Page 38 of Short-Straw Bride

“Why would they start smelling like flowers?”

Jim shrugged. “Just stands to reason that if a woman starts handlin’ a man’s clothes they’d start smellin’ like her. And women smell like flowers.”

“Meredith doesn’t smell like flowers.” Travis frowned. He remembered the rose scent the schoolmarm used to douse herself in. He’d never misbehaved in class for fear he’d suffocate if he had to stand in the corner next to her desk. Meredith smelled nothing like that. She smelled . . . well . . . like Meredith. Like cinnamon and sunshine.

“Cassie does.”

Travis hadn’t noticed anything particular about the way Meredith’s cousin smelled, but he wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and quirked a grin at him. “We’ll all have some adjustments to make—Meredith included. And no matter what our clothes end up smelling like, the woman’s family, now. Remember that.”

Jim’s mouth curved slightly upward. Then he nodded and clasped Travis’s arm, sealing the silent pact. Archers stood together, no matter what. Not even frilly-smelling laundry could tear them apart.

Jim released his grip and moved past. Travis pivoted to follow, but something caught his eye near the fence surrounding the garden plot behind the house. Near the gate stood a small brushy shrub, its branches intertwined with the wooden pickets. Most of the tiny white blooms that had dotted it earlier that fall had faded, but one section still blossomed. Travis altered his course.

Meredith might not smell like flowers, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t like some. His mother had always kissed his cheek whenever he picked wild flowers for her. She’d fussed over them and put them in a jar with some water and told him what a thoughtful boy he was for bringing her such a pretty present. It seemed like a paltry offering now that he was older, but maybe he’d get lucky and it would make Meredith smile.

Hunkering down beside the fence, he took his pocketknife and hacked off the thick stems holding the largest clusters of flowers. The reddish centers of the calico asters stood out against the spiny white petals as he ordered and reordered the stems, trying to decide which arrangement looked the best. Not having a clue how to make such a judgment, he finally just shoved them together and pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his pocket. After the awkward job of rolling the fabric diagonally against his thigh with one hand, he wrapped it around the stems like a bandage around a wounded arm and knotted it off.

Travis shoved his hand deep into his trouser pocket to make sure his mother’s ring was still there. He’d removed it from the string tie after bringing in the trunks and fashioned the black ribbon into a floppy bow under his shirt collar in anticipation of his imminent marriage. Only the ceremony hadn’t been as imminent as he’d thought, so the thing had strangled him for the last hour. But his bride was finally ready to put him out of his misery and get the deed done.

Hating to be the last one arriving at his own wedding, Travis jogged up to the back porch and entered the house through the bathing room. He paused long enough to check the straightness of his tie in the shaving mirror, then inhaled a deep breath and strode through the kitchen and down the hall to the parlor.

The parson stood at the front of the room near the woodstove, an open Bible in his hand and a welcoming smile on his lips. His brothers stood in a line in front of the sofa, while Everett and Cassandra Hayes held places near the bookcase.

The one person he didn’t see was Meredith.

Then a soft rustling from the corner behind him drew his attention. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.” Meredith’s husky whisper met his ears before he’d fully turned.

A gallant denial sprang to his lips, but the moment he saw her, his ability to speak vanished. She was a vision. Her honey-colored hair was rolled against her head in thick, soft twists accented by loops of blue ribbon with long tails that draped along the side of her neck. Travis’s fingers itched to follow the trail of those ribbons, to brush the tender skin at her nape.

Her lashes were lowered, and he wondered at her shyness until he recalled that he hadn’t answered her comment. “Meri, look at me,” he murmured in a quiet tone that no one would overhear.

Those thick, dark lashes lifted slowly, and the blue of her eyes, made even more vibrant by the blue of her dress, pierced his heart. Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she forced her gaze to hold his.

“I’ll not be changing my mind.”

Her shoulders relaxed and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His own mouth curved in response. Then he remembered the awkward bouquet he’d brought. Feeling a little sheepish, he raised his arm and held it out to her.

“It’s not much, but I thought you might like them.”

Her breath caught and for a moment she did nothing but stare at the rustic offering. Unable to see her eyes, Travis’s doubts grew. “I know they’re just a bunch of weeds, so don’t feel like you have to carry them. It was probably a stupid idea anyway.” As his mumbled excuses tapered off, Meredith’s head snapped up.

“Don’t you dare call them weeds, Travis Archer. They’re glorious!” Her eyes glistened with moisture he didn’t understand. “No bride could have a finer bouquet. Thank you.”

The softness of her palm caressed his knuckles as her hand circled the stems, and the contact had an odd tightening effect on his chest. He offered her his arm and led her to the parson.

To be honest, Travis didn’t remember much of what the preacher said during the brief ceremony. He supposed he answered at the appropriate times and vaguely recalled Meredith doing the same, but when the parson announced that he could kiss the bride, his senses came on high alert.

How did one kiss a bride he’d never expected to have, one he’d known less than a week? Thinking to buss her chastely on the cheek, he leaned forward. But he couldn’t seem to pull his attention from the fullness of her lips or the way they parted slightly as she drew in a breath, and somehow his mouth found her lips instead. The kiss was brief, gentle, but exquisitely sweet. If not for the hoot Neill let out, he would have returned for another.

A pretty blush colored Meredith’s face as she turned away to accept her cousin’s congratulations, and Travis had to fight the urge to swagger when he approached his brothers.

“I guess this means you won’t be bunking with me no more, huh, Trav?” Neill snickered as he elbowed him.

More than ready to give up the cot in his brother’s room, Travis scowled without any heat and shoved his kid brother’s shoulder.

Crockett clasped Travis’s hand and reached around to slap him on the back. When he stepped back, however, the knowing grin he wore communicated his thoughts all too clearly. “I’m sure he’ll miss your snore terribly, Neill, but I imagine Meredith will distract him from the loss.”

Travis felt his neck grow warm. “Leave it alone, Crock,” he warned as he turned to accept Jim’s hand.