man’s eyes narrowed as if she were behaving untowardly. She realized that Bachelor Bottoms had a “no women” policy, which probably meant they had a “no touching” policy.
Did that include shaking her hand?
Or was Mr. Ramsey one of those incredibly stuffy gentlemen who believed that a woman shouldn’t offer introductions herself, but should wait for a male relative to do so?
If Mr. Ramsey was waiting for any kin to offer such niceties, he would wait a very long time.
He reluctantly closed her fingers in his. Her skin was icy and numb from digging through the snow, but it wasn’t so cold that it didn’t immediately absorb the warmth of his clasp. In that brief instant, she became intimately conscious of the calluses at his palms, the strength of his grip and the long, slender fingers that nearly swallowed hers whole.
Then, just as quickly, he released her and began tugging on his gloves.
“If you’ll wait over there,” he prompted.
It wasn’t a complete dismissal, but it felt awfully close. Clearly, Mr. Ramsey wasn’t pleased with her identity or her profession.
Her spine stiffened and her chin tilted infinitesimally. Ignoring the disarray of her clothing and her disheveled hair, she picked up her skirts and marched with as much dignity and decorum as she could muster. She’d been treated worse before and she supposed that she would be again.
But if Mr. Ramsey thought that she would be dissuaded from practicing medicine in Bachelor Bottoms by such aloofness alone...
He had another think coming.
It was well past midnight when Jonah brought a halt to the rescue operation on the hill. By that time, they were able to confirm that the railroad crew, nine farmers and businessmen, a widow, two families and forty-one mail-order brides had been found—all fifty-nine of them.
No. Make that sixty.
Because there was the doctor.
Sumner Havisham.
A woman.
Thanks to the Good Lord, there had been no fatalities. But some of the injuries had been severe. There were broken bones, gashes and head wounds. Two women and the conductor were currently unconscious, and they were already running low on medical supplies—which didn’t bode well for the rest of the winter. Especially since it didn’t look like anyone would be leaving Bachelor Bottoms anytime soon.
“You’re sure the pass is blocked?” Creakle asked for the hundredth time.
Jonah silenced him with a warning glance. “Let’s not spread that piece of news around, Creakle.”
“But you don’t know for sure, do you? I mean, once it’s light outside, y’ might see another way out,” Creakle said, his tone only minutely softer.
Obviously, Creakle was hoping that Jonah was exaggerating because the man’s expression fell and his eyes took on the woe of a little boy who’d been told Christmas was canceled. Being cut off meant that there would be no fresh supplies. No more shipments of food or goods. Even worse, no deliveries from Creakle’s beloved Montgomery Ward catalog.
“But there could be some other way out?” Creakle asked again, his tone full of both hope and dread.
“Maybe,” Jonah offered. But he doubted they’d find a different means to escape the valley. The debris field from the avalanche had filled the gap with more than fifty feet of snow. The locomotive and the passenger cars were destroyed, and Jonah was sure the rails would be warped or torn free. There would be no trains coming or going from Bachelor Bottoms until the snow melted. Even then, it might take months to repair the line.
“Mebbe we could get a man t’ hike over the top.” The suggestion was given half-heartedly.
Jonah had already entertained the same thought. He’d even sent one of the miners to test the slopes. But the drifts were unsettled and loose, and each step had threatened to cause another avalanche, so Jonah had been forced to call the fellow back. He wouldn’t risk a man’s life in a foolhardy attempt to get the women out of the valley. It could wait a day or two.
He hoped.
Unfortunately, he was beginning to see that while he and some of the other men had spent their time on the mountainside, the situation here in the mining camp was growing more critical than he’d first supposed. Just as he’d feared, the arrival of the women had upset the carefully regulated schedules of shifts and respites. Worse, there was a restlessness permeating the air—as if the wind itself could sense that things had changed at Bachelor Bottoms.
The men were no longer alone.
“How long have they been this way, Creakle?”
“An hour or so. ’Bout the same time Batchwell came stormin’ into the office and told me to send someone t’ tell you t’ come back t’ town fer a meeting.”
Jonah grimaced. A late-night conference with the owners wasn’t completely out of character. But Batchwell’s exact words as quoted by the runner was for Jonah to “bring along that chit,” meaning their new company doctor.
“I guess it was too much to hope that I could break the news about Sumner Havisham’s gender to Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms,” Jonah said ruefully.
Creakle chortled. “Word spread through the camp faster than that snow comin’ off the mountain. Mebbe you didn’t notice, but Batchwell and Bottoms hightailed it to the accident scene so quick I wouldn’a been surprised if the snow hadn’t melted ahead of them like the Red Sea parting for Moses.”
Jonah grimaced. He might not have seen the men coming, but he’d heard Batchwell shouting at the rescue party with such indignation that his bellowing had threatened to bring the rest of the mountainside down around their ears. Jonah’s only consolation had been the fact that Dr. Havisham had left with the first group of passengers to be taken into town. Jonah had told Ike Everett, one of the mule skinners, to take the passengers to the Miners’ Hall where the women could warm themselves and dry their clothes. Therefore, when Batchwell had stomped up the hillside, demanding to see the “lying, thieving, no-good charlatan,” Sumner Havisham wasn’t around.
Jonah might not approve of a woman parading around as a doctor, but he wouldn’t subject any gentle-born female to Batchwell’s anger. He had a short fuse and his temper could burn as hot as dynamite. After nearly twenty minutes of ranting about the avalanche, the mangled train and the stranded passengers, Jonah had thought the man had vented his anger once and for all. But judging from the lamplight blazing from the office windows, both Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms were waiting for round two.
Creakle snorted. “Looks like they’re ready t’ confront the lady doctor, and you get t’ be the witness.”
Right now, all Jonah wanted was a hot meal and a warm bed. He was cold and hungry and had long since lost his patience. He needed a few minutes of peace, quiet and solitude to push back the old demons that rattled inside him whenever his back seized up and burned like the blazes.
Many more days like today, and you’ll be pushin’ up daisies.
No.
Any moments of respite he’d hoped to have seemed far from likely. Even now, as he nudged his gelding onto the main thoroughfare, he sensed the hushed expectancy. The shivering anticipation. The need. Even worse, the air shimmered with a host of unusual noises.
Laughter.
High-pitched chatter.
Singing.
With each step his mount took, it became obvious that—while Jonah had been overseeing the rescue operation—the men who hadn’t been on the slopes or on duty had seen to the needs of the stranded passengers, the