Short-Straw Bride by Karen Witemeyer Page B

circling his waist. When they reached the bedpost, Meredith released him to grasp the oak column, and Travis found himself missing the contact. He maintained his grip another moment until certain she was secure. Finally, he slackened his hold and slipped his arm free.
    â€œI’ll be right outside the door.” He ducked his head and shoved his thumbs beneath his suspender straps. “Call out if you need anything.”
    He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her with her dress half undone, but he heard her quiet “Thank you” as he strode to the doorway.
    Once the door had been pulled closed behind him, he pressed his back into the wall and exhaled a long, slow breath.
    Fifteen minutes later, Meredith called him back into the room. She’d managed to change and crawl back under the covers. Sitting with the blankets held up to her chin, she bit her lip and hid her eyes from him behind lowered lashes.
    â€œI didn’t want to bother you,” she said softly, “but I couldn’t reach all my hairpins. It hurt too much to twist my head back and forth.”
    Travis crossed the room and, lowering himself beside her, reached for the first pin he could see. She hissed a little when a tangled strand pulled painfully against her injured scalp. Travis scowled. His rancher’s fingers were too thick for this. But who else was gonna do it? Setting his jaw, he reached for another pin. This time she didn’t make a sound as he extracted the thin black wire. His confidence building, Travis searched for more. By the time he found the last one and added it to the pile next to his hip, Meredith’s eyes had closed and her back slumped against his chest.
    Travis eased her down to where her pillow waited. Scooping the discarded pins into his palm, he pushed to his feet only to have the bed groan at the loss of his weight. Meredith’s lashes fluttered open.
    â€œTravis?” she whispered, her voice groggy.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYou’re the best hero I ever dreamed up.”
    And in that moment, Travis wanted to be more to her than a dreamland hero left over from her childhood. He wanted to be her hero in truth.
    But his wants never came first. His brothers, the land—those were what he swore to protect. And with Meredith’s connection to Mitchell, he couldn’t afford to indulge in selfish whims. No, when Meredith recovered, he’d see she got back where she belonged—far away from him.

10
    M eredith drifted in and out of sleep most of the day. Each time she woke, she’d ask the same questions: Where was she? What happened? And each time, Travis gave her the same answers. Despite her continued memory trouble, however, her disorientation improved. No more talk of dreams or heroes, for which he was exceedingly grateful. If Crockett had overheard one of those statements, he’d never let Travis live it down. Besides, the less he thought about those early conversations, the better. He had no business trying to be someone’s hero. He had enough to worry about.
    Like the fact that someone was trying to drive him off his land. And because of that, he had no barn, only half the hay stores he’d need for winter, and an injured woman whose presence kept him in the house when he should be out helping his brothers build a temporary shelter for the stock. Travis paced over to the window and raised an arm to cushion his head as he leaned against the wall.
    â€œI’m sorry about your barn, Travis.” Meredith’s soft voice settled over him like a comfortable, well-worn shirt. He turned and found she had bolstered herself on the extra pillows without his aid and was regarding him with remarkably clear eyes.
    How had she so accurately deciphered his thoughts? He pasted on a smile, not wanting to burden her with his worries, and stepped away from the window. “It’s nothing for you to be sorry about. The boys and I can build