Short-Straw Bride (16 page)

“It's too bad we don't have time to roll your hair in rag curls,” Cassie said. “You look so pretty in ringlets. But the wave from your braids will give us just the right volume for a lovely French twist. And I have ribbons to dress it up even more. Travis won't be able to take his eyes off of you when we get done.”

Meredith allowed herself a smile as she submitted to her cousin's artful ministrations. She knew she was no great beauty, and the prettiest hair in the world couldn't hide her limp or make up for the fact that she was a bride of duty instead of love. But if Travis could look at her this morning with appreciation flaring in his eyes when all she'd worn was a faded housedress, perhaps seeing her in full bridal finery would dissolve any lingering regret he harbored from drawing that short straw.

She'd vowed to the Lord last night to do her best to be the wife Travis needed, but in her heart of hearts, she desperately wished to be the wife he wanted.

T
ravis paced along the front of the house. An hour. Meredith and her cousin had been closed up in his room for an hour. How long did it take a woman to change her dress, for pity's sake? He was going to be out a full day's work at this rate.

Crockett was doing his best to keep the visitors entertained. Well, the parson, at least. The two of them were sitting on the porch discussing sermon topics and spiritual flock tending as if they had known each other for years.

Jim and Neill had returned to work on the lean-to, promising to come as soon as the women were ready. That left Travis with Everett Hayes, a man he respected little and trusted even less. They'd run out of things to say to each other after the first five minutes. So now, Everett Hayes sat on the porch eyeing the Archer pines as if he were measuring them for his mill while Travis paced the yard in front of the house, tension coiling tighter in his gut with each pass.

By the time the front door finally opened, he'd wound himself so tight, he nearly sprang out of his boots.

Cassandra stood in the doorway, one of those dazzling smiles on her face. “Thank you for your patience, gentlemen. We're ready for you to take your places in the parlor.”

As she slipped back into the house, Travis mumbled, “It's about time.”

Everett Hayes had the gall to wink at him. “Better get used to it, Archer. Things are never the same after you install a woman in your house.”

“That is true,” the parson said as he pushed up out of his chair, his expression slightly censorious as he glanced at Everett. “But if the Lord is installed, as well, the changes can bring blessing to a man.” He shifted his attention and peered at Travis. “Marriage is a sacred union, son, and not something to dread. As Ecclesiastes says, ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. . . . A threefold cord is not quickly broken.' Keep God woven into your relationship and this union will make you stronger. But if you treat it as a burden, it will become one.”

Travis stared into the kind eyes of the preacher and nodded. This was not the time to fret over work going undone or to stew about Everett Hayes and his connection to Mitchell. This was the time to focus on family, old and new. For that is what Meredith would be after today—family. And as such, she deserved his consideration and his patience. The work would keep.

“You all go in,” he said. “I'll fetch Jim and Neill.”

Travis made his way toward the lean-to, and when his brothers came into view, he called out a greeting and waved them in.

Neill jogged over to meet him. “It's time, Trav?”

“Yep.”

“It's sure gonna be strange having a girl livin' here.” Neill leaned against the wall of the shed, his knees and elbows poking out at odd angles. “I reckon I'll hafta start pullin' on my trousers before I go use the outhouse at night, huh?”

Travis fought to keep a straight face. The boy looked seriously aggrieved by the inconvenience. “Yep, I reckon so. But at least you won't have to worry about the washing anymore.”

Neill's face brightened considerably at that. “Jim told me that she'd be taking over the cookin' but he didn't mention nothing 'bout the washin'.” He bounced away from the shed and gave a little hop toward the house. “C'mon, Trav. Get a move on. We gotta get you hitched!”

Travis chuckled. “Go clean up at the pump, scamp. I'll be there in a minute.” Neill trotted off, and Travis turned to Jim. “You think the kid's glad to get off laundry detail?”

“He might change his tune when all his duds start smellin' like flowers,” Jim groused.

“Why would they start smelling like flowers?”

Jim shrugged. “Just stands to reason that if a woman starts handlin' a man's clothes they'd start smellin' like her. And women smell like flowers.”

“Meredith doesn't smell like flowers.” Travis frowned. He remembered the rose scent the schoolmarm used to douse herself in. He'd never misbehaved in class for fear he'd suffocate if he had to stand in the corner next to her desk. Meredith smelled nothing like that. She smelled . . . well . . . like Meredith. Like cinnamon and sunshine.

“Cassie does.”

Travis hadn't noticed anything particular about the way Meredith's cousin smelled, but he wasn't about to argue. Instead, he clapped his brother on the shoulder and quirked a grin at him. “We'll all have some adjustments to make—Meredith included. And no matter what our clothes end up smelling like, the woman's family, now. Remember that.”

Jim's mouth curved slightly upward. Then he nodded and clasped Travis's arm, sealing the silent pact. Archers stood together, no matter what. Not even frilly-smelling laundry could tear them apart.

Jim released his grip and moved past. Travis pivoted to follow, but something caught his eye near the fence surrounding the garden plot behind the house. Near the gate stood a small brushy shrub, its branches intertwined with the wooden pickets. Most of the tiny white blooms that had dotted it earlier that fall had faded, but one section still blossomed. Travis altered his course.

Meredith might not smell like flowers, but that didn't mean she wouldn't like some. His mother had always kissed his cheek whenever he picked wild flowers for her. She'd fussed over them and put them in a jar with some water and told him what a thoughtful boy he was for bringing her such a pretty present. It seemed like a paltry offering now that he was older, but maybe he'd get lucky and it would make Meredith smile.

Hunkering down beside the fence, he took his pocketknife and hacked off the thick stems holding the largest clusters of flowers. The reddish centers of the calico asters stood out against the spiny white petals as he ordered and reordered the stems, trying to decide which arrangement looked the best. Not having a clue how to make such a judgment, he finally just shoved them together and pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his pocket. After the awkward job of rolling the fabric diagonally against his thigh with one hand, he wrapped it around the stems like a bandage around a wounded arm and knotted it off.

Travis shoved his hand deep into his trouser pocket to make sure his mother's ring was still there. He'd removed it from the string tie after bringing in the trunks and fashioned the black ribbon into a floppy bow under his shirt collar in anticipation of his imminent marriage. Only the ceremony hadn't been as imminent as he'd thought, so the thing had strangled him for the last hour. But his bride was finally ready to put him out of his misery and get the deed done.

Hating to be the last one arriving at his own wedding, Travis jogged up to the back porch and entered the house through the bathing room. He paused long enough to check the straightness of his tie in the shaving mirror, then inhaled a deep breath and strode through the kitchen and down the hall to the parlor.

The parson stood at the front of the room near the woodstove, an open Bible in his hand and a welcoming smile on his lips. His brothers stood in a line in front of the sofa, while Everett and Cassandra Hayes held places near the bookcase.

The one person he didn't see was Meredith.

Then a soft rustling from the corner behind him drew his attention. “It's not too late to change your mind, you know.” Meredith's husky whisper met his ears before he'd fully turned.

A gallant denial sprang to his lips, but the moment he saw her, his ability to speak vanished. She was a vision. Her honey-colored hair was rolled against her head in thick, soft twists accented by loops of blue ribbon with long tails that draped along the side of her neck. Travis's fingers itched to follow the trail of those ribbons, to brush the tender skin at her nape.

Her lashes were lowered, and he wondered at her shyness until he recalled that he hadn't answered her comment. “Meri, look at me,” he murmured in a quiet tone that no one would overhear.

Those thick, dark lashes lifted slowly, and the blue of her eyes, made even more vibrant by the blue of her dress, pierced his heart. Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she forced her gaze to hold his.

“I'll not be changing my mind.”

Her shoulders relaxed and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His own mouth curved in response. Then he remembered the awkward bouquet he'd brought. Feeling a little sheepish, he raised his arm and held it out to her.

“It's not much, but I thought you might like them.”

Her breath caught and for a moment she did nothing but stare at the rustic offering. Unable to see her eyes, Travis's doubts grew. “I know they're just a bunch of weeds, so don't feel like you have to carry them. It was probably a stupid idea anyway.” As his mumbled excuses tapered off, Meredith's head snapped up.

“Don't you dare call them weeds, Travis Archer. They're glorious!” Her eyes glistened with moisture he didn't understand. “No bride could have a finer bouquet. Thank you.”

The softness of her palm caressed his knuckles as her hand circled the stems, and the contact had an odd tightening effect on his chest. He offered her his arm and led her to the parson.

To be honest, Travis didn't remember much of what the preacher said during the brief ceremony. He supposed he answered at the appropriate times and vaguely recalled Meredith doing the same, but when the parson announced that he could kiss the bride, his senses came on high alert.

How did one kiss a bride he'd never expected to have, one he'd known less than a week? Thinking to buss her chastely on the cheek, he leaned forward. But he couldn't seem to pull his attention from the fullness of her lips or the way they parted slightly as she drew in a breath, and somehow his mouth found her lips instead. The kiss was brief, gentle, but exquisitely sweet. If not for the hoot Neill let out, he would have returned for another.

A pretty blush colored Meredith's face as she turned away to accept her cousin's congratulations, and Travis had to fight the urge to swagger when he approached his brothers.

“I guess this means you won't be bunking with me no more, huh, Trav?” Neill snickered as he elbowed him.

More than ready to give up the cot in his brother's room, Travis scowled without any heat and shoved his kid brother's shoulder.

Crockett clasped Travis's hand and reached around to slap him on the back. When he stepped back, however, the knowing grin he wore communicated his thoughts all too clearly. “I'm sure he'll miss your snore terribly, Neill, but I imagine Meredith will distract him from the loss.”

Travis felt his neck grow warm. “Leave it alone, Crock,” he warned as he turned to accept Jim's hand.

In truth, he'd been so caught up with worries about Mitchell, the barn, and whether or not a wedding would even take place, he'd given very little thought to what would happen after the exchange of vows.

His gaze found Meredith across the room, the ribbing comments of his brothers fading from his awareness as he lingered over her profile. The curve of her cheek. The way the ribbons caressed her neck, inviting him to do the same. The slenderness of her waist. The curve of her—

Meredith glanced up at that moment, and Travis jerked his attention back to his brothers.

All right, so he
had
thought about it. Just not in any . . . uh . . . practical sense.

Instinctively, he knew that Meredith would not refuse him his marital rights. She would consider it her duty as his wife. Yet most husbands had first been suitors, courting their prospective brides with sweet words and gifts of affection. Except for the handful of weeds he'd presented her that morning, he'd given her nothing but a scarred leg and a dented head.

“What's got you frowning, brother?” Crockett jostled him with a shoulder to the arm. “You want me to hurry this party along so you can have some time alone with your bride?” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, but Travis ignored the bawdy gesture.

He nudged Crockett aside and lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear. Jim had already wandered into Hayes territory anyway, trying to get closer to a certain gal in pink, and Neill was smart enough to take the hint and turn his attention to the parson.

“Do you think I should give her some time to adjust before I move into her room?” Travis stretched his neck from side to side in an effort to rid himself of the kinks that suddenly arose.

“Shoot, Trav. It's
your
room, not hers.”

“I'm serious, Crockett. It would be the considerate thing to do, don't you think? This situation has been thrust on both of us without any warning.”

The teasing light in Crockett's eyes dimmed, and his mouth stiffened. “Are you saying you're not attracted to her in that way?” His voice was tight. “You should have never gone through with this if you—”

“Of course that's not what I'm saying,” Travis hissed. “Just look at her. A man would have to be blind not to be attracted.”