Prissy's Predicament (Tales From Biders Clump Book 6)

by Danni Roan

  Prissy had always liked cooking. She loved everything about it, including the eating, which was probably why she ran toward plump while her sisters remained willowy.

  “Well perhaps not Aquila at the moment,” she giggled. Her oldest sister looked rather like an elongated turnip at the moment.

  She was glad that Quil had finally agreed to stay in town until the baby came, even if only to calm her mother’s fears. It was exciting thinking of becoming an aunt. Perhaps Sara would be the next to have a baby, or their friend Janine.

  The thought of her sassy sister Sara expecting made her both happy and sad. She didn’t think she’d miss her so much when she left.

  “I could walk over there,” she mused to herself, laughing at the fact that she’d started talking to herself as her thoughts jumped about.

  “Walk over where?” a voice called and a moment later Sara herself entered through the open door.

  “Sara!” Prissy squealed, racing to embrace her younger sister.

  “Where’s mother?” Sara asked, hugging Prissy back.

  “Out driving with your father-in-law,” Prissy said. “Oh, what’s in the bag?” she asked excitedly, looking at the canvas bag dangling from Sara’s arm.

  Sara scrunched up her nose. “I wondered when you’d see that.” She tossed her head making, her reddish-brown hair bounce.

  “I might have brought you some fudge and a few cookies, but you have to promise to share.”

  “I always share,” Prissy blustered.

  “I hear you’ve been sharing a little more at the Grist Mill as well,” Sara said, placing her bag on the table.

  “I think I’ll take a break from that when the jam is all done,” Prissy replied, turning to put the tea kettle on. “It isn’t the same lately.”

  Sara studied her older sister; even from here, she could see that something wasn’t quite right.

  “What are you making today?” she finally asked. It had been a while since she and Prissy had had any time to catch up.

  “Crabapple pickles,” Prissy said, “they’re sweet and spicy all at once.”

  Sara wrinkled her nose again. “Crabapples do not sound good at all and where did you get them anyway?”

  “Toby,” Prissy replied then continued to tell the tale, making Sara laugh.

  “That boy,” she chuckled, “One of these days he’s going to get himself into a mess he can’t get out of.”

  “He’s had a rough time lately,” Priscilla defended the boy.

  “How’s Rafe?” Prissy finally asked as she made the tea and settled in for a good visit.

  “He’s doing fine,” Sara said, her whole face brightening and a soft light filling her green eyes.

  Prissy sighed studying her sister, who was obviously completely in love with her husband. “Who would have ever guessed that falling out of a tree could be so good for a body?” she laughed.

  “And what about you, Prissy? Hasn’t anyone caught your eye.”

  Prissy tossed her blonde curls. “I can’t think of anyone who’s worthy of my affections,” she said, turning her nose up to cover the hurt in her heart. She couldn’t understand why Rupert wasn’t interested in her, at least not as a woman.

  A heavy tread on the back door step had both girls turning to see who was coming.

  “It’s just me,” Rock’s voice echoed through the door. “I brung ya some rabbits, Miss Prissy. I had a snare line set this week and got lots more’n I expected.

  “Oh thank you, Rock. How about I cook a few up tonight for dinner?”

  “That’d be just fine. Howdy, Miss Sara,” he added. “I didn’t see your horse outside.”

  “I walked over, Rock,” Sara said, “There are benefits to having my new house right between the two ranch properties,” she added.

  After Rock left, Prissy and Sara settled at the table once more, nibbling fudge and drinking tea.

  “Sara,” Priscilla finally asked, “How’d you know that Rafe was right for you?”

  “I don’t know,” Sara replied, “I just knew, that moment when his eyes met mine, there was a connection I don’t think I can explain.”

  “It wasn’t all that easy though, was it?”

  “No, I’m afraid that with the trouble between mother and Mr. Dixon, it wasn’t easy. At one point, I thought we’d never be together.”

  “Do you think everyone has troubles with love?” Prissy’s voice was thoughtful.

  “Probably,” Sara said. “I mean, anytime you put two different people together there is bound to be some miscommunication or other that causes problems.”

  “Do you and Rafe have problems like that?”

  For a long moment, Sara was silent then she spoke. “Sometimes, mostly it’s not understanding what the other is thinking. You know I’ve learned that I can’t expect Rafe to read my mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well it’s not like all those story books. People see things differently and even when they’re in love, they don’t always know what the other person needs. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m learning that if I want Rafe to know something, or do something, I have to tell him or he won’t know.”

  “But I thought that when people were in love they were so in tune with each other that they could tell when something was wrong.”

  Sara laughed. “I thought so, too, but it can’t always be like that. I’m not criticizing here; I’m just trying to explain.” She sipped her tea, ordering her thoughts. “Last week I was annoyed at Rafe because he was late for dinner. I was all ready to give him a piece of my mind when he walked into the house, covered in blood up to his elbows.”

  Prissy gasped, “Oh no, what happened? Is he alright?”

  “He’s fine,” Sara continued, “his favorite mare had a late foal, but couldn’t deliver. He did everything he could, but barely saved the mother.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Prissy said, patting her sister’s hand, “that must have been hard.”

  “It was, but the point is he was so busy with trying to save the mare that he didn’t have a clue what time it was. He wasn’t being inconsiderate when he was late, he had other things to do.”

  Prissy studied her sister, seeing that softness in her eyes again.

  “Sometimes people are careless, or selfish or even mean, but mostly they’re just trying to do the best they know how.”

  With her final word, Sara rose to her feet, collecting her bag. “I’d better get home,” she said. “We’re supposed to go over to Bruno and Janine’s for supper tonight.”

  “Oh my!” Prissy said. following her to the door. “Is Janine cooking?”

  “Yes,” Sara replied with a trace of trepidation in her voice.

  “Good luck,” Prissy offered, shaking her head.

  Chapter 3

  “You goin’ back into town today?” Rock asked, leading Sugar out of the barn for Prissy the next day.

  “Yes, I cooked up all those rabbits you brought me and thought I’d take them to the Mill. A lot of people like rabbit around here and I thought Tate might like them.”

  “That’s right nice of you,” Rock offered with a grin, helping her into the saddle before settling the pans she’d set on the porch into the panniers.

  “Oh, I don’t know how nice it is,” Prissy replied, lifting the reins. “You see, I intend to buy something pretty with the money after I split it with you.”

  “You don’t need to give me none of that Miss Priscilla, I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “You caught the rabbits, Rock, and the Bible says a workman is worthy of his pay.”

  Rock grinned big, splitting his square jawed face wide. “You could always just pay me with your cookin’,” he said, then ambled away.

  “Morning Prissy.” Cameron Royal trotted into the yard as Prissy turned Sugar down the trail to town.

  “Hi Cam,” she greeted, pulling rein to chat with her dark-haired brother-in-law. “You just coming from town?”

  “Yep.”


  “How’s Quil?”

  “Impatient.” The lean cowpuncher laughed. “It’s a good thing she has that typewriter to keep her busy.”

  “Has she written many stories lately?”

  “She’s working on a full-length novel now. She already knocked out four or five shorts for that paper in Chicago, and now she’s hammering away at this new book.” He grinned, giving his shaggy head a shake.

  Prissy smiled. “Do you think being pregnant has made her like that?”

  “I don’t know, all I know is she seems to get these brain waves and can’t stop until they’re on paper.” The handsome man grinned again, obviously proud of his wife.

  “What you takin’ to the Mill today?”

  “Rabbits. There’s still some cold meat in the ice-box if you’re hungry. I’m sure mother will be glad to get you something.”

  “No, Ms. Polly fed me up before I left. For now I’d better get to work before the men start thinking I’ve abandoned them.” He touched his hat and kicked his sorrel horse into a trot.

  ***

  It was still early when Prissy rode up to the hitching rail at the Mill, but several horses and buggies were already nearby as early morning customers came to get a quick lunch or pick up baked goods for home.

  “Well, I never,” a disgruntled woman in a neat pink dress said. “I came off the train for a proper breakfast and all this place can offer is coffee and cold baked goods,” she huffed, and headed across the street toward the boarding house.

  Bewildered by the woman’s attitude, Prissy moved into the building, only to stop shocked by the scene of chaos.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jack the waiter was saying. “We ain’t got no hot food just now, the cook’s out sick, but we got lots of bread and such.” He indicated the baked goods stand where Rupert was trying to shuffle his ever-decreasing stock.

  “My little boy needs a hot breakfast,” the woman said. “We have a long trip ahead yet and he can’t go on living on sandwiches.”

  “I’m really sorry, ma’am.”

  “Miss Pris,” Rupert’s voice rang out, a hint of panicked confusion in his accented tone. “I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a stew this morning.”

  “What happened, Rupert?” Prissy hurried to his stand, where he was filling a bag with several tarts for a man who tapped his foot impatiently.

  “It’s Tate,” Rupert offered, taking the customer’s money and handing him the bag. “He’s out sick. Doc says he doesn’t know how long he’ll be out.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to feed my son?” the woman next to Jack asked shrilly.

  “You could try the boarding house next door,” Jack offered, looking about helplessly.

  Prissy looked between Rupert and Jack, taking in the scene. More disgruntled customers were gazing about them as they waited on the other server, Mary, to bring them coffee and rolls.

  Hurrying to Jack’s side, Prissy laid her hand on the woman’s arm and smiled down at the little boy holding tight to his mother. He was a pudgy, bright-eyed little fellow of about three and he grinned at her cheekily.

  “It’s alight ma’am. You just have a seat and Jack will bring you some coffee and a few sticky-buns while I make up some porridge for your boy.” Again she smiled, trying to smooth the woman’s ruffled feathers.

  “With molasses?” the woman asked, raising a haughty brow.

  “Of course, and how about some bacon and eggs for you?”

  The woman smiled, obviously liking the idea of a good meal. It was always hard to deal with people when they were hungry; it made them short-tempered and impatient.

  “You can sit right over here-” Jack offered- gesturing toward a table by a window.

  Still carrying her heavy basket- Prissy entered the kitchen and pulled down an apron from a peg where several were kept for staff use.

  “Margaret, are you here?” Prissy called, draping the apron over her head and tying it at her waist.

  “Miss Priscilla, what are you doing here?” an older woman called entering from a small pantry. “I was layin’ the fire when Doc come over and told us Tate was down sick. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Well tell me what you’ve done while you fetch me some bacon and eggs,” Prissy said. “I’ll start the porridge right away,” she added, lifting a large pot from a shelf on a wall.

  Prissy had been in the kitchen several times talking to Tate, who had always been willing to try her new creations. The cook of the Grist Mill had been the first to agree to buy her jams when her family thought they’d lose the ranch, so the room was familiar.

  “I come in and set the stoves goin,’ then put the coffee on to start, like always.” The small woman with the brown bun smiled. “Course, Mr. Rupert was already here baking, but he can’t keep up with bakin’ with no one cooking regular food.”

  “That’s fine,” Prissy said, cracking three eggs into a hot skillet, along with several strips of bacon.

  “Miss Priscilla, am I supposed to take orders now?” Jack came in, looking around.

  “Yes, you and Mary can take orders and I’ll fill them. Keep it simple though; bacon, eggs, porridge, toast. That sort of thing.”

  “Alright,” the young man said, huffing a sigh of relief and heading back out to the dining room.

  “You alright Miss Pris?” Rupert asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  “I’m just fine Rupert,” Prissy said, slipping into the habit of calling him by his Christian name. “A quick breakfast is nothing for me,” she answered cheerily.

  “I’ll try to get folks to buy baked goods as much as possible to take the pressure off,” he offered kindly.

  “I’m not sure your stock will last long,” Prissy said, flipping the eggs over easy. “Don’t worry over me,” she finished. “I’m used to cooking for lots of folks.”

  Rupert grinned, his eyes full of some strange light that Prissy didn’t recognize, then turned sharply on his heel, disappearing into the other room.

  Soon the rattle of pots and pans and the sizzle of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen. The wait staff hustled in and out, carrying coffee and orders to the guests.

  Several compliments were also carried back to Prissy from thankful guests, making her smile and hum happily.

  “That’s the last one,” Jack said, placing the coffee pot on the back of the stove and wiping his forehead with a sleeve. “You sure did save our hides,” he added with a grin.

  The door outside opened and closed again and everyone looked out the door.

  “What? Still open?” Doctor Walker called into the almost empty building.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, Priscilla walked out of the kitchen toward the doctor. As she moved forward, Rupert also stepped out from behind his booth, joining her.

  “Oh, I see,” The doctor chimed, “I take it you are the reason our visitors were able to get a good meal today.” He took in Prissy and Rupert’s rumpled appearances and the grease-spattered apron.

  “We couldn’t have Biders Clumps most prominent eatery discredited, could we?” Prissy offered with a grin.

  “I’m afraid it may still have to be shut down,” the doctor said, looking around him at the expectant faces. “I’m afraid Tate has appendicitis and if it doesn’t improve, I’ll have to operate.”

  “It’s that serious?” Rupert drawled, his clipped English accent smoothing over his concern.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Prissy looked at Rupert, seeing the worry lines around his eyes. “You could still run the bakery,” she offered, knowing he needed to be able to make a living as much as anyone else in the tiny town at the foot of the Rockies.

  “That’s true.” He smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just thinking how much it will set Tate back.” He looked between Doc and Prissy. “I understand his sister is coming out here to work as well, something about her losing her position.” He lowered his chin and shook his head.

  “Is there any chance I can get something
to eat?” the doctor asked hopefully. “I was up all night with a colicky baby…” His words dropped off as Priscilla turned for the kitchen.

  “It’s only bacon, eggs and toast,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Sounds fine.”

  “I’ll help,” Rupert offered, following her back into the warmth of the kitchen. “I’ll get my bread in the oven at the same time.”

  Moments later they were both working side by side, Rupert toasting bread in the hot oven while Prissy gently turned the eggs.

  “You could stay on, you know,” Rupert suggested, taking the crisp bread from the oven and spreading fresh butter on each piece.

  “I don’t know,” Prissy said, making the mistake of looking up into his troubled eyes.

  “Of course, of course. It’s too much to ask,” the young man said softly, plating the toast and adding a small pot of jam to the tray.

  Lifting the eggs to a plate and adding several perfectly cooked pieces of bacon, Prissy handed them off to her companion. “I’ll stay for the day and then we’ll decide from there,” she said, surprised at the bright smile that covered the young man’s handsome face at her offer.

  “Brilliant!” he chimed, lifting the tray himself and walking out to serve the doctor.

  Chapter 4

  Rupert Rutherford slashed a knife across the taunt dough of the well-leavened loaves, evenly splitting their tops before pouring warm butter and honey into the groove.

  Smiling, he tipped his head to catch a glimpse of Priscilla Adams ordering the kitchen and putting the rabbits in to warm. She’d created a menu around the rabbit and some oven-fried chicken. The smells of the food warming were enough to make his mouth water.

  Miss Pris’ was quite the young lady, far too much so for the likes of him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy her company. From the first time they’d met, he’d been drawn to her. There was no doubt he admired her, fancied her, even. He smiled, thinking of their animated conversations over food and cookery of all kinds.

  He’s been shocked when she said she hated to bake, not even something as simple as bread. He shook his head, hefting the large, many-chambered loaf pans into the hot oven. He would have six loaves of honeyed bread in a short time.