Page 29 of Short-Straw Bride

Instead of looking abashed, Jim quirked a cocky grin at him. “’Fraid you’d lose to me, big brother?”

“I’d whip you any day of the week, Bowie, and you know it.” Travis threw the despised name in Jim’s face, ready to wrestle more than his arm if need be.

Jim kicked his chair out of the way and lurched to his feet, his face a thundercloud. The two squared off, hands fisted, eyes narrowed, the table the only thing separating them. Travis stepped around the barrier. Jim mirrored him, no longer his brother but a rival—a man who matched him in height, breadth, and most likely strength. Everything but experience.

And desire.

Yesterday he had come to grips with the idea of Meredith returning home to her uncle and perhaps marrying a druggist or banker someday, a man he didn’t know and would never see. But there was no way he could stand to have her living in his house, belonging to one of his brothers. If an Archer was going to lay claim to her, by George, it was going to be him!

“You’re not really gonna whup him, are you, Trav?” Neill’s wide eyes came into focus at the edge of Travis’s vision, and like a well-aimed snowball, the truth of what he was about to do slapped him in the face and left him cold.

Immediately, Travis relaxed his stance and opened his hands. “No, I . . .” Had he really been contemplating thrashing his own brother? His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted his hand to rub his jaw. “Sorry, Jim. With everything that’s happened lately, I suppose I’m a bit on edge.”

Jim raised a skeptical brow, but Travis held his gaze without further apology. Finally, Jim nodded and bent to retrieve his chair. The tension in the room dissipated. Travis exhaled a long breath and returned to his seat.

“So how do you propose we decide which of the three of us gets her?” Crockett asked, dashing Travis’s hopes that the others would simply accept his wishes.

“Three?” Neill piped up. “Don’t be leavin’ me outta the mix.”

As if Crockett and Jim weren’t bad enough.

Travis stared at his youngest brother, his left temple suddenly throbbing. “You’re barely old enough to shave, Neill. You wouldn’t know what to do with a wife.”

“I’m as much a man as the rest of you.” Neill sat forward with a confidence that demanded respect. “I do the same work, wear the same clothes. I ain’t gonna be cheated outta my chance to have a gal of my own just ’cause I’m the youngest. Shoot. She might not even want an old geezer like you, Trav.”

A chuckle erupted from Crockett, and Travis shook his head, feeling older by the minute.

“The kid’s got a point,” Crockett said when his laughter subsided. “We don’t exactly come into contact with marriageable females on a regular basis out here. Who’s to say how long it’ll take the Lord to drop another one in our lap.”

Travis leaned his forearms on the table, unable to argue the truth of that statement. “Any suggestions?”

Crockett rubbed his neck. Jim crossed his arms. Neill eyed the ceiling.

Travis glanced around the room for inspiration, as if the perfect idea might be hiding behind the coffeepot or under the stove. He needed some way to assuage his brothers while still ensuring Neill didn’t end up as the groom. As the head of the family, he could simply claim first rights, but that could cause a rift. And the last thing they needed with Mitchell breathing down their necks was a lack of unity. No, there had to be a better way.

His gaze traveled over the cabinet that held his mother’s dishes and drifted past the doorway to the bathing room. Something tickled his peripheral vision, and he looked back to the wall. A broom stood in the corner. Travis sat up straighter, a germ of an idea taking root. It would require some trickery, but he should be able to pull it off.

“Boys,” he said, slapping his palms on the tabletop. “We’re going to draw straws.”

13

A loud crash awakened Meredith. Blinking, she eased herself to a sitting position and listened, trying to piece together what was happening.

The Archers were arguing about something in the kitchen. Something that had them quite upset. Meredith frowned and tossed back the covers. It probably had to do with her uncle’s embarrassing demands. The whole episode came back to her with humiliating clarity. The only good thing about the entire encounter was that Uncle Everett had declared her no longer good enough for Roy Mitchell.

Never had she been so thankful to be found wanting. She just wished it hadn’t hurt so much to hear him say so.

As Meredith stretched her toes toward the floor and reached for the headboard, the discussion in the kitchen escalated. She heard her name and something about Christmas pie. She had no earthly idea what Christmas pie had to do with anything, but one thing was clear—the argument involved her.

Meredith frowned and hauled herself to her feet. This was not the Archers’ problem to solve. It was hers. She never should have let Travis believe differently. She’d just been so weary when her uncle left, that handing over her burden for a time had been too comforting a prospect to resist.

Well, her energy had been restored, and it was time to reclaim ownership of the situation. Meredith stepped away from the bed, determination subduing her dizziness as she tottered across the room. Her heart might have fluttered at the thought of Travis becoming her husband, but what woman wanted her man forced to the altar? No. She’d have to find another way to deal with this mess.

As she reached the doorway, another thought brought her up short. If she didn’t marry an Archer, would Uncle Everett make her marry Roy? Meredith inhaled a shaky breath and leaned her back against the wall.

If Roy coveted her land half as much as she thought he did, he’d waste no time convincing Uncle Everett that her sullied reputation meant nothing to him. He’d probably even offer to marry in all haste to minimize the scandal, further endearing himself to her aunt and uncle and blinding them to his true nature—a wolf hiding beneath a fancy wool overcoat.

Aunt Noreen would insist the marriage take place, and if Meredith proved incapable of swaying Uncle Everett from that course—a most likely prospect—she’d have no recourse but to flee. Away from Roy Mitchell’s schemes. Away from her aunt’s controlling ways. A lump lodged itself in her throat. Away from Travis.