Plum Pudding Bride (8 page)

Patience glanced back at Peter. He was flopping around like an oversized pike. Pieces of hay stuck to his hair. She groaned and turned back to Arnie. Not only her life, but an innocent shopkeeper's were in her hands. Her gaze fixed on Arnie's heavy skull. How could she have thought his daguerreotype handsome? “What ransom will you require to free me and Mr. Foote?”

“What ransom are you offering?” His lips parted, revealing that missing back tooth. His breath smelled of tobacco.

She put as much distance between her and the monster as possible while his arm still clenched her waist. “I have sixteen dollars and eighteen cents underneath the foot of my mattress at home. If you give me a forwarding address, I will mail you the money as soon as Mr. Foote and I safely reach town.”

Another guffaw erupted from Arnie's mouth. “I could think of much more appealing things to do on a mattress than dig out some grubby coins.”

She brought up her hand and made a satisfying smack across his cheekbones, but her fingers didn't even leave a mark.

The horses increased their pace on the now-level ground, taking her farther from home.

Dropping the reins, Arnie shoved his hand behind her head. His dirty calluses caught in the wet strands. He yanked, pulling her head towards him. His fingers touched her bosom.

A gasp escaped her lips. “You can't do this!” She struck at him with her fists. “We're in America.”

“And you don't think crime happens here same as in your classics? Doesn't take a command of French to rustle some cattle and abduct a woman.”

“You wouldn't dare.” She shoved against his hard chest.

Grabbing the reins and looping them around one hand, he had her almost in his lap with the other. Her skirt had ridden up from the tussle, her stockings, tangled in petticoats, now exposed. His hand touched her thigh.

A resounding plop from behind was followed by a man's cry.

Hand still on her, Arnie's head swiveled back.

“Unhand her,” said a male voice. Peter was brandishing a pair of packing shears. The winter sun glinted off the steel handles.

The other robber lay in the snow as the cart drew away from him.

With a laugh, Arnie released her and went for his six-shooter.

Peter buried his scissors in the man's massive shoulder.

Arnie let forth a yelp. Blood spurted out of his shoulder and splattered across her bodice. He tottered, yanking the reins for support.

The horses took off at a gallop.

Peter leapt for Arnie's holster. Arnie's good hand pinioned Peter's head even as Peter's fingers wrapped around the pistol butt.

Behind them, the other robber was running towards them.

Patience scrambled over Arnie to grab the flapping reins. With a cry, she urged the steeds to run faster. The horses surged forward.

Arnie and Peter tumbled back over the wagon seat. The motion sent the gun flying. Jumping, Patience grasped for it. Her fingers closed on the slick metal. Balancing on the buckboard, she grabbed the wagon seat. The wooden seat swayed and bucked as the horses careened onwards. Patience looked over her shoulder, hoping Peter had subdued Arnie.

Peter was balanced on top of Arnie, one arm clenched in a death grip around the man's neck. Arnie thrashed, trying to throw Peter off.

“Stop or I'll shoot.” Patience looped the reins on one wrist and got a steady grip on the gun. “I mean it. Stop now.”

Ignoring her, Arnie grabbed Peter's leg and tried to rip him off.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she pulled the trigger. She forced her eyes open again, prepared for the bloody sight of carnage.

Gun smoke surrounded her hand. But rather than a splayed Arnie gasping prayers of repentance as his lifeblood seeped from his veins, the robber who'd been running behind them was hopping on one foot as he clasped his other heel.

A belly laugh belched out of the still-alive-and-well Arnie Dehaven. “And that's why you never teach a woman to shoot.” He lunged for her gun.

Patience jumped back. As she fell over the buckboard towards horses' pounding feet below, she squeezed the trigger again. Falling, she grabbed at the harness and tack, but her fingers clasped on air. Her head smashed against the earth and darkness enveloped her.

“Patience, Patience.”

She opened her eyes to Peter's face.

He looped his arm around her back. His hands were gentle against her bruised back as he helped her to her feet. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her.

Arnie and the other criminal lay bound and gagged in the back of the wagon, which was now facing towards town.

“What happened?” The ground swayed. She grabbed Peter's arm to steady herself.

“You put a bullet in Dehaven's leg and I was able to overpower him and the other robber.”

“You did all that?” He'd ridden after her, squelched two outlaws, rescued her. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. But then the ground began to move in front of her again.

“Come on up. I'll get you home.” He lifted her up into the wagon seat.

10

Several hours later, Peter drove the wagon up to the Gilman sheriff office.

Patience chafed one hand on the other to warm them. Snow dusted Peter's torn coat and gathered in the long strands of hair that had escaped her bun. Her balance had finally returned, but her back and legs warned of coming soreness on the morrow. She sat on the wagon seat as Peter swung down and entered the building.

Candlelight poured out of the church building across the street. The sun had set already, but the snow reflected every light, making the nighttime almost bright. Soft strains of “Silent Night” accompanied by reverent voices emanated into the night. The Christmas Eve service must be almost over.

Sheriff Westwood came out and clapped handcuffs around Arnie's thick wrists. Arnie swore as the sheriff passed him off to a deputy. “Good work, Peter.” Sheriff Westwood smiled. “We'll send these two to the federal marshals.” He asked more questions, but Peter reached up and offered his hand.

Patience jumped into his arms.

A startled expression passed over his face, but he caught her.

Throwing both arms around Peter's neck, she clung to him. The warmth of his chest surrounded her.

His black bowler hat was long since lost in the mountain snow and he stood bareheaded as white flakes accumulated on his close-cropped hair.

“You rescued me. You have my undying gratitude.” She stood on the scuffed toes of her boots to whisper it in his ear. She slid her frozen hands into his.

“It was nothing.” Releasing her hands, he patted her back awkwardly.

Hot tears rolled down her icy face. She buried her head in his shoulder and sucked in the scent. Today he smelled of lemon candies and gingersnaps with just a hint of straw.

A blustery wind tangled around them. Snow fell in heavy flakes as she clung to Peter's warmth.

“Are you all right?” Peter's voice sounded unsure.

“I will be.”

“What happened out there, Peter?” The sheriff moved closer.

The deputy hustled the two robbers forward, approaching the jailhouse.

Touching her shoulders, Peter ignored the sheriff. He moved her far enough way to look into her eyes. His dark eyes held concern. “Should I walk you home? Or would you rather go home with your sister?”

“Sister?” Patience glanced up. The church doors had opened and a crowd now packed the street. Mrs. Clinton wrung her hands and murmured prayers. A few children stared wide-eyed at the robbers as the deputy escorted them into the jail. Blinking, she followed Peter's finger to where Kitty's pink crocheted scarf blew prettily in the wind. Kitty.

Her heart collapsed within her. That was right; Kitty and Peter were in love. Even talking marriage, if Kitty was to be believed. “I—” Releasing Peter, Patience took a step back.

“You've had a trying day.” Peter's hand touched the small of her back as he maneuvered her to Kitty.

Running forward, Kitty grabbed her hand. “Sister! What an awful day. Are you unharmed? Peter was
so
brave.” She turned those big blue eyes of hers up to Peter, her gaze filled with adoration.

Peter didn't correct her. “Take good care of her. Your sister was brave today as well.”

“Of course.” Grabbing her arm, Kitty muscled her off towards home as the crowd closed in around Peter.

“Did you really wrestle down Mr. Dehaven?” A boy's shrill voice rose above the wind.

“Did you know they were wanted criminals when you rode up the mountains after Patience?” asked another young voice.

“Will you get a share of the reward money?”

The questions faded in the snow as Kitty dragged Patience towards home.

“Are you hungry? We were all dreadfully distraught. Mother made three kettles of soup, she was so sick with worry. When the silver courier crawled back into town with the news, we knew something must be terribly wrong. Father wanted to shoot someone, he felt so bad about allowing you to become engaged to a mail-order stranger. Not that there was any ‘allow,' in my opinion. You've always…”

Increasing her pace, Patience dug her hands into her pockets as Kitty droned on. The wind howled around them. Their boots crunched through the foot of snow that had already accumulated.

“Do you think Peter will come by again tonight?”

Kitty stopped talking, an unusual thing for her. A grin twisted up her lips as she met her sister's gaze. “Why, yes, actually. He said he had a special Christmas Eve present for me.”

Patience bit her lip.

11

The flames leapt up to receive the letters Patience tossed into them. How could her sensible nature have deserted her long enough to answer that mail-order-bride announcement?

Pa picked up the littlest Callahan still to be wandering around in an undershirt and hauled him off towards bed.

Yawning, Kitty covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm off to bed too. Give old St. Nick time to do his magic.”

“But what about that present Peter's bringing for you?”

Kitty swung her feet over the settee's arm and started tugging at her bootlaces. Her body in shadow, the firelight cast weird shadows on her face. “You wait up for him, won't you? I'll see what he's brought in the morning.” With one last jerk that sent her boots flying, Kitty pattered off in her stocking feet.

A truly noble sister would have said no to a late-night rendezvous with the other's beau, but she was not truly noble. Besides, Peter and Kitty were completely ill-suited to each other. They'd see that soon. She hoped.

Patience tugged at her bootlaces. Unencumbered of footwear, her stocking feet tapped the floor.

The grandfather clock across the room ticked back and forth in unsettling monotony. As the fire died, only the light of one oil lamp illuminated the sitting room.

Ma appeared in her nightgown and stuffed brown paper packages into stockings before retiring with Pa. Her goodnight wafted up to the rafters above.

Patience thumbed through the magazine Kitty had left:
Godey's Lady's Book
. Who would wear a puffed sleeve like that? It seemed completely impractical. And those lacy little things the magazine called bonnets, is that where Kitty got her ideas for headwear? Her bonnets did set off her hair, but who had time for that kind of fussing over appearance?

The next page was a pattern for crafting an impossibly impractical reticule. Peter didn't actually pick Kitty because she liked these things, did he? Kitty was flighty and frilly and enchanted with all things
Godey's Lady's Book
suggested.

Everything Patience wasn't. She stared down at her sensible boots. The scuffed things didn't even boast a heel. What would Godey's ladies say?

A light knock sounded on the side door.

The magazine fell from Patience's hands.

Peter grew so familiar with Kitty that he used the family entrance.

Her feet slapped against the floor on her way to the door. She lifted the latch.

Snow dusted the shoulders of Peter's wool coat. He stomped his boots on the rock doorstep.

“Merry Christmas Eve.” Peter's quiet voice sounded melodic in the darkness. He extended a brown paper package. Sleet clung to his jacket and snow covered his leather boots.

Her fingers closed on the brown paper as she made room for him to enter. She should wait until morning. Let Kitty open her present. But she could always rewrap it. And she had faced down death today. “Do you mind if I take a peek?” Her fingers hovered over the brown cord.

“Please.” Peter stepped into the room. He closed the door, shutting out the howling wind.

Her fingers moved over the string. She tugged it free. Sliding her hand between the creases of the paper, she parted the packing tape.

Would it be
The Three Musketeers
this time?
Les Miserables
?

A simple crockery pot and the smell of plum pudding wafted up.

“Taste it.” Peter pulled a spoon from the wrapping and dug it into the far right edge.

Hand on the spoon handle, Patience hesitated. “Won't Kitty be upset?”

“She'll understand.” He sounded so confident.

The soft glow of lamplight reflected off of Peter's face.

He had chiseled features. A truly aquiline nose. The spark between him and Kitty would soon fizzle, right? Kitty was more than ten years his junior, with no interest in intellectual subjects.

Patience brought the plum-pudding spoon up.

Peter had obviously been driven loony by her near match with criminal Arnie Dehaven. Now that he knew she was available, he'd scale down the Kitty romance, let her down gently.

Patience's mouth closed on the tangy perfection of plum pudding.

Peter really could cook. A good quality in a husband.

She bit into something hard. Her gaze fell to the spoon. A diamond ring sat squarely on the spoon. A gasp escaped her lips. She stared at the jewel immersed in purply plum pudding.