Prissy's Predicament: Tales from Biders Clump, #6

By Danni Roan

Cheerful, sassy and one of the most adventurous cooks in the tiny town of Biders Clump, Priscilla Adams has charmed friends and family alike. Her usual bubbly personality is a draw to many, but when her heart turns toward the town's baker a brush with sorrow dims her usual spark.
Rupert Rutherford has finally found exactly what he's been looking for; a quiet town, far away from the trouble of the past, where he can bake delightful treats in peace. But when he meets the vivacious Miss Pris, he nearly forgets his desire to remain unnoticed.
Could a woman like Priscilla Adams really care for a man like Rupert? A man with a shameful past. Any honorable man would see that the woman he loved was happy, even if it is with another man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danni Roan
• Release date: Aug 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781393759898

Danni Roan

About the Author Danni Roan, a native of western Pennsylvania, spent her childhood roaming the lush green mountains on horseback. She has always loved westerns and specifically western romance and is thrilled to be part of this exciting genre. She has lived and worked overseas with her husband and tries to incorporate the unique quality of the people she has met throughout the years into her books. Although Danni is a relatively new author on the scene she has been a story teller for her entire life, even causing her mother to remark that as a child “If she told a story, she had to tell the whole story.” Danni is truly excited about this new adventure in writing and hopes that you will enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

Book preview

Prologue

C ome on, Sugar. Priscilla Adams drawled, pointing her almost white horse toward town.

It was still early, but she knew the Chef at the Grist Mill restaurant in Biders Clump would be impatient for her delivery.

As her mount ambled town-ward, she lost herself in her thoughts. Priscilla, or Prissy as she was more widely known, had started offering some of her jams and jellies for sale at the local eatery nearly two years ago to help support her family.

With a natural flair for cooking and for creating new dishes using the readily available bounty of the countryside, she was soon a favorite with the chef who was always interested in trying something new.   The Grist Mill was a popular stopping point for both the town folks of Biders Clump and hungry travelers who stopped at the small train station on their way over the Rocky Mountains that towered above the tiny town.

At first, it had been gratifying to be asked to come up with new dishes for the restaurant and Prissy had poured herself into trying new things with the wild game, herbs, and fruits that grew in abundance around her home.

The fact that each new endeavor brought in a little extra money to her family hadn’t hurt either.

With her family’s financial disaster averted, she continued to provide specialty dishes to The Grist Mill and worked closely, if unofficially, with the baker who had joined the establishment in the spring.

Priscilla compressed her usually smiling lips into a tight line and tossed her head of blonde curls in an agitated shake.

Rupert Rutherford had been a revelation. A thin man, with dark blonde hair and slate-blue eyes, he’d captured Prissy’s attention immediately and his baked goods had her reeling with delight.

Prissy huffed indignantly, making Sugar, her patient horse snort in reply.

A fat lot of good it does to notice the man. She grumbled, even as she wondered what new delight he might have whipped up. Heaven only knew how the man did it. Prissy had no patience for baking and was as likely to produce a rock as a loaf of bread.

The man had enthralled her.  His eyes sparking as he spoke of his newfangled treats in soft English tones. He’d plied her with scones and tarts, pies and dumplings. So many sweet delights she’d nearly swooned.

Prissy sagged in the saddle, causing Sugar to slow his pace as her corset dug into the soft flesh of her waistline. She’d never been slender. Unlike her willowy sisters, Prissy ran to plump or, as she liked to call it, ‘fluff’.

Not that it matters anyway. She spoke to her horse, so deep in thought, she was barely aware of her surroundings.

She’d been thrilled to chat with the new baker, his eyes glowing bright like a morning star as they talked of cooking, baking, and food.

Prissy had nearly danced with joy to discover the attractive young man was as passionate about food as she was and the shared interest sparked something more in her heart.

Well, therein lies the rub. She spoke to her horse, giving him a distracted pat, I’ve spent nearly every day with him. Her voice was soft, he doesn’t even notice me.

Once more, she huffed and her mount sighed in commiseration. I even invited him to family picnics and everything, but all he ever thinks about is food and baking. She sat upright in the saddle again, her green eyes full of ire.

I’d like to box his ears. She ground out in frustration, give him a piece of my mind.

She nodded once, completely absorbed in her own thoughts. Rupert Rutherford, I’d say. I’m a woman you know with real feelings, and ... her words died out.

If he were interested, he would have said something by now. Her words were defeated as a pain pinched in her heart. More the fool am I, she quoted, never hearing the approaching footsteps on the road until something hard and round smacked her on the head.

Ouch! Prissy squealed, drawing Sugar up short and turning to see what had hit her.  

Toby! Toby! What in the world? she blazed.

Sorry, Ms. Adams. The boy of about seven called trotting up to her in the road. I kept calllin,’ but you didn’t even hear me at all. He offered apologetically.

Ooh, Prissy winced, you gave me a bump. She scowled, rubbing her head. Did you throw a rock at me?

No, Miss, it was only a crab apple.

Prissy wrinkled her nose at the ‘Miss’, she was the last MISS Adams, and the way her life was going, she’d be one forever.

Toby, why on earth would you throw a crab apple at me? she glared at the boy, who pushed a hank of long brown hair from his eyes.

I thought you might wanna buy ‘em. Toby offered with a smile,  scrubbing his scuffed boot in the dirt of the road.

Why would I want crab apples, their sour and hard, and... her voice trailed off as she watched the boy’s eyes fall.

Sorry to bother ya then, Miss Adams. He said, starting to turn, a large bucket still in his hands.

Now wait just a minute Toby. Prissy’s voice softened. Let me see what you have before I decide. The light in the boy’s eyes was enough to make Prissy smile. I’m sure I can figure out something to use them for.

Toby trotted back to the horse and lifted the bucket of red gold apples the size of a small egg. They grow wild back behind my uncle’s place. He offered, hope bright in his eyes.

I do like to have wild things for my cooking, Prissy said, examining the hard-tart fruit. How much for all of them?

For a moment, Toby blinked at her dumbfounded, I don’t rightly know he said, rubbing his nose with his sleeve.

How about I give you fifty cents for this bucket and if I find a good recipe for them, I’ll buy more later?

Fifty cents! Toby yelped excitedly, That’d be swell.

Smiling, Priscilla pulled her reticule from one of the large paniers draped across her horse’s flanks and retrieved a silver coin.

Next time you’re at the Grist Mill with your uncle, you find me and I’ll let you know about the apples. Deal?

Deal! the boy beamed at her offering the bucket and his hand.

Still smiling, Prissy shook the young rascal’s hand and poured the contents of the heavy wooden bucket into one of the bags at the back of her saddle.

Thanks, Miss Adams, Toby shouted, grabbing the bucket and taking off at a run toward home. There was no doubt in Prissy’s mind that he’d have more apples picked before noon.

Chapter 1

The door to the Grist Mill opened before Prissy could even swing down from her saddle and she couldn’t help but smile despite her annoyance with the man.

‘ello Miss Pris. The young man called with a smile as he stepped off the boardwalk and reaching for one of the heavy bags draped over Sugar’s back.

Hello, Rupert. Prissy’s voice was short, and don’t call me Pris, my name is Priscilla. She tipped her nose up and headed for the shop.

Oh! the man started, turning to watch her sashay up the stairs to the stoop, I do apologize. I meant no offense.

Priscilla’s conscience pricked her and she dropped her head. It wasn’t in her nature to be mean.

Turning in place, she marveled, not for the first time, at how easily Rupert lifted the heavy panniers from her pony.

Rupert Rutherford was a thin man, but he was quite strong and carried the burden with ease. For a moment, she stood on the step admiring the play of muscles along his arms where his sleeves had been rolled back and his smile zinged straight to her heart.

There was no doubt about it, she was completely besotted with the man, no matter how she looked at it and on top of that, she was starting to use her sister Aquila’s big words. She felt like stomping her foot in frustration but refrained.

None taken, she finally said, continuing into the restaurant.

Wait till you see what I’ve been working on. Rupert spoke cheerfully. and what did you bring us today? his voice followed her. You’re far more creative than Chef.

Prissy smiled, Rupert was always saying things like that and it made her feel special.