be sure to tell the ladies. They were worried that they hadn’t rationed things enough.”

“I daresay we can survive on meat and baked goods until the pass clears. Once we manage to get through the pass and can hook up with one of the telegraph lines, we can send for fresh supplies.”

The joy slipped from her features, and too late, he realized that his words proved to be a reminder that the women would be sent away long before such foodstuffs would arrive. He braced himself for an argument about why the women should be allowed to stay, but to his surprise, Lydia didn’t accept the bait. Instead, she rose to her feet saying, “I’ll send one of the other girls to fetch your plate in a little while. In the meantime, I wondered if you would be willing to join us at the Dovecote for a late lunch tomorrow...say three o’clock?”

His brows rose, and once again, he felt a niggling suspicion. Miss Tomlinson was up to something. He was sure of it. She was far too solicitous. Too...nice.

“Why?”

“Why what?” She blinked at him, her eyes so clear, so blue. And innocent.

“Why do you want me to come to the Dovecote for lunch?”

Again, she seemed to bat those incredibly long lashes.

“To eat?” she drawled as if he were rather dense.

“We could eat at the cook shack.”

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “The women have some questions about their upcoming journey. I thought it would be more efficient if they could ask you themselves—without being overheard by every Tom, Dick and Harry having a sandwich in the cook shack.”

Her explanation seemed logical—making his own response seem truculent. And yet...

He couldn’t escape the feeling that he was walking into a trap.

“What are you up to, Lydia?”

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let’s say you’re acting out of character.”

“Out of charac—”

Gideon stood. “Yes, out of character. Let’s face it, we’ve spent most of the last few months bickering with one another.” He waved to his empty plate. “And now, suddenly you’re worried about whether I’m eating enough or sleeping enough or—”

“I’m simply being polite!”

“Well, stop it!”

The words echoed in the small room, reverberating in a way that made Gideon realize he’d stomped right over churlish and marched on to childish.

“Fine,” Lydia huffed. “I’ll leave you alone—right now and for however many days I have left in this valley.”

He sighed, his head dropping. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so...”

“Suspicious?”

He conceded with a nod.

“It’s just that... I’ve got a lot on my mind and...” He met her gaze head-on. This time, she didn’t regard him with a neutral stare. Instead, her eyes glittered with a mixture of pique and irritation. “And I’d love to come to the Dovecote for lunch tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there at three.”

After a quick nod in his direction, she strode from the room in a rustle of skirts, the door slamming behind her.

He winced, then slowly sank back into his seat.

* * *

Once again, Lydia had barely navigated a few yards before being joined by a pair of women from the Dovecote. This time, Iona and Marie accompanied her on either side.

“Well?” Marie asked somewhat timidly.

“He agreed to meet for lunch at three.”

Iona smiled. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Lydia tried her best to tamp down the emotions whirling in her breast—excitement, trepidation and most astonishingly, guilt. “Yes. It’s a good thing. Because the man is already more suspicious than we’d supposed.” Her mind swung to the countless things that still needed to be done. “Do we have the placards in place?”