Short-Straw Bride by Karen Witemeyer

had all but forgotten was there. At least Travis had. But looking at her now, he couldn’t quite fathom how that could’ve happened.
    â€œIt’s a good idea,” Crockett said.
    Travis was about to agree when pounding hooves echoed from the yard. In an instant, he was on his feet, rifle in hand. He felt his brothers behind him as he dashed down the hall.

5
    T ravis sighted down the barrel of his Winchester. A rider on an unfamiliar white-and-chestnut paint thundered toward the porch. Travis released a nervous breath and steadied his aim. The dimness of twilight made it difficult to distinguish features, so he went for the high-percentage shot and drew a bead on the man’s chest. But as he moved his finger to the trigger, a sense of recognition registered. The rider had a very familiar posture. Travis jerked the Winchester away from his shoulder, his heart thumping with the dread of what could have happened.
    Neill pulled up short of the porch and leapt from the horse’s back before the paint had fully stopped. “I ain’t too late for supper, am I?”
    Travis stormed down the steps and shoved his kid brother hard enough to land his butt in the dirt. “What were you thinking, riding in here without giving the signal? I could have shot you!”
    The shocked look on Neill’s face gave way to one of abashment. “Sorry, Trav. I thought you’d know it was me, since you sent me to fetch Miss Meredith’s horse.”
    â€œDid you forget we were expecting other visitors tonight? Unwelcome visitors?” Travis extended his hand to his brother and yanked him to his feet. “With the poor light and you on a strange mount, for a minute there, I thought you were one of them. You gotta think with more than your belly, Neill.”
    â€œI’ll do better next time. I swear.”
    Travis gripped the boy’s shoulder and offered reassurance with a squeeze. “I know you will. You’re an Archer.”
    â€œJim,” Travis called up to the man waiting on the porch with Crockett, “dish up the vittles. We can’t afford for this boy to be distracted. We got too much work to get done.”
    Neill’s ready smile reappeared, and the tension in Travis’s gut relaxed. A little.
    As Jim led the way back into the house, Travis hung back and scanned the darkening woods, wondering from which direction trouble would strike.
    Lord, I’d be obliged if you’d get us through this night in one piece.

    Watching the Archer brothers eat was like watching a twister blow through the room. Meredith sat with her elbows tucked close to her side, afraid to do more than occasionally raise her fork to her mouth for fear of being rammed by a reaching arm or thumped by a tossed biscuit. The venison steak was overdone, the beans gluey, and the biscuits were dry as unbuttered toast, yet the Archers attacked their food like a pack of dogs fighting over a fresh kill. No one spoke. They just ate.
    Well, not all of them. The one called Jim slowed down enough to glare at her over his dish and grunt as he chomped down on what must have been a particularly tough piece of venison, giving her the distinct impression that he held her responsible for the condition of the food. Which was probably true. Her arrival had delayed their supper. And with the threat of Roy’s men so imminent, she supposed haste was more important than decorum. Still, it was a bit unnerving to be surrounded by such ravenous appetites. Therefore, when Travis pushed away from the table and started giving orders not five minutes after the meal had begun, Meredith found herself as much relieved as amazed.
    â€œJim, you’re in charge of the corncrib. Crockett, bring the wagon around and get started on the hay. We won’t be able to get it all, but we should be able to save a decent portion. I’ll give you a hand as soon as I fill Neill in on what to do with the stock.”
    A chorus of chair