Page 12 of Short-Straw Bride

“It’s nearly dark. I really have to go. It’s not proper for me to be here.” Her protests fell on deaf ears as they drove her toward the kitchen. Warmth from the stove permeated the air along with the smell of some kind of roasted meat.

Travis pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and glared at her until she sat down. He set his gun against the wall and leaned close to her face, one hand on the table, one on the back of her chair. “I’m sorry, Meredith, but I can’t take any chances. Protecting my brothers and my land always comes first with me. Always.” His words rang with righteous conviction, leaving little room for argument. “You’ll stay here and answer my questions until I’m satisfied that I’ve gotten all I can from you.”

Meredith’s temper flared, although she didn’t know if she was more upset about being coerced to stay or about her hero acting in such an unchivalrous manner. “So it’s to be an inquisition.”

“A friendly one. I promise.” He smiled, and for a moment, the hardness in his face relaxed and a touch of kindness leaked through. But all too quickly, he shut it off. “I wouldn’t worry about propriety if I were you. I’m guessing no one knows you’re here, so your reputation is in no danger.”

“My cousin knows.” The argument was weak, even to her own ears, and probably accomplished as much good in changing his mind as sticking her tongue out at him would have, but she couldn’t stand to leave his smug assumption unchallenged.

“Your cousin, huh? Well, I doubt a family member would risk tarnishing your good name.”

Heavy footsteps clomped around behind her as the other brothers made their way to the table. She didn’t feel threatened by them, but having four men tower over her in a confined space didn’t exactly boost her confidence, either. Travis must have noticed her unease, for he lowered himself into a nearby chair and gently touched her shoulder.

“You have nothing to fear from us, Meredith. You have my word.” Her gaze locked with his, and something passed between them. A remembered bond from that childhood encounter? She wasn’t sure, but she was certain she could trust him.

She sat a little straighter and lifted her chin. “What about my horse?”

Travis smiled and turned to the youngest Archer. “Fetch the lady’s horse, Neill.”

The boy was standing by the stove and had a spoonful of beans halfway to his mouth. Undeterred, he jabbed the spoon between his lips and talked around the mouthful as he dropped the spoon back into the pot. Meredith cringed.

“I don’t want to miss all the discussin’, Trav. The horse’ll keep.”

“If you hurry, you might make it back before we eat all the vittles.”

“Eat the . . . ? You wouldn’t dare!” Neill scowled, then shot an anxious look toward the stove. Meredith ducked her head to hide her smile. Amazing how much sway food could hold over a young man’s decisions.

Travis shrugged. “We have a guest, which means less to go around. Might be slim pickin’s if you dally.”

Neill growled low in his throat, like a cornered animal, and after aiming a final glare at Travis, he snatched up his gun from where it stood propped against the wall and stomped out of the room.

Travis shook his head and smiled at the kid’s back, his affection obvious despite his firmness in dealing with him. But as he turned his attention to Meredith, his smile faded, leaving nothing but stoic resolve lingering in his gaze.

As if by silent cue, Crockett and the other brother who had yet to speak lowered themselves into chairs across from where she and Travis sat and stared her down. Meredith instinctively shrank away from them and edged closer to Travis.

“What do they plan to target?” Travis hardened himself against the surge of protectiveness that rose in his chest as Meredith leaned toward him, her cloak brushing his arm. He hated being so brusque, but it was imperative that he learn everything possible about his attackers. And quickly. The woman might be privy to valuable insight or a clue to his enemy’s scheme without even being aware of its significance. Such knowledge could prove vital when it came to defending his home. This was no time to go soft.

“Meredith?”

She looked past him to the doorway, and for a moment, he thought she might bolt, but then the level-headedness he remembered from twelve years ago reasserted itself. She folded her hands together atop the table in a serene prayerlike pose and kept her attention riveted on them while she spoke.

“The barn.”

It made sense. They’d already put up most of their winter stores. The hayloft and corncrib were full, and with the nights getting so cold lately, a lot of their stock was sheltered there. Losing the barn would cripple them during the winter. Not that it would convince him to sell. Nothing could do that.

“How many men are coming?” Crockett probed.

“I don’t know.”

Travis tried coming at the question from the back door. “How many men does this fiancé of yours have working for him?”

Meredith’s head swiveled around, her blue eyes shooting sparks. “He is not my fiancé—never was. And I’d appreciate it if you’d quit referring to him as such.”

Travis held up his hands in apology. “All right.”

She inhaled slowly and refocused on her hands. “The man’s name is Roy Mitchell, and I have no idea how many men work for him. He owns a logging company, so I imagine there are a good number in his employ.”

And they’d be physical men, too. Comfortable in the woods. Not a bunch of city-bred dandies. Travis tapped his thumb against the pine tabletop as his mind spun.