Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train (10 page)

He followed her outside. Might be she’d run for fear he would give in to his
animal passions
again. So, she thought of him as a rutting stallion? Granted, laughing hadn’t been the best response, even if her remark had been funny, and sort of a compliment, too, though she hadn’t meant it to be.

“Pru, wait, you don’t have to run. I won’t kiss you—” No, he couldn’t make a promise he was sure to break. “Without asking permission.”

She swung around, holding onto the rope handle of an empty bucket. “I won’t give my permission.”

“Then you got nothin’ to worry about.” He remained a few feet away in case she decided to use the bucket as a weapon. “What do you intend to do with that?”

“I need water…” She looked away like she was embarrassed. “To bathe.”

Why on earth would admitting to wanting a bath be shameful? Then again, she’d been taught that anything remotely pleasurable was a sin.

“You can’t bathe in a bucket. Wash off in the creek.”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Absolutely not. I’m not bathing in the creek. What if your Indian friends are out there?”

“I’ll stand watch…with my back turned. I swear.”

“No, thank you. The scriptures tell us to flee from the Devil.” Squaring her shoulders, she started off in the direction of the trees, swinging the bucket by her side.

First, an animal, now the Devil… He wasn’t making progress in the right direction.

He caught up with her and grabbed the rope handle. “I’ve got a tub around here somewhere. Let me get it.”

She hesitated to release the bucket, but the longing in her eyes told him he’d already won this argument. “Well, I suppose I could wait until you find the tub. I’ll fix us something to eat.”

His stomach did a slow flip. He wasn’t eager to sample another one of her attempts even if he appreciated the effort. “Don’t worry about cooking. There’s cheese in the pantry and a tin of sardines and soda crackers. You can pick lettuce and carrots and whatever else you find in the garden that looks ripe.”

While she stayed busy, Arch cleaned out a metal tub he’d used in the stables and rolled it over next to the house. After five trips down to the creek with two buckets, he finally filled it deep enough for a bath. On the last trip, he dumped a bucketful of water into a large pot, hung it over the fire pit outside and got a blaze going. While the water heated, he darted into the house and collected sheets off the bed. When she asked what he was doing, he told her to be patient.

He’d landed on a way to improve her mood and show her he wasn’t so
incorrigible
.

Using branches and rope, he created a frame for a screen around the tub so she would have privacy. As he draped the sheets over the branches, Rebel sniffed the fabric. The dog might think they were playing a game.

“Leave it alone,” he warned. “Unless you want her to lay into you about your
animal passions
.”

After he’d poured in the hot water, he invited Pru outside.

“Your bath is ready, Miss Walker.” He bowed and gestured, showing her he knew something of fine manners.

Her astonished expression changed to delight when she drew back a sheet and dipped her fingers in the water. “Oh, it’s warm! Arch, thank you!” She whirled around, gave him a quick hug, and then vanished behind the sheet. “This is wonderful. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble…”

“No trouble.” He rolled his aching shoulders. A bath was a simple enough thing, and the effort was worth it to see her so happy. Next time, she might even give him a kiss. After they were married, she could enjoy it, guilt-free.

The sheet rippled. “I’m not sure where to…”

“Hand over your clothes.”

The rustling stopped. She was thinking about it. He wagered that her desire for a bath would win out over her obsessive modesty. After another moment, the sheet moved and she thrust out her dress, followed by petticoats, stockings, and a variety of undergarments. “Please put them inside until I’m finished.”

After laying out her clothing on the bed, he helped himself to some of the food she’d put out. He could go hunting later. Prairie hens were plentiful, and he could teach Pru how to prepare the birds and roast them. He could teach her other things, as well—pleasure being at the top of the list. Once they were married, she might be more willing to learn. She would take to passion as natural as a duckling went to water.

By now, she ought to be enjoying her bath and feeling more charitable.

He dragged a chair outside and sat down.

Rebel stretched out and put his chin on his paws.

The sound of humming came from behind the sheet. Splashing. More humming.

“You enjoying that bath?”

A gasp was followed by a loud splash. “Arch? I didn’t know you were out there.”

“Told you I’d keep watch. Rebel might decide to play tug with the sheet.”

“Oh dear…” The splashing stopped. He really shouldn’t tease her while she was sitting naked in a bathtub.

“Enjoy your bath, Pru. Nobody will bother you, me included. You have my word.”

After a moment, she went back to splashing, indicating she both believed him and trusted him enough to be comfortable in a vulnerable situation, another step in the right direction.

Arch drummed his fingers on his knees. He glanced at the sheet. When she’d been sick and feverish, he’d bathed her down. The thin shift hadn’t hidden much. He’d glimpsed pink-tipped breasts, the shadow at the juncture of her legs. She had the most tempting body, yet he hadn’t taken advantage of her by gawking…more than necessary.

He wasn’t an animal and he could control himself.

The sounds she made as she bathed stirred tantalizing images. If he didn’t find some distraction, pretty soon he’d soon be in a state that wouldn’t be good for either of them—at the present moment.

He started whistling.

“Please, no,” she cried. “Don’t you know anything besides
Dixie?
”

She’d told him she was from Ohio…a Yankee girl.

“Bonnie Blue Flag?” He stretched out his legs and grinned, waiting.

She rewarded him with a groan. “I should’ve known you’d memorize Confederate tunes. You named your dog Rebel.”

Arch debated how much to tell her about his past association with a lost cause. No point in denying it. Then again, there was no need to hash it over, either, and get sidetracked on a pointless argument about which side was right. “My brother named him. I took him in after he tangled with a bear.”

“Your brother didn’t want an injured animal, I take it?”

Obe would’ve shot the dog.

“He didn’t see much use for a hound that can’t earn its way.”

“How fortunate for Rebel that you and your brother don’t agree.”

The hound lifted his head at his name. When Arch reached down, Rebel licked his fingers. Most men would’ve put the animal out of its misery, rather than spending weeks nursing the dog’s grievous injuries. He’d known he was being foolishly sentimental, hadn’t regretted it, though. He refused to regret his decision to hold onto Pru. She wasn’t a three-legged dog, but she needed him…even if she didn’t realize it yet.

“Guess I’m soft-hearted,” he admitted.

“That’s not a flaw.”

“Never said it was, but being seen as soft can be dangerous. That’s why I don’t let too many folks in on my secret.”

“I’ll keep your secret safe…” Water sloshed. “Would you bring me my clothes?”

“Sure will.” He headed inside, smiling and more confident than ever. One bath, and Pru had already softened toward him. A few more favors, and he would gain her agreement to be his wife, and everything would work out fine.

At some point, he had to break the news about the family business. She might not like the idea of being called a bootlegger’s wife, but it was more respectable than the alternative.

Chapter 6

Prudence finished dressing behind the screen then drifted inside the house to look for a brush so she could work out the damp tangles. She went behind the curtain and searched around the washstand and on the bed. “Do you know where the brush went?” she called.

“Out here.”

Arch stood at the table where he’d pulled out a chair. He held up the boar-bristle brush and smiled suggestively. Unbelievable. He’d already pampered her by preparing a warm bath. Now he wished to perform another service.

“You…you want to brush my hair?” Why, the very idea of allowing the intimacy made her insides quiver. She couldn’t call it fear, more like anticipation.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she went to the chair and sat down. A faint, strident voice exhorted, the privilege belonged to a husband. Her conscience spoke up too late. She’d already given Arch permission.

“I’ll warn you, when it’s tangled like this, it isn’t fun to brush.”

“Not fun for you…” He let her draw the obvious implication as he lifted the heavy tresses over the chair back.

She straightened her spine, her heart thudding.

“Don’t be nervous, sweet pea.”

At the endearment, Prudence blushed like a schoolgirl with her first beau. In many ways, Arch was her first. No other man had kissed her or introduced her to passion or stirred emotions buried deep in her heart. Of course, she wouldn’t be his first in any sense of the word. He must’ve left behind a long string of broken hearts, being temptation personified. She had a strong moral backbone and couldn’t resist him.

That he appeared to be attracted to her was harder to understand. While she wasn’t ugly, she knew full well she wasn’t pretty, either.
Plain Prudence
. That’s what even her friends had called her. She acknowledged it as a fact rather than an insult. But Arch saw a different woman when he looked at her. He saw a woman who was lovely and alluring. He saw the woman she longed to be.

He lifted a length of hair and began to work his fingers through it. The gentle tugs pulled at her scalp without hurting. “Got to work out these tangles with my fingers before I use the brush, or it’ll tear your hair.”

“How do you know so much about brushing women’s hair?” She tried not to sound jealous.

“When I was four, maybe five, I used to brush out my ma’s hair. Hers was long and thick, like yours. Pa wasn’t around much to help and I was always underfoot. She must’ve reckoned a brush would give me something to do.”

“My mother used to brush my hair. She didn’t worry too much about hurting me, said I needed a tougher hide…like a buffalo.”

Arch huffed a laugh. “You can’t be related to buffalo. Your hair’s too silky.”

He dragged the brush through the thick strands. She couldn’t call the aching his touch inspired painful. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this…this craving. While it was too early to name whatever grew between them something more than attraction, they were headed toward a relationship she hadn’t thought possible two days ago.

“Where are your parents now?” he asked.

“They’re both gone, two years ago this summer, after several years of being bedridden.

“You took care of them.”

“As their daughter, yes, it was my responsibility to see to their comfort…” That made it sound like a chore and implied resentment. Even if both were true to some extent, she’d loved her parents and wouldn’t have let anyone else care for them. “I did so gladly.”

“Taking care of sick folks is hard work.”

His reminder humbled her.

“I imagine it wasn’t easy taking care of me when I was ill.”

“Wasn’t as much of a chore as I made out. You aren’t old…or frail.” His voice dropped lower, the rough tone and his brushing acting like a fine abrasive on her sensitive skin. “I was talking about how hard my ma worked when she had to tend to my grandparents. They were…
incorrigible.
”

She smiled at his clever use of the insult she’d flung at him. “Is that where you get it from?”

“If it means what I think it means, we’d call it
ornery
. My whole family is like that. What about your family?

“I have one brother, Enoch. He’s five years older, and he can be
ornery
. Mostly, he thinks he’s right about everything. He took his wife and children to California, and he offered to take me along. But…I didn’t want to be a burden. I had two younger brothers. Twins. They died when I was eight. I hardly remember them.”

“I’d offer to give you two of mine, but you wouldn’t want them.”

“True,” she murmured. “They make you look like a saint. How is it that you turned out so different?”

“My mother let me brush her hair. Kept me out of trouble…”

The gentle, rhythmic brushing lured Prudence into a sensual trance.

Arch smoothed his hand over her head. “How does it feel?”

“Like clay.”

“Clay?”

“As in, I’ll soon be clay in your hands.”

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Oh, I hope so.”

His response elicited the thrill inspired when facing danger. Warnings sounded in her head that she dared not let this go too far. “I think you’ve brushed out all the tangles. There’s no need to continue.”