Short-Straw Bride (22 page)

She staggered back, her right hand pressed against her middle as if staunching a wound.

All at once he realized what he'd said. Remorse nearly cut his legs out from under him. Travis rushed forward and clasped her free hand between both of his. “Meri, forgive me. I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't.” He drew her hand to his mouth and laid kiss after kiss upon her knuckles, unable to look at her face.

Meredith tugged her hand free of his grasp and turned her back.

“I don't want to leave you, Travis. I just want to help others.” Her quiet words flayed him. “But helping others isn't the Archer way, is it?” She pivoted, her delicate chin jutting forth like that of a soldier. “Archers hide in their trees, too scared of what
could
happen to risk reaching out to someone in need.”

“I reached out to you.”

“But only because you felt responsible.” Her chin dipped a bit, some of the fight going out of her.

Was she right? Had he only married her because he felt obligated? If so, why did the thought of her taking him up on his insistence that she leave chill his blood?

Travis closed the space between him and his wife with a single step. “You think I'm scared, Meri? Well, I am. Scared to let you go. Scared that something will happen to you.”
Like what happened to my father.
He lifted one hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I can control things to some extent on the ranch, but away from it? I won't be able to protect you.”

“Oh, Travis.” She shook her head at him, her mouth twitching into an ironic smile. “You do realize, don't you, that the two most serious injuries I've endured in my life have happened while on your property? Not by any fault of yours, of course, but one could argue that I'm actually safer off the ranch than on.”

A groan vibrated in his throat, turning into a reluctant chuckle. The woman had a point.

“No matter how many precautions we take, none of us are truly in control. Only God can claim that kind of authority. All we can do is use the good sense he provides and trust him to guide us.” Meredith stroked his arm from shoulder to wrist, then lightly clasped his hand. “If you want to protect me, Travis, prayer is just as powerful a weapon as that gun you carry.”

Travis blinked, stunned by the simplicity of that statement. Did he believe it? When was the last time he'd prayed, really prayed, for the Lord's protection over his family? He'd been depending on himself for so long, he'd forgotten how to trust another with that duty. Even God.

Reaching for a faith that was more than just Sunday-deep, he inhaled a shaky breath and cleared his throat. “This teaching thing. It's important to you?”

She nodded. “Yes. But not more important than our marriage. If you don't want me to go, I'll respect your wishes.”

He didn't want her to go. Not at all. Yet he couldn't keep her a prisoner, either. How would she ever come to love him if he stole her freedom?

“You're not to tarry. You hear me? Straight there and straight home. And you'll take a rifle. Prayer is all well and good, and I imagine I'll be sending a constant litany heavenward while you're gone, but I doubt a little earthly defense will offend our Maker.”

She bounced up and down on her toes, her smile bright enough to rival the moon. “Thank you, Travis. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Before he knew what she was about, she grabbed his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek.

His blood heated in an instant. He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her firmly against his body. “If you're gonna thank me, Meri, do it proper.”

Travis bent his head and captured the startled little sound that escaped her parted lips. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface to contain, so he kissed her with everything inside him. Desire, fear, yearning, and a touch of desperation fueled his passion. He melded his mouth to hers, trailing his hand upward along her back until his fingers buried themselves in the hair at her nape.

He told himself to stop, afraid he'd frighten her, but just as he steeled himself to pull away, she moaned deep in her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck. Travis's pulse leapt, her response too sweet to ignore. He slanted his lips over hers again, deepening the kiss until he felt her tremble. Only then did he gentle his assault, loosening his hold as he softened his lips. He moved his hands to cradle her face and leaned his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, lips inches apart, their ragged breathing mingled in the air between them.

“You belong to me, Meri,” he whispered hoarsely. “You
are
an Archer, but more importantly, you're my wife.”

She said nothing, but he felt the slight bob of her head as she tried to nod. Something deep inside him relaxed.

He'd not driven her away after all. Thank God. He wanted to kiss her again, and more. Much more. But he'd already taken enough backward steps tonight. He'd not rush things. Meredith deserved a proper courtship, and she was going to get one, even if it killed him.

And kill him it might, if it meant sitting back and watching her ride off to teach at that school of hers. But he couldn't imprison her at the ranch and expect to earn her loyalty. Nor her love. Such commodities had to be given freely. As did trust—something he'd have to learn to give more freely himself.

Keep her safe, Lord,
he prayed as he pulled Meredith into his embrace and tucked her head under his chin.
Keep my wife safe.

He didn't know how or when she had become so important to him, but as he stood there holding her, he was certain of one thing. He never wanted to lose her.

S
wear to me you'll be careful.”

Meredith smiled at her husband's stern expression. Travis demanded the same thing every time she left. Of course, this was only her third Saturday to travel to the school, so perhaps he was still adjusting. Nevertheless, her heart gave a little leap every time she heard the protective growl that proved he cared.

“I swear it.”

He took the flour sack that held Neill's old primers and tied it to Ginger's saddle, then checked the cinch for the third time. Meredith chuckled and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It's secure, Travis. You saddled her yourself, remember?”

He looked up, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to commit every feature to memory. She ducked her head as her cheeks began to warm.

Travis cleared his throat and kicked at the dirt. “You got the gate key?”

“Yes.” Meredith lifted her hand to her chest in confirmation. The key hung from a chain around her neck. Its outline was barely discernible to her touch through the layers of her dress and cloak, but she could feel the metal press against her skin.

Knowing what question he'd ask next, she answered before he finished drawing a full breath. “Yes, the rifle is loaded. And yes, I'll come straight home after the last lesson.”

“You better.” His lips twitched as he struggled to maintain his serious mien. Then before she could react, he grabbed the folds of her cloak and pulled her to him. His lips came down on hers, possessive, demanding, and so intense her knees shook.

“Come home to me, Meri,” he whispered, his voice husky and deep.

“Always.” The single word was all she could manage just then, but she infused it with all the love in her heart.

He'd still made no move to come to her room, not even after that soul-stirring kiss they'd shared down by the creek. He and the rest of the clan had been so busy with rebuilding the barn and driving the cattle to wherever they could find undepleted pasture, that she rarely even spoke to her husband except at meals. But on Saturdays he made a point to see her off. On Saturdays he kissed her. On Saturdays he gave her hope that their marriage could be based on something deeper than hastily spoken vows.

She adored Saturdays.

Travis laced his fingers together and bent to give her a leg up. Meredith reached for the saddle horn, placed her left boot in the stirrup, and put her right into her husband's keeping. He helped her into the saddle and patted Ginger's neck as Meredith gathered the reins.

“I'll be watching for you.” His hat shielded his face from her view as he ran his fingers along the chestnut-and-white pattern of Ginger's shoulder. His hand reached the cinch, and she thought the daft man was going to check it a fourth time, but he skimmed over the strap and settled instead upon her ankle. The solid presence of his hand filtered through the leather of her boot top as he assured himself that her foot sat securely in the stirrup. It seemed an intimate, husbandly gesture, and Meredith's heart swelled. Then his thumb stroked upward and brushed against her stocking. Her breath caught.

He finally lifted his face to hers, and the heated look in his eyes left no doubt in her mind that the touch had been deliberate. “Hurry home.” The words lingered as his gaze melded to hers. Then he stepped back and swatted Ginger lightly on the hindquarters to set her into motion.

The paint's bouncing trot demanded Meredith's attention. She turned forward in the saddle and took charge of the animal. Moses called down a farewell from where he and Jim were nailing shingles onto the barn roof, and Meredith raised a hand to wave at them as she rode past. Jim saluted her with a lift of his hammer—a gesture so typical of her stoic brother-in-law that it normally would have brought a smile to her face. But Meredith was too consumed with thoughts of Travis to pay Jim much heed.

Could it be her husband felt something more than protectiveness toward her? More than obligation? She'd let herself believe so when he kissed her, but even then the fantasy didn't completely dispel the hint of desperation she sensed in him. It was as if he needed to stake his claim on her before he could let her go.

What would it be like to have him kiss her simply out of desire? Out of love? Suddenly Saturdays seemed inadequate. She wanted to be kissed on a Tuesday. No special occasion. No threat to her well-being. Just a warm sharing of affection between a husband and wife. To see that heated look in his eyes again, as if she truly meant more to him than duty.

And what of your vow to be content in your marriage?

The thought brought a swift end to her self-pity.

Forgive me, Lord. I'm turning my mind in the wrong direction, aren't I? I became so consumed by what I didn't have that I forgot all about what I do have.

Just like those times when Aunt Noreen's caustic personality wore her down and bitterness started to leak into her soul. She had to take charge of her thoughts and steer them in a more positive direction. It was time to count her blessings.

One—she was married to the man of her dreams. Two—Travis had allowed her to continue her father's legacy by teaching at the freedmen's school. Three—she belonged to a family of godly men who would protect her with their lives. Meredith turned her gaze toward heaven and smiled, the burden on her heart already beginning to lift. She truly was blessed. Just thinking about how far her relationship with Travis had progressed over the last few weeks stirred songs of thanksgiving in her soul. She could only imagine what strides they could make in the next few weeks.

Help me to be patient. To accept your timing.

Her grin widened as the gate came into view. Perhaps one day soon, she would unlock Travis's heart as easily as she was able to unlock the gate to his land. All she had to do was find the right key. Or become so trusted by him that he unlocked it himself. Wouldn't that be something?

Buoyed by hope, Meredith slid from the saddle and drew the chain around her neck upward until the gate key freed itself from her clothing. Humming a cheery tune, she made short work of the gate, leading Ginger through and carefully relocking it before climbing atop a nearby stone to remount.

Travis might feel safe behind all his fences and gates, but she aimed to show him that freedom was sweeter. Especially when founded on love.

Urging Ginger into a canter, Meredith leaned forward in the saddle and let the exhilarating rush of the wind tug at her hairpins and sting her cheeks with its frosty bite. If she arrived disheveled and chapped, so be it. Her students understood the significance of freedom. They'd not condemn her for indulging in a spirited ride.

But fifteen minutes later, when she reined Ginger to a walk in front of the schoolhouse, a host of concerned children swarmed from the schoolyard to surround her.

“What done happened to your hair, Miss Meri?”

“Didja fall off your horse?”

“Why was you ridin' so fast?”

“Was som'un chasin' you?”

“I'm fine, children,” she assured them, laughter bubbling up to accompany her words. “I simply chose to give Ginger her head today.” She patted the paint's neck.

When the children continued to press closer, Ginger halted. The horse didn't seem too perturbed by the crowding, just cautious.

“Get back, now, and give Miss Meri some air.” Myra Jackson moved through the throng, shooing children back toward the schoolhouse. “How's she gonna teach us anything if'n she can't get off her horse?”

The children moaned but obeyed, filing off toward the schoolhouse to find their desks.

“Joshua, you stay and tend to Ginger. Rub her down real good, you hear?”

“Yes'm.” Myra's younger boy stood at the horse's head, waiting patiently for Meredith to dismount.

Once her feet were planted on the ground, Meredith tossed him the reins. “Thank you, Joshua.” She untied her supply bag and stepped aside.

As the boy led her horse away, Meredith sidled up next to Myra. “You know, I think he's going to catch up to Josiah soon. He's nearly the same height.”

“Don't I know it?” Myra's mouth turned up in a proud motherly smile. “And him three years younger. The boy's got his father's hands, too. Big as fryin' pans they are.”

Meredith grinned, remembering how Moses had curled those big hands of his into fists. Getting hit with one of those would probably feel a lot like getting walloped with a skillet. “Joshua seems to have inherited your love of books, though. Has he finished
The Last of the Mohicans
?”

Myra nodded. “Mm-hmm. Two days ago. He tol' me you promised to bring a new one this week.”

“That I did.” She opened her bag and pulled out her copy of
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
. “I don't think you've read this one yet, Myra. It was only published a few years ago, so it wasn't among the books my father used to loan you.”

“Joshua might have to fight me for it, then.” The older woman winked at Meredith and tucked the book under her arm.

Meredith laughed and followed her friend into the classroom. Myra Jackson kept the small building as tidy as herself, which was saying a lot since the woman's apron was always starched and pressed, her black hair always combed into a perfect knot, and her dress always so pristine that dust wouldn't dare approach its folds. Meredith reached a hand to her own hair and sighed. Freedom had more than taken its toll. No wonder the children had stared.

Taking a minute to repair the wind's damage, Meredith remained at the back of the class while Myra called the group to order and asked them to take out their primers. The worn books were the same ones her father had started the school with over a decade ago. They'd been well cared for, though. Unfortunately, there were never enough to go around, which was why she'd asked Travis if she could borrow Neill's old schoolbooks.

Taking the slender volumes from her bag, she distributed them to the adults who sat on benches at the back of the room. The surprised faces and reverent strokes of the covers warmed her heart. These parents hungered for learning even more than their children did, yet they insisted the younger generation have first access to the few books and other materials available. Such noble souls. She wished she could do more for them.

As Myra asked one of the female students to stand and read a passage aloud, Meredith moved to the front of the room and quietly began writing a series of arithmetic problems on the blackboard.

Despite a lack of formal training, Myra had done her best to continue where Meredith's father had left off, teaching the local children the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. And when Meredith mentioned to Moses her idea of teaching at the school, she'd made it clear she had no intention of supplanting Myra in any way. She only wanted to make herself available to assist.

Myra, however, responded as if Meredith's offer were a gift from above. The first Saturday they met, she pulled Meredith into a fierce hug and praised the Lord right there in the schoolyard. She'd been praying, she'd said, for the Lord to provide a teacher for her advanced students, someone capable of preparing them for future studies or for professions that would utilize their minds instead of breaking their backs. She dreamed of her students one day becoming teachers themselves, or shopkeepers, or even doctors. Education opened doors, and Myra was bound and determined to fling wide as many portals as possible.

So, for the three hours Meredith spent at Myra's school every Saturday, she taught advanced mathematics, grammar, and history to the half-dozen students who already excelled in the more elementary lessons. Joshua was particularly bright, and Meredith had high hopes of him continuing his studies at Wiley College up in Marshall. Her father would've been thrilled to have one of his former students attend the new school, and she couldn't deny that she, too, would be proud to have played some minor role in the boy's success.

But first she needed to help him master algebra.

Turning to face her group of students, Meredith caught Joshua's eye as he slid into his seat after seeing to her horse. She smiled and motioned him forward. “Joshua, would you please come to the board and work the first equation?”

“Yes, Miss Meri,” he said, matching her quiet tone so as not to disturb the rest of the class.

And so it began. Each of the older children took turns working problems, and when not at the blackboard, they practiced on their slates. If one student made an error, another could volunteer to make the correction. Once the algebra problems had been completed, Meredith administered the oral quiz she had prepared over the Boston Tea Party. The students had only one history text between them, but they had worked out a system that allowed each person to take possession of it on a different day, and she was pleased by how much they had retained.

The students had just started reciting their grammar lesson when the light from the doorway abruptly dimmed. Meredith glanced up to see a large man standing in the entrance.

“Moses?” The concern in Myra's voice sharpened Meredith's attention.

Why had he come? Had Josiah been hurt? Or . . . Travis? Meredith took an involuntary step closer to the aisle, her heart thumping painfully in her chest.

“I need a word with Miss Meri.” He pointed the hat he held in his hand toward her, his gaze finally leaving his wife to settle on Meredith.

“Finish your recitations, children,” she murmured as she took her cloak down from the nail on the side wall. “And study lessons seven and eight for next week.”

Her students nodded but did nothing to break the unnatural hush that had fallen over the schoolroom. The quiet only amplified Meredith's unease, and every time a floorboard squeaked as she made her way to the door, the echo frayed her nerves further. By the time she reached Moses and followed him outside, her hands were shaking.