Short-Straw Bride (13 page)

A
loud crash awakened Meredith. Blinking, she eased herself to a sitting position and listened, trying to piece together what was happening.

The Archers were arguing about something in the kitchen. Something that had them quite upset. Meredith frowned and tossed back the covers. It probably had to do with her uncle's embarrassing demands. The whole episode came back to her with humiliating clarity. The only good thing about the entire encounter was that Uncle Everett had declared her no longer good enough for Roy Mitchell.

Never had she been so thankful to be found wanting. She just wished it hadn't hurt so much to hear him say so.

As Meredith stretched her toes toward the floor and reached for the headboard, the discussion in the kitchen escalated. She heard her name and something about Christmas pie. She had no earthly idea what Christmas pie had to do with anything, but one thing was clear—the argument involved her.

Meredith frowned and hauled herself to her feet. This was not the Archers' problem to solve. It was hers. She never should have let Travis believe differently. She'd just been so weary when her uncle left, that handing over her burden for a time had been too comforting a prospect to resist.

Well, her energy had been restored, and it was time to reclaim ownership of the situation. Meredith stepped away from the bed, determination subduing her dizziness as she tottered across the room. Her heart might have fluttered at the thought of Travis becoming her husband, but what woman wanted her man forced to the altar? No. She'd have to find another way to deal with this mess.

As she reached the doorway, another thought brought her up short. If she didn't marry an Archer, would Uncle Everett make her marry Roy? Meredith inhaled a shaky breath and leaned her back against the wall.

If Roy coveted her land half as much as she thought he did, he'd waste no time convincing Uncle Everett that her sullied reputation meant nothing to him. He'd probably even offer to marry in all haste to minimize the scandal, further endearing himself to her aunt and uncle and blinding them to his true nature—a wolf hiding beneath a fancy wool overcoat.

Aunt Noreen would insist the marriage take place, and if Meredith proved incapable of swaying Uncle Everett from that course—a most likely prospect—she'd have no recourse but to flee. Away from Roy Mitchell's schemes. Away from her aunt's controlling ways. A lump lodged itself in her throat. Away from Travis.

A dull ache spread across her chest. All her life she'd dreamed of marrying Travis Archer. But he wasn't a dream. Not anymore. He was flesh and blood and just down the hall. Could she really give him up when he was finally within reach?

Travis hunkered down next to the broom and broke off a handful of straw from an already frayed edge. After selecting the pieces most similar in length—and tucking one of them inside the cuff of his sleeve—he strode back to the table.

“Everyone's agreed that this will settle the matter, correct?” Travis eyed his brothers and waited for each of them to nod. “Good.” He tossed four pieces of straw onto the table. “Crockett, shorten one of the straws.”

Crockett snapped about an inch off the end of one of the straws and tossed the leftover piece onto the floor. Then before anyone else could volunteer for the duty, Travis snatched the straws up and turned his back.

He arranged the straws in his fist, making sure each end stood at a height equal to the others. But instead of including the short straw, he withdrew the fourth long straw from his shirt sleeve and added it to the mix. A pang of guilt shot through him. He'd always demanded honesty from his brothers and never gave them anything less than that himself. Until now.

Not wanting to examine his motives too closely, Travis shoved the short straw into his sleeve and told himself what he was doing was for the good of the family. Then, with a deep breath, he spun around to face his brothers.

“All right. Who's first?”

Neill reached out a hand. “Here goes nothing.” He closed his eyes and grabbed. When he spied the long straw, a crooked smile twitched across his face an instant before a more solemn expression crowded it out. “Well, it ain't gonna be me, fellas.”

Travis's guilt eased at the boy's obvious relief. He swiveled toward Jim next, and when he, too, pulled out a long straw, there was no indication of strong feelings one way or the other. He simply waggled his brows at Crockett and Travis, then propped a foot on the seat of his chair and leaned an elbow on his knee.

“Guess it's you or me, Crock.” Travis extended the final two straws to his eldest brother, tightening his grip to ensure the fourth straw didn't escape when the third one was tugged free.

Crockett eyed both options and frowned a bit in concentration. Travis had to focus to keep his hand steady. Was Crock trying to pick the short one or the long one? Did he actually have feelings for Meredith? His offer to marry the gal earlier had seemed practical, not personal. But what if there was more to it than that?

Travis clenched his jaw, his thoughts growing defiant. What if there
was
more to it? Crock didn't share a history with Meredith, and he sure as shootin' wasn't the guy Meri had said she'd dreamed about.

“Loosen your grip, Trav,” Crockett said, breaking into his thoughts. “I can't pull my straw out.”

Heat climbed up Travis's neck. “Sorry.”

Crockett shook his head and grinned as he pulled the third straw free, but his smile faded as he examined his piece. “It's a long one.”

“Guess that means Travis gets her,” Neill proclaimed.

Crockett grasped Travis's wrist. “Let's see the straw first.”

Panic shot through Travis. How was he going to make the switch? He needed a distraction—something unexpected, something . . .

“You're drawing
straws
?” Meredith stepped into the kitchen, her nightgown swirling about her ankles, her hair mussed, her eyes shooting blue fire.

Every male eye in the room locked onto the honey-haired virago. Travis had no idea how many seconds ticked by before he realized that Crockett's hand had fallen away. He quickly dropped the long straw, scraped his boot over it, and sent it skittering back toward the wall as he shook the short one down into his cupped palm.

When he looked back up, her anger pierced him. However, it was the hurt hiding behind the sparks in her eyes that made his heart ache. “Meredith, I—”

“Four grown men put their heads together,” she said, cutting him off as she reached to the wall for support, “and
this
is the solution you come up with?
Drawing straws?
”

“Jim wanted to arm wrestle—
oomph
.” Neill's explanation died as Jim's elbow connected with the kid's stomach.

Meredith speared the two of them with a quick glare, then dropped her hand to her side and stalked toward Travis. Crockett sidled out of range.

“So this is how you see to things, is it? How diplomatic of you to leave my future in the hands of chance. I'm surprised you didn't throw an extra straw in the mix for Roy Mitchell. Might as well give him a shot, too. But then he'd have my land, which would increase his determination to get his hands on yours in order to complete his enterprise, and you couldn't allow that. After all, the land always comes first with you. Isn't that right, Travis? The land and your brothers.”

Somehow Travis managed not to flinch under the barrage of sarcasm. He held her gaze until she finally dropped her eyes from his face to someplace lower. Her hand closed over his. A shiver of pleasure mixed with dread snaked up his arm. She drew his fist up between them and gently extracted the short straw from his grasp.

“The land and your brothers,” she repeated softly. “Of course you drew the short straw. How else could you spare your brothers from the burden of being shackled to me?”

“It's not like that, Meri.” Travis reached for her hand, but she pulled it away the instant his fingers grazed her knuckles.

“I expected better from you, Travis.” Her words hacked into him like an ax in a tree trunk, and he swayed a bit from the impact. The trust he'd grown accustomed to seeing in her eyes had dimmed to disappointment.

“I expected better from all of you.” She stepped back, creating an invisible chasm between her and the men who had let her down. “Did it never occur to you that I might actually want some say in my future? Or did you assume I would meekly accept whatever the four of you decided and thank you for lifting the heavy burden of thinking for myself off my weak female shoulders?”

Silence smothered the room.

Travis swallowed the excuses he'd been feeding himself—the fact that she'd been asleep, that she was under his protection, that she'd seemed to welcome his assistance when he'd promised to see to things for her.

He knew what it felt like to have fate decide your future. If he had stayed home and watched over his brothers like his father had told him to that day fourteen years ago, he never would have been caught in a thunderstorm. And if his father hadn't gone searching for him, he never would have been thrown from his horse when the lightning stuck. And if his father hadn't been thrown, he never would have incurred the wounds that led to his death.

Travis fidgeted as old guilt erupted to mingle with new.

Joseph Archer had extracted an oath from his son that day. An oath borne of desperation and a desire to protect the sons he was leaving behind. An oath that placed a heavy burden on the thin shoulders of a fifteen-year-old boy. But that boy took it on without complaint. Travis's dreams and plans no longer mattered. He had to atone for the damage his disobedience had caused. Guarding Archer land and the Archer family became his sole duty—his road to redemption.

Meredith's situation, however, had no root in disobedience. It was kindness alone that set her on this path. Unlike him, she didn't deserve to have her future wrested from her hands.

“You're right, Meredith.” Travis shifted his weight and forced himself to meet her gaze. “We should have waited and discussed the matter with you.”

“Yes. You should have.”

“Would you like to discuss things now?” He held out his palms and took a cautious step forward.

“I'm not a spooked horse that needs to be placated.” Her dry tone halted him in his tracks. He lowered his hands, a reluctant grin curving his lips.

He
had
been approaching her that way, hadn't he? Funny that he'd failed to recognize it until she called him on it. The gal was perceptive. And intelligent. Perhaps it was time to take the kid gloves off and treat her as he would one of his brothers.

Travis leaned his hip against the corner of the table. “All right, Meredith. No placating. No sugarcoating. Here's where we stand.”

She crossed her arms and braced her legs apart like a warrior willing to talk peace while still prepared to battle should talk prove ineffectual. With an arched brow, she nodded for him to continue.

Travis ticked off his arguments on his fingers. “Your reputation is tattered. You have no home except for a house on a piece of land that Mitchell will do anything to get his hands on. You can marry Mitchell and live the rest of your life with a man you despise, or you can refuse his suit and see what vile scheme he concocts to steal your land from you. He could burn you out like he tried to do with us, or he could compromise you in order to force you to the altar. No matter how capable or careful you are, a woman alone has little chance against a man like him.”

Meredith kept her head high and her face schooled, but the fabric around her knees wavered. Travis grabbed two chairs. Whether it was trepidation or her injury that was causing her to tremble, he didn't know. But he wasn't about to let her fall to the ground. He set one chair beside her and turned the other around and straddled it. Then he continued his assessment as if it didn't matter to him if she sat or not.

“Your only other option is to marry one of us.” He paused. “Me.” Travis suddenly felt the need to clear his throat. “This alternative would repair your reputation, give you a place to live, and provide the protection of four able-bodied men. Unless you have something else to suggest . . . ?”

“Actually, there is something else.” Her quiet statement startled him.

“There is?” He glanced over at Crockett. His brother shrugged.

Meredith slowly lowered herself into the straight-back chair, the fight draining from her. “I could leave Anderson County. I could go farther west to where the railroad is opening new towns, or head to a larger city where no one knows me.” Her chin jutted upward. “I could find work. Make a clean start.”

Leave Anderson County?
Travis frowned. He hadn't considered that option. Didn't really want to, either. It was reckless. Dangerous. And for some odd reason . . . disappointing. Besides, he'd already settled his mind on this marrying business. No sense muddying the waters.