Short-Straw Bride by Karen Witemeyer Page A

legs scraping against floorboards echoed in response as each of the Archer brothers stuffed final bites into their mouths and rose to follow Travis. Not one of them spared her so much as a glance, all of their faces set in grim lines.
    Feeling left out, Meredith jumped to her feet. “What can I do?”
    Travis pivoted, quickly scanning her from head to toe, hesitating ever so briefly on her weak leg. “Stay in the house. As soon as this is over, I’ll see you home.” And with that, his long strides carried him away from her and out into the night.
    Meredith chased him down and grabbed his arm from behind. “I can help, Travis.”
    The dark brown vest Travis wore flapped open as he spun to face her. “This isn’t your fight. Just stay in the house and keep your head down. You don’t know your way around out here, and it’ll only slow me down to answer your questions.”
    Even though he didn’t say it, she could easily imagine what he was thinking. That telling glance in the kitchen had said it all. He believed her to be weak. A liability.
    Meredith made no further protest as Travis left her to jog over to the barn, but as she made her way back to the house, she vowed to prove to him that she was more than just a girl with a limp. She was smart and strong and capable, and any man who thought different needed his opinion adjusted.
    She charged through the front door and down the hall to the kitchen. A table full of dirty dishes and a stove covered in food splatter called out a defiant challenge. Meredith narrowed her gaze and stripped out of her cloak. Rolling up her sleeves, she moved to the table and started stacking dirty plates and utensils. It might not be the most glamorous of jobs, but she’d have their kitchen shinier than a new copper kettle by the time those thick-headed Archers returned.
    Besides, her mind did some of its best work while her hands were in dishwater. And she had some serious thinking to do. The men were focused on saving the contents of the barn, but they’d really taken no time to strategize ways to protect the barn itself. That would be up to her.
    Once the dishes were done and the stove scoured, Meredith set about enacting phase one of her newly hatched plan. First, she pulled out every stockpot, bucket, and washtub she could find. Then she searched the cupboards for medical supplies. She prayed Travis and his brothers would escape injury, but she’d make sure things were ready just in case. Next, she dug through the bedrooms, gathering old blankets. There was more than one way to fight fire, and she aimed to have as many weapons at her disposal as possible.
    Meredith piled the blankets in the largest washtub and threaded her arm through the handles of three buckets. Then, with the cling-clang of the tin pails bouncing against her hip, she hefted the washtub and headed for the back door she’d discovered in a small room off the kitchen. She scanned the yard, squinting against the dark shadows, until she found a shape that fit what she was looking for. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the edge of the paddock.
    The men had been busy. The mule and milk cow were already in the corral along with four fully outfitted saddle horses, and she saw the back of the wagon from around the corner of the barn. Male voices called to one another from within the structure, and Meredith guessed they were finishing up the hay. She’d need to hurry if she wanted to be back in the house by the time the men came in to get their coats before they headed out.
    Meredith grasped the pump handle and worked it until water gushed from the spout into the horse trough beside the paddock fence. She filled the trough to the brim so it would be easy to refill the buckets quickly should the need arise. Then she filled the washtub and each of the pails. She stacked the blankets beneath the trough to protect them from the wind and returned to the house for the