Lisa Bingham - Accidental Courtship

“Send him away,” she said to Jonah.

Realizing that he’d probably pushed Sumner’s patience about as far as he dared, Jonah nodded in the man’s direction. Immediately, the Pinkerton returned to the Miners’ Hall.

Sumner opened her mouth, but before she could begin her diatribe, Jonah held up a hand.

“Please. Not until I’ve had some coffee and something hot to eat.”

She offered a curt nod and fell into step beside him.

They walked a few feet in silence before she asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

He shot her a quick glance, but there didn’t seem to be anything behind her question other than polite conversation.

“I’m doing well, Dr. Havisham.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You don’t appear to be moving as gingerly. Are you sure that you don’t want me to look at your back?”

“No!” After he realized that his interruption had been rather forceful, he adopted a lightness to his tone that he didn’t really feel, and offered, “I’m fine.” He opened the door to the cook shack and gestured for her to precede him, then murmured, “Coffee first, Dr. Havisham. Please.”

To her credit, she heeded his none-too-subtle reminder. After one more narrow-eyed glance, she swept into the building.

Jonah wasn’t sure if she’d decided to bite her tongue or if she’d guessed at the headache that pounded at his temples like a blacksmith on an anvil. Even worse, the heavy scents of black coffee, scorched beans and overcooked eggs hung thick in the room, causing even his stomach to clench. But to her credit, Sumner remained silent as he led her through the building with its rows of tables and benches toward the serving area at the back.

Too late, Jonah realized that if the two of them wanted a private word, this was the last place he should have brought her. Men who’d finished the night shift were still lingering over breakfast. As they moved through the room, a hush washed over them like a wave and all eyes turned in their direction—causing even Jonah’s hair to prickle at the scrutiny.

When they reached the warmth of the counter that separated the kitchens from the dining area, Jonah leaned in and called out to Stumpy, a miner who’d been drafted into running the cook shack after a runaway ore car had crushed his foot, forcing an amputation of his toes. The man had never really forgiven Jonah for switching him from mine duties to the cook shack. But the injury had left him with a lurching limp that was dangerous for mine work, and moving him to the cook shack had been the only way to save Stumpy’s paycheck at the time.

“Have the owners been in this morning?” Jonah asked.

“Been and gone,” Stumpy groused.

“Bring some coffee and a couple of plates to the private room. Dr. Havisham and I have a few things to discuss.”

Stumpy offered a low grumble that could have been an agreement or a complaint. Jonah didn’t wait for the man to make up his mind.

“This way, Dr. Havisham.”

He pointed down a narrow hall to a single door. Sweeping it open, he gestured for Sumner to precede him.

As she gingerly made her way past, Jonah was forced to look at the room with new eyes. A single window on the opposite wall offered far too much light to conceal the cubicle’s flaws. Although it was the only place in the cook shack that offered a place to eat with a real dining room table and chairs, there was no disguising the fact that the floor hadn’t been swept in some time—and who knew when the surfaces had been cleaned. Dirty glasses were stacked in teetering towers, the owners’ breakfast dishes scattered the scarred surface and maps and schematic drawings had long since taken the place of any linens.

Unaccountably, Jonah felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment, even though the cleanliness of the room didn’t fall beneath his purview.

“Here, let me...”

He pushed everything to one side, then used his hat to brush the crumbs and dust aside.

Dr. Havisham gingerly took her place just as Stumpy burst through the door carrying a wide tray with two plates, a pair of tin mugs and an enameled pot of coffee. He shoved the tray into Jonah’s arms, then limped from the room again without a word.

To her credit, Sumner offered a soft sound that was very close to a giggle. Then she reached up to take the tray.

“Here. Let me help.”

Before Jonah could respond, she’d begun setting the food and utensils on the table like a practiced dealer at a poker game. By the time he’d taken his seat opposite, she’d placed all of the silverware in their proper places and poured both of them a cup of hot coffee.

“Milk? Sugar?”

He shook his head, then watched as she added both to her cup so that the liquid was a caramel brown next to his own cup’s tar black.

Jonah took a quick swig of the liquid, then grimaced when it hit his tongue and the back of his throat like a brand.

“Shall I say grace this time?” Sumner asked, her eyes twinkling when she discerned his pain.

He nodded, slamming his eyes shut against the way they watered.

“Dear Lord above...we thank Thee for all of the many blessings which Thou has bestowed on us this day,” she began. “We thank Thee for Thy protection and deliverance and for our safe haven here in Bachelor Bottoms...”

Jonah couldn’t help cracking one eye open, but Sumner’s expression was one of rapt sincerity.

“We thank Thee for the men who have come to our aid. We thank Thee for the warmth of our shelter and the...sincere compassion and sincerity of our hosts.”

Again, he shot her a quick glance under his lashes.

“We pray, O Lord, that Thou will continue to bless us all with kindness and understanding. That Thou will help us to exist together in this valley as friends rather than adversaries. We pray that Thou will bless us with the means to help one another until Thou sees fit to free us from this...unfortunate situation.”

Jonah had both eyes open now, and was ready to offer his own two cents’ worth—as well as a hearty amen—but Sumner quickly added, “And please bless Mr. Ramsey most of all, that he might feel of Thy love, guidance and compassion. For this and the food before us which Thou hast provided, we are grateful. Amen.”

She opened her eyes, and smiled at Jonah with a sweet blankness to her expression, and Jonah was reminded of one of his mother’s sayings.

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, that one.

But he wasn’t fooled.

Sumner Havisham had given him as much time as she planned on doing. Coffee or no coffee, she was now ready to begin her verbal exchange.

Jonah mentally steeled himself for her arguments, aware that the good doctor planned to challenge his use of the Pinkertons. He’d known when he’d issued the orders that the women would eventually object. But the owners had insisted, and Jonah had agreed that such measures would keep interaction with the men at a minimum. Even so, there’d been a part of him that had regretted treating the women as little more than prisoners.

Knowing that it would be easier to counter Sumner’s arguments if he didn’t meet her eyes head-on, he began spearing chunks of fried potatoes onto his fork. Even so, he couldn’t miss the way that Dr. Havisham settled her napkin carefully over her lap, then stared down at her plate. He saw a flash of something that looked very much like horror.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” She lifted her fork, gingerly prodding her food. “Your meals are...hearty.”

“Mining is hard work.”

Dr. Havisham continued to stare at her plate with such ferocity that Jonah took another look himself. He was forced to admit that the food wouldn’t win any prizes. The portions were large, not pretty. Because Stumpy and his men were often needed in other areas of the Batchwell Bottoms enterprise, they’d taken to cooking all the food once a day, then serving things warmed up until the pots were empty. This often meant that the men were forced to eat leftovers until the food was completely gone. Then Stumpy and his crew would begin preparations all over again.