Short-Straw Bride Page 9

  “I already made that plain to her,” Travis interrupted. “And she’s coming around. She just needs some time to settle things in her mind.” He glanced back toward the open doorway. “Meredith’s tough. She’ll weather whatever storm comes.”

  “She’s got spunk. That’s for sure.”

  Hearing the admiration in his brother’s voice, Travis turned to scowl at him. “Just get the soup.”

  Crockett’s gaze returned to the doorway to Meredith’s room, giving Travis the distinct impression that the man remembered all too well what she looked like tucked up in bed.

  He gave his brother a shove. “Get going.”

  “All right. All right.” Crockett caught his balance and finally moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll brew some willow bark tea, too. It’ll help with her pain.”

  “Fine.”

  Travis marched back to his room and made a beeline for his chest of drawers. He grabbed the first shirt his hand touched and yanked it out of the drawer. His bootheels clomped against the wood floor, then muffled as he hit the rag rug at the side of the bed.

  Meredith watched him, her brows slightly quirked.

  “Arms up,” he said as if she were a child and not a very beautiful, very grown woman. “Crock is gonna bring some tea and soup in a bit, and you won’t be able to eat if you’ve got a death grip on those blankets.” He scrunched the shirttails in his hands and stretched the unbuttoned neck hole wide. “Put this on. It’ll cover you up and still allow you to eat.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then released the blankets and stuck her arm through the sleeve, her disgruntled expression making him smile.

  With Meredith’s condition no longer critical, Travis joined his brothers outside the following morning. He and Crockett split her care between them, and at her insistence, only checked in on her when a break in their work allowed it. Her head still pained her, though the willow bark seemed to take the sharpness away, but it was the dizziness that kept her in bed. He’d provided her with a book to read, Ballantyne’s The Wild Man of the West, and while he doubted a less feminine book had ever been written, she’d assured him it helped pass the time.

  Late that morning, Travis headed to the pump. It was his turn to look in on Meredith. He pulled off his work gloves, tucked them into his coat pocket, and ran his hands under the icy water streaming from the spout. Then he dampened his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. As he moved the cool cloth around to the back of his neck, two shots fired in close succession echoed from the direction of the road.

  Company.

  In a blink, he unfastened the protective loop on his holster, his fingers testing the freedom of his Colt. After Mitchell’s attack, he and the boys had taken to wearing their gun belts even when close to the house.

  “Neill, take position by the shed!” Travis yelled as he ran to the corral. He ducked through the fence and grabbed his saddle from where it lay slung over the top rails. He caught a glimpse of Jim running around the corner of the shed and called out for him to guard the road.

  Crockett appeared at the corral with a horse blanket, and Travis whistled for his gelding. As the two worked in tandem to get the animal ready to ride, Travis ordered Crockett to see to Meredith’s protection.

  “She warned us Mitchell’s man would return to make another offer after the fire. Things might get ugly when I spit in his face.” Travis mounted, and Crockett moved to open the railings.

  “I’ll watch over her, Trav. Just keep your head out there.”

  He nodded to his brother and nudged Bexar into a run, his eyes only briefly touching on his bedroom window as he charged past the house.

  11

  Meredith shivered as a draft from the open window passed over her skin, yet her trembling had more to do with her concern over Travis than the cold. Crockett had assured her that his presence in her room was simply a precaution, but the rifle he held and the way he constantly scanned the trees outside as if searching for invaders did little to put her at ease.

  What would Roy do when Travis still refused to sell? For he would refuse. She was certain of it. Would there be another fire? Would the house be targeted next? Or would Roy finally give up?

  Please, Lord, let him give up.

  But in her heart she knew he wouldn’t. Roy’s ambition ran nearly as deep as Travis’s loyalty. Something drastic would have to occur before either man gave an inch.

  Something drastic . . . Meredith’s breath grew shallow.

  “You don’t think he’s walking into a trap, do you?”

  Crockett spared her the smallest of glances before turning back to his vigil. “Travis is smart. He’ll assess the situation before revealing himself, and even then, he’ll keep his gun trained on whoever’s there. He can handle himself.”

  If Crockett was so confident of Travis’s abilities, why was he clutching his rifle like a soldier about to be called to the front line?

  “What if Roy sent more than one man? What if they lured him with their shots, then cut the fencing wire and caught him unaware? Someone should check on him. He’s been gone too long.”

  “He’s fine. Now hush.” The gentle reprimand had the intended effect, but her fears must have been communicated at least a little, for when Crockett returned his attention to the window, he fidgeted with his rifle grip and shifted his stance three times before settling.

  Meredith held her tongue, but her worries festered. She watched Crockett watch the yard. Every time his focus snapped to a new location, her breath caught.

  Just when she thought she’d surely go mad from the waiting, a distinctive low birdcall drifted through the window—one she vaguely recalled hearing the afternoon she arrived. Crockett relaxed immediately and pivoted to wink at her. “I told you he was fine.”

  Thank you, Lord!

  Meredith sagged against her pillows, relief bringing the sought-after comfort that had eluded her earlier. She grinned at Crockett, but before she could ask any questions, he slammed the window shut and strode out of the room, rifle in hand.

  What did that mean? Was danger still afoot? Perhaps he was simply eager to greet his brother and hear the details of his encounter. Hmmm . . . She wanted to hear those details, too, and she doubted the Archers would make a point to share them with her. They were forever telling her not to worry. A rather bothersome trait, that.

  Why did men think they had to protect women from reality? She didn’t mind being protected from wild animals or murderous villains, but from the truth? Meredith made a face as she threw back the bedcovers. The more she knew about a situation, the less likely she was to worry, not the other way around. If she was to stay with the Archers another day or two, she needed to know what was going on.

  Holding a steadying hand to her head, she swiveled her legs to the edge of the bed and dangled them over the side. She blinked as the floor seemed to tilt forward and back and waited for the dizziness to pass. Grasping the top of the headboard, Meredith stood slowly, her bare toes digging into the rag rug to aid her balance. She still wore Travis’s shirt over her nightdress, and it bunched uncomfortably at her waist. With her free hand, she tugged it down over her hips and untwisted the skirt of her sleeping gown before attempting to move.

  A door slammed somewhere in the distance, and male voices poured into the house. Agitated male voices.

  More curious and determined than ever, Meredith leaned her leg against the mattress and shuffled along the side of the bed, chilled air nipping at her ankles. If she could just make it as far as the doorway, she could listen in on whatever the Archers said when they congregated around the kitchen table.

  Having reached the bedpost, she inhaled a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and took her first unaided step. Her foot met the hardness of the wood floor and wobbled, but she found if she stared at the ground a few inches in front of her toes, the room didn’t spin quite as much. She concentrated so hard on remaining upright, however, that she failed to hear the approaching footsteps until two pairs o
f boots appeared at the top edge of her vision.

  An audible gasp sucked the air from the room. Meredith stilled.

  “Heaven help us. You’ve ruined her.”

  Meredith jerked her head upright. “Uncle Everett?”

  Pain shot through her skull at the too-fast motion. She staggered sideways, unable to maintain her equilibrium as the floor seemed to undulate beneath her. Then all at once she found herself braced against the firm wall of a man’s chest. Travis. He caught her arms above the elbows and steadied her as she sagged into his safe harbor.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he scolded in a soft voice, then promptly picked her up and delivered her back to the pillows.

  “Good grief, man! Have you no shame?” Her uncle’s voice followed her across the room. “You carry on with my niece in front of my very eyes?”

  Horrified by her uncle’s outburst, Meredith turned her face away from Travis as he set her down. Tension radiated through him as he released her, and when she found the nerve to look at him again, a muscle twitched at the edge of his jaw.

  “She’s injured, Hayes. Or don’t you care about that?” Travis ground out. “I thought I explained her condition quite thoroughly on the way here.”

  Uncle Everett stomped into the room, pulling his arms from his coat. Once he had the garment off, he stormed down the opposite side of the bed and forced it around Meredith’s shoulders, drawing it closed under her chin.

  “You failed to mention that her condition included a nightdress and a place in your bed!”

  Travis leaned across the bed and grabbed Uncle Everett’s wrist. “You insult her again with talk like that, and I’ll throw you off my land with a buckshot escort.”

  The sound of a rifle cocking drew all eyes to the doorway. “Buckshot’s too tame, Trav. I say we each carve out a piece of his hide with a .44.” Crockett stood just inside the room, brandishing his Winchester. Jim and Neill flanked him on either side, hands hovering above their holsters.

  Meredith diverted her gaze to the ceiling, wishing she could dissolve into the covers. Could her humiliation be any more complete?

  Travis tossed her uncle’s wrist away from him and straightened his stance to face the man squarely, arms crossed over his chest. Uncle Everett straightened, too, though not until he’d done up three of the buttons on the coat he’d forced upon her. The two glared at each other for what seemed like an age before Uncle Everett finally looked at her and let out a hefty sigh.

  “Meri. You’ve thrown everything away, girl. How could you be so foolhardy?” The disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick.

  “I had to warn them, Uncle Everett. You were away, the sheriff was gone, and the deputy just laughed off my concerns as if I didn’t know what I was talking about. I had no choice but to come.”

  “You should’ve stayed at home and let the Archers take care of themselves. That’s what they’re best at.” He aimed a pointed glance at Travis before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Ah, Meri. There’ll be a high price to pay for this bit of foolishness.” He patted her hand. “When I think of everything your aunt and I did to secure your match with Mitchell only to have you throw it all away on a crazy whim . . . Why, it breaks my heart. What would your papa say?”

  “Papa would be proud that I followed my conscience.” Meredith sat forward, indignation fueling her speech. “I want no part of Roy Mitchell, Uncle. He’s the one behind the fire that destroyed the Archers’ barn. I heard him give the order myself.”

  “Nonsense, girl. You misunderstood. Roy explained everything to me last evening.”

  Travis lurched forward. “You told him she was here?”

  “Of course. As her betrothed, he had a right to know. The poor fellow feels dreadful about everything. He kept castigating himself for not noticing your upset and clearing up the confusion immediately. He is very concerned about you, my dear.”

  “He’s concerned about my land, not me,” Meredith grumbled under her breath. Uncle Everett didn’t seem to hear, but Travis raised a brow at her before turning his attention back to her uncle.

  “What exactly did you tell Mitchell about Meredith?”

  “At first, nothing. After all, I had no idea where she was.” He patted her hand once again, as if she were a child to be placated, then stood to address Travis, dismissing her from the conversation. “I arrived home for supper Tuesday night only to find my wife inconsolable. Cassie had told her Meredith was ill, but when Roy arrived to pay his respects, she went to fetch her anyhow. Noreen is very set on this match taking place. When she found our Meri missing . . . well . . . she flew into a tizzy.”

  More likely a rage, Meredith thought as she pictured Aunt Noreen storming about the house.

  “She questioned our daughter, Cassandra, until the girl admitted that Meri had gone to the old homestead. Noreen insisted that I fetch her back at first light. However, when I arrived at the place yesterday morning, I could find no evidence that she had been there. By the time I arrived home again, Noreen had scoured the house and found the note Meri left for Cassandra. Mitchell arrived soon after, and when Noreen showed him the note, he put the pieces together and explained the situation.”

  “Whatever he said was a lie,” Meredith interjected. “The charred remains of the Archers’ barn prove it.”

  “No, dear. They prove the villainy of one of his competitors.” Uncle Everett pulled off his hat and set it on the corner of Travis’s bureau with a nonchalance that made Meredith want to scream. “Roy explained how one of his men interrupted your time together, and how you must have overheard bits and pieces of his conversation and jumped to an inaccurate conclusion. He doesn’t fault you, of course. He’s too much of a gentleman. There was quite a bit of traffic on the road that day, I understand, and the noise surely interfered with your ability to decipher what was being said.”

  “I know what I heard.” How could her uncle dismiss her intelligence and judgment so easily? Did he think she would risk her reputation and personal well-being if she wasn’t sure?

  “I fear you only know what you thought you heard.” Though he smiled, condescension laced his tone. “Roy’s man had come with news of a rumor regarding a large outfit from Houston. They planned to force him out of the bidding for local lumber by burning out those property owners who stood between him and the railroad. When the devastated owners were forced to sell, the Houston outfit would offer higher prices, thereby securing the necessary land. Roy would be out of the running. Needless to say, he was sickened by such underhanded tactics and intended to inform the sheriff as soon as the man returned.

  “He even assured me he’d still marry you after your misadventure, but now that I see the extent of your ruin, I can’t expect him to hold to that promise. A man in his position cannot afford to have such a scandal attached to his good name.”

  “You’re wrong.” Moisture gathered in her eyes at her uncle’s betrayal. He was her father’s brother. Why did he believe Roy Mitchell’s sly explanations over those of his own niece? She would expect such a turn from Aunt Noreen, but Uncle Everett had always been kind to her in his own negligent way. It didn’t help that every time she looked at him, she saw features that reminded her of her father. “You want to believe Roy because he’s promised to triple your business at the mill, but he’s behind this attack. I’m certain of it.”

  She glanced from her uncle’s shaking head to Travis’s unreadable expression. Did he believe her? Somehow the thought that he might doubt her cut deeper than Uncle Everett’s lack of faith.

  “You wound me, Meri,” her uncle said, putting his hand to his chest. “I would never put my own profit ahead of your well-being. In fact, I aim to do all that is within my power to rectify this mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “There’s nothing to rectify. I’ll be well in a day or two and can return to town then.” Not that she relished the idea of being back under Aunt Noreen’s roof, but at least she could commiserate with her cousin.


  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. When your aunt realized that this is where you must have spent the last two nights, she implored me not to bring you back into our home. Noreen is convinced that doing so would throw a shadow of scandal over Cassandra, hurting her prospects for a suitable marriage. I had hoped to calm her concerns with the truth of your circumstances, but if I tell her in what condition I found you . . . well . . . you know your aunt. I’d never hear the end of it.” He gave her that haggard look, the one he wore whenever Aunt Noreen got a bee in her bonnet.

  Meredith bit the inside of her cheek in a bid for control as her uncle’s meaning sank into her brain. She was to be the sacrifice laid upon the altar to appease Aunt Noreen’s wrath. Instead of standing up for his niece, Uncle Everett would do what he always did—take the path of least resistance.

  “Word of your little . . . escapade . . . is bound to get out,” he said, as if that excused his behavior. “These things always do. Noreen threatened to take Cassie away from me and move in with her sister if I don’t bend to her wishes. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  Meredith jutted out her chin. She had imagined such a scenario, although deep down she’d never truly believed it would come to pass. “I’ll live at the homestead, then. The house is in fine condition—”

  “No,” Uncle Everett cut in. “I’d never be able to rest knowing you were out here alone. Your father entrusted me with your care, and I must see this through.” He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked from heel to toe. “The way I see it, there’s only one way to salvage this situation.”

  He looked pointedly at her, then scanned the rest of the room’s occupants with a steely determination she’d never witnessed in him before. “You’re going to have to marry one of the Archers.”

  12

  What?” Crockett, Jim, and Neill chorused the word as if it were one of the hymns they sang in the parlor on Sundays. But Travis said nothing. He wouldn’t give Everett Hayes the satisfaction of knowing the pronouncement had rattled him.