Tiller pounded the head of the nail until it disappeared inside the splintered wood. Growling, he forced himself to stop before the board split in two.
As long as he could remember, life had been an unlucky hand of poker. Any reasonable man would admit he’d suffered an unjust childhood. The mess he’d made of things since could be pinned squarely on his own shoulders, but not the way he got started in the unsavory way of life.
Just when he’d taken steps to turn the game around, fate had dealt him a marked card in the form of Uncle "I’m angry" Joe. Tiller tightened his grip on the hammer. "Thanks to you, I’m not so happy myself, old boy." He took another hard swipe at the nail and stood—spinning toward the river so fast he nearly tripped over his boots.
A lone rider sat on the far bank of the Pearl, dappled by the shimmering reflection off the water. By the easy forward slump in the saddle, his arms crossed over the horn, the dim outline could very well be Nathan Carter.
Tiller’s heartbeat raced in his ears. Shading his eyes, he squinted. If the sun didn’t shine so bright on the river, he could see that it wasn’t so. As soon as he caught his breath, he’d tear across the field and relieve his scattered mind.
Before he could move a muscle, the specter from his former life straightened in the saddle and fired a snappy salute. Reining his horse, he rode off the backside of the rise and disappeared.
Tiller’s legs turned to shifting sand beneath him. He lowered himself to the beam and clung to the braces.
Was it Nathan?
Impossible. Nathan wouldn’t ride away. If the hazy figure was his old friend, he’d have found a low crossing and rode across boasting about how he’d found him.
"Tiller?"
He whirled, nearly pitching himself to the ground.
Mariah gasped and stretched her arms toward him. "For goodness’ sake, be careful."
He swiped his mouth with his arm. "You shouldn’t be sneaking around like that."
She leaned to see out the back window of the barn. "What do you see over there? You’re the color of cotton."
"It’s nothing. Too much sun on my head, I guess." He scooted across the beam to the ladder and made his way down. "Are you ready to go? It’s getting late."
She made a face. "That’s what I came to tell you. We have to wait until morning."
"Why?"
"Uncle Nukowa doesn’t want me out so late."
Irritation crept up Tiller’s spine. "Since when does he make the decisions?"
She took a deep breath. "Since the moment he rode into the yard."
Tiller propped his hands on his hips. "Does he think you sit on a shelf and twiddle your thumbs until he shows up? You’ve managed just fine without him."
Mariah gripped his arms. "I know it’s hard to understand, but please try. In the tradition of my people, my uncle believes I’m his responsibility. Of course, my father never held with the Indian ways. He’s never allowed Uncle Nukowa that sort of access."
Tiller set his jaw. "Good for him."
"When Mother died, my uncle assumed I’d be returning with him to the Indian Territory. He became enraged when Father forbade it."
Twirling the soft hair beside her ear, Tiller frowned. "You’re not exactly a child anymore. Shouldn’t the tug-of-war be over?"
She gave a somber shake of her head. "Not until my wedding day. It’s up to my uncle to make sure I marry well."
"I’ll be happy to relieve him of that obligation." He leaned to see her face. "And very soon, I hope."
Her gaze shifted to his. "Within our tribe, Tiller. After Mother broke with custom and married an outsider, he’ll be extra vigilant to see it doesn’t happen to me."
Mariah reached for his hands. "That’s why you must promise to keep our engagement a secret." She tightened her grip. "Uncle Nukowa will go to any lengths to make sure we never wed."
The passion in her plea struck sudden fear in Tiller’s heart. "What’s to keep him from whisking you away from here?"
"He won’t. Not against my father’s wishes." She shook her head. "My uncle’s not here to kidnap me. He’s here to settle a feud and win a longstanding war of wills."
Tiller pulled her close. "Suppose your Father comes back and agrees to let you go? Do you hold enough sway to talk him out of it?"
With a weary sigh, Mariah leaned into his chest. "Believe me, that’s the last thing we have to fret about."
He caressed her head, the silky feel of her hair making it hard to stay mad—until the unmistakable moan of a hungry stomach sprang them apart.
"Yours or mine?" he asked.
She blushed and shrugged.
"Blast it! You’re hungry. Joe should credit me with enough sense to get you to Canton and back so you can eat tonight."
"It’s not so different in any culture, is it? Show me an uncle who wouldn’t be concerned about his niece traveling the roads at night. Alone with a man, at that."
Tiller blew out a frustrated breath. "This is different. We need food." He pushed back the dread of another long, lonely ride so soon. "If there’s no changing his mind, I’ll just go by myself."
"I’d rather you didn’t." She jingled her bulging pocket and smiled. "I’ve got my heart set on going into town."
Tiller drew back and laughed. "You’re still carrying that money around? Shouldn’t it be tucked away in the safe?"
She rattled the coins again. "Would you deprive me of my music? I’m rather enjoying the sound of plenty."
Unable to resist, he drew her into his arms. "All right, maestro. We’ll go in the morning. But in the meantime, what will you eat?"
"I think we’ll be fine. Miss Vee is a wonder at making something to eat out of scraps. She’s inside now turning a basket of wilted potatoes into soup and the leftover meal into fritters."
"And in the morning?"
"We found an old tin of flour in the back of the pantry. I’ll make flapjacks and cover them in honey so we won’t miss the butter. And I still have a few pieces left from the box of bacon." She gripped his hand. "We’ll make do, Tiller. Then we’ll leave first thing after breakfast."
He rubbed his forehead. "I wish I’d brought some things back with me from Canton."
She cocked her head. "Why didn’t you?"
"It wasn’t my money to spend." He cupped her chin. "I want you to always be able to trust me, Mariah. No matter what you may hear in the future, just know you can trust me."
A tiny frown appeared between her brows, but she smiled. "I do trust you, Tiller. Someday you’ll know just how much."
He smoothed the soft skin of her chin with his thumb. "Then there’s the other reason I didn’t bring home supplies …"
"Yes?"
He gave her his best roguish grin. "The thought never entered my mind."
She shoved him away. "Oh, you!"
Laughing, he gathered her close. "The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of waiting for daylight." He winked. "That way I can stare at your pretty profile all the way into Canton."
She lowered her lashes. "I hope you find as much pleasure in staring at my uncle."
Tiller’s brow shot up. "Joe’s coming?"
"I’m afraid so."
He groaned. "Can’t you talk him out of it?"
"I dare not try, or he’ll be suspicious."
"If it’s a chaperone he’s worried about, we’ll take Miss Vee. Or Rainy."
Mariah patted his chest. "I’m sorry, Tiller. He’s coming along, and that’s the end of it. My uncle’s a very stubborn man. Once he gets an idea in his head, you can’t drive it out with your hammer."
Tiller glanced at the tool in question, hefting its weight. "It wouldn’t take a forceful blow. Just enough for an afternoon nap."
"Tiller McRae!"
He grinned. "You know I’m teasing, but the idea is tempting." He softened his eyes. "There are things I’d planned to say to you, but the matter won’t bear your uncle’s prying ears."
Blushing, she nodded. "I’ll admit I l
ooked forward to those hours alone with you to talk about our future."
"’Our future.’ That has a nice ring to it." He gave her a lazy smile. "Hours alone with you sounds even better."
Planting her fingers against his chest, she pushed away. "I’d best get back, or he’ll come looking for me."
Tiller walked with her to the barn door. "I’ll do like you say, honey. I’ll keep our secret as long as it takes." He dropped a soft kiss on her ear then lingered to whisper. "I only hope it won’t be a lengthy wait."
Watching her go, he recalled Otis’s God-words promising that things would turn out good in the end. Maybe his ill-fated life had taken a lucky turn at last. If he had to be patient for a spell, Mariah was worth the wait.
A shadow crossed the floor, and Tiller spun.
Just the wind dipping a branch past the window.
He shook himself and released a shuddering breath. It wasn’t the time for seeing ghosts. He had his hands full enough with the old warhorse setting up camp inside Bell’s Inn.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tiller tugged the reins and eased Sheki around a miry hole in the Trace, leftover from the relentless summer rains. As long as he avoided the low places, the going was easy. His frequent trips into Canton had reestablished portions of the road, pushing back the heavy overgrowth threatening to reclaim the old trail.
He headed west as soon as he could and followed the trail into town. As Mariah predicted, Uncle Joe’s stern profile, nowhere near as pleasing as hers, glowered beside Tiller on the front seat of the rig.
Mariah made small talk, pointing out the wild herbs and strawberries and commenting on the greening of the hillsides, helped along by the recent downpours.
Joe answered in grunts, meeting Tiller’s few comments with a raised brow and harsh stare. Even when the old coyote nodded off, his head bobbing to his chest, he slept with one ear open, raising his head to glare when Tiller spoke quietly to Mariah.
The miles and hours dragged. Tiller sagged with relief when the tall white spires of Canton’s Grace Episcopal Church came into view over the treetops. He decided to speak his mind whether Uncle Joe liked it or not. "I’ll drop the two of you in the square then take the wagon to have the wheels looked at. The way they’re squealing, the rear axle needs greasing."
"Will you be joining us soon?"
The hopeful lilt in Mariah’s voice spun Uncle Joe around so fast it’s a wonder his neck didn’t squeal.
She ducked her head. "I just meant that it’s very close to lunchtime. I thought we might sit for a meal before we start shopping."
Tiller turned aside to hide his grin. If Mariah wasn’t careful, she’d give up her own secret. He leaped to the ground and handed her down before Uncle Joe had a chance, raising both brows and winking when Joe turned his head. She rewarded him with a blush and a shy smile.
Tiller tipped his hat. "I’ll drop off the rig then meet you in front of the courthouse. There’s a café next door that serves fork-tender roast and fairly respectable rolls." He winked. "Though not as good as yours."
Joe swept around the back of the wagon. "We don’t have time for such dawdling, Mariah. There are many supplies to buy, and it’s a long way home. We’ll find some hardtack and jerky."
Mariah’s bright smile slid away. "Oh, Uncle, please. I’m starving. Our breakfast didn’t have enough substance to stick." She tucked her dainty chin. "It would be such a treat to have someone else do the cooking for a change."
Joe’s resolve wilted under the spell of Mariah’s big eyes. He gazed toward the courthouse. "Where is this place you speak of?"
Grinning, Tiller ducked his head. They had something in common after all. He pointed out the narrow building with the checkered curtains in the windows. "Go on over. I won’t be long."
"Maybe they have coffee fit for a man to drink," Joe mumbled as Mariah took his arm. "The slush John Coffee has Viola trained to make tastes like swamp water."
Shaking his head, Tiller climbed aboard the wagon and turned Sheki toward the smithy. He couldn’t get shed of the horse and rig fast enough. After giving instructions concerning both, he hustled up the boardwalk, eager to belly up to the table. Even the strong coffee Joe mentioned sounded good.
Tiller couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten his fill. His shirts were baggy, his ribs stuck out, and his trousers drooped down past his waist. "The lean times are over," he told himself, loping toward the café. The checkered curtains were just ahead, and his darlin’ waited inside with a pocketful of money. One thing was certain—he wouldn’t leave Canton hungry.
The waitress frowned at the empty basket. "Dreadful sorry, folks." She picked it up. "I thought I just filled this with rolls."
Mariah laughed. "Oh, you did. My friend here enjoyed them very much. Bring us another basket if you don’t mind."
Tiller’s cheeks were too full to speak, but he nodded his agreement.
Uncle Nukowa shot him a contemptuous scowl. "Just like the greedy white man, always taking more than he needs."
Mariah seethed. He spoke in their language, but she answered in English. "Yes, he has quite an appetite, doesn’t he? It’s the hunger of a hardworking man." She let the fire in her eyes say the rest.
Her uncle’s hand swept over the stack of empty dishes and the slice of apple pie in front of Tiller’s plate. "Who pays for all this?"
Mariah wished he’d stuck with Choctaw. Her patience at an end, she decided the time had come to set her uncle straight. "My understanding with Tiller is between us. Please don’t insult him again or dishonor me by questioning our arrangement."
He shrugged. "I was just asking."
Tiller calmly pulled the pie plate toward him and poured a dollop of cream over the top. "It’s all right, Mariah. Your uncle’s looking out for your interests." Leaning over the table with a bold stare, he raised his chin. "Sir, if there’s ever a day when I don’t earn my keep around Bell’s Inn, I hope you’ll invite me to leave." He nodded. "Are we understood?"
Before her uncle could respond, Tiller continued. "I’m not in the habit of allowing a woman to fight my battles, but since Mariah has opened the can, let me stir the worms." He laid down his fork. "On the subject of battles, I’m not sure why you’ve declared war against me. Since you hardly know me, I don’t feel you have just cause."
Uncle Nukowa watched Tiller with guarded eyes.
"That said, if I’ve done anything to rile you, it wasn’t deliberate, and I apologize." Turning on the full force of his charm, Tiller offered his hand. "So I say we shake and start over."
Nibbling at her pie, Mariah held her breath.
The sullen wall Uncle Nukowa had erected crumbled twitch by twitch on his proud face, toppling with a grudging smile. "I suppose we could do that," he said, reaching across the bread basket.
Before their palms met, a light touch at Mariah’s elbow spun her around.
"I thought it was you, dear." The tall, gaunt man behind her smiled warmly. "It’s good to see you, Mariah."
Blackness swirled. Mariah gulped for air to clear the murky fog. Her chest thundered and her tongue forged to the roof of her mouth. She tried to bolt from her chair and flee, but her limbs wouldn’t budge.
"How have you been holding up?" Dr. Moony asked, his eyes a sea of compassion.
She made a strangled sound, followed by a guttural moan, worsened by the bite of spiced apple hung in her throat. Frantic, she silently pleaded with Tiller across the table.
Staring back helplessly, his freckles stood on tiptoe.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mariah was choking. Or having some sort of a spell.
Tiller’s gaze jumped to the tall man at her side. Somehow, it was this geezer’s fault.
He half rose from his chair. "Mariah?"
She struggled to swallow as if something had her by the throat and then sucked in a breath of air. "D–Dr. Moony," she finally managed, blinking up at the stranger. "How nice to see you." Pulling her napkin from her lap, she dabbed the co
rners of her mouth, the starched cloth no whiter than her face.
Relief settled Tiller against his chair.
"I planned to ride out and check on you," the man was saying. "Then I got your letter." He patted her shoulder. "I was sorry to hear that John Coffee was gone."
Mariah shot to her feet, loudly clearing her throat. "Doctor …" She pointed at the door. "May we continue this conversation outside?"
He held up his finger. "In a moment." With a warm smile, he nodded at Joe. "I’m happy to see you’ve come to stay with your niece. I hated to think of her all alone out there."
The pallor of Mariah’s cheeks rose to a fiery mottled red. "Please, sir?"
"The onset of John’s illness was sudden," the doctor continued. "Of course, his leaving us so quickly was no surprise."
"Didn’t surprise me, either." Joe swung his chair around and casually crossed his legs. "It’s just like my brother-in-law to run off and leave his responsibilities on someone else’s shoulders."
Flustered, the doctor stared. "Forgive me, Joe, but it’s not like the poor man had a choice. John was quite ill, you know."
Joe folded his arms over his chest. "Just so he returns stronger than when he left. I have a few things to say to him."
The doctor’s throat bobbed a few times before he nodded. "Of, course. You mean when he"—he twirled his finger in the air and rolled his eyes—"returns." He gave a nervous laugh. "I must say, you people have the quaintest customs."
Mariah hooked her arm in his and urged him toward the door. "If you don’t mind, I have something of a delicate nature to discuss. In private."
Nearly pulling the lanky man off balance, Mariah hauled him over the threshold.
Tiller’s puzzled gaze met Joe’s across the table. "What do you suppose that was about?"
Joe shrugged. "The mind of a woman is a deep river. I try not to fish there."
Nodding thoughtfully, Tiller cut the rest of his pie in half and slid a portion onto Joe’s empty plate. "That was Mr. Bell’s doctor?"
Joe pulled the offering in front of him and took a bite. "Yes. For many years."
Tiller nodded. "Do you know what sickness he has?"
Bandit's Hope Page 19