Short-Straw Bride (24 page)

T
ravis and Jim approached the gate from among the trees instead of using the path, taking the opportunity to observe their quarry before making their presence known. Everett Hayes paced back and forth beside the gate, muttering under his breath. The rifle gripped in his right hand gave Travis pause.

Perhaps his customary show of force wasn't the best course of action this time. The man had already worked himself into a lather, and with Jim's temper being riled, as well, things could get ugly fast. Meredith's warning about someone calling his bluff one day floated through his mind.

With a silent motion, Travis lifted his rifle from its ready position across his lap and angled the barrel into the scabbard attached to his saddle. He shoved it home.

“What are you doing?” Jim hissed.

“Put your gun away.”

“Not a chance.” He tightened his grip on the weapon and braced the stock against his thigh.

Travis frowned at him. “Do you really think that putting a bullet in Cassandra's father is going to endear you to her?”

Jim shifted slightly in his saddle.

“If Everett Hayes is foolish enough to believe Mitchell's lies, he's foolish enough to start something with that gun of his that we'd have to finish. And if one of us puts a bullet in him, we'll have to take him up to the house and let Crockett patch him up. Not the best scenario for keeping him away from Cassie, is it.”

Jim said nothing, just eyed Everett Hayes through the trees, his jaw clenched. After a long minute, he expelled a full breath through his nostrils like a provoked bull, then flipped his rifle around and crammed it into his scabbard.

Thanking the Lord for his brother's cooperation and adding in a quick plea for Hayes to see reason as easily, Travis nudged Bexar out into the open and raised a hand in greeting to his wife's uncle.

Hayes started at the sight of Travis and Jim emerging from among the pines and snapped his rifle to his shoulder. “About time you got here.” He glowered at Travis over the barrel of the gun with eyes that looked a little too wild for reasonable conversation. “I want my daughter back. Now!”

“Cassandra's safe,” Travis said. He figured if
his
daughter ran away, fear for her well-being might make him a bit crazed, too. The least he could do was put that fear to rest for the man.

“Safe with
you
? Ha! The last female of my household that came to visit you unescorted ended up half dead with a soiled reputation. I'm not about to let Cassie share the same fate.”

Travis leaned forward in his saddle, his brief flash of sympathy hardening to stone as he glared down at the older man from his position atop Bexar. “Put the gun away, Hayes, and we'll talk. Keep waving it at me, and you can forget about gaining my help with your daughter.”

The man held his position, but Travis could see indecision playing across his face as he glanced from one brother to the other. Finally, he lowered his rifle and stepped closer to the gate.

“All right, Archer. Now let me in so I can fetch my daughter.”

Travis stood in the stirrups and swung his leg over Bexar's back. Jim dismounted, as well, and the two strode forward. When they reached the gate, Travis hung both arms over the top of the highest crossbar and braced a foot on the lowest, trying to appear as friendly and nonthreatening as possible. Jim, on the other hand, stood as straight as a soldier and kept his gun belt within easy reach. Neither made a move to unlock the wooden barrier that obstructed the man's entrance.

“Cassandra will be staying with us for a while,” Travis informed Hayes, the sternness of his voice belying his casual stance. “My wife is thrilled to have her company, of course, and will gladly serve as her chaperone.”

“Impossible!” Everett Hayes blustered. “Cassie is coming home with me, at once.”

Jim took a single menacing stride forward. “She's staying.”

Travis brushed a bit of dust from his sleeve. “I'm sure she'll calm down in a day or two and see reason again.” He shook his head and expelled a sympathetic chuckle. “The poor girl actually believes you plan to marry her off to Meredith's former beau. Can you imagine? I did everything I could to convince her that you couldn't possibly be thinking of forcing her into a union with that barn-burning, land-grabbing fiend, but she seems quite convinced. Even went so far as to gain my promise that I wouldn't let you take her away. So, unfortunately, I cannot let you in.”

“Curse your lying hide, Archer!” Hayes seized the top rail of the gate and rattled it on its hinges. The rails shook with such violence that Travis had to step away to keep from having his chin pummeled. “You said you'd help me.”

Travis held up a conciliatory hand. “Simmer down. I said I'd help you, and I will. I cannot break my word to Cassandra, of course, but I'd gladly deliver a note to her if you wish to clear up the misunderstanding. Surely after she learns she was mistaken, she'll be eager to return to her family.”

“You're meddling in affairs that do not concern you.” Hayes jabbed his finger at Travis over the gate. “If you won't bring Cassie to me, I'll take her myself.” He leapt forward, intent on scaling the barricade, his rifle still clutched in one hand.

In a flash, Jim had his revolver clear of its holster, and the sound of the gun being cocked echoed loudly in the air between them. Hayes halted his climb.

“I wouldn't recommend trying to take her by force,” Travis said. “We do have a policy about trespassers, after all, and I'm sure it would distress my wife if I let Jim put a bullet in you. Oh, and should you consider sneaking in after dark, I think it only fair to warn you that my hound is a fierce guard dog. She doesn't take kindly to strangers skulking about and is likely to take a piece out of your leg. I'd hate for you to become injured after I promised to help you and all.”

Hayes swore under his breath and dropped down from the gate. Jim lowered his revolver. Travis grinned.

“Why don't you go back to town and get some rest? Give Meri and Cassandra a few days to visit, and when your daughter is ready to come home, I'll see to it that she is delivered to you safely. You have my word.”

“I don't want your word. I want my daughter.” Nevertheless, Hayes stomped off toward his horse. The animal danced sideways, unnerved by the hostility emanating from his master.

Hayes jerked the reins with a rough hand and hauled himself into the saddle. He steered his mount in a tight circle as he fought for control, then turned his attention back to Travis. “If Cassandra is not home in three days time, expect an armed posse at your doorstep. And I'll shoot any man or beast who tries to keep me from her.” His narrowed eyes shifted to Jim and lingered for a heartbeat or two before he brought his horse's head around and dug his heels into the animal's sides.

Neither Archer spoke until the hoofbeats from Hayes's horse faded into the distance.

When the sound could no longer be heard, Travis pivoted away from the gate and faced his brother. “You think he'll follow through on that threat?”

“Yep.” Jim holstered his gun and strode to his horse.

Travis's mouth settled into a grim line as he followed. “Me too.”

Meredith and Cassie managed to have a simple supper of skillet-fried ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans ready when the men came home.

“Why don't you take the biscuits to the table while I whip up a batch of redeye gravy.” Meredith nudged her cousin over to the counter, where the biscuits sat in a pair of towel-covered pie tins. Ever since Travis and Jim returned, Cassie hadn't been able to concentrate on any task for more than a minute or two. And no wonder. The men had been terribly tight-lipped over what had happened at the gate.

All Meredith had ferreted out was that their visitor had indeed been Uncle Everett and that they had managed to convince him to allow Cassandra to stay for a few days. She hoped that once everyone sat around the table, Travis and Jim would give a more detailed accounting.

Meredith poured about half a cup of coffee into her skillet with the ham drippings and deglazed the pan, scraping every bit of ham from the bottom and sides that she could. As the gravy simmered, she glanced over her shoulder to check on Cassie's progress. The girl had gotten all the biscuits into the serving bowl, but the bowl hadn't quite made it to the table. Meredith hid her grin by turning to stir the gravy.

Cassie hovered at Jim's side near the doorway, the biscuit bowl in the crook of her arm. It was hard to tell if Cassie was attracted to the stoic man or if he just made her feel safe, but one thing had become abundantly clear—she preferred Jim's company to any of the others. Which Meredith found surprising. She would have guessed that Crockett's charm and gentle teasing would hold more appeal for the usually effervescent Cassie. But it was Jim who drew her.

While Meredith added salt and pepper to the redeye gravy, she spied Jim taking the biscuits from Cassie. He thumped the bowl onto the table and immediately put a hand at her waist to guide her to a chair—one that sat directly next to his.

Her cousin wasn't the only one smitten.

Meredith's gaze wandered over to where her husband stood near the head of the table. Was Travis smitten? Did he long to be close to her like Jim longed to be near Cassie? She inwardly pleaded with him to look at her, to assure her of his affection. But he didn't. He just kept jawing with Neill and Crockett about the barn roof. Oblivious.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Meredith turned her attention back to the gravy. Her elbow flapped as she stirred the drippings with a tad too much zeal. Foolish fancies. What did she expect? That he would read her mind and suddenly cross the room to take her in his arms? He was a man, not some kind of clairvoyant wizard. Unrealistic expectations would do neither of them any favors.

Yet . . .

Her hand stilled, and the gravy ceased its frantic whirl.

Travis had looked at her earlier today.
Really
looked at her. After he'd kissed her and held her tight against his chest, he'd helped her mount and caressed the base of her calf. A touch that still made her shiver when she thought of it. And the heat in his eyes as he'd gazed up at her? That heat had warmed her blood and stolen her breath. Oh, he'd looked smitten then.

Perhaps if they could find an opportunity to be alone . . .

Meredith removed the skillet from the stove and twisted toward the counter to pour the gravy into a small bowl. The ocean blue of Cassie's dress loomed up from the corner of her vision like a wave sent to dash Meredith's hopes. She couldn't exactly instigate a rendezvous with her husband when her cousin was sharing their room, could she? Now wasn't the proper time for that kind of thing, anyway. Cassie was in trouble. Her needs took precedence.

“Neill, grab the beans, would you?” Meredith called to the youngest Archer as she set the gravy near Travis's end of the table.

Travis stopped talking at her approach and finally turned. His eyes met hers, and though she sensed his distraction and concern over what had happened with her uncle, she also sensed a connection, as if her presence actually comforted him. It wasn't a heated look of attraction like the one earlier in the day, but it warmed her just the same—deep in her heart, where her most protected dreams dwelt.

Crockett moved past her to take charge of the potatoes, reminding Meredith of her duties. She scurried back to the stove and removed the ham platter from the warming oven. Travis stepped forward to carry it to the table. Meredith wiped her hands on her apron and double-checked the counters to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Then, praying the men would assume the stove was responsible for her flushed cheeks, she joined her family at the table.

The instant the blessing ended, the men tucked into their food with their usual gusto. Cassie, on the other hand, spent more time pushing her ham around her plate with her fork than actually eating.

Hoping to lighten the mood and perhaps spark her cousin's interest, Meredith leaned forward to see around Cassie and addressed her brother-in-law at the end of the table. “So . . . Jim. I've been meaning to ask you a question.”

His jaw halted midchew. He glanced around the table as if looking for another man named Jim to respond. Not finding one, he swallowed what was in his mouth and scrubbed the back of his hand across his chin. “What?”

Cassie's head came up, and Meredith secretly cheered. Straightening in her seat, she set aside her napkin and peered down the table. “Well, I've managed to figure out that all you Archer men have names connected to the Alamo. Travis”—she turned to smile at her husband at the head of the table to her right—“of course refers to Lieutenant Colonel William Travis, who took over command of the regular soldiers at the Alamo in relief of Colonel James Neill”—she pointed to the youngest Archer, across from Cassandra—“who had to leave San Antonio de Bexar to tend to a sick family member. Crockett most certainly is named for Davy Crockett, the famous Tennessean who arrived at the Alamo only two short weeks before Santa Anna. So, logically, I would have to assume that you were named for James Bowie, the commander of the volunteers. What I don't understand is why you are the only Archer who doesn't go by your hero's surname.”