Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train Read online

  Prudence managed to raise the window sash without noise. If she carried the chair over, she could climb out the window. Thank God he kept singing.

  The awkward exit ended with her falling out the window and landing in a bed of soft dirt, on top of something that gave way. Something damp and squishy…smelled like…melon.

  Scrambling to her feet, she brushed off the dirt and sticky residue. She hated messing up his garden, and his coat, but there was no time to fix her mess. There would be time later to clean his coat before returning it.

  His garden backed up to a pasture. Standing there with its head over the split rail fence was the largest horse she’d ever seen. The dapple-gray shook a luxurious white mane.

  Prudence’s spirits lifted. She’d get away faster if she could coax the beast into letting her ride. That would mean stealing. No, borrowing. She would return the horse along with the coat.

  “Hello there, beautiful girl.” Prudence moved closer. She checked to be sure she hadn’t insulted the horse. Indeed, a mare.

  The gray’s ears perked forward, indicating curiosity. Having lived on a farm, Prudence knew how to approach a strange horse. No quick movements that might startle the animal. The mare allowed a few strokes on her velvety nose before wandering away to nip at some fresh grass.

  Prudence found a halter at the gate and lured the mare using an immature carrot she’d ripped out of the soil. Desperation had reduced her to vandalism and thievery.

  After haltering the horse and forming reins using the lead rope, she brought the mare to the fence. Within a couple tries, she managed to climb to the top rail and get her leg over the horse’s broad back. She pulled down her shift and rearranged the oversized coat, so she wasn’t sitting bare-assed astride the horse. Flushed with excitement and a sense of imminent victory, she picked up the rein, patted the horse’s neck, and touched her heels to its sides.

  The mare plodded dutifully through the open gate.

  Oh joy! She’d done it! Escaped, whilst her captor whistled Dixie.

  How she wished her over-bearing brother could be here to see. He wouldn’t be so dismissive of her ability to get along on her own. He had never acknowledged her abilities, even though she’d cared for her ailing parents with no help at all.

  Prudence headed across the clearing, away from the grassy prairie. That way led to Indians. Town would be east. She would keep to the path. Doubts niggled the back of her mind: she might get lost, or she might run across someone less honorable than the rascal who saw nothing wrong with abducting a bride…

  Loud barking came from behind.

  Dash it. The dog had spotted her and sounded the alarm. Using her heels, she urged the horse into a lumbering trot.

  A shrill whistle pierced the air.

  The horse came to a jarring halt.

  Unprepared, Prudence lurched forward. She flew over the horse’s withers and slammed into the dirt on her back. Her breath lodged beneath her breastbone. For a moment she couldn’t make her lungs work.

  Rebel stuck his nose in her face, sniffing. The traitor.

  “Pru!” The shout sounded surprisingly close, and the thundering steps, which didn’t come from hooves. The addlepated mare stood motionless, looking down at her with not a bit of remorse in those luminous orbs.

  “You all right?” Arch knelt beside her. His anxious frown registered a second before she made the connection. The whistle. That’s what had stopped the horse.

  She closed her eyes, groaning. Curse him for training the horse. Curse the horse for learning.

  The beast bent its massive head, nuzzling her hair in an apparent plea for forgiveness.

  “It’s too late for that,” Prudence muttered.

  “Git back, Sophie.” Arch grasped the rope dangling from the halter and pulled the horse away. A few soft words, a gentle pat, and the shameless hussy trotted right back into the pasture.

  “Here, let me help you.” His voice dropped low, taking on a soothing tone.

  “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not as easily led as that mindless horse.” Prudence pushed at him when he scooped her into his arms. She might as well try to push a boulder. To her utter humiliation, she began to cry. The fall had shaken her confidence, the pounding headache had returned, and the blasted dizziness.

  He lifted her with ease like she was petite and delicate, rather than a sturdy woman who was too plain and too old for him to possibly want. She fought an urge to wrap her arms around his neck, to be as complacent and willing as that monstrous nag.

  Acting as if he didn’t notice her weepy eyes and red nose, he cradled her against his chest and headed back toward the house. “You’re lucky Sophie didn’t buck you off. She don’t like strangers riding her, and she’s so broad she’s hard to sit bareback. You stayed on her pretty good, though…’til she stopped when you weren’t expecting it.”

  His voice carried an undertone of respect, and the small concession made Prudence grateful, although not grateful enough to agree to marry him. At the very next opportunity, she would escape—without the horse.

  * * *

  A creak from behind the curtain woke Arch. He opened his eyes, but didn’t recognize the oblong shadows dangling from a beam. Where…? His sleepy mind finally caught up. Dried herbs. The kitchen. He’d made a pallet out here so Pru could have the bed.

  He rolled over, groaning as his muscles protested. He felt stiff as a corpse. That should’ve given him a clue. It had been a while since he’d slept on a hard dirt floor. The bed would be so much more comfortable even with Pru in it…especially with Pru in it. Once he convinced her to become his wife.

  Faint light shone from orange embers glowing among the ashes. The fire hadn’t yet gone out, which meant he hadn’t been asleep that long. Maybe Prudence had turned over and the ropes creaked. She had slept like a hibernating bear after taking that hard fall a couple days ago.

  When he’d seen her fly over Sophie’s withers and hit the ground, his stomach had tied itself into knots, and it hadn’t got untangled. What a damn fool thing to do, whistling for the horse to stop. He should’ve realized Pru didn’t have a good seat and might pitch off.

  None of it would’ve happened if he’d taken her back to town like she’d asked…repeatedly. His conscience hadn’t stopped nagging since he’d picked her up out of the dirt. When she’d stopped resisting, she had fit right into his arms. Even after he’d brought her back inside, he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

  Heaving a sigh, Arch dropped his forehead onto his crossed arms. He’d plumb lost his mind. Why hang onto a woman who was afraid of him and despised him, not without good reason. He had a mean reputation, mostly on account of his illegal business and his brothers’ antics. Nevertheless, Pru would be better off married to him than to whoever might offer for her after she got labeled ruined goods, a bootlegger’s leavings. Worse could happen if nobody wed her.

  He had selfish reasons, too. Marrying her would be better than dealing with all the trouble her abduction would stir up. His brothers would go to jail. Even if he remained free, no decent woman would come near him after this got around. The railroad sure as hell wouldn’t reward him with a clear deed.

  Talk about being between a rock and a hard place; he’d set up his pallet there, and could feel every sharp point and unresisting stone.

  Shush.

  Arch raised his head at the sound. He stared at the wool blanket he’d nailed up to give Pru more privacy. He’d threatened to take the curtain away if she tried to run, and prayed she wouldn’t test him.

  The blanket rippled.

  What the devil was she thinking? He’d taken away his coat and every stitch of clothing except for that nearly transparent shift she wore, which somehow seemed more provocative than if she’d paraded around nude. He’d even hammered a board across the window so she couldn’t get out that way. Told her it was for her own good. She’d looked at him like he held the keys to Andersonville Prison.

  A shapeless figure appeared from behi
nd the end of the blanket and moved toward the door, inch by slow inch. He could see well enough to make out the quilt wrapped around her. Rebel padded at her heels, his tail waving. He ought to be barking. Worthless muttonhead.

  She stopped by the door and bent down, patted the dog’s head and offered him something. The smacking sound gave it away. By gum, she’d won over his dog by sneaking treats. Must’ve hoarded some bread or cheese from the plate of food he’d brought her last night.

  Arch’s admiration for her ingenuity warred with frustration at her stubbornness. He couldn’t stay awake every night watching over her. He couldn’t take her back to town, either. She had bruises, stitches in her head, wasn’t in any shape to be carted over bumpy roads, even if she had managed to climb on a horse. Not to mention, the soldiers would string him up before he could spit out a good excuse. He’d like to think Pru would stop them, but he wouldn’t stake his life on it. He had to convince her to stay put for another week. Buy time to win her over, if that was even possible. If not, he’d get her home safe and then cross the border into Missouri and hide out in the hills until the storm blew over. Then he’d start again with nothing, save his horse.

  He pushed up on his elbows. “Don’t be foolish, Pru. Go back to bed.”

  She halted…then put her hand on the latch.

  Stubborn woman.

  “Unless you want me to carry you to bed—and join you there. I’d prefer sleeping on a feather mattress anyway.”

  With an aggrieved huff, she spun around and shuffled back the way she came. The blanket quivered. Ropes creaked.

  “Your threats won’t keep me here…” Her wavering tone told him the threat had worked for the time being.

  Arch spent the remainder of the night in fitful sleep. He dragged his stiff body off the floor before dawn and rushed through his chores. He made a mad dash to the creek to fetch water from the spring and milked the cow out in the pasture where he could watch the door. If he didn’t get Pru wedded and bedded pretty soon, he’d collapse from pure exhaustion.

  Who was the foolish one here? He was going about this the wrong way.

  He set the pail of fresh milk on the table, covered it with a cloth to keep out the flies, and then he went to work making flapjacks. She’d won that dog over with treats, and good food always made him happy.

  “Treats to sweeten my sour little bride,” he said under his breath, chuckling at his clever turn of phrase. He flipped the flat, golden brown discs from the frying pan onto a plate.

  Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?

  While the coffee pot heated over the hot embers, he went to wake his soon-to-be-wife.

  Pru lay curled up on her side, wrapped securely in the quilt, with her hands folded beneath her head. Relaxed in sleep, her features appeared softer. Her skin glowed a warm tone, not pink or gold, but something in between. Loose strands of hair the color of maple syrup lay across her cheek. She looked like the sleeping princess in that poem his ma liked for him to read to her.

  Arch smiled as he thought of another way to change her mind about him. Women yearned to be romanced. Leaning down, he hooked his forefinger around the loose hair, stroking her cheek as he drew it back, and whispered in her ear. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  With a gasp, she jerked upwards. The top of her head struck him on the chin. His teeth snapped together, catching the inside of his lip.

  At the sharp pain, he staggered backwards and bumped into the chair, sending it toppling.

  She blinked at him with owlish eyes and hugged the quilt to her chin. Her startled confusion turned quickly to irritation. “What are you doing?”

  “Wakin’ you up.” Smiling hurt his lip, but he couldn’t help laughing at himself for having such a harebrained idea. “How’s your head?”

  Frowning, she rubbed the spot that had connected with his chin. “Fine, I think.”

  “That’s good. I fixed us some breakfast. Flapjacks.”

  Her perturbed expression softened. Her mouth looked much prettier when she didn’t have her lips drawn in tight like she’d pulled a drawstring. He would like to taste that pouty lower lip, but surprising her with a kiss would earn him a fist in the face. He had to woo her, carefully, to avoid injury.

  “That’s very kind of you to prepare breakfast. I’m sorry I won’t be able to join you.”

  His stomach sank. “You don’t like flapjacks?”

  “Oh no, I love flapjacks. But I can’t come to the table wrapped in a quilt.”

  She could come to the table in her shift as far as he was concerned. Wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the parts of her she was so determined to hide. Nice parts, too. Formed to fit into a man’s hands… He dragged his attention from her chest to her face.

  He hadn’t anticipated her refusal. Especially with flapjacks involved. She’d prove harder to win over than Rebel. Good thing he’d come prepared to negotiate.

  Pulling a chambray shirt off his shoulder, he tossed it on the bed. “Wear one of my shirts for now. I’ll return your things after you eat breakfast with me.”

  Chapter 4

  Delicious smells filled the cabin. Prudence drew back the blanket separating the room and peeked out. Arch squatted by the stone fireplace with his back to her. He appeared to be tending to a coffeepot on an iron spider perched over the coals.

  Two places were set at the table. A spray of wild flowers filled a mason jar.

  He’d been acting very odd, whispering in her ear and tickling her cheek to wake her, coaxing her with a delicious meal, insisting she wear his shirt… What was he up to?

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she stepped out into the room, curling her toes in the deerskin rug covering the hard-packed dirt. Her stomach urged her onward. She wouldn’t give in except for his promise to return her clothes and shoes.

  “You said something about flapjacks…”

  He twisted around and stood, his eyes widening with surprise, as if he’d forgotten he told her to come to the table wearing only his shirt.

  She clutched the front placket. Though the shirttails reached well past her knees, she felt exposed. Indecent. “Can we please sit down?”

  “Of course…” He pulled out a chair, flashing the boyish smile that took her breath away. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’d be hungrier if I was properly dressed.”

  His gaze dropped lower, past her hips. Oh dear. She shouldn’t have said anything to bring his attention to her state of undress.

  Tugging the shirttail, she sat down and pulled the chair in as far as she could go, wishing for a tablecloth she could hide under. The sight of a woman’s limbs could drive a man into a sexual frenzy. Or so she’d heard. Her mother had been so concerned that she’d made little skirts to cover the lower limbs of the piano.

  Arch sat in the chair opposite. He didn’t appear to be on the verge of losing control. Evidently, her limbs weren’t exciting enough to inspire him. She refused to be disappointed.

  The square of unbleached cloth folded up next to the plate looked large enough to cover her chest, all the better. Too bad he hadn’t given her the flour sack to wear, instead of cutting it up.

  “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” Arch poured milk into a mug and set it in front of her before lifting the platter of flapjacks. “Here you go. Take all you want.”

  Prudence stared at the tall stack. He’d prepared enough to feed the army stationed outside of town. He must be very hungry. She forked two golden brown cakes over to her plate. “They look delicious. Are flapjacks a favorite of yours?”

  “Feed me flapjacks an’ I’ll be happier than a pig wallowing in fresh mud.” His disarming grin caught her off guard and she fumbled with her fork.

  Arch didn’t bat an eye at her flustered response, he kept holding out the platter piled to the ceiling with flapjacks. An image of pigs sitting in mud, working their way through the enormous stack popped into her head.

  She swallowed a laugh. “Thank you, two is enough.
”

  “Have three.”

  He must think she was one of those pigs. “Gluttony is a sin.”

  “I’m pretty sure God won’t send you to perdition for having three flapjacks.” He pulled three onto his plate to prove a point. “See? No lightning bolt.”

  “Blasphemer,” she remarked dryly. “I wouldn’t stand under a tree, if I were you.”

  “Well I’m hungry, so I’m not putting them back. You can say a prayer for me.”

  She halted with her fork in midair. Why, she’d forgotten to say grace. What was she thinking about? A charming heathen, that’s what preoccupied her mind. “Thank you for the reminder.”

  Prudence bowed her head and prayed aloud, asking God to bless the food, forgive her lapse and to rescue her from heathens. She added a prayer for Arch’s soul. After all, he had asked for one.

  He added a hearty Amen, and dragged two more flapjacks onto his plate, then drenched them in syrup. “Praying makes me hungry.”

  “And eating makes you happy…like that pig you were talking about.”

  Laughter burst out of him.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t taken offense. Sometimes even her family didn’t realize when she was joking. Her grandfather had always known. Most folks called him acerbic. He could carve meat with his tongue, was what her mother used to say. Prudence had picked up rather early that her grandfather wasn’t being serious…most of the time.

  “Sis, marry a man with a sense of humor. Not one like your father.”

  Her grandfather would’ve liked Arch. She was beginning to like him, too. Not enough to marry him.

  She spread butter over her flapjacks and drizzled syrup. “These look good. You do all your own cooking?”

  His laughter faded to a wry chuckle. “If I want to eat.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. She tamed it before it got away from her. Being too friendly would encourage him.

  The fork had two tines, an old style like the kind her grandparents had used. Using a tin knife, she cut a small bite and guided it into her mouth, seeing no reason to starve herself while she remained in custody.