Page 44 of Short-Straw Bride

Meredith moaned and turned to reach for the last item in her wash basket. “Do I really have to face him again, Travis? The man will be insufferable after besting me as he did.”

Travis grinned and grabbed up the empty basket. “You can handle him. I’ve got faith in you.”

He held his hand out to her after she finished pinning a second petticoat to the line. She glanced uncertainly at his offering, then slipped her palm into his. On impulse, he tugged her arm, causing her to stumble into him.

“We’re Archers, Meri,” he murmured as he tucked her briefly against his chest. “We can face anything if we do it together.”

20

After five days of marriage, the shine was starting to wear off. Meredith grimaced as she stirred a bowl of cornbread batter. She’d cleaned the house from top to bottom, kept the men fed and their clothes mended—done everything a wife was supposed to do. Well . . . almost everything. And therein lay her trouble. Except for the quick hug he’d given her when encouraging her to face Mr. Winston, Travis had offered her virtually no affection, leaving her feeling more like a housekeeper than a wife.

She’d told herself he was being gallant when he suggested they take some time to get to know one another before sharing the intimacy of the marriage bed, but now she wondered if that had just been an excuse to avoid her. After all, he hadn’t wed her out of love but rather a sense of responsibility.

“Quit being pitiful, Meri.” She forced herself to stop pulverizing the cornmeal and poured the batter into a square baking pan. Love needed time to grow. It was unfair to expect her husband to blossom overnight into the idealized romantic hero she’d spent her adolescence mooning over. Besides, she was a woman now, not a girl, and she needed a man to stand at her side, not an imaginary hero.

But she still wanted that man to care for her.

With a sigh that was still far too pitiful sounding for her peace of mind, Meredith opened the oven door and slid the pan into the heart of the stove. It was then that she noticed the quiet. Travis and Jim were supposed to be tearing out damaged boards from the sections of the barn that were still standing, while Crockett and Neill checked the cattle out on the range and scouted new pastureland. There should have been voices, the crash of wood planks hitting the scrap heap, something. But even when she held very still, all she could make out was a faint chatter from the chicken coop.

Heart thumping in her breast, Meredith crept over to the bathing room and grabbed the broom. It seemed a particularly opportune time to sweep the front porch. If trouble was afoot, she’d surely see it coming from there. Wouldn’t hurt to have the shotgun at hand, either. Meredith took a detour through the den to collect the gun and tuck a handful of shells into her apron pocket. She stood the weapon against the wall of the entryway, then opened the door to find Sadie blocking her path.

“Shoo, girl.” Meredith nudged the dog’s side with her knee. Sadie held fast, her ears pricked, her attention focused somewhere down the path.

Meredith angled herself over the dog’s back, jutting her shoulders through the doorway in order to glance around the yard. No sign of the men. She pressed harder against Sadie’s side. “Come on, now. Let . . . me . . . through.” Meredith’s greater weight finally prevailed as she displaced the dog far enough to squeeze past. But before she could take more than a step or two, Sadie scrambled around to block her progress once again.

“What has gotten into you?” Meredith stroked the dog’s fur, hoping a friendly rub would restore the animal’s usual good humor. Sadie refused to relax, however. Her back remained stiff and straight, her legs braced like a soldier on guard duty.

All at once the pieces clicked into place. “Travis ordered you to stand guard, didn’t he?”

Sadie twisted her neck and looked at her mistress with eyes that seemed to reprimand her for being so slow in comprehending the obvious, then turned her attention back to the path.

Meredith straightened and peered in the same direction. The trees obscured her view, and the uncertainty of what was happening behind their cover set her pulse to thrumming. Whatever had lured Travis away had been urgent enough to preclude him from stopping by the house to warn her.

Had Roy Mitchell’s men returned? What of Crockett and Neill? Had something befallen one of them?

Her hands tightened around the broom handle. Please, Lord, keep my family safe.

A flash of color tickled her vision, dodging in and out of the pines. Meredith dashed around Sadie to the far end of the porch and leaned over the railing to get a better view. The dog barked once in protest, then bounded to her side.

Meredith squinted, the railing digging into her stomach. She spied a man. No. Two men. One tall and large, the other slender. Both dark-skinned. The path took them behind another tree, and Meredith bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. The tall one wore an odd-looking feather in the band of his tan planter hat. Even from a distance, she could make out the black plume against the lighter-colored headpiece.

She’d seen a hat like that before. As the memory slowly awakened within her, the hard voice of her husband cut through the late morning quiet.

“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Like a pair of ghosts, Travis and Jim materialized out of the trees, their rifles pointed directly at the man who had built her father’s school.

“No!” Meredith cried. “Wait!” She shooed Sadie with her broom and managed to evade the animal long enough to gain the steps. Dropping the broom, she hiked up her skirts and ran toward her husband.

He didn’t look too happy to see her. The glare he aimed her way was downright furious, as a matter of fact. But Meredith refused to be cowed. He could yell at her later. Right now she intended to broaden the stubborn man’s horizons.

“Meredith, get back to the house.” Travis called out the demand, then shifted his stance to match her angle of approach, putting himself between her and the visitors.

A stitch in her side kept her from answering at first, but she knew he’d figure out her refusal once she reached the gathering. She stopped a few feet behind him and struggled to catch her breath as she surreptitiously rubbed her right leg. The punishment of running on the shorter limb had set it to aching.

Travis would have to be deaf not to be aware of her presence, even with his back turned. Yet he paid her no heed, just continued on with his threats.

“You’re trespassing on my land.” Travis aimed the barrel of his rifle at the larger man’s chest. “The sign at the gate warned you of the consequences. Now turn around and leave before I put a bullet in you.”