Short-Straw Bride (9 page)

M
eredith rolled to her side and grimaced when pain throbbed behind her ear. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and gingerly rolled back the way she'd come, only to have something stiff jab her in the soft spot below her ribs. Had she fallen asleep reading again? She felt around for the book that must have worked its way under the covers, eager to remove the impediment and go back to sleep. However, when she extracted the poking object from beneath her, it felt nothing like a book and everything like a . . . corset? What was her corset doing in her bed? She always stored it carefully in her bureau drawer at night.

Cassandra had secretly given her the pink satin undergarment for her birthday last year, letting Aunt Noreen believe her gift had been nothing more extravagant than the package of stationery she'd presented at the family dinner that evening. But later she had taken Meredith's hand, dragged her upstairs to her room, and closed the door. Eyes twinkling with suppressed secrets, she had pulled a brown paper package from her wardrobe and presented it with giddy delight. The pink satin corset trimmed in white lace and covered with embroidered roses had been the most beautiful thing Meredith had ever seen. She treasured the garment and would never discard it haphazardly. So why was it in bed with her?

Meredith's mind flitted from dreamlike memories of her cousin to the puzzle of her present circumstance. Yet the more she tried to make sense of things, the more her head ached. Then another ache made itself known—the ache to use the chamber pot. Meredith swallowed a moan, hating to forfeit sleep. Maybe if she hurried, she could bury herself back into the covers before Aunt Noreen banged on the door.

Pressing her palms into the mattress, she started to lever herself up, but when she lifted her head from the pillow, stabbing shards ricocheted through her skull. She mewled and reached for her head.

“Easy now.” A deep voice resonated near her ear. Strong hands supported her shoulders and propped a second pillow beneath her. “Are you awake, Meredith?” A warm fingertip drew a line across her forehead and gently smoothed back a piece of hair. “Please, God, let her wake,” the voice murmured.

Meredith struggled to open her eyes, to make sense of the voice. It was familiar, masculine. Nothing like Uncle Everett, though.

Her lashes slowly separated. A face hovered over hers. She blinked, trying to bring it into focus. Craggy features, a strong jaw that seemed to tighten as she watched, and eyes . . . eyes that looked like home.

“Travis?” Her voice came out scratchy and cracked. “What are you doing in my room?”

Those eyes—not quite green, not quite brown—crinkled at the corners. “I'm not in your room, darlin'. You're in mine.”

What?
Maybe she was still dreaming. That would explain why Travis was here and why nothing was making a lick of sense. But the throbbing behind her ear seemed awfully real.

“My head hurts.”

“You were kicked by a mule.”

A mule? Meredith frowned. Uncle Everett didn't own a mule. Had she been injured at the livery fetching Ginger? And why was Travis grinning at her? Shouldn't he be more concerned?

“It's not very heroic of you to smile at my misfortune.”
Really.
This was her dream after all. Her hero should be more solicitous. Of course, usually in her dreams, Travis rescued her before any injury occurred. The man was getting lax. She'd started to tell him so when he laid the back of his hand on her forehead as if feeling for fever. The gentle touch instantly dissolved her pique.

He removed his hand and met her gaze. “I'm smiling because I'm happy to see you awake. We've been worried about you.”

“Awake?” Meredith scrunched her brows together until the throbbing around her skull forced her to relax. “Travis, you're not making any sense. I can't be awake. You only come to me when I'm dreaming. Although you're usually younger and . . . well . . . cleaner, and not so in need of a shave.

“But don't get me wrong,” she hurried to assure him. It wouldn't do to insult her hero. “You're just as handsome as always. I don't even mind that you didn't save me this time. The important thing is that you're here.”

She smiled at him, but his grin faded and frown lines appeared above his eyes.

“Don't you remember riding out here to warn me about Mitchell? The fire, Meredith. Remember the fire? You were fighting the blaze on your own until me and the boys returned.”

Something important tugged on the hem of her memory, something she should know. Something Travis expected her to remember. Meredith grew uneasy under the intensity of his stare. He was disappointed in her. She could see it. Disappointed that she couldn't remember. She
had
to remember. Travis might leave her if she didn't. She didn't want him to leave.

Despite the pounding in her head, she searched deeper into the foggy recesses of her mind. Images flashed just out of reach. Flames. A line of pots. A gray blanket in her hand. The pieces jumbled in a confusing blur. Then she saw a building. Big. Open. Fire climbing its walls.

“A barn!” she cried triumphantly. “Your barn was on fire, and I was helping put it out. Right?” She found his hand and grabbed hold. “That's right, isn't it? See, you don't have to leave me, Travis. I can remember. I won't let you down. I promise.”

Travis's face started to swim in front of her and her lashes grew too heavy to keep parted. Her fingers started to loosen their grip on his hand, too, and fear clutched her chest. He was leaving her!

“Don't go, Travis. Please.” Her mouth stumbled on the words as darkness descended over her again. “Don't leave me.”

Then a firm, warm hand closed over the top of hers and held on with the strength she could no longer muster for herself. “I'm not going anywhere, Meredith. Go ahead and rest. I'll be here when you wake.”

Peace settled over her then, and as she slipped back into the darkness, her spirit smiled.

Travis held Meredith's hand for several minutes and watched her sleep. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she seemed to be resting more peacefully now than she had before, as if knowing he was there actually brought her comfort. Then again, it probably wasn't
his
presence specifically that eased her. She hardly knew him, after all. Most likely she simply didn't want to be alone, and he was handy. Crockett or even Neill would have filled the bill equally well.

But, despite the logic of that observation, Travis couldn't quite shake the feeling that it didn't ring true. The things Meredith said during their brief, and thoroughly bizarre, conversation had sounded personal. So personal, they'd rattled him. And stirred an odd warmth in him, too.

Did she really dream about him?

Travis lowered himself back into the chair he'd placed at the side of the bed and slowly released Meredith's hand. He fingered his eyes, trying to massage the exhaustion out of them, then rubbed his palms down his face. Whiskers scratched his skin, eliciting a rueful chuckle.

She was right. He did need a shave.

A floorboard creaked in the hall, and Travis glanced up to find Crockett—barefooted, pants hastily donned, shirt untucked—standing in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices.”

“You did.” Travis pushed to his feet and waved him into the room. “Meredith woke a couple minutes ago. She was disoriented and confused, and most of what she said didn't add up.” He turned his attention from his brother to the woman sleeping in his bed. “Thought she was at home in her own room and didn't recall the fire until I mentioned it. Even then, she seemed to have to dig real deep to muster any recollections.”

Travis worked his jaw back and forth, trying to churn up enough courage to ask the question he was afraid to have answered. “You don't think her mind's been damaged, do you?”

“Not permanently, no.” Crockett leaned over the bed and felt Meredith's head for fever, just as Travis had done earlier, and pivoted to face him. “Confusion and memory loss are to be expected. Her brain took a hard knock. I wouldn't worry unless she fails to improve after a day or two.”

“So she'll be staying with us for a while?”

“Yep.” A defensive edge crept into Crockett's voice, as if he expected Travis to argue. “I don't want her out of bed until we're sure she's fully recovered. If we send her on her way too soon, she could succumb to a dizzy spell and fall off her horse or get disoriented and wander from the path only to get lost in the woods. I know you don't like having strangers here, Travis, but I'm going to have to insist.”

“Meredith proved herself an ally last night,” Travis conceded. “She can stay as long as is necessary.”

He cleared his throat, afraid Crockett would sense how easy it was for him to break his own rules where Meredith was concerned. “But as soon as she's healthy, she has to go. I don't want a bunch of townsfolk poking around out here because one of their own is missing. It wouldn't do her any good, either, to be found alone on a ranch with four men.” The last thing he wanted to do was cause Meredith more grief. He'd done enough of that already.

“Agreed.” Crockett clapped him on the back. “Why don't you grab a few winks before the sun comes up. I'll sit with her for a while.”

Travis shook his head. “No. I promised to be here when she woke, and I aim to keep my word.” He scratched at his stubbly chin and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above his chest of drawers.
Haggard
was about as kind a description as could be applied to what he saw.
Filthy saddle bum
painted a truer picture. “I might take a few minutes to clean up a bit, though. I could stand a wash and some fresh clothes.”

“Yes, you could.” Crockett twisted his face into a look of mock disgust, then broke into a smile. “Go on.” He pushed Travis toward the drawers that held clean trousers and shirts. “She probably won't wake for a couple hours. You got plenty of time to make yourself pretty.”

Travis whipped off his sweat-stained shirt and hurled it directly at Crockett's head. The joker ducked, and the sound of his quiet laughter followed Travis down the hall.

The next time Meredith woke, the sun was well on its way across the sky. Travis had been dozing in the chair when her quiet moan stirred him. He shifted closer to the bed. Would she be more clearheaded this time?

“Don't move too fast,” he warned as she rolled to her side and propped an elbow beneath her. “It'll make your head ache worse.” He stilled her with a hand to her shoulder.

“Travis?” She blinked and struggled to fully open her eyes.

“I'm here, Meredith.”

She smiled at him then, and the gesture did something funny to his insides. Not wanting to examine the phenomenon too closely, he cleared his throat and reached for the glass of water he'd brought in with him after cleaning up.

“Are you thirsty?”

Her eyes instantly lost their peaceful glow. She bit her bottom lip and gave her head a tiny shake. “You have to leave,” she said in a wobbly voice.

“Leave? Why?” First she'd begged him to stay, and now she wanted him to go. Travis blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. The woman's confusion must be addling his own mind.

Her face flushed crimson, and her gaze dropped to somewhere below his chin. “I have to attend to . . . to personal business.” Her voice dipped so low at the end, he had to strain to hear her. Once he deciphered the words, however, an uncomfortable heat crept up his neck.

“Oh.”

What in blue blazes was he supposed to do now? She could barely move about in the bed with the pain from her wound. How was she supposed to manage standing and walking about the room? What if she grew dizzy and fell?

Travis clenched his teeth. He'd get her up, but by Jove, she was going to have to find a way to accomplish the rest on her own. Heaven help her.

Without further discussion, Travis dragged the chamber pot from beneath the bed and set it beside the footboard so that Meredith could hang onto the carved bedpost for balance. He scanned the room for anything else that might be of help, and his eyes lit on the small bag Neill had retrieved from Meredith's horse last night. Without asking permission, Travis strode over to the bag and rummaged through it. Finding a white cotton nightgown, he draped it across the end of the bed, then dropped the bag on the floor nearby. That way she could reach it should she feel the need.