Free Tempting Prudence: The Bride Train by E.E. Burke Page B

If kissing hadn’t convinced her that he found her desirable, saying it wouldn’t make her believe him, but he had to try to get through to her so she would stop finding excuses to refuse him. “Surely somebody besides me has told you that you’re pretty.”
    A sad, wistful look came into her eyes. “A long time ago…”
    “Did he ask for your hand?”
    Instead of answering, she reached for the bowls she’d put on the table. He took one before she could whisk them away. “I’ve received several proposals. None were from the kind of man I’d marry.”
    “Ah, so you’re picky…”
    “No, I have standards.”
    “Having standards isn’t a bad thing. As long as you aren’t impossible to please.” He bit into the buttered bread—and about broke off his front teeth. He’d offend her if he threw it into the fire. Maybe he could soften it. From the Dutch oven, he dipped out a serving of soupy beans.
    “What are your standards for a husband?” He wondered if he met any of them.
    “Hard-working. Honest.”
    He met those two. Mostly.
    She put the other bowls into the cupboard, and then came after the beans. Before she took away the pot, he dipped out another spoonful. She ought to know he’d be starved after working all morning. Maybe she was worried about rations.
    “And temperate,” she added, setting the Dutch oven on the hearth. “That’s a must. I stay away from men who indulge in strong drink.”
    The rock that hit the bottom of Arch’s stomach wasn’t made from bread. It was a fair bet she would stay far away from a man who made his living from selling moonshine.
    How long could he hide the truth from her?
    Not long enough.
    He dipped a piece of bread into his bowl to sop up the liquid, as he mulled over how to present his family’s business in a good light. “Whiskey isn’t bad…”
    “It is when a man loves it so much he ignores his responsibilities and abandons his…the people who depend on him.”
    Arch stopped with the bread halfway to his mouth. Her halting correction made it clear she wasn’t talking in general terms. “Who did that to you?”
    “Someone who doesn’t matter anymore.” She stepped back from the table. The way she kept wringing her hands and glancing at the door made him wonder if she planned to sprint away.
    “Why are you so nervous? I’ll won’t bite, I promise. Now tell me about the fellow that don’t matter anymore.”
    She stopped twisting her fingers and held still. He tried to read her expression: pain, confusion, maybe regret. “We were to be married. At our wedding, after I’d waited for over an hour for him to show up, I found him drunk and passed out in the barn. He tried to apologize and explain, but… Looking back, I should’ve seen it coming. He carried a flask with him at all times. I consider myself lucky to have escaped.”
    “You’re right. You were lucky.” Arch longed to pound whoever had hurt her into the dirt.
    “He sounds like a weak man, not someone worthy of you.”
    “If I’d listened to my father, I might’ve avoided humiliation. He warned against ills of liquor and how it can lead to disgrace and dishonor.”
    Sounded like her strait-laced pa had put the fear of God into her when it came to sex and drinking, two things most men enjoyed.
    “That fellow was a bad apple, I’ll give you that. But not everyone who drinks turns into a debased drunkard,” Arch retorted.
    Her pointed look said otherwise. Trying to convince her he wasn’t the devil incarnate would take some doing.
    He put the soggy bread into his mouth.
    Ugh. Tasted awful. Without letting on, he set it on the edge of the plate and tried a spoonful of beans. His throat closed up. Oh God. Worse. He forced down what was in his mouth, rather than spitting it onto the plate.
    Pru set a cup in front of him. “Here, have some water.”
    He downed the cool liquid in three gulps. That helped, though it didn’t completely wash away the horrid taste.
    She rubbed her hands