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"I’ll never find her. Every time I think I'm close, she disappears. Old Bill knew her; he even ate her rum cake. The rum cake she always made at Christmas. The one she would let me help her bake."
Zac heard the hurt and disappointment of a small child, could even understand it. He often thought of his mother, remembering only the fresh scent of flowers that had surrounded her. But there must have been more she had shared with him, something good and kind for him to be able to care and love. His father hadn’t showed him a stitch of emotions. And he also understood that his mother hadn't wanted to leave him that she loved him, always had and always would. Not so for Pru. Her mother had deserted her… a sure signal to a small child that she wasn't loved.
Zac wiped her eyes, but it wasn't the tears he wanted to remove. It was her pain. "Will you make the rum cake for me?" Perhaps if she shared it with someone else, her hurt would ease. She could build new memories.
She smiled, almost shyly. "I don't think I’d make it as well as my mother did."
He grinned and tapped his chest with his other hand. "You can practice on me. I eat anything."
Her face brightened some and he didn't have to wipe any more tears away. "Old Bill told me about his rabbit stew. It sounds quite delicious. Perhaps I could cook that, too."
"Sounds good to me. When we get to the ranch, I’ll hunt you a rabbit. Then you can make the stew for us, which brings us to food and my empty, protesting stomach. How about you?"
She nodded readily. "Yes, I am rather hungry."
"Good," he said, standing. "I brought us a feast. But I think we best light some lamps if we want to see what we're eating."
Prudence smiled and stood herself. "Let me help."
They worked in friendly companionship. Prudence recounted some of Old Bill's stories and Zac added some of his own.
"Where did you get all this food? It's delicious," she said between munching on a tasty chicken leg.
"Curly, the fort's cook. We're long-time friends. I did him a favor once, and he always makes certain I have plenty to eat when I'm around."
Prudence focused on Zac's face while he spoke. She hadn't expected such tenderness and understanding from him. He was turning out to be a good husband, far better than she had first thought and one she wouldn't mind having for the duration.
She reached for another flaky biscuit. "It must have been some favor."
Zac shook his head, his eyes lighting in amusement. "It was. I saved his life."
For the next thirty minutes Prudence sat intrigued by the story. Each tale she heard taught her more and more about the West. And it taught her the importance of true friendship and trust.
After clearing off the table, Prudence took her nightgown from her traveling case. She held it over her arm as she searched the room for some tiny nook of privacy where she could change. She found none and worried over the dilemma she now faced.
Zac watched her. She had been through enough for one day; he wouldn't put her through anything else. "I'm going to step outside a few minutes."
Prudence smiled at her stroke of luck, and then realized it had nothing to do with luck. "Thank you," she said.
He winked as he closed the door behind him.
She was in bed when he returned, snug up against the wall, leaving distance between them.
Zac doused the lights, slipping out of his clothes and into the bed. He didn't need to see her distance; he felt it. But then he had suspected she would pull away, avoid contact. He wouldn't pursue the issue now. He had time. Then he heard the sobs, soft and pitiful. She was trying so hard to hold them back.
"Damn," he mumbled and reached out, pulling her against him. "It's all right, honey. It's all right. I'm here."
Prudence clung to him. His hard, warm flesh felt good. She was safe in his arms, protected. He was there for her. She cried even harder as she listened to his whispered words of comfort.
And her thoughts cried out the words her lips kept locked away. You'll leave me, too.
CHAPTER 15
The dance was like none she had ever attended and she loved every minute of it. The building used as a mess-house for the soldiers had been scrubbed clean. Tables had been arranged off to the sides for people to eat at, while leaving sufficient room for dancing in the center. In the back, out of the way of the dance floor, sat the food table.
There were no fancy sandwiches or artful cakes dripping in sweet icing upon silver trays and pure white linens. The fare was plain, hardy, and delicious, served in sturdy crockery on wooden tables covered with bright red and white check tablecloths.
