Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  Taking his hand from his pistol, he patted Bexar’s neck and waited for the second call that would signal all was well. When it came, the tightness in his chest lessened, and he drew in a deep breath. Strangers on his land made him tense at the best of times, but now that he had a wife to protect, fear for her safety intensified the usual concern that poured through him every time shots echoed from the road. At least he knew it wasn’t one of Mitchell’s agents. Crockett never would’ve admitted a wagon through the gate if he didn’t know the driver.

  Travis cupped his fingers around his mouth and returned Crockett’s call. When the wagon drew abreast of his position, he urged Bexar forward with a touch of his heels and added his escort.

  “Travis, my boy!” the bewhiskered driver boomed. “Good to see ya. I wondered where you were hidin’.”

  “I’d hate to grow predictable on you after all these years, Winston.” Travis grinned at his father’s old friend, the only man with a free pass onto Archer land.

  “Shoot, that’d take all the fun out of it. Coming to see you boys is about the only excitement I get nowadays.” He reached under his coat and scratched a spot on his chest with the three fingers left to him on his right hand. “Jim got my cabinets ready?”

  “Yep. Finished the fourth one a couple weeks back.”

  Early on, the Archer boys had traded livestock for supplies—a cow or a hog, whichever they could best spare, in exchange for three months worth of flour, cornmeal, lard, coffee, sugar, and other necessities, like garden seeds, tools, and medicines. But when Jim started dabbling in woodworking and turned out to have a true talent for carpentry, Seth Winston quickly renegotiated their standing arrangement. They could keep their animals if Jim would fashion pieces Winston could sell to the local farmers’ and ranchers’ wives in his shop. Winston’s general store and post office, along with a saloon and a church that doubled as the local schoolhouse, were the only buildings in the nearby tiny settlement known as Beaver Valley, but having the store situated on the market road between Palestine and Athens provided a place for the locals to congregate and therefore a steady trickle of customers. Customers who apparently appreciated rustic oak and pine furnishings.

  “Can’t wait to see ’em. Pansy Elmore’s been badgerin’ me somethin’ fierce about that open cupboard I promised her. You know how antsy them women can get.” Winston slanted a glance at Travis and let out a cackle. “No, I reckon you don’t, do you?”

  “Oh, he’s learning,” Crockett offered in a wry voice.

  Winston twisted to eye the younger Archer. “Whadda’ya mean, he’s learning? You four are livin’ in bachelor heaven. You ain’t even seen a female in fourteen years. Lucky dogs. Womenfolk’re more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me. Always naggin’ a man to death. I tell ya, there’s been many a time I thought about holin’ up out here with you boys just to get some peace.”

  “Your sister still pestering you to move down to Palestine and retire?” Travis asked, eager to veer the conversation in a different direction.

  “As if I’d want to be surrounded by her clan. Nellie’s brood is all girls. And not a one of ’em has up and married yet. I’d be stuck in a house with five females. Five! Can ya imagine the torture? All that yappin’ and carrying on. It’d drive me batty.” His violent shudder made Travis smile. Seth Winston was a grouchy old cuss, but beneath all that bluster beat a loyal heart. If a person ever managed to find a way to his good side, he’d have a friend for life.

  When Joseph Archer helped him rebuild his store after a twister tore off the roof, he’d landed himself on Winston’s good side. And fortunately for Travis, Joseph’s sons inherited the man’s favor when their father passed.

  “Yessiree. You boys are the smart ones. Protect what you got out here, Travis.” Winston pointed at him with the trio of fingers on his right hand. “Don’t let no woman come in and start changing things. She’ll suck the freedom right outta ya.”

  They arrived at the front of the house right as he made that statement. Jim and Neill set aside their rifles and stepped down from the porch to help unload the wagon.

  Crockett grinned and winked at Travis over the old man’s head. “I think your warning came a couple days too late, Seth.”

  Travis shot him a quelling look, but Crockett just chuckled and dismounted, wisely staying on the opposite side of the wagon, out of his big brother’s reach.

  Winston squinted up at Travis, consternation furrowing his brow. “Tell me he’s jokin’, Travis. Tell me you didn’t—”

  The sound of the front door squeaking open stole the rest of his sentence. Meredith backed through the doorway, her arms occupied with a tray. When she turned, a cheery smile lit her face even as her eyes darted nervously between all the men assembled in the yard.

  “Consarn it, Travis! What is she doin’ here? Ya gone and ruined everything, haven’t ya?”

  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.

  The woman had held her own against Winston like a seasoned verbal warrior. So why had one teasing word from Travis ignited her temper?

  Winston clapped Travis on the back, unsettling the cinnamon things again. “That’s one ornery spitfire ya got there, Travis.” He grabbed another handful of pastries and ambled to the back of the wagon to lower the tailgate. “She just might make a halfway decent Archer yet.”

  If she ever let him near her again.

  Travis blew out a heavy breath and headed for the house, passing the tray off to Neill as he went. This business of wooing one’s wife was complicated. The pitfalls were so well hidden, a man didn’t even know they were there until he’d fallen into one.

  “Good luck, Trav.” Crockett’s voice wobbled on the end of a chuckle. Travis shot him a glare and pounded up the porch steps.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen. The bedroom, either. He checked the parlor and even peeked into the boys’ rooms on his way down the hall. Nothing.

  “Meredith?” He held his volume to a minimum, not wanting the others to know he’d lost his wife. He lifted his hat, scratched at a spot on his crown, and fit it back into place. She’d only been a minute or two ahead of him. She had to be somewhere in the house.

  The only place he hadn’t checked was the bathing room. Travis crossed the kitchen in six long strides and pushed through the unlatched door. “Meri?”

  The room was empty, but cool air whistled through the back door, where it hung ajar. When he nudged it open, he spotted her stomping between the clotheslines as if she were squashing a wolf spider with every footfall.

  Travis shook his head at the picture she made—arms swinging like a soldier, bonnet flapping against her back, pieces of hair coming loose and dancing about in the breeze. He took off after her and caught up just as she snapped the wrinkles out of a damp petticoat.

  She had to realize he was there. He stood less than a foot away, for pete’s sake, yet she refused to look at him. Her lips pressed together in a tight line as she jabbed a clothespin over the cotton garment.

  Travis crossed his arms, his own temper rising a notch. “You gonna tell me what I did wrong, or am I’m gonna have to guess?”

  “You betrayed me!” She spun to face him, and for the first time he noticed the tears behind the fire in her eyes. But the accusation she flung at him burned away any soft feelings that might have been evoked.

  “Whoa, now.” Travis uncrossed his arms and held up a hand of warning. “Archers don’t betray their own.”

  “I must not be one of your own, then.”

  Travis stepped closer and glowered down at the woman daring to impugn his honor. “You agreed before God to take my name. Have you forgotten?”

  “No, but it seems you have.” She glowered right back at him. “I complied when you ordered me into the house. I even put together refreshments on the rare chance that someone might actually be welcomed onto sacred Archer land. Then when you did bring a guest to the house, he turns out to be the grumpiest woman-hater north of the Rio Grande. But did I shy away? No, sir. I faced Seth Winston head on. And I was making progress, too. Until you”—she poked him in the chest—“chopped the legs right out from under me.”

  He knocked her finger away. “One word, Meredith. One lousy word. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Her voice rose. “With that one word, you sided with the enemy. You as much as conceded that I had something to do with that fire and agreed that I’m some kind of ill-tempered harpy!”

  He raised an eyebrow and stared at her until she realized the irony of the shouted statement.

  At that moment the starch went out of her. She glanced away and kicked at the edge of the laundry basket with her shoe. “You didn’t defend me.”

  His anger evaporated at the tremor in her voice.

  Travis cupped his fingers under her chin and turned her face back up to his. “You didn’t give me the chance.” He stroked the edge of her jaw with his thumb. “Meri, you are my wife, a part of my family. I will never betray you.” Her eyes stared up at him like a doe’s in an early morning mist. Travis dropped his hand away from her chin and shoved his fingers into his trouser pocket, worried he’d pull her close and kiss her if he didn’t. “The truth is, I was so blasted proud of the way you were handling Winston that I couldn’t resist a little teasing. I fully intended to clarify that you had nothing to do with the fire, but you stormed off before I got the chance.”

  “I ruined everything, didn’t I?” She sounded so forlorn. “I let him goad me into losing my temper. I shamed you.”

  “You did no such thing.” Travis frowned down at her. “Did you not just hear me
tell you how proud I was of you?” Compliments seemed to slip off his wife as if they were covered in grease. Nothing stuck.

  “But that was before I started acting like a harpy.”

  “For pete’s sake, woman, you are not a harpy!”

  Her startled eyes darted to his. Then without warning, a giggle erupted. Travis felt his own lips twitch, and soon they were both laughing.

  “Hey, Trav,” Neill called from the back porch. “Winston wants to know if you want to add anything to your usual order since we got us a female on the place now.”

  Travis winked at his new wife, her cheeks rosy from their shared merriment. “Tell him we’ll be up there to discuss it with him directly.”

  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.