Page 21 of Short-Straw Bride

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.

9

Meredith rolled to her side and grimaced when pain throbbed behind her ear. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and gingerly rolled back the way she’d come, only to have something stiff jab her in the soft spot below her ribs. Had she fallen asleep reading again? She felt around for the book that must have worked its way under the covers, eager to remove the impediment and go back to sleep. However, when she extracted the poking object from beneath her, it felt nothing like a book and everything like a . . . corset? What was her corset doing in her bed? She always stored it carefully in her bureau drawer at night.

Cassandra had secretly given her the pink satin undergarment for her birthday last year, letting Aunt Noreen believe her gift had been nothing more extravagant than the package of stationery she’d presented at the family dinner that evening. But later she had taken Meredith’s hand, dragged her upstairs to her room, and closed the door. Eyes twinkling with suppressed secrets, she had pulled a brown paper package from her wardrobe and presented it with giddy delight. The pink satin corset trimmed in white lace and covered with embroidered roses had been the most beautiful thing Meredith had ever seen. She treasured the garment and would never discard it haphazardly. So why was it in bed with her?

Meredith’s mind flitted from dreamlike memories of her cousin to the puzzle of her present circumstance. Yet the more she tried to make sense of things, the more her head ached. Then another ache made itself known—the ache to use the chamber pot. Meredith swallowed a moan, hating to forfeit sleep. Maybe if she hurried, she could bury herself back into the covers before Aunt Noreen banged on the door.

Pressing her palms into the mattress, she started to lever herself up, but when she lifted her head from the pillow, stabbing shards ricocheted through her skull. She mewled and reached for her head.

“Easy now.” A deep voice resonated near her ear. Strong hands supported her shoulders and propped a second pillow beneath her. “Are you awake, Meredith?” A warm fingertip drew a line across her forehead and gently smoothed back a piece of hair. “Please, God, let her wake,” the voice murmured.

Meredith struggled to open her eyes, to make sense of the voice. It was familiar, masculine. Nothing like Uncle Everett, though.

Her lashes slowly separated. A face hovered over hers. She blinked, trying to bring it into focus. Craggy features, a strong jaw that seemed to tighten as she watched, and eyes . . . eyes that looked like home.

“Travis?” Her voice came out scratchy and cracked. “What are you doing in my room?”

Those eyes—not quite green, not quite brown—crinkled at the corners. “I’m not in your room, darlin’. You’re in mine.”

What? Maybe she was still dreaming. That would explain why Travis was here and why nothing was making a lick of sense. But the throbbing behind her ear seemed awfully real.

“My head hurts.”

“You were kicked by a mule.”

A mule? Meredith frowned. Uncle Everett didn’t own a mule. Had she been injured at the livery fetching Ginger? And why was Travis grinning at her? Shouldn’t he be more concerned?

“It’s not very heroic of you to smile at my misfortune.” Really. This was her dream after all. Her hero should be more solicitous. Of course, usually in her dreams, Travis rescued her before any injury occurred. The man was getting lax. She’d started to tell him so when he laid the back of his hand on her forehead as if feeling for fever. The gentle touch instantly dissolved her pique.

He removed his hand and met her gaze. “I’m smiling because I’m happy to see you awake. We’ve been worried about you.”

“Awake?” Meredith scrunched her brows together until the throbbing around her skull forced her to relax. “Travis, you’re not making any sense. I can’t be awake. You only come to me when I’m dreaming. Although you’re usually younger and . . . well . . . cleaner, and not so in need of a shave.

“But don’t get me wrong,” she hurried to assure him. It wouldn’t do to insult her hero. “You’re just as handsome as always. I don’t even mind that you didn’t save me this time. The important thing is that you’re here.”

She smiled at him, but his grin faded and frown lines appeared above his eyes.

“Don’t you remember riding out here to warn me about Mitchell? The fire, Meredith. Remember the fire? You were fighting the blaze on your own until me and the boys returned.”

Something important tugged on the hem of her memory, something she should know. Something Travis expected her to remember. Meredith grew uneasy under the intensity of his stare. He was disappointed in her. She could see it. Disappointed that she couldn’t remember. She had to remember. Travis might leave her if she didn’t. She didn’t want him to leave.

Despite the pounding in her head, she searched deeper into the foggy recesses of her mind. Images flashed just out of reach. Flames. A line of pots. A gray blanket in her hand. The pieces jumbled in a confusing blur. Then she saw a building. Big. Open. Fire climbing its walls.

“A barn!” she cried triumphantly. “Your barn was on fire, and I was helping put it out. Right?” She found his hand and grabbed hold. “That’s right, isn’t it? See, you don’t have to leave me, Travis. I can remember. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Travis’s face started to swim in front of her and her lashes grew too heavy to keep parted. Her fingers started to loosen their grip on his hand, too, and fear clutched her chest. He was leaving her!