you for always believing in me.
Contents
February 21, 1874 Utah Territory
Gideon Gault sensed trouble. Something strange was happening in Aspen Valley, something...unsettling. A thread of agitation ran through the community surrounding the Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine. It bubbled beneath the surface, filling him with anxiety—even though, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.
Pausing at the entrance to the mine, he planted his hands on his hips and squinted against the sun. For the hundredth time that day, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the street beyond.
“Problems?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Gideon acknowledged Charles Wanlass, the mine’s blasting foreman, and recent newlywed.
“I don’t know. Do things feel...odd...to you?”
Charles smiled. “Odd? In what way?”
“I don’t know. I just...”
Charles’s grin grew even broader, and Gideon grimaced. The man grinned a whole lot these days. Ever since Charles had married and adopted twin babes, Gideon’s friend existed in a perpetual bubble of happiness that was beginning to grate on Gideon’s nerves. Especially since Gideon seemed to be surrounded by miners who were afflicted with the same brand of besottedness.
“There’s something going on,” Gideon groused, trying again to explain the fact that, each day, he grew a little more skittish, a little more suspicious. He woke up with the sensation that something was off-kilter with Aspen Valley and went to bed sure that he’d missed something important.
But what?
“Maybe it’s the good weather that has you out of sorts,” Charles offered. His tone was a little too tongue-in-cheek for Gideon’s liking.
No, it wasn’t the weather. After months of snow, bitter cold and whipping winds, the valley had begun to enjoy a temporary thaw. For weeks, they’d basked in unseasonably bright sunshine. Seemingly overnight, the man-high drifts of ice that had once been pushed up against the buildings had melted to dirty mounds, while the thoroughfares grew thick with mud. Deep puddles made it hazardous to stand too close to the street since the passing wagons threw dirt and grime in every direction. And crossing the road...well, if a man didn’t want to lose his boots, he needed to use the wooden boards that had been laid down to provide a temporary bridge from the Miners’ Hall to the cook shack.
But all that was normal for Aspen Valley in the spring.
So, what had him feeling so antsy?
Gideon knew why the other men were restless. They lived in dread of the moment when the pass cleared and the fifty mail-order brides who’d been stranded at Bachelor Bottoms for the winter were forced to leave the valley.
Gideon couldn’t wait for that day. He’d finally have the women out of his hair, his unit of Pinkertons
