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

by Danni Roan

It wasn’t long before the music began to flow from fiddle and bow as one by one, couples made their way onto the dance floor.

  Rupert stood at the edge of the dance floor his eyes unerringly finding Prissy again and again, as she danced with one after another of the men in attendance.

  With so many men on the rock crushing crew in Biders Clump, any eligible young woman and even many of the married woman, barely had a moment off the dance floor.

  Rupert hooked his hands behind his back and rocked from heel to toe, heel to toe to the rhythm of the music.

  “Mighty nice shin-dig, ain’t it?” George Olson sidled up to the young man.

  “Indeed,” Rupert replied, turning politely toward the older man.

  “You havin’ a good time?” George continued.

  “Quite,” Rupert lied, his eyes straying toward Prissy once more.

  “How ya doin’ sonny?” the hostler from the livery stable stepped up on the other side of him with a smirk.

  “Fine, fine,” Rupert spoke, somehow feeling hemmed in.

  “Ain’t seen ya dancin’ none.” Byron, the owner of the town’s stable spoke again. “You got a busted foot or something?”

  “No, not at all.” Rupert was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  “Seems to me a young man like you should be out there dancin’ with a pretty girl,” George spoke again.

  “Oh, I don’t think they need me, it’s already quite lively.” Rupert indicated the men on the sidelines waiting for their next turn at the dance.

  George shot a look at Byron behind Rupert’s back, then gazed across the floor.

  “Young man,” Georges voice was low, “if you don’t go out there and dance with Miss Priscilla, I’m gonna tell everyone in town you add sawdust to your flour.”

  Rupert’s head snapped around, studying the old man. “I assure you, sir, I have never done such a thing.”

  “I’ll be yer witness, George,” Byron agreed, nodding his head.

  Rupert looked between the two men, a sickly smile on his face. “Surely you wouldn’t?” he stammered.

  George turned his dark eyes on Byron, who only shook his head, making the young baker sweat.

  “Well, she is my friend,” he managed, tugging at his collar. “I’m sure one dance would be acceptable,” he finished, stepping onto the floor and heading for Prissy.

  Chapter 14

  “May I?” Rupert said, tipping his head to the man who had been dancing with Prissy to a lively reel.

  “Of course,” the man grinned and stepped away from the young lady.

  “Rupert.” Prissy blinked up at him in surprise.

  “Miss Pris,” He couldn’t help but tease, and was gratified by her soft blush.

  “Did you sell all of your pies?” Prissy asked as he took her hand, and the breath left her lungs.

  “Yes, they were gone quicker than you could say Bob’s your uncle.” His smile was slight but his pleasure evident.

  Prissy was still in shock as Rupert began the familiar steps of a waltz. She had never dreamed he would dance with her.

  For several steps, they were both silent, letting the music sweep them through the milling dancers.

  Rupert’s hand seemed to tingle with heat where it rested at Prissy’s waist. A sudden heat ran through his body at her nearness, all thoughts of George and his threat evaporating from his brain.

  “It’s a lovely night.” Prissy’s voice was breathy and it rippled over him like a warm breeze.

  “Indeed.” Rupert smiled, looking down into green eyes the color of summer hills.

  He couldn’t seem to help but pull the perky young woman close, reveling in the feel of her warmth.

  Rupert Rutherford had given up on dreams of love and marriage years earlier, but he seemed to forget those vows as he twirled Priscilla to the wild beat of his own heart.

  The music coming to a stop at the end of the song came as a shock, and Rupert continued to hold Prissy as their feet stilled.

  “It’s rather warm,” Priscilla forced past the pounding in her ears. “I think I need some air.”

  Offering his arm, Rupert led her off the floor where the revelers had begun the next round.

  “Would you like some punch?” the young man asked, true concern in his voice.

  “No, I just need to cool down.” Prissy’s voice was barely a whisper.

  As they stepped away from the dance area, the music fading behind them, Prissy let her hand slide down Rupert’s arm and grasp his hand.

  She was surprised when he didn’t pull away.

  “Are you having a good time?” Rupert asked, his voice close to her ear.

  “Yes, the festival is always fun.”

  Rupert was quiet for a long pause, then turned to look at Prissy. “We should be getting back,” he commented halfheartedly.

  “Rupert, can I ask you a question?” Prissy asked, turning toward him and studying his face in the light of the moon.

  “Yes.” Rupert met her gaze, his eyes full of the light of the starts above.

  “Why don’t you like me?” Prissy finally asked, studying him more closely as she searched for the truth.

  “But I do like you,” Rupert protested, his expression pained.

  “Not as a girl.”

  Huffing out a breath, Rupert turned away from her, dropping her hand, his shoulders hunching at her gasp.

  “It’s not that, Priscilla,” Rupert tried to speak, tried to find the words to explain why they could never be together.

  A soft hand came to rest on his elbow and with gentle pressure, Prissy turned him toward her.

  “I want to understand why.” The hurt in her voice was a barb to his soul.

  “It’s not you, Prissy, it’s me,” the young man tried, his slate-colored eyes a storm of turmoil and emotion. “I’m not the man you think I am,” he finished, hoping she would understand.

  “I think you are a good, decent man, who loves to bake.” Prissy said, her grip still firm on his arm. “Someone who takes pride in what he does, and who serves others cheerfully.”

  Rupert half smiled, but tension rippled along his square jaw.

  Seeing his anguish, Prissy reached up, running her hand along his face and shivering at his soft sigh.

  “I think I have a right to know.” Prissy said, “In the beginning you seemed to like me well enough.”

  Like? Rupert nearly groaned. He’d liked her more each passing day, until he’d fallen in love with her in an impossible way. Priscilla Adams was not just a fantastic cook. She was funny, and saucy and caring. He loved her spark and her sass and the way she made him laugh or challenged him to be better in all he did.

  Closing his eyes, the young baker leaned into the heat of Prissy’s hand for a moment, gathering his strength.

  “I didn’t want you to think less of me,” he finally spoke, his eyes weary and sad as he continued.

  “A few short years ago, I was a very different man.” His eyes searched her face, but he saw only encouragement there.

  “As you know, my country has had many conflicts throughout its long history. Most recently they were engaged in uprisings in the southernmost part of Africa.”

  Prissy nodded. She knew little of his home country, but she wanted him to continue.

  “I was a young soldier trying to win my stripes and gain rank and recognition. My company had been traveling through the bush, seeking a band of rebels when we came on a village.” His words stopped as he shifted his feet.

  “Go on, Rupert,” Prissy encouraged softly, “You don’t have to worry what I’ll think, no matter what.”

  Again, the young man closed his eyes, as if seeing it all again. “The village had been a refuge to the fleeing opposition, and my commanding officer, an equally ambitious lieutenant, ordered it sacked and burned.”

  Prissy’s soft gasp gave Rupert the courage to continue.

  “I refused, I argued against what he was doing. Against destroying the life and livelihood of simple people.”


  Rupert’s right hand strayed to his left breast once more. “I struck him and refused to follow orders.” He could no longer meet Prissy’s eyes, as he ground out the last few words. “I was branded a coward, or nearly.”

  “But you didn’t do anything wrong,” Prissy protested. “You were only trying to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.”

  “I’m afraid others didn’t see it that way,” Rupert continued. “They botched the job with the iron,” he said, his voice pained as his fingers unbuttoned his dress shirt and he exposed a small, crescent-shaped scar on his smooth left breast.

  Prissy’s fingers shook as she reached for the raised white flesh of the burn, tracing it gently as tears sprang to her eyes.

  “If not for my father’s influence, I could have been hanged,” Rupert finally confessed, his breath now labored. “Instead, I was drummed out of the military for subordination. As it was only the fact that my father had saved a brigadiers life saved mine.”

  “Oh Rupert, I’m so sorry.” Prissy’s eyes swam with the hurt she felt for the man she’d fallen in love with.

  “No one would stand against the lieutenant you see. It was his word against mine, and though the C does not show clearly on my flesh, I’m forever branded in my soul.”

  Roughly he pushed Prissy away, rebuttoning his shirt. “It’s why I swore I’d never wed,” he gritted. “I’ve guarded my heart and will never love. No woman deserves the likes of me.”

  Turning sharply on his heel, Rupert strode away into the night before Prissy could pour out her heart.

  Hot tears streamed down Prissy’s cheeks as her heart constricted in her breast. How could Rupert think that he was a coward? How could she make him understand that she loved him, no matter what?

  A panicked scream wrenched the night, snapping Prissy back to attention as she hurried toward the sound.

  “My baby, my baby! A woman wailed as all eyes turned to follow her uplifted hand.

  Prissy’s blood turned to ice as she followed the woman’s arm to where a child, no older than three, sat on the steep edge of the church roof.

  Seconds stretched into eternity as the whole grove seemed to freeze, then exploded in a rush of motion as men raced into the building toward the belfry.

  From the corner of her eye, Prissy caught Rupert, his familiar form charging, toward the tables lined up along the church wall.

  Rupert was running, his long legs and even strides eating up the distance to the church. As he approached the tables, he sprang forward, landing lightly on the first solid surface, then reached up to grasp the metal-covered roof line using his momentum to swing himself onto the eaves.

  Prissy’s heart stopped. She was sure it had stopped as she watched the lithe form spring higher, catch a cross beam in his hand, then reach for the next as he propelled himself toward the child.

  As Rupert came abreast of the child’s location, he tucked in his knees and used his forward motion to roll onto the highest point of the roof above, landing neatly beside the child.

  “Hello, my sweet,” his low voice chimed, drawing the child’s attention.

  The toddler giggled, reaching for the funny man who now sat beside him.

  “Let’s get you back to your mum, shall we?” Rupert said, scooping the boy close and sliding carefully down the roof. As he reached the edge of the metal seem, he dug in his heels, twisted sideways, and stepped nimbly down onto the high porch rail with perfect balance.

  Finally, with a little hop, he landed on the sturdy stoop and raced down the stairs to deliver the child to his weeping mother.

  “Thank you, thank you,” the woman cried, pulling her child close.

  Something warm and soft and lovely, crashed into Rupert’s side, nearly knocking him off his feet.

  “You were wonderful.” Prissy gushed, crushing him in an embrace. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Gently prying Priscilla from him, Rupert gazed around at the assembled crowd.

  “Well done.” Tywyn Nelson, the part-time deputy and former marshal, stepped up, clapping Rupert on the shoulder.

  “You were so brave,” another woman called.

  “Another minute and that little bitty fella would ‘a toppled right off the roof,” Sherriff Pike chimed in.

  “Never seen nothin’ like it, I didn’t,” Byron’s voice joined the others.

  “Weren’t you afraid?” Mrs. Bentley, the store owner asked.

  “It was nothing,” Rupert protested looking bewildered by all the fuss.

  “How ever did you do that?” Rafe Dixon’s voice joined in the fray.

  “Oh, my mates and I used to do this type of thing all the time,” Rupert commented, bemused at all the fuss.

  “You never?” another young woman gushed.

  “Yes, we lived in a large city and would race each other all over town. It was often faster to go up than to go through, so to speak.”

  “You were wonderful,” Prissy’s voice tickled his ear and a warm glow passed through him at her words.

  “Someone get this young fellow some punch,” Pastor Dalton’s voice boomed, and several scurried to comply.

  “You done good,” George Olson said, shaking Rupert’s hand. “Now you’d better disappear before you don’t get another chance,” he added, pushing Prissy and Rupert in the direction of the trees.

  Not one to pass up an opportunity when handed to her, Priscilla took Rupert by the hand and pulled him along until they’d all but disappeared into the thick clump of trees.

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Rupert kept saying as he walked along jerkily behind Priscilla. “It was easy.”

  Finally stopping, Prissy wheeled on the young man, a spark in her eye he’d never seen before.

  “Rupert Rutherford, you listen to me and you listen good,” the girl said, her hands resting on her softly rounded hips.

  “I’d better never hear another word about you being a coward. You just did one of the bravest, most wonderful things I’ve ever seen.” She hiccupped slightly as tears threatened again.

  “But it was nothing; simple child’s play.”

  “It was no such thing. I’ve seen men quake in their boots just looking at that roof, it’s steep and slick and scary,” Prissy insisted.

  “But Mis Pris...”

  “Don’t you Miss Pris me,” Priscilla snapped, “now you answer a question and answer it quick,” she continued, her green eyes sparking even in the shadow of the trees.

  “What is it?” Rupert leaned toward her, concern in his voice.

  “Rupert-bakerman- Rutherford, do you or do you not love me?”

  Rupert’s spine snapped straight and he blinked, gaping at her in disbelief. Women didn’t go around asking things like that.

  “Well?” Prissy, glared at him, “Yes or No?”

  Mind racing, Rupert tried to find a way out of the question, tried to figure out how he could make her understand.

  “You see...” he began.

  “Not ‘you see,’ just yes or no,” Prissy persisted, jabbing a finger at him.

  “Miss Priscilla, it’s not…”

  Again, Prissy cut him off. “Rupert, like it or not, I’m head over heels in love with you. I never thought I’d meet someone who could talk about all the things I love like you can.”

  The young woman took a step closer. “You’re so different than any of the other men I know. Not teasing like Rafe, not serious like Cam.”

  Prissy’s bright eyes roamed his face. “You’re handsome, and smart, and good and brave,” she finished “I don’t know how I’m going to get over you.”

  A sob broke from her throat as she covered her face with her hands.

  “Yes.” Rupert’s words were soft; they could barely be heard over Prissy’s weeping.

  Gently, he pulled her hands from her face and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Yes.”

  “You do?” Prissy almost choked on her own words.

  “Yes.” Rupert admit
ted, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

  “I love you too,” Prissy said with a shiver.

  Rupert grinned. “I’m no good for you Prissy, you’d be better off with that scarecrow fellow.”

  “Scarecrow? Rupert, what are you talking about?”

  “That German chap with the children,” Rupert tried again.

  A gurgling laugh erupted from Prissy. “Mr. Druthers? You thought I liked Mr. Druthers?”

  “Well yes, and he’d be good for you. You could feed him, fatten him up a bit and such.”

  “But I don’t love him,” Prissy said, stepping close. “I love you Rupert, please don’t send me away again.” Her eyes once more sought answers in his handsome face.

  “My past, Prissy, I’m no good for you.”

  “Your past is just that, the past,” Prissy pressed. “Folks come west all the time to start over, why can’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to shame you.” Rupert’s voice was low.

  Placing her hands on either side of his face, Priscilla forced the man she loved to meet her eyes.

  “Rupert, I see no evidence that you are a coward.”

  Absently his hand moved to his breast, but her hand caught it, pulling it close and kissing his knuckles.

  “You did what you felt was right, and in doing so saved a village. How could that ever bring me shame?”

  “You really mean it?” Rupert dared to hope.

  “Yes, I mean every word. No coward could have done what you did tonight. No coward could have stood up to his commanding officer without faith and conviction.”

  A warm light seemed to fill Rupert’s eyes, and he squeezed Prissy’s hand. “What if others find out?”

  “I don’t care. I only care for you.”

  “But your mother.”

  “My mother will be thrilled that I’m happy.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Prissy grinned, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” she teased, hoping he really would.

  “Under one condition.” Rupert’s words caught her by surprise. “I’ll kiss you, right here, right now, if you will consent to be my wife.”

  Prissy’s arms twined around his neck as she stood on tip-toes, her lips seeking his with a giggle.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Rupert said breathlessly a few moments later.