Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train Page 5

  He fisted his fork as if he intended to stab the stack of flapjacks and shove the whole thing into his mouth. She paused, holding her fork properly. When he shifted his grip on the utensil, she knew he’d picked up on her silent clue.

  “Forget sometimes,” he muttered. “Most days, nobody’s around to care.”

  Prudence lowered her gaze. What he’d certainly meant as an offhand remark weighed heavy on her heart. She knew how it felt to be lonely and to wonder whether anyone cared. Why the charming rascal wasn’t married by now had to be on account of a shortage of women. He didn’t strike her as a man who would be lonely, otherwise.

  Arch continued eating. Painstakingly, he cut each bite and lifted it to his mouth. One bite didn’t quite make it without syrup dripping down his chin. He caught the sticky drop and licked his finger. The napkin remained folded, by his plate.

  She didn’t say anything. No need to embarrass him.

  He realized his mistake almost immediately. With a sigh, he wiped off his finger and tucked the flour sack napkin under his chin. The uneven edges looked as if he’d used a knife to cut up the pieces, and he’d sliced right through the black lettering. Odd, when washed, the ink usually faded. This must be the first time he’d used them.

  Prudence touched the napkin at her chin. The new napkins, the nice meal, flowers picked for the table, even the sweet way he’d tried to wake her, were the actions of man showing his affection for a woman. She caught a sharp breath. No. That couldn’t be true. Even when she’d tried, she hadn’t been one to inspire men to fawn over her, and she had treated Arch with distrust and disinterest.

  All this special attention had to be an act to change her mind about marrying him, although his motives remained unclear. A comment his brother had made niggled at the back of her mind. He’d said Arch needed a wife to secure his land.

  The issues were complicated and she didn’t understand the technicalities, but she had picked up enough to know that the settlers had arrived first, but the railroad owned the land. The resulting disagreements had erupted into riots, which led to the presence of troops. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that the railroad’s decision to import women was a kind of bribe to gain the settlers’ cooperation. Presumably, Arch needed a wife because the railroad had a policy of giving preferential treatment to married men.

  If they wed, he would be able to secure his land and at the same time, protect his brothers.

  “Here, have more. I made plenty.” He held out the platter, which hardly looked touched.

  “Thank you, no. I’ve had all I want.”

  Having breakfast with him had been a mistake. She didn’t want to be flattered by this younger man’s attention, or become closer to him, or feel sympathy or tenderness. She wanted to get her clothes and leave and put this behind her.

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked.

  “Yes, the flapjacks are delicious, but I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Does your head hurt?” The concern in his expression and voice put a knot in her throat. She refused to accept his tender ministrations. He’d prevented her from leaving.

  “No, I’m feeling much better.”

  “Don’t sound like you’re much better.”

  “I will be much better after you give me my clothes.” She laid her fork and knife across the plate. “Please return my things. I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”

  He mopped up syrup and popped a large bite into his mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing before he spoke. “Can I trust you not to run?”

  “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

  “I won’t let you leave on your own, so get that idea outta your head.”

  “You can give me a ride into town.”

  He set down his fork, wearing a thoughtful expression. “What’ll happen, do you think? After folks find out where you’ve been and who you’ve been with. What will people say? How will they look at you?”

  Her spotless reputation was the most valuable thing she had to offer. Without it, she couldn’t hope to attract the sort of man she wished to marry. Arch knew this and the swine thought to frighten her into cooperating. She lifted her chin and held his eyes with all the defiance she could muster. “I’ll tell them the truth.”

  “You know as well as I do, the truth won’t matter.”

  The truth had to matter. She hadn’t stepped over the bounds of propriety. She’d followed the rules, obeyed the teachings her father and mother had drummed into her head from the time she was an infant. She didn’t deserve to be punished.

  Curse him, he was right, though. Her innocence wouldn’t matter. She could scream the truth from the rooftops and people would believe she’d been molested, or worse, had given up her virtue without a fight. Men might dally with ruined women, but they didn’t marry them.

  His frank gaze turned sympathetic. “You don’t have to go back and face all that. I’m offering you marriage.”

  Wounded and angry, Prudence averted her eyes. He wanted her to think of him as a dashing hero, a prince wielding a gleaming sword, slicing away the barbed briars imprisoning her. The fiend. He watered the bushes and encouraged them to grow by keeping her here. He hadn’t wanted to return her from the start.

  “My reputation isn’t your primary concern. You’re worried if I go back I’ll cause trouble.”

  He leaned against the chair back and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “That doesn’t mean I’m not sincere about wanting to marry you.”

  Hurt and disappointment carved a hollow place inside her chest. The emptiness was worse than the pain. “You want to marry me for your benefit, not mine. At least be honest.”

  Arch heaved a sigh. He rubbed his hands over his eyes like he was trying to scrub away fatigue. He’d combed his hair and put on a fresh shirt, but that didn’t hide the dark circles from lack of sleep. She felt no satisfaction from knowing she was the cause.

  He regarded her with a weary expression. “Then let’s both be honest. I need a wife. You came out here to get married. If you want a husband, the best way to get one and preserve your reputation is to marry me. It’s simple as that.”

  “Simple? Nothing about this is simple.” Her future had been demolished. She couldn’t return and pick up where she’d left off, as a respectable woman; and to top it off, she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a man she couldn’t trust.

  She threw her napkin on her plate. “I can’t accept a proposal from someone who would abduct me and keep me prisoner.”

  Surprise flashed across Arch’s face. Then his expression turned thunderous. “Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t know about my brothers’ plans and wouldn’t have approved if I had. And, you are not my prisoner. I’ve been taking care of you, feeding you, making sure you don’t get sick, or run off and get hurt again.”

  His kindness confused her because it didn’t make sense, except as a tool to manipulate her. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t think you were in cahoots with your good-for-nothing brothers if you weren’t so determined to prevent me from leaving.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Pru…” Arch threw his hands up, making a sound of frustration. “I’m protecting you.”

  “You’re protecting yourself and your brothers. I’d be soft in the head if I thought otherwise.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. He clenched his teeth rather than let out whatever he was thinking. Without a word, he jerked back the chair and collected their plates, dumped the uneaten portions into a bucket. The plates clattered as he set them in the sink. Why did he behave as if he were the one offended?

  Her hands trembled as she picked up the napkin she’d thrown down in a fit of anger and folded it. Arch unraveled her self-control faster than anyone. She had difficulty thinking straight when she couldn’t stop her pulse from racing every time she looked at him. The lingering headache didn’t help. That wasn’t his fault, though, and she wouldn’t complain. He’d been kind, regardless of his motive. She would give him the benefit of doubt and accept that he
’d kept her here out of concern. Even so, she wouldn’t marry a man solely because she had no choice.

  “I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but I am feeling better and I wish to return to town. I am not your responsibility.”

  Rather than respond, he crossed over to the fireplace. She was beginning to see a pattern, avoidance versus confrontation. “Will you return my things, as you promised?”

  “After we’re finished with breakfast.” He brought back the coffee pot and poured her a cup, acting like their argument hadn’t happened. “You need time to heal. Stay a few more days and rest. Once you get to feeling better, you might change your mind about leaving.”

  * * *

  Prudence put a brush Arch had given her to work and then plaited her hair, securing the end with a leather tie. She peered into a mirror above the washstand, gingerly touching the thread holding the skin together along her hairline. A scar was unavoidable. However, it could be worse if Arch hadn’t taken care to make fine stitches. The irritating man could be thoughtful, at times.

  Thank goodness, he’d returned her clothing.

  She smoothed her hands over the rumpled skirt. One sleeve was torn at the elbow and the bodice was stained from dirt and dried blood, which must’ve happened when she fell and hit her head. If there were other tears or stains, she couldn’t see them in the small mirror.

  What did it matter? She knew how dowdy she looked, and refused to care. She wasn’t trying to impress Arch—other than impressing upon him her desire to leave. Oh, he claimed she wasn’t his prisoner. But what else should she call it…a well-guarded houseguest?

  She peeked around the end of the blanket.

  He sat in a chair, pulling on a pair of heavy work boots. She hoped he’d changed his mind about taking her back to town.

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  “No, we aren’t. You’re staying here and resting while I get some plowing done.” He eyed her with a look that said he wasn’t going far enough to lose sight of her if she tried to escape.

  Running away would be a vain endeavor, as well as foolish. She had no idea how far they were from town, and wandering off on her own in an uncivilized wilderness was paramount to self-murder. She could see that, now that she was less afraid of him. She needed a better plan.

  “My head isn’t hurting, and I’m feeling much stronger. Thank you for breakfast…”

  She spied the pail of milk and a butter churn and an idea came to her. If the way to win a man’s heart was through his stomach, it stood to reason he could lose interest via the same path.

  “Why don’t I return the favor and fix the next meal?”

  The poor man looked so relieved she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  “Sounds good to me. You’ll get sick of my menu real quick. Flapjacks for breakfast, flapjacks for dinner, flapjacks for supper…” He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “Get the idea?”

  “Oh, yes…” She certainly did. Like all men, he wanted a wife who could cook. Once he tasted her cooking, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her fast enough.

  He tucked the worn denims into the top of his boots. “That field needs to be plowed to prepare it for corn. I’m already behind schedule. Good thing I got Sophie. Otherwise, I’d need a team of oxen to pull a plow blade through that thick grass.”

  “I can imagine… I’ve never seen such a large, powerful horse.”

  Standing, he adjusted his suspenders, which looked to be made from old mattress ticking. His wide shoulders and muscled arms pulled at the shirt, which had faded to a light blue that matched his eyes. His rough clothing enhanced rather than detracted from his appeal.

  Prudence tried—but failed—to look away. Appreciating how well God had made him was no sin. Except, she had to stop appreciating him and get busy ruining his next meal.

  Instead of leaving, Arch followed her to the fireplace. “Sophie is strong as an ox and loads smarter. I bought her from a fellow that brought heavy draft horses over from France. Plan to have my own herd one day. Drafts like Sophie can haul heavy loads—like railroad ties—easy as pie. Strong horses will be in high demand with all the railroad and mining construction…”

  Sounded like he had a dream and plan. She respected a man with initiative. However, the man she married wouldn’t start a courtship by holding her against her will.

  Prudence sorted through cookware scattered around the fireplace. She needed something to use to heat milk. Not a frying pan. This long-handled pot would do. “Have you considered putting nails in the hearth and hanging your pots and utensils? It would be easier to find the right ones, and they wouldn’t get as dirty.”

  “Good idea.” Arch leaned in from behind and his breath stirred a curl by her ear. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Don’t miss me too much.”

  His hand came in contact with her backside in a fond pat.

  Shocked, she whirled around, intending to slap him.

  He leapt out of the way, and the aggravating rogue started laughing. “Don’t brain me with that pot! You’ll be stitching up my head!”

  “Then cease your familiarities.” She backed up to a work surface next to the sink, which was nothing more than two boards set atop barrels. Snatching up a cloth, which appeared to be clean, she wiped dust out of the pot. Her hands shook. All he’d done was pat her through layers of clothing. Inappropriate, yes, and startling. But her body hummed at his touch like a metal rod struck by lightning. She hadn’t experienced this strange reaction to any other man’s touch. Not even men she had liked.

  With effort, she focused her attention on pouring milk into the pot and then set it to warm on the same iron spider he’d used to heat the coffee.

  Arch put on a wide-brimmed hat made from woven straw. Pausing at the door, he watched her. Rather than leaving, he returned to peer over her shoulder. “What are you doing?

  She maintained an air of nonchalance despite being nervous at his suspicion. “If you heat the milk a little, it will make the cream rise more quickly. I’ll be able to churn it into butter faster.”

  His forehead furrowed as he absorbed her explanation. She held her breath, praying he knew less about making butter than making flapjacks. “Don’t recall Ma mentioning anything like that, but if it cuts down on your work, have at it.”

  He stopped on his way out and took down a rifle mounted over the door. Her father had taken a pistol to the fields in case of snakes. In all that grass, there had to be more than a few reptiles. That was something to keep in mind.

  After he exited, whistling, she sighed with relief.

  She moved the pot closer to the hot coals. Heating milk a little did help the cream rise. Scalding the milk would guarantee the butter would be ruined.

  Her stomach knotted. Never had she purposely wasted food, and to do so seemed a sin. But making him want to be rid of her would be preferable to running away, or giving in to this irrational attraction. He sensed her weakness and would exploit it if she weren’t careful.

  “Don’t follow the desires of your sinful nature…”

  She would do well to heed her father’s admonition this time.

  Arch needed a wife rather like he needed that horse. As for her, she didn’t expect a love match, but she refused to settle for convenience. She might be willing to marry a stranger, but it would be one she picked out, not one that was forced on her.

  Several hours later, she’d finished the butter, baked two loaves of bread and put beans on to cook in a Dutch oven. Perspiring from the heat, she went out in search of a breeze.

  In a field where the tall grass had been cut down, Arch struggled behind a plow. His mare looked to be working hard, too. Man and beast strained together. The both of them extraordinary, beautiful creatures, and well suited to settling this land.

  She had hoped to marry a hardworking farmer and live on land that would grow about anything. Arch had fenced a pasture and put up stables for the animals. He had a good cow that produced rich milk and pigs growing fat in a pen. T
he chickens ranged free and roosted in the tall grass right alongside the prairie hens. A henhouse would provide better protection. If she were living here, she would insist he build one. But she wouldn’t be living here, so what he did with his chickens was his own business.

  Arch moved out of sight, the house blocking her view. Just as well. She had to stop watching him and pining for him. Had he come courting, she would’ve been pleased by his interest, and if convinced of his integrity and respect, she would have considered him. But he hadn’t come to see her, even though he’d stated he needed a wife and she was one of the few marriageable women in town. He wouldn’t have selected her if he’d had a choice, either.

  Banishing the sobering thought, she mopped her damp forehead with a napkin. The air was cooler out here, but she felt hot, and dirty and desperate for a bath. She’d seen no tub, but she could put down an oilcloth and make do with a bucket of clean water.

  The farm abutted a wooded area with a spring-fed creek that wasn’t too far away.

  She closed the clapboard door hung on leather hinges and lowered a piece of wood to lock it shut. That wouldn’t keep out humans, but it would prevent animals from getting inside.

  “Rebel, here boy!” she called to the dog. Arch’s hound would alert her to snakes or other dangerous creatures.

  As Prudence strolled across the clearing, Rebel zigzagged in front her with his nose to the ground. He got along on three legs fine, and didn’t resent his infirmity or complain about his lot in life. In fact, he looked like he was always smiling.

  In a sense, the dog reminded her of Arch. Of course, Arch wasn’t missing limbs. His were all intact and nicely formed, and she spent far too much time thinking about them. He and Rebel were alike in that they both had a sunny outlook and disposition…and neither of them would let her wander off alone.

  At the edge of the woods, three dark-skinned, bare-chested men stepped out from the trees.

  Her heart lodged in her throat. Indians.

  They came to a halt at the same time she did. If they were surprised to see her, she couldn’t tell. Their faces might’ve been carved from walnut, being so devoid of movement or expression.