Short-Straw Bride (12 page)

“No,” Uncle Everett cut in. “I'd never be able to rest knowing you were out here alone. Your father entrusted me with your care, and I must see this through.” He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked from heel to toe. “The way I see it, there's only one way to salvage this situation.”

He looked pointedly at her, then scanned the rest of the room's occupants with a steely determination she'd never witnessed in him before. “You're going to have to marry one of the Archers.”

W
hat?” Crockett, Jim, and Neill chorused the word as if it were one of the hymns they sang in the parlor on Sundays. But Travis said nothing. He wouldn't give Everett Hayes the satisfaction of knowing the pronouncement had rattled him.

Meredith, apparently, had no such compunction. “For heaven's sake, Uncle. You can't just foist me on them like an abandoned puppy. The Archers have been nothing but kind to me. They don't deserve such ill treatment from you.”

Travis ground his teeth. Nothing but kind? They'd welcomed her at gunpoint and refused to let her leave after she warned them of the coming danger. Meredith was the kind one, not them. Shoot, his mule kicked her in the head.

And hearing her talk of herself in such unflattering terms, as if marriage to her would be a punishment to whomever found himself tied to the other end of the knot, riled him even more. He itched to hit something, preferably good ol' Uncle Everett, since the man made no effort to correct her assumptions.

“It can't be helped, Meri. It's the only honorable option. And if the Archers are honorable men—” the man stared meaningfully at Travis—“they'll take responsibility for you.”

Travis felt more than saw his brothers step deeper into the room.

“Now you're
really
making me sound like an unwanted puppy,” Meredith grumbled. Then she drew her legs up under her, and taking hold of the headboard for support, she turned her back on her uncle.

“Pay him no heed, Travis,” she pled in a soft voice. His gaze moved to meet her bright blue eyes. “I have a perfectly good house on the land my father left me, and an allowance that will see to my needs. You don't have to give in to his bullying.”

The thought of her living alone had his gut clenching. Wild animals, wilder men . . . He didn't want to think about what could happen. And what of Mitchell? He'd heard Meredith's comment about the man only being interested in her land. If she didn't marry him, to what lengths would he go to ensure she sold it to him? Would he burn her out, too? No, Meredith living alone was out of the question. It was the one thing he and Hayes agreed on.

Meredith's lower lip trembled slightly as he contemplated what course to take. She was a brave, fierce little thing, but vulnerable, too.

He gently chucked her under the chin. “Don't fret, pup. We'll figure something out.”

Her nose wrinkled at the puppy reference, and he nearly laughed aloud at the resemblance. As he shared a smile with her, a strange urge burgeoned inside him—the urge to stroke her hair and tuck her into his chest as he would one of Sadie's pups. But he was certain the instant he touched her, puppies would be the furthest thing from his mind.

“Well, Archer?”

Travis hardened his expression as he returned his focus to Everett Hayes. The man was all bluster. He had no power in these negotiations, and he knew it—not when surrounded by four armed men. His only choice was to appeal to their sense of honor. Hayes wanted protection for his niece, Travis would give him credit for that, but he was too lily-livered to take care of it himself, letting his shrew of a wife kick Meredith out of his house. Meredith deserved better.

“I'll have a decision for you tomorrow. Come back then.” Travis signaled to Crockett. His brother handed his rifle off to Jim and strode forward.

Hayes retreated toward the wall. “Tomorrow's not good enough, Archer! I demand—”

“You're in no position to demand anything,” Travis snapped, his patience depleted. “My brother will show you to your horse.”

“This way, Mr. Hayes.” Crockett spoke through clenched teeth as he gripped the man's shoulder and firmly steered him toward the door.

Meredith's uncle grabbed for his hat as he dragged his feet and twisted his neck to glare at Travis. “What of my niece?”

“She's not well enough to travel. She stays with us.”

The man frowned but offered no argument as Crockett shoved him out into the hall. “Mark my words, Archer.” Hayes latched onto the doorframe, momentarily halting his exit. “I'll be back in the morning. And I'm bringing a preacher.”

Travis said nothing, just stared the man down until he finally released his hold on the wall and submitted to Crockett's not-so-gentle guidance.

“Travis?” Meredith's quiet voice drew his head around and had him fortifying his resolve. She might not like the way he'd treated her uncle, but courtesy could only be stretched so far. He refused to be polite to a man who would insult his own niece and try to fob her off on a virtual stranger. She should be grateful that he—

“My uncle will need his coat.” Meredith undid the buttons and shrugged out of the heavy overcoat. Then she handed it up to him with a smile that offered no censure.

When he took the coat from her, she adjusted the too-long sleeves of his brown plaid shirt, the one he'd lent her the night before, and hugged her arms to her middle. She gave him a brief nod, and all he could think was that she had just removed herself from her uncle's protection and entrusted herself to his.

He stared at her a moment, then nodded in return.

“Neill.” Travis pivoted away from Meredith. “See that Hayes gets his coat.” He tossed the garment, and his kid brother snagged it out of the air. “Jim, follow our guest to the road. We wouldn't want him to have a mishap on the way home.”

Jim nodded, his expression assuring Travis there'd be no more surprises that day.

When the two men left, Travis turned back to Meredith a final time. Her eyelids were drooping, and her shoulders seemed to sag against the pillows. The strain of her uncle's visit had obviously depleted her strength.

“Get some sleep, Meri,” he said, moving closer to the bed.

Meri.
He liked the nickname. It reminded him of the young girl he'd encountered in the woods a dozen years ago, a girl with a brave spirit and trusting eyes, a girl who had grown into a woman of conviction and courage with a quiet beauty that awakened things in him he didn't quite understand.

Lifting the covers, he helped her lie down. “The boys and I will see to things.”

She smiled sleepily. “I know.”

He tucked the blankets around her, then crept out of the room and met Crockett on the porch. The two stood silently for several minutes as they watched Everett Hayes ride away, Neill at his side, Jim somewhere in the trees. Crockett never turned to face him, but Travis could hear his question before the words hit the air.

“You know one of us is gonna have to marry her, right?”

Travis inhaled a deep breath, prolonging the final moment before his world changed irrevocably. Then with a sigh, he let it go. “Yep.”

All through dinner, Everett Hayes's demand hung over the Archer table like a boulder perched on an eroding precipice. No one spoke of it, as if fearful that doing so would bring a rockslide down on their heads, but everyone knew it was there.

Travis scraped the last of the rabbit stew from his bowl, mentally rehearsing how to relay his decision to his brothers.

As the oldest, it was his duty to do what was best for the family. It always had been. Therefore, he was the logical choice to marry Meredith. After all, it was because of him that she'd come to their land in the first place. None of his brothers should have to sacrifice his freedom for an unexpected bride just because—

“I'll do it.” Crockett's proclamation slammed into Travis's carefully formulated rationale and shattered it like a stone hitting window glass.

Travis gulped down his mouthful of stew, his empty bowl thunking onto the table as he pierced his brother with a hard glare. “What do you mean, you'll do it?”

“I'll marry up with her.” Crockett shrugged and glanced around the table, his palms turned upward before him. “What? She's decent enough to look at and handles herself well in a crisis. A man could do worse.”

A man could do worse?
That
was his reasoning? Travis could just imagine the kind of husband Crock would make with that attitude. What was he thinking? There was no way—

“I'll wrestle you for her.” Jim propped his elbow on the table, his open hand extended in challenge.

“Hold on!” Travis pushed out of his chair and braced his arms on the edge of the table next to Crockett, his heated blood pumping hard through his veins. “No one is going to wrestle over Meredith as if she were the last piece of Christmas pie. Show some sense. Besides, I've already decided that I'm the one to marry her. It's my fault she's here. She's my responsibility.”

Instead of looking abashed, Jim quirked a cocky grin at him. “'Fraid you'd lose to me, big brother?”

“I'd whip you any day of the week,
Bowie
, and you know it.” Travis threw the despised name in Jim's face, ready to wrestle more than his arm if need be.

Jim kicked his chair out of the way and lurched to his feet, his face a thundercloud. The two squared off, hands fisted, eyes narrowed, the table the only thing separating them. Travis stepped around the barrier. Jim mirrored him, no longer his brother but a rival—a man who matched him in height, breadth, and most likely strength. Everything but experience.

And desire.

Yesterday he had come to grips with the idea of Meredith returning home to her uncle and perhaps marrying a druggist or banker someday, a man he didn't know and would never see. But there was no way he could stand to have her living in his house, belonging to one of his brothers. If an Archer was going to lay claim to her, by George, it was going to be him!

“You're not really gonna whup him, are you, Trav?” Neill's wide eyes came into focus at the edge of Travis's vision, and like a well-aimed snowball, the truth of what he was about to do slapped him in the face and left him cold.

Immediately, Travis relaxed his stance and opened his hands. “No, I . . .” Had he really been contemplating thrashing his own brother? His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted his hand to rub his jaw. “Sorry, Jim. With everything that's happened lately, I suppose I'm a bit on edge.”

Jim raised a skeptical brow, but Travis held his gaze without further apology. Finally, Jim nodded and bent to retrieve his chair. The tension in the room dissipated. Travis exhaled a long breath and returned to his seat.

“So how do you propose we decide which of the three of us gets her?” Crockett asked, dashing Travis's hopes that the others would simply accept his wishes.

“Three?” Neill piped up. “Don't be leavin' me outta the mix.”

As if Crockett and Jim weren't bad enough.

Travis stared at his youngest brother, his left temple suddenly throbbing. “You're barely old enough to shave, Neill. You wouldn't know what to do with a wife.”

“I'm as much a man as the rest of you.” Neill sat forward with a confidence that demanded respect. “I do the same work, wear the same clothes. I ain't gonna be cheated outta my chance to have a gal of my own just 'cause I'm the youngest. Shoot. She might not even want an old geezer like you, Trav.”

A chuckle erupted from Crockett, and Travis shook his head, feeling older by the minute.

“The kid's got a point,” Crockett said when his laughter subsided. “We don't exactly come into contact with marriageable females on a regular basis out here. Who's to say how long it'll take the Lord to drop another one in our lap.”

Travis leaned his forearms on the table, unable to argue the truth of that statement. “Any suggestions?”

Crockett rubbed his neck. Jim crossed his arms. Neill eyed the ceiling.

Travis glanced around the room for inspiration, as if the perfect idea might be hiding behind the coffeepot or under the stove. He needed some way to assuage his brothers while still ensuring Neill didn't end up as the groom. As the head of the family, he could simply claim first rights, but that could cause a rift. And the last thing they needed with Mitchell breathing down their necks was a lack of unity. No, there had to be a better way.

His gaze traveled over the cabinet that held his mother's dishes and drifted past the doorway to the bathing room. Something tickled his peripheral vision, and he looked back to the wall. A broom stood in the corner. Travis sat up straighter, a germ of an idea taking root. It would require some trickery, but he should be able to pull it off.

“Boys,” he said, slapping his palms on the tabletop. “We're going to draw straws.”