Bruno's Belligerent Beauty (Tales From Biders Clump Book 3) Page 7

  Bruno rubbed the stubble along his face. “I guess that’s understandable,” he acquiesced.

  He stared at the dark brew in his cup, “I don’t understand why he won’t let me see her?”

  “Did you ask?”

  “George, what do you think he is, some rube that just fell off the turnip wagon?”

  “I asked,” Bruno replied to the question, a wry grin on his face. “He only tells me that Janine still isn’t up to callers after her harrowing ordeal.”

  ***

  “Was that Bruno?” Janine asked, straightening her prettiest dress as she walked into the parlor.

  “Yes.” Her father’s voice was disapproving.

  “Why didn’t you have him come in?” she asked.

  “Janine, we’ve been over this before,” Jasper said patiently. “You shouldn’t associate with that boy. After all, what will people think of you spending a night out in the wild with him if you then start being seen all over town with him as well?”

  Janine scowled. “But it’s just Bruno,” she grumbled. “Everyone’s used to seeing me with Bruno. He’s been following me around Biders Clump since we were six.”

  Mr. Williams reached out and took Janine’s hand in his. “Honey, haven’t I always looked out for you? Haven’t I always given you everything you ever wanted?” His eyes were kind as he looked at his little girl. “You need to trust me on this.”

  Janine puckered her brow. She knew her father loved her and only wanted the best for her, but something did not feel right this time.

  “Bruno Sparak is not the kind of young man you need to pay attention to,” he smiled indulgently, “he’s a fine fellow, don’t get me wrong, but he has nothing to offer you.” Once again, he patted her hand. “Now you go on back and rest a while before supper, and I’ll take you to the store later to buy something pretty.”

  Janine turned on her heel, preparing to go to her room. She had started a book but just could not seem to focus on it. She felt restless and unsettled after her adventure in the mountains. Perhaps she was still afraid; after all, when the deputy had arrived in the mountains to retrieve the man in the black hat, he had only found the remains of Bruno’s rope.

  But she did not feel worried or scared. At the last minute, she turned toward the kitchen, where Nana was busy preparing supper.

  “What’s for supper, Nana?” she asked, drawing a startled look from the woman who had been their housekeeper for as long as Janine could remember.

  “I’ve got a roast in the oven,” Nana said. “Now I’m getting the potatoes ready to boil.”

  “Can I help?”

  The older woman blinked shocked eyes at the girl several times, but then recovered. “I’d like that,” she smiled.

  “When I was up on the mountain I had to help Bruno make biscuits,” Janine offered, following the woman’s instructions on filling the pot with water and adding salt.

  “You don’t say.”

  “Yes, and I even started a fire in the stove.”

  “Isn’t that nice,” the housekeeper offered.

  “It was hard, but I felt all funny afterward,” Janine mused.

  “Looks like supper’s gonna be late,” Old Nana mumbled under her breath with a smile as she showed Janine how to peel the potatoes.

  ***

  Bruno stretched himself out under the stars, barely feeling the frost in the night air. The chinook had warmed things up, but the rise in temperature did nothing for the chill in his heart.

  He was more confused about Janine than ever, and saddened that he had not seen her since the day they had ridden into Biders Clump, safe and sound.

  "It don't make no sense," he called to the night wind. At times like this, he missed his father more than ever. He could almost image a conversation with the wiry Pitos Sparak.

  "Pa," his voice drifted toward the brightest star. "I thought things would change when we come back."

  "Bronwyn..." He could hear his father's voice in the echoes of his mind. The old man had never called him Bruno, but never chided him for taking on the nickname either. "...you been in love with that little snip of a girl since you was a boy."

  Bruno closed his eyes, picturing his father sitting near the fire in their little home. "You got two choices, give up or keep goin', just depends on how bad you want somethin'."

  Half asleep now Bruno smiled, seeing his father’s serious, dark blue eyes. "Love ain't always easy son. Like your ma and me. Some folks thought that she was the wrong sort for me, thought I shouldn’t have married a woman whose own mother come from the islands to the south."

  The conversation seemed so real, Bruno felt he could reach out and take the old man's hand. He had heard the story before. His father, a second-generation immigrant from Greece, had fallen in love with a dark-haired girl whose mother had come from the Caribbean.

  "I always thought maybe you was drawn to Janine 'cause she lost her ma young like you did."

  Bruno remembered his father shaking his head as he talked. "It don't matter though, shepherds have strong hearts, son. When they care for something, they care to the very end. Sometimes I think we're just meant to look after them what can't care for themselves."

  “But what if I lose her pa?” Bruno mumbled drowsily.

  “You got to have faith son.” The familiar voice drawled, “If your heart belongs to God you have to believe he knows what is right for it.”

  Bruno drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace settling into his soul. When he thought of Janine, he did not see the helpless spoiled girl of years gone by, but the strong, angry woman who had bravely knocked an outlaw cold.

  God help us all, his heart called as sleep took him.

  ***

  Janine sighed contentedly as she slipped her pristine white nightgown over her head, its silken fabric soft on her skin. If felt nice to be home, to have her pretty things around her and feel safe.

  She lifted the silver-handled brush from her dressing table and began running it through her long red tresses, the thick warm strands soft under her hand. Helping with supper, that night had been nice.

  Janine smiled softly. She had never even thought of helping to prepare a meal before being kidnapped. It was strange to realize how old Nana was getting. Janine suddenly seemed to understand that she was ignorant of so many things that other young women her age knew. She had never needed to do anything for herself. How very boring she must be.

  No, that wasn’t it; she had never believed she could do anything. Living under her father’s roof, she had had everything she wanted. Life was comfortable, easy.

  Again, the redhead sighed, but this time there was no contentment. Her father, though meaning well, had not simply protected her from the unkindness of the world, but had effectively kept her from learning to be who she truly was.

  Her mind drifted to Bruno. She could picture his face, his dark midnight blue eyes, his easy smile and tussled black hair. He was truly a handsome man, but it wasn’t his looks that came to mind now, but his willingness to let her try, to encourage her.

  Bronwyn Sparak believed in her: believed she could do things. Janine thought about the time they had spent in the cabin, how he’d patiently helped her do things she had always believed were too much for her.

  She blushed crimson, thinking of the trip to the outhouse, then chuckled at her own silliness.

  Why hadn’t she ever seen Bruno like this before? She was shamed that it had taken a near tragedy for her to see the man the boy had become.

  Janine’s hands stopped in mid-stroke along the mass of hair she had pulled over one shoulder, and she looked into the mirror studying the surprised look on her own face.

  “I miss Bruno,” she whispered, blinking. Then more loudly, “I miss Bruno.” She giggled at the revelation. The absence of the boy who had followed her everywhere, professing his undying love since they were six, had somehow worked his way into her heart.

  With a laugh, Janine sprang to her feet, striding boldly to where her f
ather sat reading the paper in his favorite chair.

  “I want Bruno,” she stated, her eyes unflinching on her father’s round face.

  “What? What do you mean?” her father grumbled, giving his paper an agitated shake.

  “I want to see Bruno,” Janine said, her hands curling into fists. “I want to see him tomorrow,” she added, lifting her chin.

  “Now Janine,” her father began, “we’ve talked about this. Young Bruno is a nice boy, a good friend, but he is not the kind of boy you should be associated with. You need someone more refined, someone of your class who can look after you.”

  “No.” Janine’s single syllabus was soft but firm. She did not raise her voice, or stomp her foot as she usually did when arguing with her father.

  “But,” her father smiled indulgently, but she cut him off.

  “Daddy, I’m not a little girl anymore, and that boy you refer to so casually is a grown man.” Her eyes shone as she realized how much she could depend on the quiet shepherd. “I will see him tomorrow,” she finished, turning on her heel, leaving her father flabbergasted.

  The next day when Bruno rode into town and knocked on Janine Williams’ door, it was opened, not by her father, not by Nana, but by Janine herself.

  “Hello Bruno,” the girl smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Her words nearly flattened Bruno. “Won’t you escort me to the store?”

  A wide grin spread across the shepherd’s even features as he offered the girl of his dreams his arm. “I’d be pleased, but what about your pa?” he asked.

  “My father has nothing to say about this,” Janine said, taking his elbow. “I’m a grown woman and can step out with whomever I like.”

  For several minutes, Bruno was speechless. The Janine he had always known would have normally said something like “Oh it’s you, Bruno,” and started off to the store leaving him to scrabble after her.

  Slowly the fact that Janine had been waiting for him settled into his flustered brain, and he smiled.

  “How have you been?” he asked, studying her from the corner of his eye.

  “Oh, I’m alright,” she said. “I hope my father hasn’t been too rude to you lately.”

  Bruno nearly tripped over his own feet at her concerned words. “No, no more than usual.”

  Janine shook her head, lifting her chin. “Daddy means well, but really he isn’t helping me by not letting me do things.” Her words were stilted. “Thank you for making me try,” she added, turning to look at him.

  Bruno stood in the street staring into Janine’s eyes, not knowing what to say, but before he opened his mouth, Janine continued.

  “You really believed I could do all of those things. I don’t think anyone else has ever thought of me as anything but the pretty banker’s daughter, but you.” She paused. “You’ve always been different.”

  “Janine,” Bruno began, he conscience pricking him for pushing her so hard on the mountain.

  “No Bruno, don’t say anything. I always thought the only thing you ever saw in me was my looks, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  Bruno did not speak. He wasn’t sure if she would let him, but as the silence grew awkward, he replied, “I don’t see why you can’t be or do anything you want to Janine.”

  “And what if I wanted to get on a train and go to some big city in the East to meet the perfect man for me?” Janine asked.

  Bruno’s heart stopped in his chest with a painful thump. “I’d let you go,” he said, his voice a reedy whisper as his eyes fell.

  Janine pulled Bruno close by his arm, pushing his hat back from his face. “I don’t need to go anywhere,” she said. “I’ve found all I need right here in Biders Clump.” She smiled, tugging on his arm and starting them walking again. “Right now, though, I need to get to the store,” she said, wrinkling her nose mischievously.

  Chapter 9

  “Looks like everyone and their brother has turned up for this shindig tonight,” George said as he carried the heavy tray of brightly decorated cookies toward the livery stable.

  “The corral’s packed full of horses and I can see a line of wagons, buggies and carts clear out to the church,” Polly agreed.

  “It was sure nice of Byron to offer the livery this year.” George smiled as he examined the big barn that fairly glowed with electric lights. “I never did think anyone would think to hang lanterns and pink bunting along the hitching posts, but it looks kinda nice.”

  “George Olson, you are a hopeless romantic,” Polly grumbled, her eyes shining with love.

  “Just don’t tell no one,” George said sensibly, squeezing her hand between his elbow and ribs in a gesture of affection.

  The soft strains of instruments warming up could be heard as they neared the wide double doors that had been pulled open on their iron runners.

  “Polly!” Maud Adams called, waving as she moved toward the door. “We’ve got a special place at the table for your cookies.” Maud was still limping slightly, but she did not grimace as she hurried to her friend.

  “How you feeling, Maud?” Polly asked, hefting the heavy basket in her hands and following George toward the table her friend had indicated.

  “I’m still a little sore and my shoulder seems to think I shouldn’t lift things off the top shelf, but otherwise I’m doing alright.” Her words were honest and sincere.

  “And how about them two youngins that surprised us all so much?” Polly asked, her eyes sparkling brightly as she cut George a look and caught his wink.

  “Sara and Rafe?” Maud asked, shaking her head. “They’re helping with the punch,” she said, looking toward the end of the tables, while George placed the tray of heart-shaped cookies decorated in pink, white, and red frosting on an empty spot.

  “Polly, sometimes I think I must be the world’s worst mother,” Maud continued, “I had no idea about Sara and Rafe, and was completely taken by surprise by Quil and Cameron as well.”

  Polly Esther handed her basket of food items to one of the women helping at the table and turned to Maud. “Maud, one thing I know for sure is that you love your girls and that you and Andy raised them right. Whatever they do is out of love, and that does not make you a bad mother.”

  Maud smiled. “Oh, there’s Prissy bothering that little baker man again. That girl is mad about those scone things he makes.” Her eyes fell on her middle daughter whose blonde curls bounced on her head as she spoke to the thin man with the funny accent.

  “Maud?” Harlan Dixon stepped up to the ladies. “Ms. Polly,” he added, tipping his head politely.

  “Evening, Harlan,” Polly said, “nice to see you joinin’ us this year.” She smirked slightly at his pink flush.

  “It’s nice to be here,” Harlan said, his voice steady. “Do you mind if I steal Maud away?”

  “No, go right ahead.”

  “Looks like there’s plenty of room for dancing this year,” George offered, stepping up to his wife, a half-eaten cookie in his hand.

  “George, you aren’t supposed to be eating those already,” Polly grumbled, shaking her head.

  “It’s my tax for carrying them.” The old man grinned, popping the rest of the treat into his mouth.

  Polly laughed despite herself. “Come on, let’s mingle,” she offered, taking his arm.

  ***

  “Doesn’t everything look lovely?” Janine said as she entered the big barn on Bruno’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here. It’s very clean for a stable, isn’t it?”

  Bruno smiled; delighted that he could escort Janine tonight. “I think Ramey and some of the men got together and helped Byron tidy up a bit,” he said, patting her hand.

  “Well, it all looks pretty,” Janine said kindly.

  “You look pretty,” Bruno said, his hand still resting on hers. She looked stunning in a dark brown dress covered in tiny red flowers. He almost stopped walking when he noticed her blush.

  “Thank you,” Janine offered. She was used to Bruno telling her
she was pretty, but for some reason it meant more to her now than it ever had before. “I’ll probably be the only girl here not wearing red or pink,” she said, looking around to see if it were true. “Those two colors never suit me.”

  “I think you’d look beautiful in anything,” Bruno chimed, grinning wider when she flushed again.

  The past three days had been both strange and wonderful. Janine had invited him to dinner the same night he had escorted her to the store. It had been an awkward dinner with her father glowering at him, but he had enjoyed it all the same.

  Then she had asked him to call on her the next day to teach her how to drive her father’s fancy buggy.

  “Shall we get some punch?” Janine offered, looking to where several of the younger people had congregated.

  Bruno straightened his fresh new shirt and led the way.

  “Bruno,” Rafe Dixon greeted as they approached. “Janine, it’s nice to see you here tonight.”

  Janine smiled at Rafe and Sara. “I believe congratulations are in order,” she said, looking first at Rafe and then Sara.

  Sara elbowed Rafe. “It sure is a relief that everyone finally knows,” she said, looking up at Rafe who wrapped an arm around her waist.

  “Looks like the bands starting up,” Rafe said. “You ready to tear up the floor tonight?” His grin was wicked, Sara laughed as the first strands of a hearty reel lifted to the rafters, and couples began to drift to the hard-packed floor.

  “Bruno and Janine look nice together, don’t you think?” Sara said as Rafe lead her through the steps of the dance.

  “Not as good as you,” the young man growled.

  Sara grinned. “You know what I mean,” she said, enjoying his complement. “There’s something different between them, but I don’t really know what.”

  “Bruno’s been traipsing after Janine for so long I don’t think anyone even thinks about it anymore,” Rafe said. “I’m afraid we’re the hot topic at the moment. Us and our folks.” He added, tipping his head in the direction of his father where he stood next to her mother in deep conversation.