Joe shook his head. "I suppose I should’ve asked."
His motives a mite selfish, Tiller posed a thought. "To hear him and Mariah talk, Mr. Bell could be gone a long … long time."
"You’re right." Joe craned his neck to stare at the door, the concern Tiller had hoped to rouse creasing his forehead. "Maybe I should go ask him."
"So you see, doctor," Mariah said, "among my people the subject of death is forbidden, so the less said about the departed, the better. Once we’ve completed the mourning ritual, we’re not allowed to utter their names again."
Dr. Moony took both her hands and squeezed. "I’m a blundering old fool, dear. I’ll be more careful next time."
She tightened her fingers. "It’s my fault. I should’ve said something before now. And I’m very grateful for all you’ve done."
He flashed a warm smile. "I’m happy to see you’re all right. I watched you suffer right along with your father."
A cleansing rest flooded Mariah’s soul, and grateful tears welled. She felt comforted to speak openly of her father’s death, especially with someone who understood the depths of her pain. She tugged a hankie from her waistband and wiped her eyes. "Thank you, sir."
Despite how good it felt to grieve, to linger would be folly. She pointed over her shoulder. "I’d best get back inside. They’ll be wondering where I am."
"Yes, and I have patients to see." He leaned to kiss her cheek. "You know how to reach me and the missus. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call on us." Mariah clung to his hand as he backed away smiling. "Anything at all, you hear?"
She nodded, letting his fingers slip from her grasp. "I won’t forget." A throbbing ache in her chest, she watched him stroll to the corner and disappear. With a shuddering sigh, she returned to the café and met Uncle Nukowa on the doorstep.
He pushed past her and peered up and down the boardwalk, his bushy brows drawn to peaks. "Where’s the doctor?"
"Gone," Mariah said, clutching his sleeve to draw him inside. "He had patients to tend."
Avoiding Tiller’s curious stare, she approached the waitress to pay the bill. Once she’d counted out enough coins, she tucked the leather pouch away. "Miss, where is your …?"
The girl pointed. "Through there and out the back to your left."
Nodding her thanks, Mariah headed down the long hallway, forcing herself not to run. At the end of the longest walk of her life, she yanked open the door of the cramped little building. Slumping against the roughhewn wall, she allowed the bitter tears to fall.
Joe had a newfound respect for Tiller McRae. The boy stood in the wagon bed shifting boxes of canned foods and shoving crates of dry goods aside to make room, attacking the job with the same strength of character he’d shown while defending himself in the café.
Tiller had a strong back and willing hands when it came to hard work, qualities Joe prided himself on. Unfortunately, the brash buck couldn’t hide his desire for Mariah.
The two thought him a witless fool. A blind man could see their lingering looks, the quick twining of their fingers when she handed up her bundles, his thumb stroking the back of her hand each time they passed.
Clearly, Mariah loved him. Despite Tiller’s charm, or maybe because of it, Joe hadn’t decided if he loved her, too.
Maybe greed clouded Tiller’s vision. The chance to own Bell’s Inn and acres of Mississippi farmland would tempt a man even with an ugly woman thrown into the bargain. Mariah, her father’s only heir, was as lovely as a spotted fawn.
Hadn’t Joe suspected the same of John Coffee? But his sister had closed her love-struck ears and married the spineless man despite Joe’s warning.
Mariah handed the last bundle to Tiller, her eyes twin stars of admiration. Leaning to take it from her hands, he winked.
Joe ground his heel in the dirt and gritted his teeth. Whatever it took to prevent it, Mariah wouldn’t make the same mistake as her mother.
Tiller kicked the end of a box, wedging it between a crate and the side of the wagon. "There now. Maybe we can close the tailgate." He jumped to the ground, tilting his head at Mariah. "You must be finished shopping since you’ve emptied all the stores."
She glanced up from checking things off her list. "I suppose that’s all we need. Can you think of anything we may have forgotten?"
He raised the gate and shoved home the latch. "I don’t see how. There’s at least one of everything in town back here."
Her cheeks colored. "Oh, you."
Already they sparred like husband and wife. Angry with himself for making peace with Tiller, Joe tugged down his hat to hide his glowering face. "Are we ready to go? It’s a long way home."
"Yes, Uncle." With a flourish, she scratched off the last item on her list. "We’re ready."
They climbed aboard, Mariah giggling the way she had as a child when Joe held her down and tickled her. "I can’t wait to see Miss Vee’s face. It’s been a while since our cupboard was full."
Tiller shifted around to look at her. "With all these different foods, I can’t wait to taste whatever you two come up with."
Joe couldn’t help frowning at him. The bottomless man couldn’t be hungry.
"I promise you fine meals for your patience, Tiller," Mariah said gleefully. "And baked goods in abundance. Have you ever seen so much flour and sugar and butter?"
Grinning, Tiller glanced over his shoulder. "I’ll get the meat straight into the smokehouse. Those salted hams and racks of bacon should last a good while."
"Yes, and I bought extra meal. In case we catch more fish."
"More fish sounds good. With Rainy’s help, I’ll make sure that happens." His smile widened. "Which reminds me … the garden is coming along fine. In no time, we’ll have plenty of fresh vegetables again."
"That’s enough," Joe growled, sweeping off his hat and slapping his leg with the brim. "What’s going on here?"
Two sets of stunned eyes blinked at him.
"What do you mean, Uncle?"
He spun around. "The two of you talk like you’ve been starving. Why is the pantry and smokehouse so empty?"
Squirming like a guilty child, her gaze jumped to Tiller.
Joe lifted his hand. "I don’t want my answer from him. You tell me, Mariah. Why has John Coffee allowed my only niece to go hungry while the rest of her tribe prospers?"
TWENTY-NINE
It took the better part of the ride home to smooth Uncle Nukowa’s ruffled feathers. Mariah explained that in the aftermath of the storm, and with the usual decline in travelers during the winter months, the coffers had dwindled. Now, thanks to Tiller’s fine head for business, she had enough money to last a good long while.
She didn’t dare mention the cost of father’s illness. Weary of half-truths and careful omission of details, she neglected to explain how she’d emptied her safe into Dr. Moony’s pockets to avoid the very confrontation she’d just faced.
Uncle Nukowa vented his frustration on Tiller by hinting the money would last longer without the price of his appetite.
Mariah jumped to Tiller’s defense. "That’s highly unfair, Uncle. While it’s true that he enjoys his food, I’ve watched this poor man go without until every last member of the household was fed."
Her uncle cut his eyes to Tiller. "Is that true?"
"Maybe." He shrugged. "I reckon it is."
Uncle Nukowa sat against the side rail, watching Tiller as if he didn’t quite know what to make of him. "Then I owe you an apology."
Tiller slapped her uncle’s knee. "I wouldn’t fret, Joe."
Mariah cringed, but Uncle Nukowa didn’t bat an eye.
With the extra weight of the load on poor Sheki, the journey back took longer. Dusk had settled over the land as they turned off the Canton road onto the Trace. So close to home, Tiller didn’t bother with the lantern. Mariah supposed they were all relieved, especially the horse, when the warm glow of lights from the inn appeared between the trees.
They pulled into the backyard, and Miss V
ee met them on the porch with a lamp. "Hallelujah! I’ve never been so happy to see three faces in my life. Excuse me, Sheki—make that four." She grinned. "I can hear Otis smiling from here. The poor man’s hollow as a gourd."
She ran down the steps and peered over the side of the wagon, running eager hands over the boxes. "How did you sneak up on me, Tiller? I’ve been straining to hear those squeaky wheels for hours."
"Had her greased, Miss Vee," he said.
"So you tricked me, you rascal." Her dimpled cheeks were shadows in the dim light. "Never mind. You’re here now. Let’s get this load in the house and go to cooking."
Guilt fell heavy on Mariah’s shoulders. While they’d frolicked and feasted in town, poor Miss Vee and Otis suffered hunger. She scurried down. "We’ll unload, Miss Vee. Go warm up the stove."
"I’ve had a fire in the oven for hours. The burning wood was starting to smell tasty."
Mariah passed a ham over her shoulder. "Take this inside. Get it sliced and put it on to fry. I’ll be in to make skillet bread as soon as I can.”
Tiller unhooked the latch and lowered the tailgate. "Go ahead, Mariah. Me and Uncle Joe can handle things out here."
Cringing, she waited for her uncle’s flash of anger at Tiller’s familiar tone. Instead, he eased his body stiffly to the ground and took the first heavy crate from Tiller’s hands. "Don’t worry," he said, huffing up the steps to the back door. "I remember where everything goes."
Miss Vee took a box and followed him inside.
Flashing Tiller a grateful smile, Mariah held out her hands. "I may as well take one on my way."
He reached for her, drawing her into his arms with a quick intake of air. Checking over her shoulder first, he lifted her to her tiptoes and kissed her soundly. Not the bare brush of lips against her cheek, but a crushing, dizzying kiss that robbed her of her senses.
Setting her on her feet, he handed her a box of canned goods andgave her a gentle shove toward the house. Glancing back, she found him grinning smugly. "What was the meaning of that, Tiller McRae?"
He lifted one shoulder. "Just collecting my due."
"Your due?"
He hefted one of the heavier crates, nodding at her to get moving. "The price of keeping your secret against my will. The penalty for making me wait when I’d marry you tomorrow."
She hurried onto the porch then turned. "Was it sufficient payment? I like my debts paid in full."
"Oh no, ma’am." One foot on the bottom step, he raised a teasing brow. "Consider it the first of many installments."
She jutted her chin. "It’s hardly chivalrous to make a lady weak in the knees and then hand her a load to bear."
Amusement danced in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the squeal of the back door stifled his answer.
Uncle Nukowa bustled past. "Viola’s watching for you, niece. She’s anxious for you to finish the bread so she’ll have something to wrap around her fried ham."
Fatigue seeped into Tiller’s bones, and sweat dampened his shirt. Unable to pass another kitchen chair without resting his throbbing feet, he sank into the next one he came to. He’d lost count of the trips it took from the wagon to the pantry and then the smokehouse, but they finally found the bottom of the rig.
The well-stocked larder filled him with a happiness he hadn’t felt in years—and not for the reason Uncle Joe might think. Tiller savored the knowledge that his idea to sell off the downed trees had filled Mariah’s little safe with money. A good stash of coins promising ample food and a measure of security that lifted a burden from her shoulders for a good long while.
It felt good to take care of Mariah. Right somehow. He planned to spend the rest of his days looking after her.
Watching her bustle near the stove, flipping crisp golden circles of skillet bread, Tiller couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss. He’d meant no disrespect. In fact, he’d set out to give her a teasing peck on the cheek. At the last second, her lips had drawn him like cool water on a summer day. He’d held his breath and taken the plunge, drowning in her sweetness.
As if she felt him watching, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. "You look tired."
He leaned forward and gripped his knees. "I suppose I am, but we’re all exhausted. Especially poor old Sheki." He forced himself to stand. "I’ll go get him tended for the night."
Mariah caught his arm as he passed. "No, I’ll go. I haven’t just unloaded a month’s worth of supplies." She handed her spatula to Miss Vee and untied her apron. "Finish the bread, please. I’ll be back in time to set the table."
Pausing at the door, she winked at Tiller. "You might want to follow my uncle’s lead and freshen up before supper."
Aware of how he smelled after toting all the boxes, he stumbled toward her with his arms outstretched. "All right, but hug me first."
She squealed and darted outside while Miss Vee shook with laughter.
Tiller passed his room by and ducked in on Otis. "How are you this evening, sir?"
Otis waved merrily then rubbed his stomach. "Ready for grub." His eyes widened. "Is supper about ready?"
Tiller grinned. "It won’t be much longer. Can I do anything for you before I clean up?"
Otis sank against his pillow. "Keep a close watch over little missy," he said. "Something’s weighing on my spirit where she’s concerned. Been praying for her all day."
Thinking of Mariah’s cantankerous uncle and his determination to take her out of Mississippi, Tiller nodded. "Keep praying, sir. I think I know what it’s about."
A dazed look in his eyes, Otis shook his head. "This ain’t about her secret. I’m sure it’s something else."
Leaning against the doorjamb, Tiller stared at Otis as the truth sank in. He knew Mariah’s secret. In fact, he was her secret—the truth she couldn’t tell her uncle Joe. How did God and Otis see a thing coming before it happened?
"You listening to me, boy?" Otis seemed upset. "You watch her close, you hear?"
Dazed, Tiller nodded. "I will, sir. I promise." He entered the room and eased Otis down on the bed. "Just rest until we bring your supper." He pointed behind him. "I have to go get cleaned up now."
Stopping on the threshold, he turned to look back, worry gnawing the back of his mind.
Otis shook his skinny finger. "Watch her."
Tiller fretted the whole time he washed up and changed his clothes. Was the old boy trying to tell him their secret was bound to come out? Was he warning Tiller that her uncle was about to steal her away?
Otis knew things, after all. God-things too wonderful for Tiller’s mind to grasp.
The whole thing reminded him of the lie he’d told Otis that first day on the trail. His made-up story of a wife named Lucinda and her brutish brothers, who came in the night to snatch her from his arms.
It seemed a hundred years ago he’d spun the fanciful tale. Could it be coming to life in the form of Uncle Joe taking Mariah out of Tiller’s arms, catching him in his own deceitful web?
He left his room determined to be more cautious, to guard Mariah’s secret with more care.
Miss Vee had already set the dining room table then graced it with heaping platters of ham, fried eggs, and skillet bread. Lifting a hefty plateful, she placed it on a tray with a cup of coffee. "Sit down, Tiller. I’ll take this to Otis and come right back to serve you."
Uncle Joe, lounging at the head of the table, stabbed a piece of bread with his fork and started eating.
Tiller pulled out a chair beside him. "Mariah’s not back yet?"
Joe raised his head, his bulging jaw working. "From where? I thought she was in her room."
Tiller poured them both a cup of coffee. "She’s tending Sheki."
Adding a cube of sugar to his cup, Joe stirred and took a long sip. "Counting my nag and your gelding, there are only three horses out there. She could’ve tended a stable-full by now."
Tiller shrugged. "You know how she is about Sheki. She’s likely brushing his teeth and reading him a bedtime
story."
Uncle Joe spewed a bit of coffee then swallowed and laughed with Tiller, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
Miss Vee hurried into the room rubbing her hands together. "Now then, where were we?" She settled in her place and forked a pile of ham before passing the silver charger. "I’m not sure what’s keeping Mariah, but I say we go ahead without her. If she was as hungry as I am, she’d be here by now."
Tiller took a slice of meat then handed the platter to Joe. "Share the bread, will you, Miss Vee. I can smell it from here."
Miss Vee balanced the butter dish on the tray of fried rounds and stretched the whole thing toward him. "Anything else before I get busy?"
"Tiller!" Otis swept around the corner panting hard. "You ain’t watching."
Miss Vee’s shoulders jerked, and she dropped the tray, scattering bread like savory place mats over the table. The careening butter dish upset the coffee urn, spilling rich, dark liquid in a puddle that soaked the bread.
Tiller leaped to his feet.
Still in his nightshirt, Otis clung to the doorpost, his mouth sagging and his eyes glazed with panic.
The hair on Tiller’s arms tingled. "Something’s wrong?"
Otis nodded frantically.
Tiller hurled himself past Otis and out the door.
THIRTY
Two steps inside the barn, and Tiller knew. His stomach a quivering jumble of mush, he whirled to face Joe and Miss Vee. "She’s gone."
Miss Vee smoothed her hair with a shaky hand. "What do you mean ‘gone’? She’s somewhere on the grounds. Maybe down by the river. The girl does that sometimes." She started for the door. "I’ll just walk out here and call her."
Joe caught her arm. "She won’t answer, Viola. Tiller’s right. Mariah’s gone."
She stamped her foot. "Now blast it, how do you know?"
He pointed at Sheki, still wearing the unbuckled harness and nuzzling Tiller’s hand for oats. "She brought him to the barn, but that’s as far as she got."
Miss Vee spun to face Tiller. "I don’t understand. Mariah wouldn’t just walk away."
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