Short-Straw Bride (8 page)

A
s the trees thinned, the smell of smoke grew stronger and an eerie orange glow winked at him from between the pines. Travis tightened his grip on the reins and leaned low over the saddle, urging his mount to a pace that bordered on hazardous. So close to home, though, the ground was familiar, and Bexar responded without hesitation.

The barn came into view, and Travis gritted his teeth. The thing was glowing from within like a jack-o'-lantern, an occasional flicker of flame licking through the hayloft door to tickle the outer walls.

How could he have been so stupid? He hadn't even thought to check the interior of the barn before he went tearing off after Mitchell's men. He'd simply assumed he'd interrupted them in time. His thirst for justice had outweighed his common sense.

Travis reined his horse around to the side of the barn closest to the trough pump and pulled up short. A host of empty pails, tubs, and even cooking pots lay scattered beside the trough, firelight gleaming across their tin surfaces.

Surely she wouldn't have . . .

Travis leapt from the saddle and scaled the corral fence. “Meredith!”

Sadie shot out of the barn and circled his legs, almost tripping him. She barked and dashed back toward the barn. Travis sprinted after her.

Thick, dark smoke hovered near the rafters, and the stench of burning wood and hay enveloped him. He squinted through the haze, searching the ground for any sign of Meredith. When he spotted a feminine figure battling the blaze along the west wall, relief hit him with such force his knees nearly buckled. Then anger stiffened his joints and propelled him toward the woman whose dark green dress had faded to a sooty gray.

“What do you think you're doing?” Travis snatched the damp blanket from Meredith's grip as she swung it behind her shoulder. The rag pulled free without any resistance. Her obvious exhaustion only heightened his ire. “I told you to wait at the house.”

Meredith pivoted toward him and blinked as if she couldn't quite understand what she was seeing. “Travis?” A spark of clarity flashed in her eyes before she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank God you've come.”

The contact was so unexpected, it nearly threw him off-balance. Travis didn't quite know what to do. He'd been shouting and scowling a second ago, and now he had a grateful female pressed up against him. How had that happened?

“I tried so hard, Travis. I really did.” She tipped her face up to look at him. The soot smeared across her cheeks and forehead made the blue of her eyes even brighter. “I had the east wall put out and started on the west when the flames reached the loft. Do you think you can save it?”

“Don't know. The boys and I will try, though.” He separated himself from her and took her hand. “We need to get you out of here first.”

She stumbled along behind him as he steered her out to the corral. Crockett was already working the pump to fill the trough while Jim and Neill righted the buckets.

“The heart of the fire is in the loft,” he called out to his brothers. “Do what you can, but don't put yourself at risk. If the roof catches, get out. We'll move to containment. Make sure the house doesn't catch.”

Travis didn't release his grip on Meredith until he had her at the fence on the far side. “Go up to the house.”

“I can help.”

“No, Meredith! I don't want you anywhere near that fire.” The very thought made him shiver despite the heat pouring out of the barn.

“I managed not to burn myself to a crisp for the thirty minutes it took you to get here.” She crossed her arms and glared at him, her spunk reviving. “I think I can find a way to preserve that tradition a little longer.”

“The answer's no.” He turned his back on her and strode away, praying she'd obey. If she were one of his brothers, there'd have been no question. He was the head of the family, and his word was law. But she wasn't an Archer. And he had no idea how he'd handle her if a direct order didn't work.

She leapt past him and moved into his path, forcing him to halt. “Let me work the pump.”

“You're too tired to lift the handle.” Travis cut her off with a wave of his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “I don't have time to argue. My barn's burning.” He sidestepped her and resumed his long-legged pace. This time she let him go.

Travis and his brothers fought the blaze as best they could. With ladders inside and out, they doused the loft simultaneously from the barn's center as well as through the loft window, but it wasn't long before the fire reached the roof.

When Neill arrived with another pail of water, Travis waved him off. “Go help Jim and Crock outside.” He shimmied down the ladder, his voice hoarse from the smoke, his face scalded like a cow's hide after branding. “I'll get the animals a safe distance away, then meet you there.”

Neill nodded and jumped to obey, but the determination in his eyes dimmed. Even at seventeen, the boy could recognize defeat when he saw it. And Travis figured that was exactly what the kid saw when he looked into his big brother's face.

It killed him to lose twice in one night. The arsonists' escape had been hard enough to swallow, but believing the barn had been spared had made it tolerable. Now everything was sticking in his craw.

He pulled the ladder down, kicked dirt over the few flames that had taken root on the top rungs, and carried it outside. As he tossed it over the corral fence, cool air bathed his stinging face. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and relish the coolness, but all he could afford to do was cough some smoke out of his lungs and turn back to the task at hand.

Which apparently included scolding a certain hardheaded woman for not heeding his instructions. Meredith glared at him from where she stood pumping water into the trough, not a hint of apology in her demeanor. Travis stormed past her and worked the knot on Jochebed's lead line. “I thought I told you to go up to the house.”

The pump arm creaked as she gave it a series of vigorous yanks, then fell silent as water gushed into the trough. “As I recall,” she said, rubbing her palms into her skirt, “you never forbade me from working the pump. You simply expressed your doubts as to my ability to do so.”

Travis's grip on the cow's rope tightened. “Don't play word games with me, Meredith. You knew what I meant.”

“Did I?” She reached for a stew pot and dipped it into the trough. “Seems to me that a man who claims protecting his brothers and his land always comes first wouldn't be so quick to refuse able-bodied help just because that body happens to be female.” She set the full pot on the ground and crossed her arms over her chest.

Travis's eyes followed the movement, noting the curves it accentuated. Yep. Definitely female. He wouldn't be arguing that point.

Crockett rounded the barn at a jog, an empty washtub banging against his leg. Meredith unclasped her arms and immediately returned to the pump.

Travis made no move to stop her, deciding it wasn't worth wasting more time or breath debating. Having her there
did
speed the process, and even though he still didn't like her being so close to the fire, she was probably in no immediate danger.

At least Jochebed obeyed him without question. More than eager to get away from the burning barn, the milk cow lumbered along beside him to the back side of the corral, where Travis removed the fence rails from their notches and set her free.

Next he went after Samson, but the old mule was too busy throwing a fit to recognize what was good for him.

“Enough of that,” Travis reprimanded as he grabbed hold of the mule's halter and forced the animal's head down. Samson tried to jerk away, but Travis held firm, asserting his dominance until the animal calmed. “That's it. Settle down, now.” Travis patted Samson's neck and slowly unfastened the hitching strap. At the same moment, a thunderous
pop!
exploded from within the barn.

Samson's eyes went wild, and with the sudden strength of his namesake, he wrenched free and tore across the corral. Travis gave chase in an effort to steer him toward the fence opening, but the old mule was either too blind to see the downed railings or too terror-stricken to comprehend their meaning. Instead, the fool beast raced straight into the barn.

Stunned, Travis stared at the entrance. What would possess him to run
into
the fire? Sure the cantankerous thing would run right back out, Travis braced his legs apart and prepared to make a grab for him. Only he never came. The old mule was probably standing in his stall—third one on the right, under the loft—too stubborn to leave.

“Stupid critter,” Travis muttered under his breath. He had half a mind to leave him in there. Of course, he never could stomach the thought of any living creature suffering. Not when it was in his power to do something about it.

Digging his handkerchief out of his coat pocket, Travis marched up to the entrance. Heat flared against his skin. Steeling himself, he turned his head and sucked in two deep breaths, then tied the red bandanna over his nose and mouth.

“No, Travis!” Meredith's voice barely penetrated the roar of the fire. “Don't!”

But he didn't have a choice. The longer he waited, the more dangerous it would be. Ignoring her calls, he ran into the barn.

Travis lifted his arm to shield his face from the heat and his head from any debris that might fall as he made his way to Samson's stall.

Not daring to get near the mule's hooves, he entered the adjacent box and scaled the half wall near Samson's head. “Easy, boy.” The mule shied, but Travis snatched the halter and yanked the animal's head around while pushing on his shoulder. “Back,” he ordered. “Back.”

Samson pinned his ears down and bit at Travis's arm. With a quick move of his elbow, Travis dodged the teeth and smacked the mule's neck with the flat of his hand. “Quit!”

The mule blinked and retreated a step, but Travis dragged the mule's head around until Samson faced the doorway leading to the corral. The fire raged directly overhead in the loft. Sweat and smoke stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Burning air scalded his throat, making it hard to breathe. If he didn't get the animal out soon, he'd be forced to leave him behind.

Travis tugged the mule forward and Samson actually complied. He'd only taken a handful of steps, however, when the loft floorboards gave way. Fiery debris plummeted. Planks of wood struck across his shoulders, and lit hay showered upon his back. Spooked but unharmed by the downfall, Samson brayed and pulled against Travis's hold, trying to retreat farther into the barn.

“No you don't. We aren't going through that again.” Travis shook off what he could from his back and swatted Samson's neck a second time. The mule tossed his head, but obeyed. However, Travis had a new problem to contend with—a focused heat was radiating through the back of his coat, and he feared some of the flames from the debris had taken hold.

“Get up
now
, mule.” Travis walked backward, tugging on Samson's halter with one hand while trying to undo his buttons with the other. He had to get that coat off.

The heat on his back grew painful, and panic made him clumsy. He arched away from the fabric clawing at him and was about to release Samson and tear the coat off with both hands when a gush of blessedly cool water hit him from behind.

“Thanks.” Travis swiveled to see which brother had just saved his hide, only to find Meredith standing there, an empty stockpot in her hands. His gratitude evaporated.

“Get out of here!” he shouted.

The woman was as bad as Samson.

He tried to order her out again, but a chest-heavy cough blocked the words as it pummeled his ribs. It bent him forward, and Meredith took advantage of his weakened state. She dropped the pot and pulled something from under her arm as she rushed toward him. Clicking her tongue, she latched onto the opposite side of Samson's halter and tapped his hindquarters with the end of a long stick.

The mule hopped and kicked, but the movement carried him closer to the door, so Travis bit back his protest. They'd nearly made it outside when the roof collapsed. Twenty feet behind them, timber beams splintered the weakened loft floor and slammed into the ground of the barn with a deafening crash. Meredith screamed. Samson bucked and contorted. Meredith lost her hold on the halter and stumbled sideways. Travis strained to lead the animal away from her, but Samson finally grasped the danger the barn represented and kicked wildly for his freedom.

Travis released his grip on the halter. “Go!”

The panicked mule kicked out a final time and ran out to the corral.

Travis spun toward where he'd last seen Meredith, and a new terror twisted his gut. She lay crumpled on the hard ground.

“No.” The whispered denial fell from his lips as he ran to her. He dropped to the ground and yanked his gloves from his hands. “Meredith?”

She gave no answer. Not even a moan. He reached beneath her head to support it as he hoisted her into his arms, his only thought to get her away from the fire. But something sticky wet his fingers.

Blood.

T
ravis gathered Meredith close to his chest and ran out of the barn. He didn't stop until he reached the pump. Neill was at the trough filling a pail. He straightened when he saw Travis approach.

“What happened?” His eyes roamed over Meredith's limp form, and beneath the soot, his face paled.

“Fetch Crockett.” When Neill just stood and stared, Travis's voice sharpened. “Now!”

Neill flinched and dashed off, leaving his pail behind.

Cradling Meredith's head in the crook of his arm, Travis slowly knelt and lowered her to a dry patch of ground. He combed her hair from her face, and a feather-light stirring of air brushed against his palm. She was breathing.

“Thank you, God,” Travis murmured.

He shrugged out of his coat, folded it inside out, and gently cushioned her head with it. Careful of her wound, he angled her face so that the right side of her skull would take most of the weight, leaving the left side exposed for Crockett to examine.

She lay so still, it hurt to look at her.

This never should have happened. He should have let her leave as soon as she'd issued her warning. What had he been thinking, dragging her into this mess?

Desperate to do something—anything—to help her, Travis yanked the bandanna from around his neck and dipped it into the trough. Then, kneeling in the dirt beside her, he rinsed away the worst of the soot smears from her face, all the while praying for her eyes to open.

He was so focused on Meredith, he didn't realize his brothers had surrounded him until Crockett hunkered down and touched his shoulder.

Emotion clogged Travis's throat. He cleared it away with a rough cough. “I think the mule kicked her.” He tilted her head to expose more of the bloodied area to Crockett's view. His brother was no doctor, but he was the closest they had. Ever since the day Jim had been shot, Crock had taken it upon himself to memorize the two medical books in his father's study,
Gunn's New Domestic Physician
and
A Dictionary of Practical Medicine
. Travis just prayed there'd been something in those books that could help Meredith.

Crockett pulled off his gloves and probed the wound. Meredith moaned and thrashed her arms, but her eyes didn't open. Travis took her hand in his, wishing he could do more.

“She can feel the pain,” Crockett observed. “That's a good sign. But I'm going to need to get her into the house, where the light is better, before I can tell you more.”

Crockett made as if to pick her up, but Travis nudged him aside. “I'll carry her.” His brother shot him an odd look. Travis ignored it. Meredith was injured because of him. She was his responsibility.

After pushing to his feet, he shifted Meredith's weight in his arms and turned to Jim and Neill. “The roof's gone, so let the barn burn itself out. Keep an eye on it, though, and don't let any sparks spread to the house or shed. Neill, when it's under control, fetch the draft horses and Miss Meredith's paint from the creek bed, and tie them up by the old lean-to behind the shed. Jim, take care of the barn. Oh, and one of you better keep watch in case Mitchell's men decide to return. I'll come spell you when I can.”

“Take care of the girl,” Jim said. “We'll handle things out here.”

Travis nodded and strode toward the house.

Crockett had every lamp in the den blazing with light by the time Travis arrived. “Set her on the sofa,” he said. “I need to wash out that wound and see if any bone has chipped or if the skull is dented from the blow.”

Travis laid Meredith across the cushioned seat, arranging her head at the end nearest the lamp table where Crockett had piled several squares of toweling.

As Crockett moved in with basin and sponge, Travis backed away and paced the room's perimeter.

Why was it that every time Meredith's path crossed his, she ended up hurt? First her leg in one of his traps, and now her head kicked by his mule. Both were accidents, of course, yet Travis couldn't shake a growing sense of guilt. If he had made different decisions, neither would have happened.

He dipped his chin and rubbed the aching area above his eyes.
Help her recover, Lord. Please. Don't make her pay the price for my mistakes.

Travis circled past the woodstove, his mother's rocking chair, and his father's bookshelf, and then found himself once again at the foot of the sofa. He studied Meredith's face. Her dark lashes lay delicately against her pale cheeks, fluttering slightly. Tiny frown lines puckered her forehead between her brows as Crockett probed her wound, and quiet whimpers vibrated in her throat. An insane urge to shove his brother away and spare her the pain of his invasion had Travis balling his hands into fists, but he restrained himself from interfering.

After several more minutes of cleaning and probing, Crockett finally set aside the washbasin and pushed to his feet. Travis met his eye, silently seeking answers.

“The bleeding has slowed, and she continues to react to the pain—both of which are good signs. The cuts are fairly minor and won't require stitching. I've treated them with salve. It's the impact to her head, not the abrasions, that I'm most worried about, but best I can tell, there are no skull fractures.”

Travis acknowledged his brother's words with a slight dip of his chin, and then reached out to grip the back of the sofa, bracing himself for the rest of the news.

“The fact that she hasn't awakened could be a problem. There is no way to know the extent of the damage inside her skull. The only thing I can recommend is to make her as comfortable as possible. Let her rest and heal at her own pace.”

At first, Travis said nothing, just silently absorbed the verdict. So much of his life revolved around controlling his environment. Control meant security. That's why Archers never left their land and why few people were ever granted permission to cross their property line. Control minimized risk. But all his efforts to minimize risk tonight had failed. Mitchell's men escaped, the barn burned, and Meredith—a woman whose only “crime” was trying to perform a good deed—lay unconscious on his mother's sofa, and there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation.

Travis pressed his fingers into the wood trim of the sofa back and straightened. “My room's closest,” he said. “We'll put her in there. I can bunk with Neill.”

“Someone should probably sit up with her until she regains consciousness.” Crockett raised a brow and searched him with a look that seemed to ask more than one question. “I'd be happy to—”

“No. I'll do it.” Travis bent and lifted Meredith from the sofa. “She came here because of me. It's only right that I be the one to tend her.”

Crockett nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. Travis glared at him, uncomfortable with his brother's shrewd expression. Crockett's grin widened at his reaction, but he wisely said no more and, instead, strode down the hall to open the bedroom door and pull back the covers on the bed. Travis carried Meredith through the doorway and lowered her to the mattress.

“We should probably . . . um . . . try to make her more comfortable.” Crockett glanced at Travis from the opposite side of the bed, his face reddening.

Travis took secret pleasure at his brother's discomfort until the meaning of his words settled into Travis's brain. His mouth suddenly dry, he looked from Crockett to Meredith and back to Crockett again.

“We can't—” He cleared his throat. His shirt collar seemed to be shrinking. There was no way he was going to undress her. Especially not with Crockett looking on.

“I'm not suggesting we do anything improper.” Crockett blew out a heavy breath. “Well, not
too
improper. Aw . . . blast it, Travis. I'm trying to be practical here. Her breathing is shallow, and if we loosen her stays, that might help. That and taking off her shoes so she can rest better. That's all I'm saying.”

Shoes. He could handle shoes. Travis swallowed hard and moved to the end of the bed, where her feet hung off the side of the mattress. It was true that she didn't look very comfortable, her legs skewed at an odd angle. If he was lying there, he'd sure want his boots off. So why did he feel like the worst kind of cad when he touched her ankle?

“Throw the blanket over her legs,” Travis ground out between clenched teeth. She'd shown them all the scar above her ankle when she first arrived, but that had been her choice. Neither he nor Crockett needed to see anything besides shoe leather now. Once the covers were in place, Travis waved Crockett over to his side of the bed. “Come help me with the other shoe.” The faster they completed the task, the better.

They undid the laces and gently tugged off the shoes.

“Just like when Neill was a kid, right?” Crockett said.

“Right,” Travis agreed. Only it didn't feel anything like putting Neill to bed when feminine wool stockings rubbed against his hands as he poked her toes under the covers. Nor was he able to picture Neill's sleepy little boy form when it came time to take care of the second order of business.

Travis looked to Crockett. His brother shrugged.

“It has to be done, Trav. She needs to be able to breathe freely. If you don't feel right about it, I'll do it.”

He sure as shooting didn't feel right about it. But he felt even less right about letting anyone else do it.

Travis sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the buttons at Meredith's midsection. But before he touched one, he stopped. His eyes moved to her face. “Meredith,” he said in a firm, loud voice. “Meredith, can you hear me?”

Her head shifted slightly on the pillow, but she gave no sign of waking.

“Meredith, I'm going to loosen your . . . ah . . . clothing to help you breathe. I swear that's all I'm doing. All right?”

She made a slight moaning sound, then quieted. He'd have to take that for permission. Setting his jaw and focusing strictly on the task that needed to be accomplished, he made quick work of the buttons on her bodice. Unfortunately, instead of the laces he expected to encounter, he uncovered another layer. Some white frilly thing offered up a second set of buttons. Travis bit back a groan but tackled the obstacle with businesslike precision. Finally, he found the stiff, boned corset he sought, but there were still no visible laces.

Why couldn't a woman just throw a shirt over her head like a man? This was ridiculous. At least there were metal fasteners of some sort running down the front.

“I swear, if there's another row of buttons under this, I'm gonna get my knife and cut her out,” he grumbled under his breath. No wonder her breathing was shallow. She was wrapped up tighter than a roped calf at branding time.

However, the moment he unclasped the last fastener and the corset fell open to reveal another layer of white fabric, Meredith let out a sound that could only be described as a sigh. Her breathing deepened, and Travis's frustration melted away. He quickly drew the covers up to her chin.

“She'll rest easier now,” Crockett said from behind him, “and that will give her the best chance to recover.”

Travis nodded. Her recovery was more important than any awkwardness or embarrassment his actions might have caused. He just hoped she saw it the same way when she awoke.