Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  My proposition? Hardly. Miss Vee and Tiller had worked out the terms of the arrangement across the top of her unwilling head. "I’ll feed him, though I have doubts about filling his stomach. Go on down. I’ll be right along."

  Laughing, Miss Vee pulled the door closed behind her.

  Mariah glanced up and frowned at her anxious face in the mirror. With Miss Vee’s reminder, the web of deceit tightened. If Tiller accepted the job, he would need building material. Lumber, shingles, and nails weren’t free.

  The thought of her redheaded guest quirked her mouth to the side. Tiller had wriggled under her skin on several different occasions. So far, this day fared no better. How dare the insufferable man ride into her life and provoke such angst?

  First, he’d positively leered at her in front of the Jones brothers, implying with his crooked grin that he’d read her private thoughts. Last night he’d tracked her up the stairs with a knowing gaze that peered right into her soul.

  She cringed. Tiller couldn’t possibly know why she broke the cup, but she had been admiring Christopher’s flashing eyes and Justin’s dazzling smile, so he wasn’t far off the mark on that score. Even so, a gentleman wouldn’t blatantly accuse her. Blast his foul manners!

  How dare Miss Vee ask him to stay on against Mariah’s wishes? Could she bear having Tiller McRae and his bloated self-assurance underfoot every minute of the day? With a man like him around, a woman’s secrets weren’t safe.

  A shudder took her, and she slanted her eyes from the mirror. One secret he mustn’t guess. She determined to bear the weight of it with more care, no matter how heavy it lay on her shoulders.

  Tiller fastened the last button on his shirt then plopped on the bed to pull on his boots. The familiar rattle of a woman in the kitchen drifted down the hallway, along with the unmistakable smell of brewed coffee.

  Whatever breakfast came of the clanging pots and pans would be welcome, but Tiller needed the coffee. He had flipped like a gambler’s nickel half the night, twisting the quilt around his legs and dragging his sheets from the bed.

  Once he admitted he wasn’t ready to leave Bell’s Inn whatever the risk, the decision to accept Miss Vee’s offer came easy. After that, so did sleep, what little he got before the sun peeked through the blinds.

  He pulled the snaggletoothed comb from his pocket and smoothed back his hair, grateful the bright orange color of his youth had mellowed some to match his beard. Fingering the two days’ growth on his chin, he decided shaving could wait one more day.

  Feeling refreshed but a little reckless about the decision he’d made, he ducked out the door and made for the kitchen. He didn’t feel foolish about staying on to help two women in need, more for the reasons he couldn’t make himself leave.

  For one, he felt at home in the aging, broken-down inn in a way he hadn’t since the day he left Uncle Silas’s house. When he turned the corner, his second reason stood barefoot at the stove stirring gravy in a cast-iron skillet.

  "Where’s Dicey?" Mariah asked without turning around.

  "She’s late," Miss Vee fired over her shoulder. "As usual." She spun again, staring at Mariah’s feet. "Where are your shoes? These old boards are bound to be cold."

  Miss Vee noticed Tiller lurking on the threshold and smiled. "Well, good morning. Take a seat. You’d best be hungry. We’re stirring up a feast."

  Mariah stiffened, tucking in her chin. She didn’t offer an explanation about her shoes or a greeting for Tiller.

  Winking at Miss Vee, he pulled out a chair. "I could do serious damage to a feast, but let’s start with a mug of hot coffee." He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump. "Um … morning, Mariah."

  She glanced over her shoulder. "Good morning."

  From the glimpse at her swollen eyelids, she hadn’t rested so well herself. Or she’d been crying. After the way she smashed her teacup to bits, his bet was on the tears. The thought stirred his heart to pity and stoked his curiosity to a flame.

  Miss Vee swung around from the counter and set a heaped-up plate in front of him. He shot her a grateful smile before she returned to buttering biscuits. "How’s Mr. Gooch this morning?" she called to Mariah.

  The sound of the old man’s name lodged so tight in Tiller’s craw, he choked on his first bite of food.

  Miss Vee laughed and pounded his back. "Gracious, son. Did that griddle cake take the wrong chute?"

  Hacking furiously, he nodded.

  Mariah picked that moment to come to the table, casting alarmed glances at his burning face and streaming tears.

  Recovering somewhat, Tiller blew his nose on the napkin by his plate.

  "Let me just get you a new one of these," Miss Vee offered, pinching the corner of the cloth and tossing it in a basket behind her.

  Mariah set two more plates on the table. "Do you mind if we join you?"

  Unable to answer, he waved for her to sit.

  She pulled out a chair and tucked into her food, thoughtfully giving him time to recover.

  Miss Vee took her place opposite Mariah. "So Mr. Gooch is all right this morning?"

  Unfolding her napkin, Mariah dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "Actually, our patient seems much improved. He awoke twice during the night, asking questions and thanking us again for helping him." She smiled across the table. "I believe he did the same with you, right, Miss Vee?"

  She beamed. "He sure did. The old fellow seems a kindly sort." A sudden frown creased her brow. "Not the type to deserve a whack on the head, that’s for sure. Such a shame that evil men roam the earth taking advantage of innocent souls like him."

  The buttery bite of pancake melting on Tiller’s tongue swelled to cotton. He swallowed carefully and pushed aside his plate.

  Mariah’s startled gaze jumped to his food. "Is something wrong?"

  He tried to smile. "Not at all. It was delicious."

  "But you’ve hardly—"

  He pushed back his chair and slapped his legs. "I’ve made my decision, ladies. I’m ready to get to work on your repairs. If you’ll direct me to the proper tools, I’ll get started."

  Miss Vee leaned across the table. "You mean you’ll stay on and help?"

  Tiller pasted on his finley tuned grin and saluted. "For as long as you can stand me."

  She whooped and clasped her hands. "Mariah, isn’t that the best news?"

  Mariah’s brows gathered. "Yes, wonderful." She pointed at Tiller’s full plate. "He hasn’t eaten his breakfast. How can he work on an empty stomach?"

  "I’ll grab something later. I’m pretty anxious to get started." Standing, he clutched a fistful of bacon in one hand, his coffee cup in the other. "I’ll just take this with me, if you don’t mind."

  The kitchen door flew open, yanking Tiller’s heart to his throat. He leaped back so fast he sloshed his coffee in splatters around him.

  The girl, Dicey, stood panting on the threshold. "It’s Rainy’s fault, Miss Mariah, his and my daddy’s. Rainy’s always late, and Daddy’s bullheaded."

  Miss Vee crossed her arms and scooted her chair around. "Good afternoon, Dicey. Do go on with your latest excuse. This one has the makings of an imaginative tale."

  "No’m, Miss Vee. This ain’t no kind of tale. Daddy say I cain’t walk myself to work no mo’—not with some ramblin’ fool going about busting folks in the head. So Rainy say he gon’ walk me out here, and I say, ‘How nice, Rainy!’ Then he say, ‘For a penny of your wages every day.’" Her fists balled at her sides and she scowled. "I don’t hold with paying that shiftless boy nothin’, but Daddy say it’s the only way I’ll be keepin’ my job." Dicey pinched her mouth, breathing through her nose in short blasts. "Only Rainy jus’ now showed up to fetch me." She cast a sinister glare over her shoulder. "Those big feet mired up in molasses."

  In the distance, a tall boy ambled away, both hands shoved deep in his pockets. With a second look, Tiller recognized him as the young man who first directed him to the inn.

  Mariah stood in a rush. "Rainy’s out there?"
She raised her skirt past her bare ankles and whirled around the table. "I have an errand for him."

  Pouting her lips, Dicey stepped aside. "He headed home lickety-click. Runnin’ away from my scolding, I s’pose. I lit into him all the way here." Her angry scowl became a simper. "You can see it ain’t my fault I’m late, Miss Mariah. Now cain’t you?"

  Without pausing to answer, Mariah hurried past her calling Rainy’s name.

  Miss Vee jumped up and crossed to the door. "For pity’s sake, Mariah Bell. You’re barefoot!" She flapped her dishcloth so hard it popped. "The bottom of that girl’s feet must be tanned hide."

  Tiller pressed in behind Miss Vee as Mariah caught up with the boy and handed him what looked like a thick letter. "I reckon a person with natural leather soles wouldn’t see the necessity for shoes."

  She snorted. "Not exactly proper, is she?"

  Tiller suppressed a grin. Proper? Maybe not, but decidedly intriguing.

  Miss Vee stared after Mariah with a puzzled frown. "What do you suppose that’s all about?"

  "I was about to ask you the same," he said.

  She shrugged. "We don’t have time to find out, do we? Dicey has a kitchen to clear, and I have a box of tools with your name on it." She wiggled her fingers. "Come along, I’ll show you where they’re kept."

  Tiller followed her down the back steps, so intent on watching Mariah he nearly ran into a stump.

  With a knowing smile, Miss Vee took his arm and steered him clear.

  The early summer day promised to be a mild one, considering the dew still wetting the ground and the faint chill in the morning air. He glanced around, admiring the well-kept grounds. "Who keeps up the yard?"

  She snapped off a low-hanging magnolia blossom and held it to her nose. "Young Rainy. The boy loves working outside. He has a gift."

  Tiller thought back to Rainy grinning from atop the rise. "Jus’ look for the best tended grounds in Madison County." Chuckling, he shook his head.

  "Rainy keeps the vegetable garden, too."

  "You have a garden?"

  Miss Vee smiled over her shoulder. "Just the best in the county. We turn out a fine, healthy crop every year, and it’s a special blessing. Without a good harvest, we couldn’t keep the customers fed." She veered toward the corner of the yard. "Follow me, and I’ll show you."

  She led Tiller to a nice-sized patch with rows of green beans climbing sticks and big heads of lettuce sprawling around the outer edges. Young melons, tomato plants, peas, and squash would soon be bursting for harvest.

  Reminded of himself at Rainy’s age, and of his own skill in working the soil, Tiller swallowed a sudden knot crowding his throat. He longed to linger in the inviting garden, to drop to one knee and bury his fingers in rich, black dirt. It had been too long since he’d soiled his hands in worthwhile pursuits instead of deception and crime. "The boy does a fine job."

  Miss Vee nodded. "He sure does. With Rainy’s knack for growing things and Mariah’s gift for cooking, they make a tasty combination." Laughing, she tugged on Tiller’s sleeve. "You’ve tricked me into dawdling long enough. Let’s get to those chores."

  Instead of heading for the crooked little lean-to, Miss Vee led him to the barn. Lifting the bar from across the heavy doors, she yanked them open with a grunt. "Mariah keeps her thingamajigs in here to protect them from the dampness of the shed. The girl is more particular with these old wrenches and hammers than most men are with their wives." She winked. "Count yourself among the privileged few she allows to touch them."

  Miss Vee crossed the shadowy barn and ducked into a small storeroom in the corner. From inside a built-in cabinet with squeaky doors, she pulled a wooden box with shiny tools of every sort nestled beneath the curved handles like eggs in a basket.

  Tiller glanced at Miss Vee. "These are Mariah’s?"

  She held them up for a closer look. "Every oiled and polished piece."

  He cleared his throat. "I thought they’d belong to her pa."

  A grin lit Miss Vee’s face. "Not hardly. Mariah’s the handy one. At least when she has the time." Her eyes warmed. "For all his talents, John Coffee’s not so good when it comes to repairs." Her bosom shook with laughter. "Chores either, for that matter."

  By her smitten look, Mr. Bell’s failings didn’t bother Miss Vee one bit.

  "If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am … where is Mariah’s pa?"

  She motioned with her head for him to take the toolbox. He obliged, and she closed the cabinet with a squeal of hinges. Pausing for several long seconds, she studied him, the love-struck shine faded to worry. "Poor John is sick, I’m afraid. Gravely ill, the last I heard. Some ailment afflicting his lungs."

  "Well, I’m sorry to hear it," Tiller said. "Will he"—he cleared his throat—"recover soon?"

  Her apple cheeks swelled with glee. "Yes, he will," she said, stressing each word. "The doctor sent him away to get better. ‘Healed once and for all,’ to quote Mariah." She sobered. "It burdens my heart that he’s gone who-knows-where, depending on who-knows-who to care for him, but he’ll be home soon, just as feisty as always." Her thoughts busy elsewhere, she stared mindlessly at Tiller’s chin. "Then all the folks who love him can get on with living again."

  Tiller gave her a knowing smile. "Yes, ma’am. I expect you will."

  Oblivious, she drew up her shoulders and returned to the present. "Here you go again, distracting me to get out of doing your work." She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "Well, it won’t work, mister. Come with me." She ducked out of the storeroom and led him across the barn. "I figure you’ll start from the top and work your way down, which means the roof comes first."

  "Yes, ma’am."

  "If you look in the shed, you’ll find enough shingles to get you started. For the rest, I’m going to ask your help with a minor duplicity."

  Tiller angled his head. "Ma’am?"

  "A little harmless deceit for a good cause."

  He shoved the door open. "What are you up to?"

  She gave him a playful wink. "Starting tomorrow, you’ll have the supplies you need. If Mariah asks, you say you stumbled across them in the shed or behind the barn." She grinned. "As in fact you will, once I give Rainy the funds to run into Canton. I just need a list from you and your promise to keep my secret."

  Tiller shoved back his hat. "Lumber and nails are expensive."

  She shrugged. "What else do I have to spend money on?"

  He ducked his head to catch her eye. "It’s very generous."

  "Oh, pooh." Miss Vee waved him off. "After all, I live here, too." She hooked her arm through his. "Let me show you where to find the ladder. Then I’d best go see about Mr. Gooch. We’ve left him untended far too long."

  ELEVEN

  Scuffletown, North Carolina

  Hooper McRae tightened his fingers on the reins and eased the wagon to the right, dodging a gaping muddy rut straddling the middle of the road. Warmth stole over his heart, despite his aching shoulders and stiff hands. Soggy lanes and swampland were the first signs of nearing home.

  Glancing at his sleeping wife curled on the seat beside him, he grinned and nudged her awake.

  She moaned and stirred then squinted up with a drowsy smile, her pretty face dappled by the sunrise peeking over the horizon. "Hello, handsome stranger."

  Hooper smoothed her red hair. "How do you sleep all bunched in a knot?"

  Dawsey scratched her nose with the back of her hand. "It’s not easy, I can tell you that much. In fact, I’m not really sleeping … just dozing a little." Her groggy voice faded. "Merely resting my eyes."

  Leaning closer, Hooper’s grin widened. "Were you planning to doze clear to Scuffletown?"

  She yawned. "Don’t be silly. I intend to keep you company along the way."

  "I appreciate the effort, honey, but you’re too late. We’re here."

  Her startled eyes flashed open. Bolting upright, she stared around her. "We’re in Scuffletown? Hooper, that’s impossible." She spun to gaze
at him. "You drove all night?"

  He laughed around the yawn he’d caught from her. "I didn’t go to. The wheels kept turning while the road unfurled in front of me. Next thing I knew, we were pulling into Lumberton. No sense stopping twelve miles short of home."

  Dawsey scooted closer on the seat and gripped his hand. "You’re no longer a Scuffletown resident, Mr. McRae. Hope Mills is where you hang your hat now and has been for more than ten years."

  He shook his head. "Sorry, dumplin’. If I live in Hope Mills fifty more years, this bogged-down swamp will still be my home."

  She giggled and stretched. "Oh Hooper, I can’t believe we’re here. I can hardly wait to see Dilsey and the twins."

  He held up a warning finger. "Ellie, not Dilsey. If you insist on calling her that name, you’ll only make her mad."

  She shot him a pout. "I do wish we could’ve brought our daughters to see your parents."

  Hooper shook his head. "We made the right decision, Dawsey." He held up his fingers to count off the reasons they’d discussed. "It’s a long trip, and we don’t know when we’ll see Hope Mills again. The girls are in school. All their friends are there. They’re better off staying with Aunt Lavinia this time.

  "Besides"—he winked—"a few days with their Aunt Ellie and your prissy daughters would be done up in britches, toting rifles, and tracking hogs through the swamp."

  Dawsey’s laughter echoed off the passing trees. "You’re right, they would. I’ve always said it’s a blessing Dilsey had sons."

  Hooper raised his brows. "Two sets of twin boys born less than a year apart? Is that a blessing or double trouble? Those four scamps run their mother aground."

  "And provide endless joy for your pa," she added, laughing harder. Sobering, she squeezed his hand. "I wish my father had lived to see the last two born."