Page 83 of Short-Straw Bride

The instant Jim’s rifle was no longer pointed at him, the logger shifted to free his arm. But she hung on—all of her energy focused on keeping him from using his weapon.

“Blasted female!” The logger raised his ax. “Let”—he slammed his arm and hers into the tree—“go!”

Pain ricocheted past her elbows from the force of the collision, and her hands opened against her will.

The logger shouted orders to his compatriots and pointed in the direction Jim had run. The other guards rushed past them, pistols and rifles in hand. Meredith tried to slide away from her captor, but the logger had no intention of relinquishing his prize. He snatched up a handful of fabric at her neck and hauled her upward.

Her hands instinctively circled about his meaty fist, but she had no strength left to pry free of his hold. His dark eyes promised retribution. He gave her a shake as if she were an oversized rag doll and ordered her to cease her fighting. Since he no longer posed a threat to Jim, she obeyed and stumbled along beside him as he made his way to the front of the cabin. He kicked the door in with his foot and dragged her across the threshold.

“I brung you another guest for the wedding, boss.”

A movement to her right drew Meredith’s attention. Roy stood near the hearth, a shotgun looped casually through his bent arm, the barrel pointed at Uncle Everett, who sat on the floor against the wall with his wrists bound.

She’d heard of shotgun weddings, but never one in which the groom held the gun on the father of the bride.

“Meredith, my dear.” Roy smiled, and her stomach recoiled. “So glad you could make it.”

37

Travis tucked the butt of his rifle into his shoulder and sighted down the barrel from his position among the pines nearest the old gate. The quiet rumble he’d noted a moment ago had grown louder, more distinct. Hoofbeats. A rider approached. And fast.

Inhaling a cleansing breath, he forced his pulse to calm. He needed a steady hand and a clear head to deal with whatever came down the path. His mind turned heavenward for an instant—not long enough to form a complete thought, but long enough to connect.

Finger hovering over the trigger, Travis peered into the shadows. Before man or horse came into view, a shrill whistle pierced the air. Jim. Travis blew out his tension and lowered his rifle. Expecting the hoofbeats to slow, he was unprepared for the second whistle or for the sight of his brother’s mount racing past him.

New urgency speared through Travis, and he took off at a dead run for the house. Jim knew their positions. He would have stopped or at least slowed to call out his findings unless a threat existed that was too imminent to spare the time.

Cassandra must truly be in danger. Travis pumped his legs faster, his lungs burning with the sudden heavy intake of cold air. He leapt over a small gully and pushed forward, his energy solely focused on getting to Jim. The others were positioned closer to the house, so they’d be waiting on him. Thankfully, their horses stood saddled and ready in the corral. They could be on their way in minutes.

By the time he sprinted through the clearing, Jim was giving orders from the saddle. Travis overheard him sending Crockett into the den to collect extra pistols. Neill was hustling to the corral to gather the mounts. Travis pulled up so as not to startle his brother’s horse. Between heaving breaths, he asked Jim for a report.

“Cassie and her folks are being held at the cabin,” Jim said, his face grim. “Mitchell has Mr. Hayes tied up and at gunpoint. The women are under guard, as well, but not restrained. He’s got at least four men patrolling. Two more inside. They’re armed and don’t seem too hesitant about attacking.”

“Then we ride.” Travis caught his breath and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll tell Meredith and be back in a trice.” She’d be beside herself with worry, but he couldn’t keep it from her. Cassie was like a sister to her.

He had just cleared the porch steps when Jim’s voice stopped him.

“She’s not there, Travis.”

He turned to face his brother, not comprehending his meaning. But when he saw the discomfiture etched into Jim’s features, the regret in his eyes, his gut turned to lead.

“I tried to send her back, but she refused to go.” Jim stiffened in the saddle then, as if ready to do battle. “I wouldn’t have gotten a look in the cabin without her help, Trav. She saved my life. Twice. I’m not sorry she came. Just sorry I couldn’t get her out before Mitchell’s men swarmed us.”

Meredith at the homestead? How could that be? She was in his room. Waiting for him. Safe. Wasn’t she?

Holding down the bile that threatened to erupt, Travis spun back to the house and threw open the door. It crashed against the wall as he shouted his wife’s name.

“Meredith!”

He ran down the hall, his boots slapping the floorboards. It was a mistake. She was there. Safe in his room.

Travis burst through the door. The emptiness hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He scanned every corner as if she might be hiding somewhere. He even wrenched open the wardrobe in desperation.

“Meri.” The anguished whisper fell from his lips. This couldn’t be happening. She told him she’d be in the house. How could she leave the ranch when he’d expressly forbidden it? How could she leave him?

In a daze, he pivoted back toward the door. He took a step, but something about the room whispered to his subconscious mind, something out of place. His attention shifted back to the bed, then the dresser. He blinked, sharpening his focus. There. The tablet. Travis pounced on the paper. His eyes devoured the words.

Travis,