Page 71 of Short-Straw Bride

Travis didn’t want to let her go, even for a moment, but he knew his brother was right. He gently transitioned her into Crock’s arms, then mounted his gelding. Wishing he had the better-trained Bexar with him, he did his best to still the gelding with the pressure of his knees while he reached out for his wife.

“All right. I’m ready.”

As he bent to collect Meri, his horse sidestepped, agitated by the weather and all the odd happenings. Instantly, Moses appeared at the beast’s head. He took the bridle with a firm hand and ordered the animal to be still.

Travis solidified his hold on Meri and drew her up onto his lap. She burrowed her hands under his oilskin in search of warmth as she secured herself to his waist. Even through his flannel shirt, her fingers felt like ice.

“Get that gal home, Mr. Travis,” Moses said as he released the bridle.

“Thank you, my friend. For everything.” Travis hugged his wife’s half-frozen form to his chest and made for the ranch as fast as the storm and the extra weight on the horse’s back would allow.

31

Meredith felt herself falling. With a tiny cry, she struggled against the lethargy that bound her and scrambled to reclaim her hold on the warm rock that was sliding away from her.

“Shh, Meri. It’s all right,” the rock said. “We’re home. Let go for just a minute, sweetheart, so I can get down. Then I’ll carry you inside.”

But she didn’t want to let go. Without her rock, she’d fall. She’d be alone in the cold again. “No,” she murmured, tightening her grip.

Something soft and very unrockish touched her brow. It left a small circle of heat against her skin, like a promise. “Trust me, Meri.” More warmth fanned across her cheek, warmth and familiarity. Strange how much her rock sounded like Travis.

Strong hands gripped her wrists and gently pried her away. Meredith whimpered but didn’t fight. She trusted her husband’s voice—whether he be rock or man.

As the rock shifted out from under her cheek, the hands returned, propping up her shoulders as she slumped forward. She tried to hold herself erect, but apparently her spine had turned to mush, for her body slumped to the side, following the hands as they edged farther down.

“I’ve got you, love.”

The falling finally stopped as she came to rest against her warm rock once again. But when the rock began moving, her head jostled in a way that kept her from slipping back into the comfort of oblivion. Annoyed, she strained to open her eyes, just enough to glare a complaint. But the stubbled jaw that blurred in and out of focus a few inches from her face looked nothing like the rock she’d expected. Oh, it was set at a hard angle and clenched tight in concentration, but it was definitely flesh.

“Travis?” she croaked.

His chin dipped, and the brown eyes she loved so dearly caressed her face.

“I’m glad you’re my rock.” She knew it wasn’t quite the right thing to say, but so much fog swirled in her mind, it was the best she could manage.

Travis’s jaw softened a touch, and one corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m glad, too.”

A sharp gust of wind slashed across her face, bringing her mind into momentary focus. Cold. She ached with it. Everywhere. It ran so deep she feared she’d never be able to cast it out. She burrowed closer to Travis, but even he seemed to lack heat. The place she had laid her cheek against his oilskin during their ride had chilled.

“I’m c-c-cold.” Shivers began coursing through her with such violence she worried she might shake herself free of Travis’s arms. But he held fast.

“You’ll be warm soon, Meri. I swear it.”

As he climbed the porch steps, another horse pounded into the yard, two riders on its back. For once, Travis didn’t bellow any orders to his brothers, he just continued on to the house. Meredith would have smiled if her teeth hadn’t been chattering so shamefully. Her husband was learning to surrender control—trusting his brothers more fully, and perhaps God, as well. Dare she hope that one day he might even trust her enough to bestow his heart?

When he carried her across the threshold of her room, she could think of little else. Her eyes slid closed, and she imagined herself in the blue-and-white-striped dress she’d worn at her wedding, her husband’s arms around her, his eyes full of love and laughter as he escorted her into their room. Their room. The room where they would belong solely to each other, where love would be shared and children conceived. A room where she could truly be a wife.

“Meri? Can you stand?”

Why did he need her to stand? Wouldn’t it be easier just to lay her on the bed? Her dress would look so pretty fanned out around her. She could open her arms, and he could bend down and kiss her . . .

“I need you to try to stand, sweetheart. If I lay you down, you’ll get the bed all wet.”

Wet? Meredith scrunched up her nose. What an odd thing for a husband to say. It wasn’t at all romantic.

“Come on, Meri. I need you to help me get your clothes off.”

Meredith sniffed. That wasn’t very romantic, either—all gruff and businesslike. Where were the sweet words a husband used to woo his bride? And why wasn’t he kissing her? Everything would be so much better if he’d just kiss her. Then he could do whatever he wanted with her clothes.