Short-Straw Bride (27 page)

“Miss Meri? That you?” Joshua called out from beside the woodshed where he'd been splitting logs. “Everything all right with Pa?”

“Yes. He and Josiah were helping Crockett fork hay into the loft when I left. I just wanted to visit with your mother. Is she at home?”

“Yes'm.” He leaned his hatchet against the chopping stump and rubbed his palms along his trouser legs. “Go on up to the house. I'll see to your horse.”

Meredith smiled at the young man as she dismounted. “Thank you.”

By the time she reached the cabin, however, her smile had twisted into a nervous grimace. Second thoughts leapt through her mind, causing havoc with her stomach. Marriage was a deeply private affair. Perhaps discussing her relationship concerns with Myra wasn't such a good idea.

But how else was she to figure out what to do?

A verse from Titus surfaced through the panic. A verse about older women teaching younger women how to love their husbands. Surely the answers she sought fell into that category.

Meredith inhaled a long, steadying breath, then raised her hand to knock. When Myra answered, Meredith blurted out the thought uppermost in her mind.

“I need you to help me end my husband's courtship.”

T
he cold musta done froze your brain, Miss Meri, 'cause you ain't making a lick of sense.” Myra took Meredith by the arm and drew her into the house. “I got water on in the kitchen. I'll make some tea. Maybe once you thaw out, I'll be able to understand what in the world you're sayin'. I could've sworn I heard you say you wanted to stop your husband from payin' court to you.”

“Yes, but that's not exactly—”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Myra held up a hand and shook her head. “Not until we get that tea.”

She bustled Meredith into the toasty kitchen, collected her cloak, and directed her into a chair, then reached into the cupboard and took down a tea canister.

Grinning at her friend, and a little at herself, Meredith dutifully kept her mouth closed as she unwound her scarf and slid her hands free of her mittens. The strains of a familiar hymn wove through the air, so quiet at first that Meredith couldn't tell if she actually heard them or if they resonated only in her mind. But when Myra turned to set a teacup on the table in front of her, the melody rose like the sun cresting the horizon.

“Father of Mercies.”
A stillness came over Meredith. Little by little, her frantic desperation dissolved as her mind filled in the lyrics extolling God's abundant blessings. She became so caught up in the prayerful attitude of the song, that when Myra stopped humming in order to pour tea into their cups, she had to blink several times to return her focus to her surroundings.

“Take a sip, Miss Meri. Then tell me what you come here to say.”

Meredith did as instructed, then set her pink-flowered teacup back on its saucer and faced her friend. “I find myself in need of advice—from someone accustomed to dealing with a husband.”

“I see.” Myra paused as she lifted her cup to her lips. “Travis causing you trouble?”

“Not really, it's just that . . .” Meredith sighed. “We married under unusual circumstances, and Travis thought I deserved a proper courtship. So for the last few weeks he's been courting me.”

“Honey, if you got yourself a man who's willing to pay court to you even after the vows are spoke, you got yourself a treasure, not a problem.”

“You don't understand. He's courting me like a suitor, not like a . . . a husband.” Meredith dropped her gaze to the tabletop. She toyed with the corner of her napkin as she revealed the rest of it. “He sleeps on a cot in Neill's room. Not with me.”

“And you're ready for that arrangement to change?”

Meredith bit her lip and nodded.

Myra set her cup on her saucer and scooted them both out of the way. “Miss Meri, if your man is attracted to you at all, I can promise you he's been thinkin' of little else than changing that arrangement. He's prob'ly just waiting for some kind of signal from you to let him know he'd be welcome.”

“That's the problem. I feel like I've been signaling more than a flagman on the rails, but Travis fails to notice. I respond to his kisses, I come up with excuses to be near him, I never pull away from his touch. How many signals does a husband need?”

A mild laugh rumbled in Myra's chest. “Oh, Miss Meri. You gotta remember them Archer boys grew up with only themselves for comp'ny. They ain't been around womenfolk to learn how to interpret them quiet signals of yours. You're gonna have to take a more direct approach, I reckon.”

Meredith's hand shook as she reached for her teacup, setting it to rattling against the matching saucer. She managed to get the cup to her mouth without dribbling anything on Myra's tablecloth, but the brew did little to fortify her.

“How direct?” Meredith glanced around the kitchen to ensure they were still alone. She'd be absolutely mortified if Joshua were to overhear their conversation. The rhythmic
thwack
of a hatchet splitting wood outside, however, gave her the courage to continue, albeit in a whisper. “I don't want Travis to think I'm some sort of . . . loose woman.”

Myra smiled, but this smile was different. Far from the friendly, open grins Meredith was accustomed to receiving, this one spoke of secrets—seductive secrets. “A lady can be direct and still be a proper lady, Miss Meri.”

Meredith leaned forward. “How?”

“Have you ever been the one to start a kiss?”

Heat climbed up Meredith's neck. “Not really. I did kiss him on the cheek earlier today, but Travis has always been the one take the lead with . . . well, real kisses.”

“Then the next time the two of you are alone, surprise him. And not with some little buss like his ma woulda given him. Take his face in your hands and kiss him the way your heart tells you. Slow. Sweet. Full of all the love you been storin' up.”

Could she do something that bold? Meredith ran her fingertip around the rim of her cup. Even if she could find the nerve, would she be able to find him alone? There always seemed to be another Archer around once the evening chores were finished.

“Even when you're not alone, you can make it feel that way,” Myra continued as if she had read Meredith's mind. “Meet his gaze from across the room. Let down your guard and show him the truth of your feelings in your eyes. Men fear rejection, too, you know. Give him every reason to believe you'll say yes, and he'll find a way to ask you the question.”

“But what if I can't get him alone or he can't read my eyes? Is there anything else I can do?”

“Honey, if the man is that dense, you can drag that cot he been sleepin' on into your room, nab his clothes, and lay in wait for him. When he comes lookin' for his things, lock the door and settle the matter once and for all.”

“Myra!” Meredith gasped in shock, then promptly started laughing at the picture that came to mind of a bewildered Travis searching high and low for his bed.

“You ain't got nothing to worry about, Miss Meri.” Myra reached across the table and patted her hand. “From what Moses says, your man's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll figure it out. And if it takes him longer than you like, you can always let him
accidentally
see you with your hair down, or tangle your apron strings in such a knot that you need his help to undo them. Find excuses to touch him, even if it's just passin' the potatoes, and look him in the eye while you do it. Trust me, that cot will find its way back into storage faster than you can fold the sheets.”

Myra winked at her, and the insecurities that she'd been dragging around for days finally lifted. She could do it. She could woo her husband.

Meredith sat a little straighter in her chair and finished off her tea, ideas churning in her mind. Myra stood to refill her cup, her secretive smile no longer quite so mysterious. With confidence blossoming, Meredith felt a similar smile stretch across her face.

Knowing she needed to get back to the ranch, Meredith downed her tea as quickly as politeness allowed. Myra didn't seem to mind. She just peered at her over the rim of her still half-filled cup, her eyes gleaming with a light that made Meredith's cheek warm.

“I'm sorry to rush out on you, Myra. I promised Travis not to stay long.” Meredith stood and collected her mittens and scarf. “The weather, you know.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Myra murmured, that secretive gleam of hers only growing brighter.

Meredith ducked her head to hide an embarrassed smile. It was the middle of the day, for heaven's sake. She probably wouldn't even see Travis for another couple of hours. It wasn't as if she were rushing home to put their plans into action.

All right, maybe that accounted for
some
of her urgency. But the coming storm was cause for concern, too.

Just as she reached for her cloak, Joshua stomped through the back door, letting in a gust of wind that pricked her skin like tiny ice needles.

“Lord have mercy!” Myra inhaled sharply. “When did it turn so cold?”

Joshua closed the door behind him, but Meredith still shivered. She hurriedly donned her cloak and crossed her arms over her middle, trying to reclaim the heat she'd lost.

“It's been droppin' for the last hour, Ma,” Joshua said as he moved closer to the stove. “And now it's rainin'. Ain't much more than a drizzle, but the water's freezing on its way down. I suspect we'll get snow overnight.”

Myra jumped to her feet. “I had no idea.” She tossed an apologetic look Meredith's way. “You
do
gotta get home. Joshua, saddle her horse for her.”

“Already done it. Ginger's ready to go when you are, Miss Meri.”

“Thank you, Joshua.” Meredith stuffed her hands into her mittens and wrapped her scarf high around her neck. “I best be on my way. I don't want my husband to worry.”

And heaven knew, Travis would worry. He'd specifically warned her about the freezing rain. If she didn't get home soon, he might not let her leave the ranch for the rest of the winter.

Myra helped fasten the buttons on Meredith's cloak, since mittens didn't allow for much dexterity. Meredith thanked her and pulled her friend into a brief embrace.

“I'd be lost without you, Myra.”

“You and Mr. Travis will find your way through this,” the older woman whispered fiercely in Meredith's ear. “I have no doubt.”

Meredith followed Joshua outside, heartened by the woman's words and eager to get home to put some of Myra's strategies into practice.

Icy drizzle stung her cheeks, and the wind seemed to know the location of every crack and crevice in her clothing, chilling her instantly. Ginger stamped her hooves and twisted her head away from the wind.

“I know, girl,” Meredith soothed, stroking the paint's neck. “Let's get you home to that new barn.”

“Pa always takes the cutoff by Beaver Creek,” Joshua said after helping her mount. “It could save you some time gettin' back.”

Meredith nodded as she took up the reins and turned Ginger's head toward home. “Thanks.”

Moses and Josiah usually traveled on foot, not on horseback, but Meredith trusted Ginger to handle the terrain. It wasn't truly raining, after all, just drizzling. The ground didn't even feel muddy when they left the road.

By the time she reached the edge of the creek, however, the drizzle had worsened into a light shower of sleet. Her soggy mittens only intensified the cold as the wind blew through the knit, leaving her fingers numb.

Meredith reined Ginger in and tugged her mittens off with her teeth. She tucked them into the pocket of her cloak, then lifted her hands to her mouth and tried to warm them with her breath.

“All right, Ginger,” she said as she guided the horse to the lowest spot on the creek bank. “Home's not much farther. Let's get across.”

The paint tossed her head but obediently trudged forward. The creek wasn't more than a foot deep, but the banks were getting slick as the rain increased. Halfway down, Ginger's back hoof lost purchase and sent her staggering to the right. Meredith grabbed the horse's neck, barely managing to stay in the saddle.

“Easy, girl.” Heart thudding in her chest, Meredith righted herself and ground her teeth together as she urged Ginger into the water.

They splashed across without much problem, so Meredith relaxed her grip on the saddle horn. Then, as Ginger surged up the opposite bank, her hooves slid on the mud. Her hind legs buckled, and she fell hard onto her haunches. Meredith flew backward. She screeched and grabbed desperately for the pommel, but her numb fingers were too slow to connect. The reins tore from her hand, and she toppled end over end—right into Beaver Creek.

Meredith gasped. Frigid water slapped her face. Cold rushed up her arms and legs, her cloak offering little protection as she lay half submerged in the creek. She scrambled to her feet and quickly waded to the bank, but already she could feel the added weight in her skirts.

Wiping water from her face with the back of her hand, she searched for Ginger. The horse had made it up the small embankment, but the way she kept lifting her rear left foot sent a frisson of dread through Meredith.

After wringing what water she could from her petticoats, Meredith hiked up her skirts and planted her boot on a thick tree root protruding from the muddy bank. She grasped a handful of tall grass from atop the rise and crawled out of the creek bed.

“So maybe we should have taken the longer way around, huh, girl?” Meredith scraped her mud-caked boots on the yellowed grass and carefully approached Ginger. “We're definitely both going to need a bath after this.” She collected the dangling reins and wrapped them around the pommel, then ran a calming hand down the paint's neck and shoulder. Slowly, she stroked her way back toward the mare's hind legs.

“Let me take a look, girl. Easy.” Meredith ran her palm down Ginger's left leg, over the hock and down along the fetlock. Ginger tossed her head and snorted as if in discomfort, but otherwise submitted to the examination. Nothing seemed to be broken, thank the Lord, but something was definitely paining her. Hopefully, it was just a bruise. But it could be a sprain or even a fracture. One thing was for certain, Meredith wasn't about to risk causing her horse further injury by forcing her to carry her added weight. They'd have to walk the rest of the way.

Meredith unwound Ginger's reins and limped up to the animal's head. “It's only a couple of miles, girl. We'll be home in no time.”

Unfortunately, that promise proved to be a bit optimistic. As the temperatures continued to drop, Meredith's pace slowed. With every step, shards of pain tore through the arch of her right foot and up into her calf and thigh.

“We . . . make quite a . . . pair, don't we, Ginger?” Meredith ground out as she bent to retrieve a dead branch to use as a cane. It didn't offer much relief, but a little help was better than none. “Two girls with bum legs limping home.”

After another dozen or so excruciating steps, her weak foot came down on a stone hidden beneath a scattering of leaves and pine needles. Meredith cried out and crumpled to the cold, wet ground, her ankle twisting beneath her. As her knees hit, she released Ginger's reins.