Samson pinned his ears down and bit at Travis’s arm. With a quick move of his elbow, Travis dodged the teeth and smacked the mule’s neck with the flat of his hand. “Quit!”
The mule blinked and retreated a step, but Travis dragged the mule’s head around until Samson faced the doorway leading to the corral. The fire raged directly overhead in the loft. Sweat and smoke stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Burning air scalded his throat, making it hard to breathe. If he didn’t get the animal out soon, he’d be forced to leave him behind.
Travis tugged the mule forward and Samson actually complied. He’d only taken a handful of steps, however, when the loft floorboards gave way. Fiery debris plummeted. Planks of wood struck across his shoulders, and lit hay showered upon his back. Spooked but unharmed by the downfall, Samson brayed and pulled against Travis’s hold, trying to retreat farther into the barn.
“No you don’t. We aren’t going through that again.” Travis shook off what he could from his back and swatted Samson’s neck a second time. The mule tossed his head, but obeyed. However, Travis had a new problem to contend with—a focused heat was radiating through the back of his coat, and he feared some of the flames from the debris had taken hold.
“Get up now, mule.” Travis walked backward, tugging on Samson’s halter with one hand while trying to undo his buttons with the other. He had to get that coat off.
The heat on his back grew painful, and panic made him clumsy. He arched away from the fabric clawing at him and was about to release Samson and tear the coat off with both hands when a gush of blessedly cool water hit him from behind.
“Thanks.” Travis swiveled to see which brother had just saved his hide, only to find Meredith standing there, an empty stockpot in her hands. His gratitude evaporated.
“Get out of here!” he shouted.
The woman was as bad as Samson.
He tried to order her out again, but a chest-heavy cough blocked the words as it pummeled his ribs. It bent him forward, and Meredith took advantage of his weakened state. She dropped the pot and pulled something from under her arm as she rushed toward him. Clicking her tongue, she latched onto the opposite side of Samson’s halter and tapped his hindquarters with the end of a long stick.
The mule hopped and kicked, but the movement carried him closer to the door, so Travis bit back his protest. They’d nearly made it outside when the roof collapsed. Twenty feet behind them, timber beams splintered the weakened loft floor and slammed into the ground of the barn with a deafening crash. Meredith screamed. Samson bucked and contorted. Meredith lost her hold on the halter and stumbled sideways. Travis strained to lead the animal away from her, but Samson finally grasped the danger the barn represented and kicked wildly for his freedom.
Travis released his grip on the halter. “Go!”
The panicked mule kicked out a final time and ran out to the corral.
Travis spun toward where he’d last seen Meredith, and a new terror twisted his gut. She lay crumpled on the hard ground.
“No.” The whispered denial fell from his lips as he ran to her. He dropped to the ground and yanked his gloves from his hands. “Meredith?”
She gave no answer. Not even a moan. He reached beneath her head to support it as he hoisted her into his arms, his only thought to get her away from the fire. But something sticky wet his fingers.
Blood.
8
Travis gathered Meredith close to his chest and ran out of the barn. He didn’t stop until he reached the pump. Neill was at the trough filling a pail. He straightened when he saw Travis approach.
“What happened?” His eyes roamed over Meredith’s limp form, and beneath the soot, his face paled.
“Fetch Crockett.” When Neill just stood and stared, Travis’s voice sharpened. “Now!”
Neill flinched and dashed off, leaving his pail behind.
Cradling Meredith’s head in the crook of his arm, Travis slowly knelt and lowered her to a dry patch of ground. He combed her hair from her face, and a feather-light stirring of air brushed against his palm. She was breathing.
“Thank you, God,” Travis murmured.
He shrugged out of his coat, folded it inside out, and gently cushioned her head with it. Careful of her wound, he angled her face so that the right side of her skull would take most of the weight, leaving the left side exposed for Crockett to examine.
She lay so still, it hurt to look at her.
This never should have happened. He should have let her leave as soon as she’d issued her warning. What had he been thinking, dragging her into this mess?
Desperate to do something—anything—to help her, Travis yanked the bandanna from around his neck and dipped it into the trough. Then, kneeling in the dirt beside her, he rinsed away the worst of the soot smears from her face, all the while praying for her eyes to open.
He was so focused on Meredith, he didn’t realize his brothers had surrounded him until Crockett hunkered down and touched his shoulder.
Emotion clogged Travis’s throat. He cleared it away with a rough cough. “I think the mule kicked her.” He tilted her head to expose more of the bloodied area to Crockett’s view. His brother was no doctor, but he was the closest they had. Ever since the day Jim had been shot, Crock had taken it upon himself to memorize the two medical books in his father’s study, Gunn’s New Domestic Physician and A Dictionary of Practical Medicine. Travis just prayed there’d been something in those books that could help Meredith.
Crockett pulled off his gloves and probed the wound. Meredith moaned and thrashed her arms, but her eyes didn’t open. Travis took her hand in his, wishing he could do more.
“She can feel the pain,” Crockett observed. “That’s a good sign. But I’m going to need to get her into the house, where the light is better, before I can tell you more.”
Crockett made as if to pick her up, but Travis nudged him aside. “I’ll carry her.” His brother shot him an odd look. Travis ignored it. Meredith was injured because of him. She was his responsibility.
After pushing to his feet, he shifted Meredith’s weight in his arms and turned to Jim and Neill. “The roof’s gone, so let the barn burn itself out. Keep an eye on it, though, and don’t let any sparks spread to the house or shed. Neill, when it’s under control, fetch the draft horses and Miss Meredith’s paint from the creek bed, and tie them up by the old lean-to behind the shed. Jim, take care of the barn. Oh, and one of you better keep watch in case Mitchell’s men decide to return. I’ll come spell you when I can.”
“Take care of the girl,” Jim said. “We’ll handle things out here.”
Travis nodded and strode toward the house.
Crockett had every lamp in the den blazing with light by the time Travis arrived. “Set her on the sofa,” he said. “I need to wash out that wound and see if any bone has chipped or if the skull is dented from the blow.”
Travis laid Meredith across the cushioned seat, arranging her head at the end nearest the lamp table where Crockett had piled several squares of toweling.
As Crockett moved in with basin and sponge, Travis backed away and paced the room’s perimeter.
Why was it that every time Meredith’s path crossed his, she ended up hurt? First her leg in one of his traps, and now her head kicked by his mule. Both were accidents, of course, yet Travis couldn’t shake a growing sense of guilt. If he had made different decisions, neither would have happened.
He dipped his chin and rubbed the aching area above his eyes. Help her recover, Lord. Please. Don’t make her pay the price for my mistakes.
Travis circled past the woodstove, his mother’s rocking chair, and his father’s bookshelf, and then found himself once again at the foot of the sofa. He studied Meredith’s face. Her dark lashes lay delicately against her pale cheeks, fluttering slightly. Tiny frown lines puckered her forehead between her brows as Crockett probed her wound, and quiet whimpers vibrated in her throat. An insane urge to shove his brother away and spare her the pain of hi
s invasion had Travis balling his hands into fists, but he restrained himself from interfering.
After several more minutes of cleaning and probing, Crockett finally set aside the washbasin and pushed to his feet. Travis met his eye, silently seeking answers.
“The bleeding has slowed, and she continues to react to the pain—both of which are good signs. The cuts are fairly minor and won’t require stitching. I’ve treated them with salve. It’s the impact to her head, not the abrasions, that I’m most worried about, but best I can tell, there are no skull fractures.”
Travis acknowledged his brother’s words with a slight dip of his chin, and then reached out to grip the back of the sofa, bracing himself for the rest of the news.
“The fact that she hasn’t awakened could be a problem. There is no way to know the extent of the damage inside her skull. The only thing I can recommend is to make her as comfortable as possible. Let her rest and heal at her own pace.”
At first, Travis said nothing, just silently absorbed the verdict. So much of his life revolved around controlling his environment. Control meant security. That’s why Archers never left their land and why few people were ever granted permission to cross their property line. Control minimized risk. But all his efforts to minimize risk tonight had failed. Mitchell’s men escaped, the barn burned, and Meredith—a woman whose only “crime” was trying to perform a good deed—lay unconscious on his mother’s sofa, and there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation.
Travis pressed his fingers into the wood trim of the sofa back and straightened. “My room’s closest,” he said. “We’ll put her in there. I can bunk with Neill.”
“Someone should probably sit up with her until she regains consciousness.” Crockett raised a brow and searched him with a look that seemed to ask more than one question. “I’d be happy to—”
“No. I’ll do it.” Travis bent and lifted Meredith from the sofa. “She came here because of me. It’s only right that I be the one to tend her.”
Crockett nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. Travis glared at him, uncomfortable with his brother’s shrewd expression. Crockett’s grin widened at his reaction, but he wisely said no more and, instead, strode down the hall to open the bedroom door and pull back the covers on the bed. Travis carried Meredith through the doorway and lowered her to the mattress.
“We should probably . . . um . . . try to make her more comfortable.” Crockett glanced at Travis from the opposite side of the bed, his face reddening.
Travis took secret pleasure at his brother’s discomfort until the meaning of his words settled into Travis’s brain. His mouth suddenly dry, he looked from Crockett to Meredith and back to Crockett again.
“We can’t—” He cleared his throat. His shirt collar seemed to be shrinking. There was no way he was going to undress her. Especially not with Crockett looking on.
“I’m not suggesting we do anything improper.” Crockett blew out a heavy breath. “Well, not too improper. Aw . . . blast it, Travis. I’m trying to be practical here. Her breathing is shallow, and if we loosen her stays, that might help. That and taking off her shoes so she can rest better. That’s all I’m saying.”
Shoes. He could handle shoes. Travis swallowed hard and moved to the end of the bed, where her feet hung off the side of the mattress. It was true that she didn’t look very comfortable, her legs skewed at an odd angle. If he was lying there, he’d sure want his boots off. So why did he feel like the worst kind of cad when he touched her ankle?
“Throw the blanket over her legs,” Travis ground out between clenched teeth. She’d shown them all the scar above her ankle when she first arrived, but that had been her choice. Neither he nor Crockett needed to see anything besides shoe leather now. Once the covers were in place, Travis waved Crockett over to his side of the bed. “Come help me with the other shoe.” The faster they completed the task, the better.
They undid the laces and gently tugged off the shoes.
“Just like when Neill was a kid, right?” Crockett said.
“Right,” Travis agreed. Only it didn’t feel anything like putting Neill to bed when feminine wool stockings rubbed against his hands as he poked her toes under the covers. Nor was he able to picture Neill’s sleepy little boy form when it came time to take care of the second order of business.
Travis looked to Crockett. His brother shrugged.
“It has to be done, Trav. She needs to be able to breathe freely. If you don’t feel right about it, I’ll do it.”
He sure as shooting didn’t feel right about it. But he felt even less right about letting anyone else do it.
Travis sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the buttons at Meredith’s midsection. But before he touched one, he stopped. His eyes moved to her face. “Meredith,” he said in a firm, loud voice. “Meredith, can you hear me?”
Her head shifted slightly on the pillow, but she gave no sign of waking.
“Meredith, I’m going to loosen your . . . ah . . . clothing to help you breathe. I swear that’s all I’m doing. All right?”
She made a slight moaning sound, then quieted. He’d have to take that for permission. Setting his jaw and focusing strictly on the task that needed to be accomplished, he made quick work of the buttons on her bodice. Unfortunately, instead of the laces he expected to encounter, he uncovered another layer. Some white frilly thing offered up a second set of buttons. Travis bit back a groan but tackled the obstacle with businesslike precision. Finally, he found the stiff, boned corset he sought, but there were still no visible laces.
Why couldn’t a woman just throw a shirt over her head like a man? This was ridiculous. At least there were metal fasteners of some sort running down the front.
“I swear, if there’s another row of buttons under this, I’m gonna get my knife and cut her out,” he grumbled under his breath. No wonder her breathing was shallow. She was wrapped up tighter than a roped calf at branding time.
However, the moment he unclasped the last fastener and the corset fell open to reveal another layer of white fabric, Meredith let out a sound that could only be described as a sigh. Her breathing deepened, and Travis’s frustration melted away. He quickly drew the covers up to her chin.
“She’ll rest easier now,” Crockett said from behind him, “and that will give her the best chance to recover.”
Travis nodded. Her recovery was more important than any awkwardness or embarrassment his actions might have caused. He just hoped she saw it the same way when she awoke.
9
Meredith 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.”