Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train Page 6

  Rather than war paint and feathers, the Indians wore an odd assortment of clothing: a patched frock coat without a shirt, a bow tie around a bare neck, feathers stuck into the band of a battered top hat. Two men sported breechcloths and moccasins. The third had fringed leggings paired with a red silk vest. Shiny black braids hung over their shoulders.

  Rebel bounded up from wherever he’d been and stood, fur bristling, between her and the three men. A low growl rumbled up from the hound’s chest.

  The Indian in the top hat raised an old flintlock rifle.

  “No!” She rushed to kneel beside Rebel and wrapped her arm around his loose-skinned neck, petting him to let him know she was all right. God forbid they would kill him simply for protecting her.

  The other Indians, who appeared to be younger, were armed with bows slung across their backs. They didn’t reach for their arrows. If they did, she didn’t have a gun.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Arch was nowhere in sight. If Rebel barked, he would come running. But then the Indian might shoot him. Or they might kill her and scalp her before he could cross the distance between them.

  Prudence fought the panic rising in her throat. Somehow, she had to communicate to these men, convince them she meant them no harm. “The dog won’t hurt you, if you don’t hurt me.”

  The man wearing the feathered top hat lowered his gun. “Want food.”

  Top Hat spoke English, or a smattering. If she could make herself understood, she might be able to convince them to leave. She couldn’t serve these Indians the special meal she’d prepared for Arch. They would kill her, thinking she was trying to poison them.

  “I’m sorry. No food.”

  The Indian’s black brows slashed in a fierce frown that sent a chill down her spine. She had read about Indian attacks where women had been taken captive and degraded.

  Her body quaked, an uncontrollable reaction to terror.

  The dog’s growls grew louder. If she withered beneath her fear, Rebel might attack and things would go badly for both of them. From what she’d read, Indians respected courage. Even if she didn’t have any, she could pretend.

  She patted the dog and then stood, shoulders squared. “All right, I’ll get you food, but I’m giving you no guarantee you’ll like it.”

  Top Hat kept the gun trained on the dog. He lifted his chin, indicating she should go toward the house. What choice did she have?

  As she drew near the cabin, she prayed Arch would see her even though she couldn’t see him. Of course, the annoying man wasn’t in sight when she needed him.

  Rebel stayed close, every so often growling to let the Indians know he was watching them.

  When she reached the door she instructed the three men to wait outside. They didn’t wait. They followed her into the house.

  Now what?

  Rebel slipped inside, remaining close, as if he sensed that she needed him. The dog couldn’t protect her against three armed men, but she felt better with him in the house. If bad went to worse, he would sound an alarm, and maybe Arch would arrive before the Indians murdered them both.

  The bronze-skinned savage with the red silk vest went to the table and lifted the cloth off the bread. He picked up a loaf and held it in the air like a prize. The one wearing the bow tie around his neck started poking around the fireplace. He motioned for her to get the Dutch oven.

  She had no choice. The Indians had made it clear they wanted food and she had better give it to them. After one bite, they wouldn’t be coming back for more.

  Top Hat cradled the rifle, watching as she set the beans on the table with what she’d swear was amusement in his dark eyes. Would they take the food and leave? She prayed that would be the case. If they tasted it before they left, they might decide to take her scalp along as well.

  “Here, let me spoon some in a bowl. You can take it with you…”

  The Indian wearing the bow tie swiped the ladle out of her hand. He dipped into the pot and brought the hot beans to his lips, blew across them, and then took a big bite.

  Prudence held her breath. The beans had to taste atrocious. She’d burned the bottom, undercooked them, and to make sure, stirred in some lye soap.

  The Indian’s face remained set, impassive, except for the moisture welling in his eyes. Without a word, he handed the ladle to the man in the red silk vest.

  He took a bite; his expression also remained flat, save for the flaring of his nostrils. Inexplicably, the second man dipped the spoon into the beans, and then offered it to the third, the older man.

  Top Hap took the ladle. He didn’t spare the other two a glance and began to eat. After the first bite, he stopped. The glimmer of amusement in his black eyes fled, replaced by flat disdain. He picked up a loaf, turned it in his hands and then banged it on the table.

  The younger Indian who held the second loaf watched him with wide eyes, and then set the second brick-hard loaf back where he’d found it.

  A shuffling noise came from the doorway. Rebel whined, but didn’t bark.

  Arch entered the house with a rifle in his hands.

  Prudence sagged with relief. Thank God, he hadn’t stumbled in unawares. Though it had taken him long enough to get here. If she’d hightailed it, he would’ve been on her trail before she reached the end of his property.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” He asked the question in a casual tone, as if inquiring about the weather. His gun wasn’t pointed at the threat. He had it aimed at the floor. Of course, the Indians didn’t appear a bit frightened. They seemed so sure he wouldn’t shoot them that none of them went for their weapons. They regarded him with the same inscrutable expressions they’d worn since recovering from their surprise upon meeting her at the creek.

  “You said we could come hunt. We smelled food. Got hungry.”

  Prudence gaped at the man in the top hat. So, he knew more English than he’d let on, and it seemed he knew Arch, too. He hadn’t mentioned that, although she doubted the knowledge would’ve made her more inclined to let them in.

  Top Hat said something to one of the younger men, a guttural phrase, and gestured to the door. The man in the red silk vest and the one in the bow tie walked past Arch without speaking. He didn’t stop them. But he did act surprised by their abrupt departure.

  She wasn’t surprised. They’d lost their appetite.

  The older Indian dropped the bread loaf on the table. It landed with a heavy thud. He gave her a disapproving frown and then exited behind the other two men. On his way out, he spoke to Arch. “You need a new wife. That one’s no good.”

  * * *

  Prudence didn’t utter a sound after the Indian departed. Her face had gone as pale as a bleached bone. Poor thing. She had to be scared out of her wits.

  Arch propped the rifle near the door, went over to her and took her into his arms without a word. She didn’t push him away. Instead, she grabbed ahold of his shirt and clung to him, trembling. He held her close and gently rubbed her back.

  “It’s all right,” he crooned against her hair, even though nothing was all right about finding her in the house alone with three Indians. Fortunate for her, these men were trustworthy and honorable, but they could’ve been Kiowa raiders or no-account white men, both equally dangerous.

  “You’re safe now,” he murmured.

  She turned her face into his shoulder. “No…you’re wrong. I’ll never be safe here.”

  Her woeful statement pricked his conscience. Little wonder she felt that way. Despite his denial, he had kept her a virtual prisoner. Then he’d gone off and left her without protection. He’d been so intent on the backbreaking work, he hadn’t seen anyone come up to the house. Something had told him to go check on her and he’d grabbed his rifle. Hadn’t needed it, but he didn’t know that before he came in the door.

  “Those Indians were no danger to you. The older one in the top hat is Mahzee. He’s a Potawatomi chief, and those are his sons. Their territory is south of here. I’ve told the chief he can hunt on
my land. Sometimes we share a meal.”

  Arch curled his hand around Pru’s neck. The hair growing there was even softer and silkier. He longed to put his lips where his fingers were at the moment, but he’d better not. She wasn’t in an amorous mood, even if she seemed comfortable in his arms. For now, she was willing to let him massage her neck, an improvement over conking him with a pot.

  She slid her hands up to his chest as if to make sure he was really there. Maybe she was so stunned she didn’t realize she was touching him. “I’ve never seen an Indian before.”

  “Never? Where did you live?”

  “Ohio.”

  “They don’t have Indians in Ohio?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Wanting to soothe her, he began to rub the tense muscles on the back of her shoulders. She responded by moving her hands to his arms and squeezing. His muscles flexed, an instinctive reaction. Not so instinctive, the quivering excitement racing through him and the dizzying sensation of being swept into an irresistible current.

  He took a deep breath. She didn’t intend to arouse him. At most, she touched him like she was exploring unfamiliar terrain. That didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction. He could, however, control his behavior.

  “I feared you wouldn’t come back in time.” She rested her head against his shoulder. Now that was a surprise. Maybe this incident hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. She seemed to be warming up to him. He was getting warmer, for sure. “I didn’t even have a gun.”

  He trailed his fingertip along the edge of her ear, encouraged when she shivered but didn’t pull away. “If I’d left you a gun, you might’ve shot the chief, or one of his sons. Then we’d have real trouble on our hands.”

  “You won’t give me the means to protect myself?” She looked up at him, her dark eyes anxious. He longed to see them shine with trust, and grow warm with desire.

  “’Course I will. So long as you know who it is you ought to be shooting.”

  “I’ll start with you.”

  Her biting humor had returned. She must be feeling better.

  “How do you know those Indians?” she asked.

  “I lived near them when I was growing up. There’s lots of Indians out here, most of them friendly, the ones that live in the Territory, that is. Like us, they want a place to call their own and to raise their families in peace. Trouble starts when men get greedy.”

  “Those Indians didn’t seem friendly.”

  “Oh, that was them being real friendly. I’m surprised they didn’t stay to eat.”

  She averted her eyes, as if something he said embarrassed her. “The chief doesn’t think I’d be a good wife…”

  Arch tipped her chin so she would look at him again. “It isn’t the chief who wants to marry you.”

  Her lips parted, a look of surprise, or it could be alarm. Rather than hear her voice another rejection, he bent his head and covered her mouth. Talking never got them anywhere. Kissing might. He’d enjoy it, regardless.

  The moment his mouth touched hers, she sewed her lips shut. He would’ve taken it to mean she didn’t want the kiss, but the way she kept squeezing his arms said she did. Maybe she didn’t know how because she was inexperienced. That would explain why she got so jumpy whenever he got close. She came to him innocent. He’d never gotten such a precious gift. In return, he would show her, and teach her, what he knew about giving. Granted, his sexual experience wasn’t vast, but he’d learned enough to know how to bring a woman pleasure.

  First, he had to teach Pru how to kiss.

  He brushed light kisses over her tight lips, teased the seam with his tongue. When she didn’t release the pucker, he whispered against her mouth. “Relax your lips, let me show you…”

  Her lips opened like the petals of a shy flower. He slanted his mouth across hers and demonstrated how men and women went about kissing.

  Initiating his bride-to-be gave him a heady rush. Her eagerness took his breath away. She wasn’t the only one learning how good a kiss could be.

  Her hands crept upward. She stroked his shoulders, explored the dip above his collarbone, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closer, pressing her soft breasts against his chest.

  Desire roared through him with the force of a spring twister.

  He tightened his hold around her waist. Patience. No matter how hot she made him burn, he couldn’t rush this, or he’d spoil the moment and not get another chance. Despite her fervent response, she was skittish as a yearling and distrustful. He had to show her, not tell her, that she could trust him.

  With every kiss, she seemed to gain confidence. Her ardor tested his self-control. He longed to devour her; to strip her bare and put his mouth on her skin, bring her to readiness, as she’d done to him. As their tongues met and danced, he ran his hands down her back, cupped her buttocks and drew her full against him.

  He couldn’t restrain a moan.

  At the sound, she stiffened. Then she broke away, pushing at his chest, and backed out of his arms with a gasp. Or was that a sob? He couldn’t tell because she’d spun around.

  She grabbed a wooden spoon from the table and turned, raising it like a club. Some women liked to get a little rough. Generally they didn’t use a wooden spoon, or look bug-eyed with fear.

  Pru wasn’t playing. She’d retreated and put up a defense—a wooden spoon. She could construct a stone fortress and it wouldn’t keep him out.

  “Don’t touch me.” Her sultry tone didn’t match her command. Neither did the high color in her face or her heaving chest. She’d been as affected as him by that kiss. He could advance. Win the battle. If he did, he would lose the war. He had to let her walk away, as many times as she needed. Only with patience could he bring her to him.

  He opened his palms in the universal gesture for surrender. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to…give you my word.”

  She backed away another step, casting her eyes from side to side, as if looking for a way out. Rebel came off the ratty blanket near the fireplace and stretched. He sniffed at her skirts. She reached down and drew the dog closer. His hound would provide no protection from the things she feared. Even Rebel seemed to know this, and rubbed his head against her skirts.

  “He’s telling you not to be afraid.”

  Pru glared. “What does the dog know? You didn’t accost him.”

  Another defense, that prim, prickly exterior. Pru hid her passionate nature well—until she’d kissed him. Arch resisted the urge to smile. “I didn’t accost you, either. I kissed you, and you kissed me back.” He wet his lips. “Very nicely, I might add.”

  Her cheeks flushed, which would’ve been pretty had she not narrowed her eyes. “I won’t let you lure me into sin.”

  She’d been attending too many tent meetings.

  “That didn’t feel like sin to me, was too good to be bad.”

  “Sacrilegious heathen.”

  This time he did smile. She ruffled up her feathers like a prairie hen trying to scare away a predator. “How come you’re so scared when you know I won’t hurt you? I’d love you real good…if you’d let me.”

  Shock flashed across of her face, followed by stark fear. “Love! You aren’t offering me love. Don’t insult me by trying to disguise your intentions. You want to…to…” She jabbed the spoon at him, finishing her thought with what she might not have realized was a crude gesture. “Because you think I’m a foolish old maid you can trick into falling for your advances, so I won’t report you or your conniving brothers.”

  Arch dropped his arms. Her accusation wasn’t exactly true, but close enough to make him feel guilty about marrying her to suit his own interests. She seemed to think it was impossible for him to have any genuine feelings for her. Either she considered him incapable of tender emotions or she feared she couldn’t inspire them.

  Facing off made her more defensive, so he took a seat at the table and picked up a bread loaf. The thing felt heavy as a so
d brick. He tried to break it in half. Finally, he took his penknife to pry off a piece. Maybe she’d gotten distracted and left the pan in the coals too long. “Why do you doubt that I could desire you, or have a care for you?” he asked in a non-threatening tone.

  She pushed the second loaf out of his reach, for some odd reason, and stepped back, as if she feared he might make a grab for her. “What a foolish question. You’re a healthy young man. Look at me. I’m plain and thirty and have never been married. I’m a dried-up old maid.”

  Arch gave her curvy form a good look-over like she’d asked. “You don’t look dried up to me.”

  Her cheeks flushed the color of a ripe peach.

  “And you’re pretty when you blush.”

  This bread, on the other hand, was dry as winter wood. Maybe butter would soften it. He dipped his knife into a small crock filled with whitish yellow butter that had flakes in it. He couldn’t remember butter ever looking flaky.

  She eyed the buttered bread with frowning concern. Apparently, she was aware that the butter wasn’t quite right. He didn’t want to complain and make her feel even worse about herself.

  “You don’t have to say things you know aren’t true.”

  Her accusation annoyed him. His motives might be suspect, but not his honor.

  “You think I’m lying?” If kissing hadn’t convinced her that he found her desirable, saying it wouldn’t make her believe him, but he had to try to get through to her so she would stop finding excuses to refuse him. “Surely somebody besides me has told you that you’re pretty.”

  A sad, wistful look came into her eyes. “A long time ago…”

  “Did he ask for your hand?”

  Instead of answering, she reached for the bowls she’d put on the table. He took one before she could whisk them away. “I’ve received several proposals. None were from the kind of man I’d marry.”

  “Ah, so you’re picky…”

  “No, I have standards.”

  “Having standards isn’t a bad thing. As long as you aren’t impossible to please.” He bit into the buttered bread—and about broke off his front teeth. He’d offend her if he threw it into the fire. Maybe he could soften it. From the Dutch oven, he dipped out a serving of soupy beans.