Page 7 of Short-Straw Bride

Roy favored her with an appreciative grin and gestured for Mr. Barkley to meet him at the end of the boardwalk. The two met at the edge of the milliner’s shop and ducked into the alley that stretched alongside.

Meredith had just set her mind to figuring out a way to postpone responding to Roy’s proposal when the man’s voice echoed back to her from around the corner.

“He’s back from the Archer spread already? That doesn’t bode well.”

The Archer spread? As in Travis Archer? Meredith strained to hear more, but Roy’s voice faded as he walked deeper into the alley.

Meredith ambled down to the far end of the display window, careful to keep her eyes on the hats while diverting all her focus to her ears. A wagon rolled past, harness jangling and horse hooves clomping, making her want to scream in frustration as the men’s words got lost in the din. Giving up on the hats, Meredith moved to the building’s corner and pressed her shoulder against the brick, getting as close as she dared without being seen. Thankfully, the noisy wagon turned down an adjacent street, and she could finally catch pieces of the conversation again.

“. . . can’t be convinced to sell?”

“Wheeler offered him twice what the property’s worth . . . man threatened to shoot . . . ain’t selling, boss.”

“. . . connects the northern properties to the railroad. . . . my investors will pull out. I have to . . . one way or another.”

“I thought . . . Hayes spread, too.”

“That’s in the bag. You . . . that crippled gal was hanging on to me. I’ll have my . . . deed before the month is out. No, Archer . . . only serious obstacle.”

Meredith sucked in an outraged breath. Crippled gal? Of all the nerve. If he thought he was going to get his greedy hands on her father’s legacy that easily, he couldn’t be more wrong. Why, she had half a mind to—

“. . . issue my threat?”

Threat? What threat? Meredith shoved aside her indignation and fixed her attention back on the men in the alley.

“Yep. Wheeler warned . . . didn’t sell there’d be consequences.”

“Good. Burn . . . . tonight. Target the barn. Then . . . offer half the previous price to take . . . off their hands.”

Meredith gasped. Roy had just ordered an act of arson with the same nonchalance as he’d ordered their beefsteak at the hotel.

God had given her a sign, all right, and it clearly read Stay Out!

But what about Travis? Fires could be deadly. She had to do something to help him.

One set of footsteps echoed in retreat while a second grew louder. Meredith lunged awkwardly back to the window, her pulse throbbing.

“Have you decided which you like best?” Roy came up beside her, once again the solicitous gentleman. Revulsion crept over her, but Meredith forced herself not to shy away.

She wanted to spit on him or slap him or shove him off the boardwalk and into the mud where he belonged, but she couldn’t do any of those things without tipping him off that she had overheard his plans. So she smiled instead, vowing to beat him at his own game.

“I’m leaning toward the blue one with the flowers. What do you think of it?”

“I think it would look lovely on you. But then, you have a way of making everything lovely.” He smiled and lifted a finger to stroke her cheek.

Meredith’s stomach roiled.

“Oh dear.” She quickly covered her mouth with one hand and her stomach with the other, thanking God for the excuse to cut their time together short. “I think something from lunch may not be agreeing with me.” That something being Roy Mitchell.

An impatient frown darkened Roy’s face before he quickly replaced it with a look of concern. “Would you like to sit and rest for a moment? There’s a bench outside the drugstore across the street.”

“No. I think I should lie down.” She hunched herself over and added a quiet moan for good measure. “Can you take me home, please?”

“Are you sure?”

Meredith nodded vigorously, keeping her hand over her mouth.

“Very well.”