Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train (16 page)

Arch narrowed his eyes, bringing Obe’s bearded face into sharp focus. His oldest brother always could set him off, but he had never come so close to hate. Obe had masterminded the abduction and thought so little of Pru that he imagined she would be grateful. “Don’t you speak of her with disrespect.”

“I’ll speak of her any way I want.” Obe rolled up his sleeve, revealing a ropey forearm, and his eyes glinted with anger. “You can try to stop me.”

T.J. scooted back, pulling the coats out of the way, presumably to clear a space for the oncoming brawl.

Vern came to his feet and got between them, putting his hands up to keep them apart. “Now simmer down, you two. Ain’t the time or place for this.”

“Back off, Vernon Lee. You can wipe the brat’s nose after I bloody it.” Obe rolled up his other sleeve.

After a brief hesitation, Vern finally stepped back. He sent Arch a questioning look, perhaps expecting him to exercise common sense. It was too late for that. He’d stopped being sensible the day he’d met Pru.

Arch braced his feet and flexed his fingers. His tendency to avoid fights had given Obe the idea he couldn’t whip his big brother. He’d prefer to make the arrogant cur kneel before Pru, but seeing as she was long gone, he’d have to settle for thrashing Obe in front of the other two. “You’ll apologize for what you said, and for what you did to Miss Walker.”

His brother’s smile broadened. “Make me.”

Arch waited too long to throw the first punch. He realized the mistake almost immediately. Not soon enough to avoid his brother’s fist. The first blow glanced off his chin and made his teeth snap together. He blocked the next punch. Then he threw his weight and his rage behind a solid blow to Obe’s midsection that sent the taller man staggering back against the wall.

A loud crack reverberated, wood splintering. His brother slid to the floor and slumped forward over his knees, groaning. He hugged his middle.

“You broke his ribs,” T.J. said in an awed whisper.

That cracking sound couldn’t have come from ribs breaking… Or could it?

“He had it coming.” Arch spoke with more conviction than he felt. What if he’d dealt his brother a mortal blow? He would never forgive himself, in spite of being angry enough to spit nails.

He eyed the other two, wary of their reaction. Vern and T.J. might decide to take up where Obe had left off. They appeared more concerned about Obadiah.

Arch leaned over and held out his hand, ready to make peace. “Here, let me help you up.”

His brother’s hand shot out. Before Arch could react, Obe grabbed his wrist and yanked hard, sending him headfirst into the slatted wall. Pain exploded in his head. His vision blurred. Seizing the advantage, his brother threw his weight against him and took him to the floor.

How stupid to fall for the oldest trick in the world.

They grappled as they rolled on damp, filthy straw, both throwing punches, yet not able to get much leverage. In strength, they were evenly matched, but that knock on the head had stunned Arch. His brother rolled him on his back, powerful fingers closed around his throat.

Would Obe strangle him in a fit of rage?

Knowing the answer sent a surge of fear through Arch and he fought wildly to throw off the madman and regain control. Thrashing, he hit something with his foot.

An awful stench filled the air.

“Awww crap,” Vern shouted.

“Git up! Yer rollin’ in shit!” yelled T.J.

Obe looked away, his grip on Arch’s throat lessening. He started to get up. Done with fighting fair, Arch jerked his knee upwards, connecting with the most vulnerable part on a man’s body. His brother toppled over with a pain-filled howl, cupping his hands protectively around his balls. He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

Arch rolled over, coughing. He couldn’t catch his breath because his throat kept closing up from the godawful stench. He crawled away on all fours, as far as he could go. The smell followed him. He tore away his suspenders and ripped off the shirt.

Swearing, T.J. dragged Obe away from the overturned contents of the bucket.

Vern lumbered over to join Arch at the furthest point from the foul mess. He kicked away the stained shirt. “You’re both idiots.”

True enough.

Arch slumped down and leaned against the wall for support. His body ached in all the places Obe had used him as a punching bag. Threading his fingers through his hair to push it out of his face, he gingerly touched a lump the size of an egg. He couldn’t say who’d won, and it didn’t matter anyhow. Not much seemed to matter now that Pru was gone.

A noise came from the door, the scraping of the padlock being opened. The soldiers must’ve heard the commotion and were coming to check on what happened. Good. Opening the door would let in fresh air.

Sunlight spilled into the car and over the soiled straw. The youthful private who entered with a rifle drew back and scrunched his nose. “Good God! What’s that smell?”

“I kicked the bucket,” Arch drawled.

The soldier didn’t smile. Arch thought it was funny as hell. Then again, he found a lot of things funny that no one else seemed to find amusing.

“You don’t want to come in here,” the private said to someone behind him.

“Yes, we do. The lieutenant gave his permission.” The voice Arch recognized, but couldn’t place. A moment later, a man in a black suit ducked into the door. The preacher, Stillwater was his name. He must’ve been sent to give them a chance to confess their sins before a firing squad dispatched them to hell.

“Might want to reconsider holding a prayer meeting in here, Reverend,” Arch muttered.

From beneath the brim of a black hat, the preacher took in the scene in one sweeping glance. Didn’t even flinch, although his nose had to be rebelling. His gaze came to rest on Arch, and then he pointed and addressed the private. “That man. He’s the one we want.”

The soldier motioned with his rifle for Arch to get up. Unsmiling, Vern lent a hand. Arch bit back a groan as pain shot through his side. His vision had gotten better, but his head felt like a blacksmith had used it as an anvil.

“What about the rest of us? You can’t leave us in here. It ain’t human.” T.J. scrambled to his feet, apparently ready to abandon Obe, who remained curled up on the straw, clutching his balls and moaning.

“You three, stay.” The private raised his rifle to emphasize his point.

What purpose the preacher had with him, Arch couldn’t fathom, but he gladly followed the reverend out the door and away from the smell.

The bright light outside momentarily blinded him. Dizziness struck. He held onto the metal rail so he didn’t fall off the last step.

“Arch?”

He froze at a voice he thought he’d never hear again. Then he staggered, finding the ground with his foot a moment before he lost his balance.

Pru appeared in front of him. She’d changed into a brown dress with cheerful smattering of white and yellow flowers. Perched on her head was a little straw hat with what looked like turkey feathers. Dark curls framed her face.

She looked fresh and young and so pretty it made his heart ache. That knock on the head might’ve done something to his brain, and that was why he
thought
he saw Pru all dressed up like she was going to church.

The fantasy woman drew closer and touched his cheek. The contact jolted through him.

Good God, she wasn’t a dream. She was real.

A throbbing beat in his chest became a wild drumming. He had to moisten his swollen lip before he could speak, and even then, his voice came out sounding like a file on metal. “What are you doin’ here?”

Her nostrils flared as if she’d picked up his scent and distress clouded her gaze, which was completely understandable. “I’ve come to marry you.”

Chapter 10

The wedding took place an hour later in the railroad agent’s office. When Prudence saw Arch again, he had cleaned up…somewhat. He wore a fresh shirt, likely borrowed, had slicked his hair back and washed his face and hands. Bruises marred his chin and cheekbone, and he had a cut on his lip. He hadn’t shed light on what happened to him, and there wasn’t time to talk before the ceremony began.

When they stood together before the preacher and began to say their vows, tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to stop them, but couldn’t, and blubbered throughout the entire ceremony. Every time she looked at Arch, a fresh flow would start. When they left, she was crying.

Embarrassed by her loss of control, she didn’t open her mouth until he helped her into the wagon and took up the reins to turn the horse homeward.

“I’m sorry I turned into a watering pot.” She mopped her eyes with a handkerchief.

“You all right now?”

“I believe so.”

“That’s good.” Relief flickered in his clear gaze and the tightness around his mouth eased. Like most men, he didn’t understand happy tears and had no idea what to do with a weepy woman. At one point, he’d stopped the ceremony. Her assurances hadn’t seemed to entirely convince him, but he’d let the reverend continue.

“Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually not so teary. I suppose it can be forgiven on my wedding day.”

He eyed her with solemn speculation. She hoped he might make a joke to ease the strain, but he remained quiet. Not even a wisecrack when he had secured two absurdly heavy steamer trunks in the back of the wagon. Most of what she’d packed was her mother’s china and her father’s favorite books. At one time, those belongings had been the most important things in her life. That was before she’d met Arch. He had given her something she couldn’t put a price on or pack away. She hadn’t imagined she could find a treasure as rare as love, until he had fanned the flames. If only she could be sure he wanted this marriage as much as she did.

She expected him to be glad that she’d decided to stay, and had hoped he would be pleased about her decision to marry him. He appeared to be neither.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Charm called out, waving as the wagon pulled way. She’d stood beside Pru, along with three other friends. Patrick O’Shea had acted as best man after Arch refused the lieutenant’s offer to bring his brothers to stand beside him.

“We’ll miss you!” Delilah held up a lacy handkerchief. Her cheeks were wet, which was nothing unusual. She cried at the drop of a hat.

Susannah Braddock’s seven-year-old son chased after the wagon, yelling. “Bring an apple pie when you come back.”

Prudence grimaced at Arch’s stony expression. He probably thought her pies tasted as bad as her beans. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too angry when she confessed her deception. An apple pie might be just the thing to make the truth go down easier.

She turned and waved at her friends. “Thank you for everything! I’ll be back to visit!”

Chances were good the others would be married by then. They would’ve all been married weeks ago, if Mr. Hardt had gotten his way. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened. Prudence was certain she wouldn’t be married to Arch. She had been ready to settle for some staid farmer closer to her age. Instead, she’d risked her heart and married a man five years younger, who happened to be a bootlegger, a man with an uncertain future. But he was the man she loved. Deep inside, she knew she’d done the right thing. She wasn’t sure she had done the right thing soon enough.

Her mood drooped lower than the feather dangling in front of her face. She flicked it out of the way and tipped the straw hat forward. The brim barely shaded her eyes. “I don’t know why I let Susannah talk me into wearing this fancy hat. A sunbonnet would be much more practical.”

Arch darted a look at her frivolous purchase. “The hat suits you…” His gaze held her eyes a moment before sliding downward. “And the dress.”

Her skin warmed beneath his scrutiny. “Gray is easier to keep clean. But I thought the calico more appropriate for our wedding.” She brushed dust off her skirts and tried to lighten the mood. “Susannah also pointed out, this is the one dress I own that’s in a cheerful color.”

“We could go back and see about purchasing some fabric so Ma could make you another dress. I forgot about it.”

“Heavens, no. Don’t turn around.” She didn’t want him to feel guilty. “I don’t need more fabric at the moment. When I do, I can sew my own things. Your mother doesn’t have to sew for me.”

“She’ll insist on making you something, so you might as well let her.”

“Are you saying she’s as stubborn as I am?” Prudence smiled, thinking he’d be amused if she poked fun at herself.

“Hard to say which one of you I’d wager on.” He didn’t smile, but at least she’d gotten him to engage in wry banter. His somber mood might have nothing to do with her.

“Are you sure you’re not in pain?” She reached over and lightly brushed her fingers along his jaw where a bruise had turned his skin dark purple.

He turned his head to look at her and dismay filled his gaze.

The side of the wagon dropped. Her heart stopped as she felt her backside leave the seat. She grasped the rail to keep from flying off and bounced as Arch hauled on the reins.

“Haw,” he called out. The horse veered to the left, bringing the wagon out of the gully on the right. The wheels bumped and then the ride became smooth again.