Short-Straw Bride (34 page)

T
he metal gun barrel dug into his chest, but Travis barely felt it. All his energy was focused on Mitchell.

“I've come for my wife.” The words rumbled out of him like thunder gathering in the distance, low and ominous.

The guards had confiscated his rife and gun belt, but the hidden revolver itched against his back, begging him to take it in hand. Never before had he actually wanted to shoot a man. But now it was all he could do not to reach for his weapon.

Mitchell's lips turned down in a mock pout. “I'm devastated. And here I thought you'd come to offer your felicitations.”

Travis glared his disgust at the man.

“I assure you, Mr. Wheeler is taking very good care of our dear Miss Meredith. Aren't you, Louis?”

“Indeed I am, Mr. Mitchell. Indeed I am.” The man tightened his hold on Meri, his arm deliberately pressing against the underside of her breasts. Meredith clawed at his sleeve until he lifted his right hand and stroked the side of her face with his pistol. “Easy now, kitten.” Meri stilled. “You might not want to jostle me too much. It'd be a shame if someone got hurt.”

Rage steamed through Travis. Wheeler had just etched his name on one of the bullets in Travis's gun.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his focus away from Wheeler and settled it again on the man behind the shotgun. “I know you designed this meeting, Mitchell. Why don't we skip all the small talk and get down to business. What do I have to do to ensure Meri leaves this cabin unharmed?”

“Not much.” Mitchell smiled that ingratiating smile of his that made Travis want to slam his fist into his face. “All I need is your signature on a little document I had my attorney draw up.” He gestured to the table that stood on the opposite side of the room near the cookstove. “Should only take a minute. Then you and your bride will be free to go. Unless, of course, you'd like to stay for the wedding.”

“Fine,” Travis growled. “Bring me a pen. And get one of your men to untie my hands.”

“No, Travis,” Meredith gasped. “You can't.”

But he could. He'd give up anything for her. Without a moment's regret. What he couldn't do was look at those big blue eyes of hers without getting distracted. So he set his jaw and marched toward the table, tipping his head so his hat blocked his view of her.

As he moved, he tallied Mitchell's men. Mitchell and Wheeler made two. The thug with the ax wrestling with Jim was three. And the two fellows who had trussed him and Jim up were loitering outside the door; he could see their shadows through the front window. According to Jim's earlier count, that left only one for Crockett to track down and disable before returning to the cabin. Their plan to draw the men out of the woods had worked. Now they just had to figure out a way to get Jim's hands untied and take out five armed men without endangering the women. He was still working on that part.

Meredith watched with swelling dread as Travis made his way to the table. He couldn't sign away his land. He just couldn't. That land was everything to him. If he sacrificed it for her, it would kill whatever hope they had of making a love-filled marriage together. Oh, he'd never voice his regrets. He was too noble. But he would grow to resent her. How could he not? Because of her, he was breaking his deathbed promise to his father and forfeiting the one thing he treasured above all else—his land.

She bit her lip. He'd never even looked at her. Not since Roy named his price. And that more than anything ate away at her hope.

“You mind untying my hands, Mitchell?” Travis twisted sideways, aiming his bound arms at Roy. “I can't exactly sign your papers with my hands behind my back.”

Roy hesitated a moment, then nodded to the only man on his payroll without a gun in his hand. “Parson? Some assistance, please.”

“All right,” the man huffed. “But it will—”

“Cost me extra. I know.” Roy glared at the minister. “Just do it.”

The man pulled a blade from his boot and sawed through the rope at Travis's wrists. When her husband was finally free, he rubbed his chafed skin and immediately took up the pen that lay beside the document on the table. He only spared a moment to glance over the words before inking the nib and scratching his name across the bottom of the page.

A silent sob caught in Meredith's throat. It was done.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Archer.” Roy nodded his head toward Travis in a mockery of a bow. “You and your wife may leave if you wish.”

Travis strode toward her, but his narrowed eyes focused at a point above her head. Wheeler pressed the side of his pistol against her chin and forced her head around. Then before she knew what he was about, his mouth crashed down on hers. A sound of protest reverberated in her throat as she struggled to free herself from the violation.

From somewhere behind her, Travis shouted, and Cassie cried out for Wheeler to stop. Meredith could hear her husband's pounding footfalls, but right before he reached her, Wheeler yanked his horrible mouth from hers and threw her into Travis, nearly knocking them both to the ground. His wicked chuckle echoed through the cabin as Travis's arms closed around her.

Meredith scrubbed the vile man's taste from her lips with the back of her hand, wishing she could crawl into Travis and hide.

“Go outside and get on Bexar,” Travis whispered close to her ear. “Ride for home.”

Meredith stiffened. “I can't leave Cassie.”

“Jim and I will take care of Cassie.” There was no soothing in his tone. Only command. “I need you to go.”

How were he and Jim, who was still bound as far as she could tell, going to take care of Cassie? It made no sense.

Travis's grip tightened on her arm ever so slightly. “Trust me, Meri.”

The words cut through her. She'd not let him down a second time.

Meredith nodded and slowly stepped away from him. He released her arms, then staggered forward as if her moving had thrown him off-balance. She turned back and grabbed for him, but he'd already recovered. He found her hand within the folds of her skirt and slid a small cylindrical object into her palm. Her eyes widened, and in an instant he glanced toward Jim, let her go, and gave her a little nudge toward the door.

Not only was he asking her to trust him, he was trusting her in return.

Not knowing exactly how to fulfill her mission, Meredith exacerbated her limp so she had an excuse to slow her pace. Stomach fluttering, she made her way to where the logger was kneeling with a knee against Jim's hunched back near the doorway.

“Would you mind letting him up,” she asked the man, struggling to minimize the nervous quiver in her voice. “I'm afraid I'll trip over his legs if I try to step over him.”

The logger muttered something about “worthless cripples” but did as she requested, hauling Jim to his feet.

When the man was holding Jim only by the elbow, Meredith seized her chance and slid up against Jim's side, reaching for his hands as if to assist him in gaining his feet.

“Get away from there.” The logger scowled at her and jerked Jim away from her grasp. But the transfer had been made.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, praying he hadn't noticed anything. “I was just trying to help.”

She turned back to the door, intending to leave as she'd promised, when one of the outside guards burst into the cabin, sending her skittering back toward Jim.

“We got comp'ny.”

R
oy cursed. “What is it
now
?”

Meredith flinched at his harshness.

“There's about a dozen townsfolk coming down the path, screechin' and carrying on with drums and washboards and such. They look like a bunch of crazies. What do you want me to do?”

“What I want you to do, Mr. Elliott,” Roy answered through gritted teeth, “is to go out there and dissuade them.”

“Dis . . . what?”

Roy slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the ink bottle Travis had used mere moments ago. “Scare them off, you idiot!”

Mr. Elliott recoiled from the shout and backed away. “Y-yes, sir.” He spun around and lumbered past Meredith, leaving the cabin with all possible haste.

Meredith darted a glance toward Travis. Her husband seemed as surprised as anyone by the guard's announcement. The distraction was buying Jim some much needed time, though.

He'd gotten the penknife open and was working on the ropes at his wrists. Meredith maneuvered her way closer, using her body to shield Jim's hands.

The logger moved to the window and reported, “They're mostly darkies. Women and men. Only one feller looks like he'd be worth much in a fight, but even from here I can see a big stupid grin on his face. They're more nuisance than threat.”

Could Moses be the man he referred to? A little thrill shot through Meredith. Perhaps the Lord had sent them assistance. The sound of drums, shakers, and other crude noisemakers grew louder as the group advanced on the cabin.

Then she heard the man called Elliott yell out a warning. “You're not welcome here. Turn around and go on home.” His rifle boomed, but the oncoming noise never lessened.

“We heard Miss Cassie done got herself hitched,” a strident female voice called out.
Myra.
“We come to give her a shivaree, and we ain't leavin' until we give it.”

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.