Page 42 of Short-Straw Bride

Staying atop his horse so he could hold Meredith’s widening gaze from the far side of the wagon, Travis tried to communicate his apology with his eyes. Her smile only slipped a little before her determination propped it back into place.

Man, he was proud of her.

“Seth Winston,” Travis intoned, a touch of steel lacing his voice. “My wife, Meredith.”

“Wife?” The man nearly shouted his outrage. “Good gravy, boy. It’s worse than I feared.”

19

Of all the sour-minded, pig-headed . . . Meredith breathed through her nose, careful to keep her smile in place. Of all the people God could send her to practice her hospitality on, did it have to be Seth Winston? The man had scared her to death as a child when her mother took her shopping in his store, always glaring at her like an ogre from one of her fairy-tale books. She hadn’t seen the man since she started school in Palestine, and truth be told, she’d gone out of her way to avoid him even before that, so it didn’t surprise her that no recognition flashed in his eyes. And that was fine with her. She’d take every advantage she could get in this battle. For a battle it would be—one she had no intention of losing.

It was time to slay the ogre. And though she longed for a sword, her weapons would have to be cleverness and kindness instead.

Meredith marched forward, head held high. Until she noticed their visitor’s gaze drop to her feet. It wasn’t the first time her limp had garnered a rude stare, but it was the first time her imperfection reflected on someone other than herself. Not trusting herself to glance at Travis to gauge his reaction, she focused on the ground as she navigated the steps.

What was that verse from Romans? Oh yes. “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.” She peered at her tray of cinnamon crisps, and smiled over the fiery coals waiting to be consumed.

Mr. Winston clambered down from the wagon bench and eyed her approach as if she were a bobcat looking for someone to sharpen her claws on.

“I know you,” he said pointing a hand at her that lacked a couple of fingers. “You’re Teddy Hayes’s girl. The one with the bum leg.”

“And I know you, Mr. Winston,” she answered before Travis could say anything. “You’re that cranky old store owner. The one with the bum hand.” Unlike their guest’s vinegarish tone, Meredith infused her barb with a thick dollop of honey.

The man blinked at her, his mouth slightly agape, as if he couldn’t quite believe her audacity.

“You used to tell the most gruesome war stories when I came to your store with my mother,” Meredith continued, her smile still in place as she swept past Crockett, Jim, and Neill without a sideways glance. “Even though they gave me nightmares, I couldn’t stop myself from listening. You have quite a gift for storytelling.”

She held the tray out to him when she reached the place where he stood. “Cinnamon crisp? They’re fresh from the oven.”

He didn’t move, just stared at her as if she were an oddity he couldn’t decipher.

Meredith continued holding the tray as if she had nothing better to do than ply the recalcitrant man with sweets. “You know, when I was a girl, Hiram Ellis nearly convinced me that Travis shot off those two missing fingers of yours when you trespassed on his land. I’m glad I didn’t believe that nonsense. You’ve obviously been on friendly terms with my husband for quite some time.” She emphasized the word husband, hoping to rile the grumpy cuss. Two could play at his game. “Why don’t you come up to the house? You can entertain me with more of your stories while Travis and the other, younger, men unload the supplies.”

Mr. Winston turned an accusing glare at Travis. “She fer real?”

Travis nodded, and a grin stretched across his face. He even winked at her before he dismounted. “She’s real, all right.”

“She know it’s rude to insult comp’ny?” The old codger shot a challenging look her way before turning back to Travis, obviously thinking he’d bested her by excluding her from the conversation.

Little did he know that Meredith Hayes Archer never backed down from a challenge, spoken or not. “Oh, she’d never insult a guest, Mr. Winston,” Meredith answered on her own behalf as Travis came around the front of the wagon. She moved to stand by his side. “Like any good hostess, she’s sensitive to the preferences of her callers and is careful to address them in the same manner in which they do her. Anything less might make them feel ill at ease, and that would never do.”

Someone tried unsuccessfully to stifle his guffaw. Probably Crockett. But Meredith dared not take her eyes off of Mr. Winston to verify her theory.

The man grunted, then snatched three of the sugared pie-crust strips from her tray and proceeded to bite the ends off all of them at once. Crumbs fell into his beard, but his mouth stayed closed while he chewed. It was more than she had hoped for from the ill-mannered fellow. And really, at this point he could have spat on her shoe and she wouldn’t have cared. She had bested him!

Her smile grew as she watched him stuff her snacks into his mouth. She knew a delaying tactic when she saw one. He couldn’t come up with anything else to say. The man couldn’t even hold her gaze.

Then all at once, his jaw stilled, his eyes feasting on something behind her. He swallowed. Slowly. “So, Travis,” he said, his voice deceptively pleasant. “You marry this harpy before or after she burned down yer barn?” He tossed the rest of the crisps into his mouth and chomped down, victory written all over his face.

“After.” Travis couldn’t resist; he was having too much fun watching their sparring.

Meredith’s sharply indrawn breath roused his conscience, though.

“I did not burn down your barn, and you know it!” She shoved the tray into his stomach so hard he almost failed to steady the thing before all her little treats fell into the dirt. That would’ve been a crime. Jim had an able hand for making stew, but he never could bake worth a hoot. Meredith’s desserts were precious commodities.

When Travis had all the goodies safely balanced, he glanced up and caught the vivid blue fire of his wife’s eyes. “And I am not a harpy!”

With that dramatic pronouncement, she strode back toward the house, giving Crockett a censoring shove when he laughed. He managed to contain his mirth until the front door slammed closed behind her. Then it burst forth even louder than before. Neill joined in, and even Jim cracked a smile.