Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train (5 page)

She didn’t see her dress. He’d left his coat hanging on the back of the chair. She shrugged on the garment, which swallowed her in its bulk. Buttoned up, it would cover her, if not decently. She’d worry about decency after she escaped.

He started banging pots…or was he cooking? He’d gone to a great deal of trouble for her. That didn’t mean she was obligated to marry the odd fellow, and certainly not if she had to listen to him whistle that infernal tune.

She tiptoed to a window with greased paper covering the panes, which wasn’t uncommon out here. Actual windows were rare, glass even more so. Arch’s roughhewn cabin looked to be more permanent than some of the lean-tos and tarpaper structures dotting the countryside, which had been built solely to satisfy claim requirements. The land rush in Kansas had become famous for attracting fortune hunters. Arch might intend to stay, rather than sell out before the ink dried on his deed. She wished him luck. In spite of everything, he’d done her a good turn by tending her while she was sick. She wasn’t about to remain here, however. Not for another day, much less a week.

Her stomach let out a growl so loud he would’ve heard it had he not been making such a racket. He’d started singing. A rich baritone that was far more pleasing than the whistling. Pity he didn’t know another song.

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 behind 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.”