Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  Her sentences flew at him in such rapid succession, they made him dizzy. And the churning in his gut intensified.

  “Please say you’ll let me go.”

  “No.” Travis’s throat closed over the word, as if an unseen hand were choking him. Her crestfallen expression pierced his heart, but he wouldn’t be swayed. He tightened his jaw and looked up to the moon.

  Leave the ranch? Alone? There was no way he’d let her do that. Anything could happen to her. Anything.

  Her legs halted their swinging, and she twisted to look him full in the face. “Why?”

  A buzzing expanded through his brain like a swarm of bees growing more and more agitated. “Archers don’t leave,” he ground out.

  Meredith laid her hand over his. “Why?”

  A muscle in his thigh jumped. Why was she questioning him? Why couldn’t she just let things be? His leg twitched again and his arm began to shake. Her palm stroked the back of his hand as if to calm him. She’d noticed. She thought him weak. Afraid. But she didn’t understand.

  Travis jerked his hand out from beneath hers. He needed to leave. To escape. To run.

  “Why do Archers never leave the ranch, Travis?” she persisted.

  “A promise.” The creek disappeared before him, replaced by a vision of his father reaching out to him from his sick bed, clasping his hand and making him swear. “I promised to keep them safe. Together. ‘Don’t leave the land, son,’ he said. ‘If you do, they’ll take it from you. They’ll split you up. Stand together. On the ranch, you’re strong.’ ”

  Travis blinked away the image of his father and turned to Meredith, his voice little more than a whisper. “On the ranch we’re strong.”

  Meri lifted her hand and caressed his face. His eyes slid closed.

  “You’re strong anywhere, Travis. You all are.”

  Her hand felt cool against his cheek, and for just a moment he allowed himself to rest in her confidence. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found hers gazing back at him filled with trust and admiration—sentiments he wasn’t sure he deserved.

  “Your father was right to urge you to stay together and seclude yourself from others who would try to take advantage of your youth, but you’re not boys anymore. Not even Neill. You’re men. Strong Archer men. This ranch has been a haven for you for years, but if you’re not careful, it will become a prison.”

  “It’s not a prison.” He pulled away from her touch and jumped down from the rock. “It’s a home.” He fisted his hands as if he could fight off her words.

  The slide of fabric against stone whispered behind him, punctuated by a tiny grunt as her feet hit the ground. “A home where no one is free to leave? A home where all who come calling are treated like criminals? How long do you think the others will be content to live here in your shadow? Did you not see how hungry Crockett was to talk to the minister on the day of our wedding? He stayed at the man’s side, throwing question after question at him about shepherding congregations and seminary and sermons.

  “He has a gift for preaching, Travis. I can tell that after only one Sunday service in your home. God placed that desire on his heart and equipped him for the task, yet because of his loyalty to you, he has done nothing to pursue his calling.”

  Travis spun to face his wife, his accuser. “Maybe God called him to minister to his family. Or is that not grand enough for you? Perhaps you think a man can only serve God if he impacts hundreds or thousands, that three souls are not significant.”

  “Even one is significant.”

  Why was she looking at him like that? As if she were no longer talking about Crockett but about him. This wasn’t about him. Everything he did was for his family. To protect them. To support them. And now this . . . this outsider who had known them for all of . . . what, less than a week? . . . had the gall to insinuate that he was trapping his brothers in some kind of prison, binding them with family loyalty, and stealing their freedom. She understood nothing!

  Travis pounded up to the creek bank, barely containing the fury that burned in his gut. “You want to leave?” He spun around and marched back up to her. “Fine. Take your horse and leave. You’re not really an Archer anyway.”

  She staggered back, her right hand pressed against her middle as if staunching a wound.

  All at once he realized what he’d said. Remorse nearly cut his legs out from under him. Travis rushed forward and clasped her free hand between both of his. “Meri, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t.” He drew her hand to his mouth and laid kiss after kiss upon her knuckles, unable to look at her face.

  Meredith tugged her hand free of his grasp and turned her back.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Travis. I just want to help others.” Her quiet words flayed him. “But helping others isn’t the Archer way, is it?” She pivoted, her delicate chin jutting forth like that of a soldier. “Archers hide in their trees, too scared of what could happen to risk reaching out to someone in need.”

  “I reached out to you.”

  “But only because you felt responsible.” Her chin dipped a bit, some of the fight going out of her.

  Was she right? Had he only married her because he felt obligated? If so, why did the thought of her taking him up on his insistence that she leave chill his blood?

  Travis closed the space between him and his wife with a single step. “You think I’m scared, Meri? Well, I am. Scared to let you go. Scared that something will happen to you.” Like what happened to my father. He lifted one hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I can control things to some extent on the ranch, but away from it? I won’t be able to protect you.”

  “Oh, Travis.” She shook her head at him, her mouth twitching into an ironic smile. “You do realize, don’t you, that the two most serious injuries I’ve endured in my life have happened while on your property? Not by any fault of yours, of course, but one could argue that I’m actually safer off the ranch than on.”

  A groan vibrated in his throat, turning into a reluctant chuckle. The woman had a point.

  “No matter how many precautions we take, none of us are truly in control. Only God can claim that kind of authority. All we can do is use the good sense he provides and trust him to guide us.” Meredith stroked his arm from shoulder to wrist, then lightly clasped his hand. “If you want to protect me, Travis, prayer is just as powerful a weapon as that gun you carry.”

  Travis blinked, stunned by the simplicity of that statement. Did he believe it? When was the last time he’d prayed, really prayed, for the Lord’s protection over his family? He’d been depending on himself for so long, he’d forgotten how to trust another with that duty. Even God.

  Reaching for a faith that was more than just Sunday-deep, he inhaled a shaky breath and cleared his throat. “This teaching thing. It’s important to you?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But not more important than our marriage. If you don’t want me to go, I’ll respect your wishes.”

  He didn’t want her to go. Not at all. Yet he couldn’t keep her a prisoner, either. How would she ever come to love him if he stole her freedom?

  “You’re not to tarry. You hear me? Straight there and straight home. And you’ll take a rifle. Prayer is all well and good, and I imagine I’ll be sending a constant litany heavenward while you’re gone, but I doubt a little earthly defense will offend our Maker.”

  She bounced up and down on her toes, her smile bright enough to rival the moon. “Thank you, Travis. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Before he knew what she was about, she grabbed his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  His blood heated in an instant. He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her firmly against his body. “If you’re gonna thank me, Meri, do it proper.”

  Travis bent his head and captured the startled little sound that escaped her parted lips. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface to contain, so he kissed her with everything inside him. Desire, fear, yearning, and a touch of desperation fueled
his passion. He melded his mouth to hers, trailing his hand upward along her back until his fingers buried themselves in the hair at her nape.

  He told himself to stop, afraid he’d frighten her, but just as he steeled himself to pull away, she moaned deep in her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck. Travis’s pulse leapt, her response too sweet to ignore. He slanted his lips over hers again, deepening the kiss until he felt her tremble. Only then did he gentle his assault, loosening his hold as he softened his lips. He moved his hands to cradle her face and leaned his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, lips inches apart, their ragged breathing mingled in the air between them.

  “You belong to me, Meri,” he whispered hoarsely. “You are an Archer, but more importantly, you’re my wife.”

  She said nothing, but he felt the slight bob of her head as she tried to nod. Something deep inside him relaxed.

  He’d not driven her away after all. Thank God. He wanted to kiss her again, and more. Much more. But he’d already taken enough backward steps tonight. He’d not rush things. Meredith deserved a proper courtship, and she was going to get one, even if it killed him.

  And kill him it might, if it meant sitting back and watching her ride off to teach at that school of hers. But he couldn’t imprison her at the ranch and expect to earn her loyalty. Nor her love. Such commodities had to be given freely. As did trust—something he’d have to learn to give more freely himself.

  Keep her safe, Lord, he prayed as he pulled Meredith into his embrace and tucked her head under his chin. Keep my wife safe.

  He didn’t know how or when she had become so important to him, but as he stood there holding her, he was certain of one thing. He never wanted to lose her.

  23

  Swear to me you’ll be careful.”

  Meredith smiled at her husband’s stern expression. Travis demanded the same thing every time she left. Of course, this was only her third Saturday to travel to the school, so perhaps he was still adjusting. Nevertheless, her heart gave a little leap every time she heard the protective growl that proved he cared.

  “I swear it.”

  He took the flour sack that held Neill’s old primers and tied it to Ginger’s saddle, then checked the cinch for the third time. Meredith chuckled and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s secure, Travis. You saddled her yourself, remember?”

  He looked up, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to commit every feature to memory. She ducked her head as her cheeks began to warm.

  Travis cleared his throat and kicked at the dirt. “You got the gate key?”

  “Yes.” Meredith lifted her hand to her chest in confirmation. The key hung from a chain around her neck. Its outline was barely discernible to her touch through the layers of her dress and cloak, but she could feel the metal press against her skin.

  Knowing what question he’d ask next, she answered before he finished drawing a full breath. “Yes, the rifle is loaded. And yes, I’ll come straight home after the last lesson.”

  “You better.” His lips twitched as he struggled to maintain his serious mien. Then before she could react, he grabbed the folds of her cloak and pulled her to him. His lips came down on hers, possessive, demanding, and so intense her knees shook.

  “Come home to me, Meri,” he whispered, his voice husky and deep.

  “Always.” The single word was all she could manage just then, but she infused it with all the love in her heart.

  He’d still made no move to come to her room, not even after that soul-stirring kiss they’d shared down by the creek. He and the rest of the clan had been so busy with rebuilding the barn and driving the cattle to wherever they could find undepleted pasture, that she rarely even spoke to her husband except at meals. But on Saturdays he made a point to see her off. On Saturdays he kissed her. On Saturdays he gave her hope that their marriage could be based on something deeper than hastily spoken vows.

  She adored Saturdays.

  Travis laced his fingers together and bent to give her a leg up. Meredith reached for the saddle horn, placed her left boot in the stirrup, and put her right into her husband’s keeping. He helped her into the saddle and patted Ginger’s neck as Meredith gathered the reins.

  “I’ll be watching for you.” His hat shielded his face from her view as he ran his fingers along the chestnut-and-white pattern of Ginger’s shoulder. His hand reached the cinch, and she thought the daft man was going to check it a fourth time, but he skimmed over the strap and settled instead upon her ankle. The solid presence of his hand filtered through the leather of her boot top as he assured himself that her foot sat securely in the stirrup. It seemed an intimate, husbandly gesture, and Meredith’s heart swelled. Then his thumb stroked upward and brushed against her stocking. Her breath caught.

  He finally lifted his face to hers, and the heated look in his eyes left no doubt in her mind that the touch had been deliberate. “Hurry home.” The words lingered as his gaze melded to hers. Then he stepped back and swatted Ginger lightly on the hindquarters to set her into motion.

  The paint’s bouncing trot demanded Meredith’s attention. She turned forward in the saddle and took charge of the animal. Moses called down a farewell from where he and Jim were nailing shingles onto the barn roof, and Meredith raised a hand to wave at them as she rode past. Jim saluted her with a lift of his hammer—a gesture so typical of her stoic brother-in-law that it normally would have brought a smile to her face. But Meredith was too consumed with thoughts of Travis to pay Jim much heed.

  Could it be her husband felt something more than protectiveness toward her? More than obligation? She’d let herself believe so when he kissed her, but even then the fantasy didn’t completely dispel the hint of desperation she sensed in him. It was as if he needed to stake his claim on her before he could let her go.

  What would it be like to have him kiss her simply out of desire? Out of love? Suddenly Saturdays seemed inadequate. She wanted to be kissed on a Tuesday. No special occasion. No threat to her well-being. Just a warm sharing of affection between a husband and wife. To see that heated look in his eyes again, as if she truly meant more to him than duty.

  And what of your vow to be content in your marriage?

  The thought brought a swift end to her self-pity.

  Forgive me, Lord. I’m turning my mind in the wrong direction, aren’t I? I became so consumed by what I didn’t have that I forgot all about what I do have.

  Just like those times when Aunt Noreen’s caustic personality wore her down and bitterness started to leak into her soul. She had to take charge of her thoughts and steer them in a more positive direction. It was time to count her blessings.

  One—she was married to the man of her dreams. Two—Travis had allowed her to continue her father’s legacy by teaching at the freedmen’s school. Three—she belonged to a family of godly men who would protect her with their lives. Meredith turned her gaze toward heaven and smiled, the burden on her heart already beginning to lift. She truly was blessed. Just thinking about how far her relationship with Travis had progressed over the last few weeks stirred songs of thanksgiving in her soul. She could only imagine what strides they could make in the next few weeks.

  Help me to be patient. To accept your timing.

  Her grin widened as the gate came into view. Perhaps one day soon, she would unlock Travis’s heart as easily as she was able to unlock the gate to his land. All she had to do was find the right key. Or become so trusted by him that he unlocked it himself. Wouldn’t that be something?

  Buoyed by hope, Meredith slid from the saddle and drew the chain around her neck upward until the gate key freed itself from her clothing. Humming a cheery tune, she made short work of the gate, leading Ginger through and carefully relocking it before climbing atop a nearby stone to remount.

  Travis might feel safe behind all his fences and gates, but she aimed to show him that freedom was sweeter. Especially when founded on love.

  Urging Ginger into a canter
, Meredith leaned forward in the saddle and let the exhilarating rush of the wind tug at her hairpins and sting her cheeks with its frosty bite. If she arrived disheveled and chapped, so be it. Her students understood the significance of freedom. They’d not condemn her for indulging in a spirited ride.

  But fifteen minutes later, when she reined Ginger to a walk in front of the schoolhouse, a host of concerned children swarmed from the schoolyard to surround her.

  “What done happened to your hair, Miss Meri?”

  “Didja fall off your horse?”

  “Why was you ridin’ so fast?”

  “Was som’un chasin’ you?”

  “I’m fine, children,” she assured them, laughter bubbling up to accompany her words. “I simply chose to give Ginger her head today.” She patted the paint’s neck.

  When the children continued to press closer, Ginger halted. The horse didn’t seem too perturbed by the crowding, just cautious.

  “Get back, now, and give Miss Meri some air.” Myra Jackson moved through the throng, shooing children back toward the schoolhouse. “How’s she gonna teach us anything if’n she can’t get off her horse?”

  The children moaned but obeyed, filing off toward the schoolhouse to find their desks.

  “Joshua, you stay and tend to Ginger. Rub her down real good, you hear?”

  “Yes’m.” Myra’s younger boy stood at the horse’s head, waiting patiently for Meredith to dismount.

  Once her feet were planted on the ground, Meredith tossed him the reins. “Thank you, Joshua.” She untied her supply bag and stepped aside.

  As the boy led her horse away, Meredith sidled up next to Myra. “You know, I think he’s going to catch up to Josiah soon. He’s nearly the same height.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Myra’s mouth turned up in a proud motherly smile. “And him three years younger. The boy’s got his father’s hands, too. Big as fryin’ pans they are.”

  Meredith grinned, remembering how Moses had curled those big hands of his into fists. Getting hit with one of those would probably feel a lot like getting walloped with a skillet. “Joshua seems to have inherited your love of books, though. Has he finished The Last of the Mohicans?”