Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  Roy shoved the paper Travis had signed into the pocket of his coat and stomped to the middle of the room, where he grabbed hold of Cassie. “Of all the ill-conceived, dim-witted— We’re not even married yet!”

  The logger turned a questioning glance to his boss. “What do you want to do?”

  “Bar the door,” Roy ordered. Then he turned back to the minister. “Get the deed done, Parson.”

  The door slammed shut. If Moses and Myra were out there, it was possible Crockett and Neill were, too. She had to find a way to let them in.

  The preacher began the rushed service, mumbling the words more to himself than the bride and groom as his finger ran down the page of his prayer book in search of the vows. “. . . signifying the mystical union betwixt Christ and his Church . . . not to be entered into unadvisedly . . . If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, speak—”

  “I’ve got plenty of cause.” Jim’s deep voice brought the clergyman’s head up.

  “Shut up, you!” The logger brought the handle of his ax across Jim’s jaw, knocking his head against the wall beside him.

  The penknife clattered to the floor. Meredith leapt forward to cover it with her boot and dragged it under the hem of her skirt. But before she could figure out how to retrieve it and get it back to Jim, her brother-in-law let out a mighty roar and snapped free of the weakened ropes. He lunged at the logger and tackled him.

  Travis rushed Wheeler in the same manner.

  Roy shouted.

  A gun fired.

  Cassie screamed.

  Meredith’s heart froze.

  All she could see of her husband was a tangle of arms and legs. She wanted to run to him. See if he’d been shot. Help fight off his foe. But she forced the desperate urge aside. The help he truly needed stood on the other side of the door.

  Kicking the penknife into the corner, she moved to the door and threw the latch. The swarm had overtaken the guards—Crockett and Moses at the center, throwing punches and wresting away rifles. Myra’s iron skillet got in on the action—and was that Seth Winston clobbering Mr. Elliott with a washboard?

  Josiah and Neill brought up the rear.

  The cacophony of the shivaree drowned out the noise of the fight but also made it impossible to call out to her friends and neighbors, so Meredith waved her arms above her head until Neill caught sight of her and began steering the mob toward the house.

  Meredith stayed at the door to ensure the portal remained open until Seth Winston hustled forward to relieve her of the duty. “Get on over by the horses, girlie.” His raised voice barely carried over the din. “We’ll cut the heifers out of the herd and let the steers fight it out.” He frowned at her when she hesitated. “Go on, now. It’s what your man would want.”

  Travis.

  The old man was right.

  With a prayer on her heart and a fingertip hold on her faith, Meredith walked away.

  Fire burned across Travis’s side from where Wheeler’s bullet had creased him, but he spared it little thought as he grabbed for the man’s gun hand and pounded it into the plank floor. Wheeler’s knee surged into Travis’s gut, stealing his wind, but he held on. He crushed the man’s hand down again, this time aiming for the clawed foot of one of the settee’s legs.

  Wheeler let out a cry. The pistol fell from his grasp. Travis reached for it, but something hard slammed into his shoulder blade. His arms collapsed, and he fell fully atop Wheeler. The man wasted no time in kicking him aside. Travis thumped onto his back with a groan.

  “It’s over, Archer,” Mitchell said as he switched the grip on his shotgun. The stock that had felled Travis twirled back toward Mitchell’s shoulder. “You’ve been a thorn in my side long enough.”

  Mitchell took aim, pointing the double barrels at Travis’s chest. Travis tightened his jaw and stared at his nemesis, refusing to cower. His only regret was that he’d never told Meri he loved her.

  Then, as he inhaled the breath he fully expected to be his last, men and women, neighbors and friends poured into the cabin, carrying on with their blessedly ridiculous shivaree. Old Seth Winston guarded the door as the rest of the company wound through the room like a snake, whoopin’ and hollerin’. Travis caught Moses’s eye and then spotted Crockett, who moved to casually assist Jim with the ax-wielding logger as the rest of the parade wandered deeper into the house.

  How had they known to come? What miracle had brought them at just the right time? Travis struggled to his feet, cradling his aching side, and spied the answer to his question. Neill. He ought to strangle that boy for disobeying his instructions, but he grinned at his kid brother instead. Apparently Neill wasn’t too young to improvise after all.

  Ever aware of his reputation, Mitchell tried to shoo the crowd away without violence, but when one of the women took Cassie’s hand and started maneuvering her toward the door, he snapped. He fired his shotgun into the rafters, and the resultant boom and debris shower succeeded in silencing the revelers.

  “Unhand my bride, madam. Now!” Mitchell lowered his weapon, the dark-skinned woman his new target.

  She obeyed, slowly lifting her hands into the air. Then she darted a glance at Moses. Her chin twitched to the side.

  As if he’d been waiting for the signal, Moses launched himself at Mitchell and knocked him to the ground. “Get outta here, Myra!” he ordered as he fought to separate Mitchell from his shotgun.

  Pandemonium broke out. Women scurried for the door. Men brought out weapons.

  “Wheeler!” Mitchell screamed as he fought to defend himself against the larger Moses. “Get the girl!”

  “There’s a window in the back room,” Everett Hayes called out to his daughter. “Remember, Cass?”

  “Come on, Mama,” Cassie urged her mother to follow them, but the woman never moved, her blank expression unnatural.

  Wheeler lunged toward Cassie.

  “Go!” Travis yelled, as he grabbed Wheeler’s arm.

  “Now, Cassandra,” Everett demanded. “I’ll stay with your mother.”

  Finally, Cassie turned and veered toward the small room visible off the kitchen. Myra followed. At the same time, Wheeler tore his arm free and smashed his elbow into Travis’s side.

  Travis cried out. Pain stabbed through him like a sword’s blade as Wheeler moved toward the back room. He’d catch the women before they could get the window open.

  Travis reached behind his back, hissing at the pain. His fingers dug beneath his coat and fastened around the handle of his revolver. He pulled it from his waistband, brought his arm around, and squeezed the trigger.

  Wheeler fell.

  Neill and Josiah charged past Travis and seized Wheeler’s arms. He moaned at their treatment, and relief washed over Travis at the knowledge that he hadn’t killed the man. He craned his neck to survey the rest of the room, his blood still pumping with the turmoil of the fight. A member of Moses’s band crossed his line of vision, pulled a hunting knife from its sheath, and set about freeing Mr. Hayes. Crockett had a knee in the logger’s back where he lay sprawled on the floor, and Seth Winston was tying the fella’s wrists. Roy Mitchell hung unconscious over Moses’s shoulder, and the preacher was beating a hasty exit out the door.

  Travis’s eyes slid closed, and he sagged against the floor. It was over.

  After a moment, the sound of steady footsteps brought his eyes open. Jim stood over him, his hand extended. Travis took it and let his brother haul him to his feet.

  “I thought you might want this,” Jim said, holding out his other hand.

  Travis stared at the paper, his signature glaring up at him from the bottom of the sheet. His chest clenched. Something wet pooled in his eye. He blinked it away and cleared the clog out of his throat.

  “Burn that for me, will you?”

  Jim grinned and strode toward the hearth. He reached to the mantel, took a match from the iron holder, and scraped the head against the striker. Fire flared at the tip, and Travis watched as
Jim hunkered down before the hearth and lit the bottom corner of the paper. While his signature shriveled and turned to black ash, something deep in Travis’s soul shouted in triumph.

  Then a longing, equally deep, rose within him—a longing to share this moment, this triumph, with the one person who meant more to him than any other.

  Meri.

  40

  When Meredith spied Cassie and Myra coming around the side of the house, she bolted from her spot by the horses, desperate for word of what was happening.

  “Did you see Travis?” she demanded of her cousin without preamble. “I heard gunshots. Is he all right?”

  “I think so, but I can’t be sure. I was too busy climbing out your bedroom window when the second shot went off.” Cassie clasped Meredith’s arm, her eyes sympathetic. “I’m sure he’s fine, though.”

  Meredith nodded, yet her heart wasn’t as sure as her mind. She turned back to the cabin door. Things were quieter. Was that good?

  Her stomach roiled. The waiting was killing her.

  Finally, someone exited the cabin. Jim crossed the threshold, scanning the yard. “Cassandra?”

  Cassie dropped Meredith’s arm and hurried toward him. “I’m here!”

  Jim pounded across the yard and embraced her with such ferocity her feet left the ground. It was joyous to watch, yet it left Meredith hungry for her own reunion and, at the same time, scared that even if Travis were well, he wouldn’t be as happy to see her.

  Myra came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Our men’ll be next. Don’t you worry.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  When Moses did emerge, the sight of the oh-so-proper Roy Mitchell draped insensible over his shoulder brought a startled smile to Meredith’s face.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Myra patted Meredith’s shoulder and stepped toward her husband. “I better send Josiah to fetch the wagon. Looks like we’ll be needing it to haul all the sorry hides we collected.”

  Meredith actually giggled at that, and the release felt wonderful. Surely Moses would have given top priority to any of their men who had fallen during the melee. If he was carting Roy around, that must mean none of the injuries were too severe on the Archers’ side.

  She took a step toward the cabin, needing to see her husband, to gain that final reassurance that all was well.

  A second step. Then a third. She walked as if in a dream.

  Crockett marched through the door, dragging the logger behind him. Seth Winston followed with the man’s ax. Her uncle hobbled out next, Aunt Noreen tucked under his arm. Meredith’s pulse throbbed. Where is Travis?

  So intent was she on looking for her husband that she didn’t notice that Uncle Everett had paused in front of her until he spoke.

  “Forgive me, Meri.” His head hung low, his gaze meeting hers only for a moment before dipping back toward the ground. “I want you to know I’ll be heading to the bank first thing in the morning to deed the property over to you and Travis, like I should’ve done right after your marriage.”

  Meredith nodded, unsure what to say. However, when he shuffled past, a burst of compassion rose up within her. She called his name softly and waited for him to glance back.

  “If you allow Cassie to select her own husband,” she said, thinking of Jim, “I’ll give her the homestead as a wedding gift. Perhaps you and the man she chooses will be able to work together to revive your mill.”

  Uncle Everett’s eyes misted, and for a moment he didn’t move. Then he gave his own silent nod before ducking his chin and urging Aunt Noreen forward.

  Pivoting toward the cabin once again, Meredith picked up her pace. Another shadow loomed in the doorway. Her feet slowed. Three men moved into the light, none of them Travis. Meredith swallowed her disappointment. Josiah and Neill carried a bloodied Mr. Wheeler down the steps between them.

  The last of the men filed out as she reached the edge of the porch. The ones she knew from the freedmen’s school smiled at her as they passed. Meredith thanked them for their aid, knowing she should say more, but her mind seemed unable to manage more than a simple thank-you with her heart so focused on locating her husband.

  Taking a deep breath, she climbed the steps and entered the dim interior of the cabin. Travis stood near the hearth, his gaze focused somewhere inside the stone opening. He looked so solitary standing there, one hand braced against the mantel. Her heart longed for him with such acute need her chest ached. Yet she held herself back, not sure if he would welcome her intrusion. Not sure if he would welcome her.

  So she drank him in from afar. His long legs, wide shoulders, the sandy hair at his neck that needed a trim. As she continued her inventory, a frown drew her brows together. His right arm lay curved against his side as if protecting it.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, her reticence dissolving as concern for his health eclipsed all else.

  His head came around. “I thought you’d left for the ranch.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor as she walked, ostensibly to avoid the hazards of wrinkled rugs and overturned furniture, but in truth she was afraid to meet his eyes—afraid of the disappointment she would read there.

  “I stayed with Bexar, intending to ride out if the trouble moved outside, but then Cassie and Myra showed up and people started exiting the cabin. I . . . well . . . I figured the danger had passed.”

  Travis’s hands closed around her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re here.” Something gruff rumbled in his voice. Something emotional and sincere.

  Meredith raised her chin, but she had no time to judge what was in his eyes, for his lips descended upon hers and immediately demanded her full attention. His palms stroked upward to cup her face, and the tenderness in his touch banished her insecurities and planted new hope in the soil of her heart.

  Her hands wandered over his ribs, pushing beneath his open coat, circling toward his back. But when her left hand rubbed against his side, Travis flinched. It was only for an instant, and his lips never broke from hers, but it was enough to bring Meredith back to the reality of the moment. She pulled away from his kiss.

  She lifted the flap of his coat and grimaced at the sight of torn fabric bloodied from a wound. “I should get Crockett. You need to have that tended.” She pivoted and tried to move away, but Travis grasped her arm and refused to let her go.

  “It’s not serious,” he said, stepping close to nuzzle her neck. “You can tend it for me later.”

  Shivers danced across her skin as his warm breath caressed the lobe of her ear. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, trying to make sense of what was happening. “I thought you’d be angry with me.” His teeth nibbled on her ear, nearly scattering her thoughts. In desperation, she twisted away from him. “Stop that.”

  Travis straightened and peered into her face, confusion etched across his brow.

  Her voice grew scratchy. “How can you kiss me? You didn’t even want a wife, Travis. You only married me because your bad luck stuck you with the short straw. And now because of my foolish actions, you’ve forfeited your land.” She closed her mouth against the sob that rose in her throat, but a tear escaped her lashes before she could blink it away.

  “Is that what you think?” He loosened his hold on her arm, but only enough to allow his hand to slide down and capture hers. “You think I married you because I lost when we drew straws?” He chuckled softly. “Oh, Meri. Sweetheart. I won the straw draw. I didn’t lose it.”

  She stared at him, not comprehending the difference. “What are you saying?”

  Travis grinned. “When we sat around the table that night, we didn’t decide to draw straws because none of us wanted to marry you. We drew straws because all of us wanted to marry you.”

  Meredith blinked up at her husband. Could it be true? Had she been a prize, not a chore?

  “And I’ll tell you something else.” He dipped his head and lowered his voice, his grin turning downright mischievous. “But you gotta swear not to tell the others.�
��

  She nodded.

  “I rigged the contest.”

  “What?”

  “I made sure that I was the one who ended up with the short straw.”

  Meredith’s pulse quickened. “Why?”

  Travis shrugged a bit, and if she didn’t know better, she could have sworn his skin pinkened a bit under his tan.

  “At the time I told myself that you were my responsibility. That because of our previous encounter, I should be the one to marry you.”

  A responsibility. Of course. Meredith forced her chin to stay raised and her back straight despite her yearning to curl up into a protective ball.

  “But I was fooling myself.” Travis’s gaze met hers, and she caught her breath. The way he looked at her, it was . . . was . . . “Even then I was falling in love with you.”

  It was love.

  “I couldn’t stand the idea of one of my brothers marrying you. You belonged with me. I knew it. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it. And over the last several weeks, I’ve only grown more sure. I love you, Meredith. I thank God every day for bringing you back into my life.”

  Her heart felt as if it would burst, so full was her joy. But there was one issue she couldn’t ignore. “What about your land?”

  Travis squeezed her hand and tugged her into his side, then laid a kiss on her forehead. “You’re worth more to me than any pile of dirt. I’d give up the ranch again, in a heartbeat, if it meant keeping you safe.”

  “Wait . . . again?”

  He smiled at her and pointed to the blackened remains scattered across the floor of the hearth. “Mitchell was in no condition to protest when Jim reclaimed the deed paper work.”

  “Oh, Travis! I’m so pleased.”

  He returned her smile, but then his face grew serious, his voice unsure. “Meri? Did you mean what you wrote in your note? Have you truly come to care for me?”

  Meredith bit her lip, her emotions swirling. “More than anything,” she vowed. She reached a hand to his cheek and stroked his strong jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since that day you rescued me from that steel trap. Only now, I love you with the fullness of a woman’s love—deep, abiding, forever.”