Page 13 of Short-Straw Bride

Crockett cleared his throat. “We’ll have to move the stock out.”

Travis nodded his agreement. “But we can’t just leave them all in the paddock. If Mitchell’s men get close enough to see that the stock are safe, they might suspect we’re on to them and burn the house instead.”

“We could tether the draft horses down by the creek.”

“Good idea, Jim. Being near the water will help calm them if fire does break out.” Travis tipped his head up to stare at a rafter in the ceiling, the ordinary view helping him concentrate. “Each of us can keep a saddled mount near our position when we set up a perimeter. That will help spare the tack, the horses, and give us a way to chase the vermin off.”

“What about the mule?” Crockett asked. “You know how cranky Samson gets at night. If we try to take him down to the creek bed, he’ll bray his fool head off and give away his position.”

Travis nodded. Old Samson was as cantankerous as they came. If he wasn’t in his stall come dark, he’d pull a tantrum worse than Neill used to at bath time. “I guess we better leave him in the paddock. Maybe if we keep Jochebed tied out there, too, it’ll keep him calm.” The milk cow occupied the stall next to Samson, so having her close might soothe him. Then again, it might just endanger their milk supply. But he didn’t see as he had much choice. “Two animals outside the barn shouldn’t draw much suspicion.”

“And the fodder?” Crockett asked. “I was thinking we could store the contents of the corncrib in the shed.” He turned to Jim. “If that’s all right with you.”

The shed was Jim’s domain, a workshop for the furniture he made from the walnut, pine, and oak that grew on their land. He was as protective of that space as a squirrel was with a cache of nuts. But he nodded acquiescence, as Travis knew he would. Family needs came first.

“I’ll clear out a space.”

“Good.” With each solution they generated, Travis regained a piece of the control he’d lost when he’d learned of the pending attack. His confidence growing, he posed the last issue. “What about the hay? Any ideas of where to store it?”

The smokehouse was too small, as were any of the other outbuildings. And if they stacked it in the open, it would prove an easy target for a lit torch. Travis looked to Crockett and then to Jim, but his brother’s faces were as blank as his mind. Silence stretched around the table. The control restored to him was once again slipping from his grasp.

“The hay wagons that deliver to the liveries in town are always heaped to the sky. Why don’t you load as much as you can into your wagon and drive it down to the creek bed or into the woods somewhere? You can cover it with a tarp for added protection.”

Three pairs of Archer eyes turned to stare at the female in their midst—a female they had all but forgotten was there. At least Travis had. But looking at her now, he couldn’t quite fathom how that could’ve happened.

“It’s a good idea,” Crockett said.

Travis was about to agree when pounding hooves echoed from the yard. In an instant, he was on his feet, rifle in hand. He felt his brothers behind him as he dashed down the hall.

5

Travis sighted down the barrel of his Winchester. A rider on an unfamiliar white-and-chestnut paint thundered toward the porch. Travis released a nervous breath and steadied his aim. The dimness of twilight made it difficult to distinguish features, so he went for the high-percentage shot and drew a bead on the man’s chest. But as he moved his finger to the trigger, a sense of recognition registered. The rider had a very familiar posture. Travis jerked the Winchester away from his shoulder, his heart thumping with the dread of what could have happened.

Neill pulled up short of the porch and leapt from the horse’s back before the paint had fully stopped. “I ain’t too late for supper, am I?”

Travis stormed down the steps and shoved his kid brother hard enough to land his butt in the dirt. “What were you thinking, riding in here without giving the signal? I could have shot you!”

The shocked look on Neill’s face gave way to one of abashment. “Sorry, Trav. I thought you’d know it was me, since you sent me to fetch Miss Meredith’s horse.”

“Did you forget we were expecting other visitors tonight? Unwelcome visitors?” Travis extended his hand to his brother and yanked him to his feet. “With the poor light and you on a strange mount, for a minute there, I thought you were one of them. You gotta think with more than your belly, Neill.”

“I’ll do better next time. I swear.”

Travis gripped the boy’s shoulder and offered reassurance with a squeeze. “I know you will. You’re an Archer.”

“Jim,” Travis called up to the man waiting on the porch with Crockett, “dish up the vittles. We can’t afford for this boy to be distracted. We got too much work to get done.”

Neill’s ready smile reappeared, and the tension in Travis’s gut relaxed. A little.

As Jim led the way back into the house, Travis hung back and scanned the darkening woods, wondering from which direction trouble would strike.

Lord, I’d be obliged if you’d get us through this night in one piece.

Watching the Archer brothers eat was like watching a twister blow through the room. Meredith sat with her elbows tucked close to her side, afraid to do more than occasionally raise her fork to her mouth for fear of being rammed by a reaching arm or thumped by a tossed biscuit. The venison steak was overdone, the beans gluey, and the biscuits were dry as unbuttered toast, yet the Archers attacked their food like a pack of dogs fighting over a fresh kill. No one spoke. They just ate.

Well, not all of them. The one called Jim slowed down enough to glare at her over his dish and grunt as he chomped down on what must have been a particularly tough piece of venison, giving her the distinct impression that he held her responsible for the condition of the food. Which was probably true. Her arrival had delayed their supper. And with the threat of Roy’s men so imminent, she supposed haste was more important than decorum. Still, it was a bit unnerving to be surrounded by such ravenous appetites. Therefore, when Travis pushed away from the table and started giving orders not five minutes after the meal had begun, Meredith found herself as much relieved as amazed.

“Jim, you’re in charge of the corncrib. Crockett, bring the wagon around and get started on the hay. We won’t be able to get it all, but we should be able to save a decent portion. I’ll give you a hand as soon as I fill Neill in on what to do with the stock.”