Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  The women had outdone themselves with supper. The table fairly groaned under the weight of a thick chicken stew, new potatoes fresh from the garden, bright-green string beans, and lightly browned corn bread straight from the oven. And judging by the aroma wafting from the warming oven, somebody had whipped up a blackberry cobbler. His mouth watered in anticipation of the sweet, tart dessert.

  “More potatoes, Reverend Winston?” Mariah asked, her gentle voice brushing like silk across his attentive ears.

  “Yes, thank you. Everything is delicious as always, Mariah.”

  “Thank you.” She reached out and clasped Sally’s hand. “It was a pleasure to have Sally in the kitchen with me. Together, we’re tempted to cook enough for an army.”

  “I’d say the two of you came close to achieving your goal.”

  “Save room for dessert.” Mariah’s eyes twinkled. “Blackberry cobbler.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll have room.” Sally pressed a hand to her stomach and laughed. “What about you, George?”

  “I’ve always got room for Mariah’s cooking. It’s second only to yours, dear.”

  Mrs. Malone cackled. “Spoken like a man who knows which side his bread is buttered on.”

  Slade found himself enjoying the friendly banter between the Malones and the Winstons. Mariah’s soft laughter filled the kitchen, brightening it, and her happy responses to Sally’s questions filled the space with joy. Mrs. Malone chatted with Reverend Winston, finding out about each and every family who lived in Wisdom—who’d married, who’d died, who’d moved away, and who’d moved to town. The woman didn’t leave one stone unturned.

  Over dessert, Mariah and Sally moved on to discussing the church picnic.

  Could this be what it felt like to be part of a real family? To invite the neighbors to supper every now and then? To talk about the recent rain and the threat of summer drought? To plan a church picnic?

  To have someone to come home to every night. Someone to be the mother of his children. Someone to grow old with.

  Mariah’s laughter tugged at him, and he glanced toward her.

  Someone like Mariah.

  Stunned, he jerked his attention to the bowl of steaming cobbler in front of him. Where had that thought come from? He’d seen Mariah’s hand tremble when she’d given him the deed to the Lazy M. She would never consider staying and becoming his wife, even if he asked her.

  Which he wasn’t going to do anyway.

  No way on God’s green earth could he forget what her father had done to his. Malone had shot Slade’s father, leaving him for dead, and the bullet lodged in his pa’s brain had tormented him until the day he died. The only thing that dulled the pain and the headaches was whiskey. And when he couldn’t get his hands on whiskey, he’d found other outlets for his pain.

  His fists.

  Slade shook his head, blocking thoughts of his father from his mind. Now wasn’t the time to start thinking about the past.

  “Mariah, have you heard from Amanda lately?” Sally asked.

  Mariah threw Slade a quick glance, and the excitement in her eyes dimmed slightly. He frowned. Even though he didn’t care for her sister’s selfishness, it didn’t bother him if Mariah talked about her.

  “Yes. I got another letter the other day. She’s doing well.”

  “How does she like it in Philadelphia?” Reverend Winston asked. “I’d think it would be kind of difficult for her, in her condition and all.”

  Her condition? Slade sent Mariah a questioning glance. What did Reverend Winston mean by that remark?

  “It’s not really that difficult.” Mariah fiddled with her napkin. “Well, I suppose it was at first. But then, once she realized they were there to help her, she got accustomed to it.”

  “Is it true that she had to learn how to do all those things for herself? Like cooking and cleaning and such?”

  Slade sipped his coffee, trying to remember what Mariah had said about her sister. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever heard Amanda’s age. He’d never asked, and she’d never told him. As a matter of fact, every discussion they’d ever had about her sister had ended badly.

  Mariah nodded. “It’s true; she had to learn those things. Not at first, though. They spent several weeks teaching her how many steps it took to reach the kitchen and the linen closet, which door led to the washroom—things like that. Once she became comfortable with her surroundings, they started teaching her how to care for a home.”

  Mariah’s grandmother spoke up, her feeble voice laced with pride. “Amanda’s smart as a whip, Reverend Winston. And she’s got spunk. She’ll pass with flying colors.”

  “No doubt about that.” The reverend chuckled. “I remember passing by the schoolhouse during recess. Didn’t matter if they were playing chase or hide-and-seek or even climbing trees. She’d be right in the thick of things.”

  Slade shook his head. What were they talking about?

  Sally sighed and reached over to pat Mariah’s hand. “We’re all so blessed,” she murmured, a hint of moisture in her eyes. “Just think how hard it would be to go through life not being able to see the ones you love, the color of a sunset, or the blue in the sky. Amanda is truly a special young lady. Not many blind people have the opportunities you’ve given her, Mariah.”

  Slade sat there staring at Mariah in shocked silence as the truth sank in.

  Her sister was blind.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

  Reverend Winston and Sally had long since gone. Mariah put her grandmother to bed, only to find Slade still waiting for her when she returned to the kitchen.

  He stared at her over the rim of his coffee cup, his gaze simmering with something she couldn’t quite identify. Anger? Remorse? Pity?

  She started clearing the table. “You never gave me the chance.” She picked up another plate. “You drew your own conclusions.”

  “Did you think me that coldhearted, that I wouldn’t listen?”

  “At first I did.” She paused, studying him. “You didn’t exactly show up here with my family’s welfare in mind.”

  “I didn’t know what I would find when I got here.”

  “We’ll manage.” She lifted her chin. “We always have.”

  “How?” A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw, the blue and purple bruises making his scowl even more ominous. “There’s no way you can keep sending your sister to school on what I agreed to pay you. Schools like that aren’t cheap.”

  “I’ll get a better job when I get to Philadelphia.”

  “It won’t be enough either.” He scowled. “Maybe you and your grandmother should stay here.”

  And do what? Where would they live? How would they live? Slade couldn’t afford to pay her a living wage forever.

  Nothing had changed.

  “It’s too late for that.”

  “Why?” His brows drew together in a concentrated frown, daring her to explain.

  Because I’m falling in love with you.

  A love that was doomed because of the past. Instead of addressing the way she felt about him, she focused on his feelings. “Can you honestly say you’ve forgiven my father for what he did?” Her question hung in the air between them.

  He didn’t answer, and for a wild moment Mariah hoped he’d take her in his arms and tell her he loved her, that he’d forgiven her father, that he’d take care of her and never let her go. But he didn’t. He just sat there, brow furrowed as if the whole conversation gave him a headache. Turning away, she dumped the dishes in the sink and poured hot water over them, her heart clamped tight around an aching sorrow.

  “I can’t stay. There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  It’s not what I want, she wanted to scream at him. But she kept silent, fighting back tears.

  She heard him move, heard the scrape of his boots as he walked across the floor, the click of the door as he let himself out.

  A single t
ear plopped into the hot, soapy dishwater.

  “What do you think?” Mariah held up the flour-sack pinafore she’d made for Jim’s younger sister.

  Her grandmother smiled. “It’s perfect. A bit of the old, made new. I can’t see how Mrs. Denton could turn it down.”

  “That’s what I’m praying for. I made Becky another pinafore and a long-sleeved dress too. It didn’t take much cloth since she’s so small.”

  She reached for the shirt she’d cut down from one of her father’s better ones. “This should be just about right for Jim, don’t you think? The other day when he let me mend the rip in his shirt, I cut a paper pattern from it.”

  “I hope you allowed plenty extra. That boy’s growing like a ragweed.” Her grandmother shook her head.

  “I did.” She examined a tear along the hem of one of her grandmother’s nightgowns. Threading her needle, she stitched up the rip.

  Slade rode into the yard and called for Jim. “Afternoon, ladies.”

  Mariah nodded, then pretended to be engrossed in her sewing. They’d said all that needed saying last night.

  Her grandmother plucked a worn shirt off her pile of darning and eyed it critically. “Slade, this shirt is so far gone, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to mend it properly.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am. It’s old as the hills.” He shifted in the saddle.

  She nodded at the folded stack in the basket beside her. “And your blue one’s not much better. Mariah would be glad to make you up a couple of shirts if you’d like.”

  Mariah refused to look up, but her heart pounded. Please refuse the offer.

  “I don’t want to be a bother, ma’am. I’ll just pick up a shirt or two next time I’m in the mercantile.”

  Mariah jabbed a needle into the nightgown in her lap. Bother indeed. He just didn’t want to be beholden to her.

  Jim came running out of the barn straight toward the porch. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that she’d have something waiting for him every day before he went home. He skidded to a stop near the steps.

  “You’ve been working a full week now, Jim. How does it feel?” She put the last of Becky’s new clothes in the bag and moved to the edge of the porch.

  The boy glanced at Slade, clearly anxious for his approval. “Me and Buck got the stables all cleaned out, and next week we’re going to start on the tack room.”

  “Good for you.” She handed over the sack. “Here’s something to take home to your mother. And there’s something extra on top for you and your sister.”

  Jim looked at her quizzically. “Miss Mariah, this ain’t charity, is it? Pa says I can’t accept charity.”

  Mariah silently asked for wisdom before she sat down on the steps. “Jim, do you know what charity is?”

  “It’s when somebody is poor, and other people feel sorry for ’em and give ’em stuff.”

  “Hmm. Well, that’s sort of right. The Bible tells us that charity is love. And when we love people, we want to help them.” She reached out and pushed his too-long bangs out of his face. “Since I love you and your family, I want to help you. I don’t want you and your mother and sister to go to bed hungry. I want you to have clean clothes to wear and money to buy shoes. Because I love you. Because God loves you. That’s what charity is.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “It don’t sound to me like taking charity is such a bad thing, is it?”

  Mariah shook her head. “It isn’t. Because you know what? Someday you’ll be able to help somebody. Then you’ll be giving charity instead of receiving it. And that’s what makes the world go round.”

  His face brightened. “I’ve got an old slingshot that I don’t need since Mr. Slade made me a new one. Do you think I could give it to somebody who needs a slingshot?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She ruffled his hair.

  He grinned, looking pleased that he’d found a way to help someone else. “Thanks, Miss Mariah.”

  “Ma.” Jim hopped off the back of the horse and raced toward the cabin. “Ma.”

  Mrs. Denton hurried out to the front porch, sidestepping a rotten board between the door and the steps. The concern on her face softened, and a tiny smile flitted across her features. “Jimmy, quit your hollering. For a minute, I thought something was wrong.” She glanced at Slade and nodded. “Evening, Mr. Donovan.”

  “Evening, ma’am.”

  “Look, Ma.” Jim held out the sack.

  A red flush crept up Mrs. Denton’s face. “Mr. Donovan, I appreciate the job you’ve given Jimmy, but we can’t accept charity. Please take these things back to Miss Malone with my apologies.”

  Slade shifted in the saddle, trying to think of a way to convince her to keep the food and the clothes.

  “Oh, but, Ma, it’s not charity.” Jim pulled his new slingshot out of his back pocket. “Mr. Slade made me this slingshot. And now that I’ve got two, I can give my old one to someone who needs one. That way, I’m giving something too.”

  “Jimmy—”

  “Please, Ma.”

  She glanced at Slade, clearly helpless in the face of his logic.

  He shrugged. “He’s got a point.”

  She plopped her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Oh, all right. Just this once, mind you.”

  “I’d better be getting on, ma’am. Got some errands to run in town.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jim.”

  Slade rode straight to the post office and picked up the mail. There was a letter for Mariah from her sister and one from his mother saying they were finally on their way. Mr. Thompkins had already turned out the lights by the time he made it to the mercantile, but the man wasn’t one to refuse a customer. He invited Slade in with open arms.

  Slade rode back toward the Lazy M, thinking about what Mariah had said to Jim about giving and receiving charity. He grinned as he fingered the brown paper-wrapped parcel tied to his saddle. Would she accept the same logic when he gave her the package he’d picked up especially for her?

  Somehow he doubted it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KILL HIM.”

  “He knew too much.” Emmit gave Red the same scowl his stepfather used to give him when he was being thickheaded. “And besides, I needed to make an example of him.”

  Red frowned. His brother had killed Slick to keep the others in line? When had he become so cold-blooded? He eyed Emmit, searching for some sign that killing Slick bothered him at all. On the one hand, he wanted to ask him, get it out in the open, but on the other, he was afraid of what Emmit might say.

  Did he have any regrets about pulling the trigger? Had watching the man die kept him awake at night like it had Red? Emmit looked the same as always. He went about his business same as usual. As if the incident were no more than butchering a hog on a cold winter’s day.

  While Red hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week.

  They were already skating on the outside of the law by stealing cattle. It was one thing to kill to defend yourself or your family, but to just shoot someone down in cold blood? Red’s stomach pain returned full force, and he grimaced.

  “One killing will lead to more. I don’t like it.”

  “You knew the dangers when you agreed to work for Malone in the first place.”

  Red glared at Emmit. “Once, you said. We were gonna hit them once and then move on.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Until Donovan came along, you were plenty happy to play ranch foreman and turn a blind eye to the rustling going on right beneath your nose.”

  Emmit was right. It had been so easy to get sucked deeper and deeper into his brother’s scheme, and now there didn’t seem to be any way out without killing or being killed.

  He had been stupid.

  Stupid for letting Emmit talk him into skimming cattle from the Malones in the first place. Stupid for not standing up for what was right. Stupid for not riding away long before now.

  Emmit stared at him, his face har
d and unreadable. “There are only two ways to get ahead in this world, Red. You either work for what you want, or you take it.” He jammed his hat on his head. “I plan to take it.”

  “Is she going to foal tonight?” a wide-eyed Jim asked, a kitten nestled in his arms.

  Mariah and Jim watched Buck examine the mare.

  “She might.” Buck patted Dusty’s bulging side before stepping out of the stall and latching the gate behind him. The mare stuck her head over the top and whinnied. “Her milk’s come in, and she’s been mighty fidgety all day.”

  Jim hung his head. “I wish I could stay here and help you, Buck.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. She’ll be fine.” Buck gently slapped the boy on the back. “I bet you’ll get to see a pretty little foal in the morning.”

  Jim’s face brightened.

  Mariah strode to the wall and pulled a lead rope from one of the pegs. “I’m going riding today, Buck. It’s been ages since I’ve been out.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not until the sheriff catches those rustlers.”

  “I imagine whoever stole those cattle are long gone.”

  “But until we know for sure—”

  “Why don’t you ride into town with me and Slade?” Jim interrupted, the kitten still clasped tightly in his arms.

  “I don’t know.” Mariah doubted Slade would want her along. “Slade might be in a hurry, and I wanted to ride down the creek a ways before coming back.”

  “I’m not in any hurry.”

  She whirled around, her heart lurching at the sight of Slade’s tall, broad-shouldered frame silhouetted in the barn door. She licked her lips. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You won’t be. And like Buck said, I’d rather you ride along with us anyway.”

  “I’ll get your horse.” Jim took the kitten back to its mother and raced outside to the corral. He returned with her favorite horse.