Rubbing her hands to restore them to life, she moved a few steps closer to the stove and held them up. "See? Isn’t this better? Now I can get this old kitchen ready for our meal."
He toddled after her. "Can I help?"
She waved him toward the pantry. "Go scout our provisions. I’ll be fine."
He glanced toward the exit then back at her.
Mariah tilted her head. "It’s locked. Remember?"
Innocent as a lamb, she lifted a broom from the corner and started to sweep, the meager bristles stirring a cloud of ancient dust around her feet. "I’ll need a bucket of fresh water once I’m done here."
He raised one finger. "Don’t you worry, darlin’. I’ll fetch one as soon as I find our grub."
Pausing with his hand gripping the pantry door, he gazed at her with sad, droopy eyes. "You ain’t mad at me, are you?"
The trussed-up she-devil surged. "Do you mean because you kidnapped me and brought me here against my will to play house in the middle of the night?"
He nodded dumbly.
Mariah tightened her grip on the broom, entertaining thoughts of beating him with it. "You’ll understand if I’m just a little out of sorts? I’m sure I’ll get over it in time."
His mouth pouted like a sulky boy’s. "Well, don’t stay mad too long, you hear?"
The second his bulk ducked inside, Mariah lunged for the kitchen window.
Locked.
Feeling around the casing with trembling fingers, she found the latch and tried it. The sliding metal squealed.
She froze, checking over her shoulder.
Another push and the lock gave, but she didn’t dare try to crack the window. The rush of fresh air would give her away.
Fumbling under the curtain, her hand slid across the glass from corner to corner. The opening was small, but when the time was right, she’d find a way to squeeze through.
Dusting rusty grime on her skirt, she resumed her sweeping just as Gabe stumbled out with a crate in his hands.
"Here." Still pouting, he slid the box across the table. "You ought to be able to whip up something with all that."
Mariah put the broom aside to rummage in the box. One part of her mind devised a possible meal from the ingredients. The sensible part reminded her to take her time.
Hours had passed since she stood at the stove frying skillet bread for Tiller’s supper. She should be snug in her feather bed, freshly bathed with a full stomach. Instead, she had a greasy kitchen to clean and a full meal to prepare.
No matter. If it took until daybreak to get it done, even better. The longer she stretched out Gabe’s cozy meal, the longer she could scramble to escape what came next.
With the tin of beef, cubes of pocket soup, onions, carrots, and potatoes, Mariah would stir up a slow-simmering stew. With the Indian meal, she’d make johnnycakes. Better yet, hasty pudding—just not too hasty.
She’d flood the cabin with smells Gabe would find more enticing than her and fill his barrel belly so full he’d grow sluggish and drowsy in front of the fire. If her plan failed? She had the broom handle and enough white-hot rage to put him to sleep with it.
Either way, Gabe would wake up to find her gone.
Riding the moonlit Trace alongside a somber band of braves, Tiller imagined himself part of a raiding war party. The men, some with paint smeared across their high cheekbones, sat their saddles with the grace born of an ancient treaty with their ponies.
Watching how they rallied to the common call for help, Tiller had gained a new respect for the beleaguered Indians. He glanced around at the silent tribe of warriors, each man lost in his own grim thoughts. By the determination etched in their faces, they would find Mariah. The only question—would they find her in time?
With the new evidence of Gabe Tabor’s twisted mind-set, his passionless offer to kill Tiller at Mariah’s bidding took a dark and ominous turn. Even if the man wasn’t capable of taking her life, his lingering hands and slant-eyed glances left no doubt of the ugly offense he’d be more than willing to commit.
Tiller shuddered and struggled to clear his head. Such thoughts would have him gnashing his teeth and braying at the moon. He needed a steady mind when they reached Julian Tabor’s cabin. What they found there would determine the need for snarling fangs.
THIRTY-TWO
Gabe reclined in a chair by the hearth, his arms crossed over his head and his legs stretched out in front of him. He had slipped off his boots and made himself at home.
Mariah couldn’t tell whether his relaxed state stemmed from her show of submission, his droopy-eyed fatigue, or the warmth of the fire on his feet. Heating up his holey, disgusting socks had done nothing to improve the smell of the cabin, but the revolting man seemed oblivious.
"You sure have this place smelling good," he called over his shoulder.
More than I can say for you, she thought.
"I don’t hear those pots rattling much. Does that mean you’re almost done?"
Mariah picked up the spoon and stirred, clanging the sides of the pot for effect. "It shouldn’t be long now."
She’d actually pulled the hasty pudding off the fire and drizzled honey over it a half hour ago. The stew she’d finished even sooner.
The drowsier Gabe got the better. Then the meal ought to finish him off.
The hasty pudding began to dry out and crack, and Gabe’s anxious glances turned to scowls, forcing Mariah to finish setting the table. She hadn’t thought she could swallow a bite around the angry lump in her throat, but the stew looked good and the pudding even better.
Ladling a heaping serving into each bowl, she gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. "Supper’s ready."
Gabe’s head, rolling groggily on his thick neck, snapped up, and he stared through bleary eyes. "Breakfast, you mean. Took you all blessed night to make a pot of vittles."
He stumbled to the table and took a seat. Still grumpy, he pulled the sloshing bowl in front of him and slurped a spoonful of the rich, savory broth. He grew still, and his face lit up. "This ain’t bad, woman. Not bad at all."
Hunkering over the dish, he made quick work of two helpings, asking for a third before Mariah had finished her first.
She warmed inside. Her idea to save herself was working as planned. "Be sure and leave room for something sweet." His head slowly rose, a lewd smile on his face, and Mariah wished she’d minded her tongue.
She shot to her feet and leaned over the pudding. "Let me fix you a hearty serving." Scooping out enough for three men, she poured more honey on top and pushed it toward him. "I made it special just for you."
He dug in, eating far too fast. She had to slow him down. "May I ask you something, Gabe?"
He shifted a wad of food to the other cheek. "I reckon so."
"Well"—she rested her hands on the table, twiddling her thumbs—"I’m having a bit of an argument with myself about why you brought me out here."
His fisted hand, the one shoveling food to his mouth, stilled.
"One side of me," she continued, "the part that’s known you since we were children, says you could never hurt me. Especially when we’re such good friends."
Gabe glanced up, a touch of anger twitching his brow.
Careful, Mariah! "The other part, the girl you crept up on and snatched from the barn, is scared half out of her wits."
Gabe’s mood darkened. He leered, enjoying her discomfort. "Which of those little gals you reckon you ought to listen to?"
The fireplace popped, showering sparks up the flue. Mariah had hoped to talk sense into Gabe, shame him into releasing her. Instead, she’d somehow incited him. "Why the first one, of course. The one who reminds me that you’re a true Southern gentleman. A faithful friend and neighbor who’s going to take me home the minute we’re done with our meal."
Shaking his head slowly, Gabe leaned over the table and snatched her wrist, his wicked eyes aglow. "Don’t believe a word that one says. She’s a bare-faced liar."
Riding the lead
with Tobias, Joe suddenly pulled up his horse and swung out of the saddle. He waited for Tiller to join him then pointed through the heavy tangle of trees. "According to Julian’s map, the cabin is close by, and I see lights up ahead of those woods. We’ll go the rest of the way by foot."
The other men dismounted, crowding around to await their orders.
"Circle the house," Joe said. "Make sure the dog can’t escape."
His voice shook with anger that chilled Tiller’s spine. At the same time, it spoke to his own seething rage. "What’s the plan to get inside?"
Joe shook his head. "No plan to get inside." He led his horse off the road and tied him to a reedy bush.
Tiller stalked after him. "What do you mean?"
Joe fixed his brooding eyes on a point in the distance. "We bring him out to us."
With an overhead wave, he started to run. The tribe sprang after him, thirty swift arrows nocked and shot as one. A few yards out from the cabin, they scattered in all directions, running on quick, silent feet. Bathed in pale moonlight, they merged with the brush and disappeared.
Tiller followed Joe and Tobias, mirroring their stealth as best he could. Without a twitch of a muscle or a whisper of sound to give them away, they closed in on the little house. A lantern’s glow in the single window lifted Tiller’s heart. The dark scheme he imagined Gabe plotting seemed unsuited to the light.
As if to prove him wrong, Gabe roared inside the house. Mariah screamed, her shrill, frightened cry echoing in Tiller’s heart.
He broke past Joe, running for the door.
Tobias caught him, spinning him around as a shower of stones pelted the house.
A rock struck the window, shattering the pane. A storm of rocks
rained down on the roof, rolling off with a jarring clatter. The relentless attack continued for several minutes, and the noise inside the cabin would be deafening.
The onslaught finally over, Tiller spun to stare at Joe. He motioned with his hand for Tiller to stay put and ran to crouch behind a water trough. "Gabe Tabor!" he shouted. "Send my niece out that door."
The butt of a rifle busted the remaining glass from the window. "I’ll kill her first."
"An eye for an eye, Gabe. If that’s what you want."
A long silence, then Gabe called in a wobbly voice, "I don’t know what you mean."
"You have Mariah. We have your pa."
Gabe’s pasty face appeared in the flickering light. "My pa?"
Movement overhead caught Tiller’s eye. Shadowy silhouettes were topping the roof, inching toward the front eaves.
"You touch a hair of her head," Joe warned, "and we’ll scatter his brains."
"I don’t believe you," Gabe roared.
"Well," Joe said calmly, drawing out the word, "that won’t make him any less dead."
The door opened a crack. Gabe stuck out his head and peered around the yard. "Pa?"
He inched a few steps over the threshold. "I don’t see him, Joe." His voice trembled with fear. "Why won’t he answer?"
"You come out a little further, boy," Tobias cooed. "You’ll see him, all right."
Holding a lantern aloft, Gabe stumbled to the edge of the porch. The shadows above him pounced like big cats, taking him down in a huddle of blows and curses.
With no further invitation, Tiller sprang for the house.
THIRTY-THREE
Mariah huddled beneath a sagging shelf, scared to breathe.
When the barrage of gunfire exploded against the house, Gabe had her by the hair, dragging her back inside the cabin.
Despite his vile threats, he’d drifted off at the table after the second serving of pudding, his head resting on folded arms. When his mouth sagged, releasing loud snores and drool that ran down his arm, Mariah made her break. She got halfway out of the window before he awoke with a bellow and lunged.
When the shooting started, breaking the window, he released her, and she’d scrambled inside the dark pantry to hide. She cowered there, her ears tuned to every sound and her thrashing heart in her throat.
A muffled commotion shot ice to her veins. A man screamed, followed by loud, angry voices. Footsteps and a flickering light paused outside the door.
She pressed closer to the wall, cursing herself for setting her own trap.
"Mariah! Where are you?"
Relief flooded her soul. She shot from the corner and threw open the musty larder. "I’m here!"
In one motion, Tiller slid the lantern onto the table and gathered her into his arms. He clung so desperately, she had to wiggle loose to catch her breath. "Please say you’re all right."
Crying too hard to answer, she nodded against his chest.
"I heard a scream."
She rubbed the back of her head. "He yanked my hair."
Tiller stiffened, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did he … hurt you?"
Mariah pressed her cheek to his and let their tears mingle. "No."
"Thank God." He slid his mouth to kiss the hollow of her chin then gave a ragged sigh. "Thank God."
They sprang apart as the door swung open behind them. Uncle Nukowa stood on the threshold with tears in his eyes. "Sabitek?"
"Amoshi." She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I was so frightened."
He smoothed her hair then held her at arm’s length. "Chim achukma?"
"I’m fine."
"Do you speak the truth? If not, I will gut that swine and feed his entrails to the hogs."
She patted his cheek. "I speak the truth." Frowning, she rubbed the back of her head. "I’m short a few strands of hair. Apart from that, I’m untouched."
Yipping and chanting from the yard drew her uncle’s attention. Tobias ducked his head in the door, a grim look on his face. "She all right?"
Uncle Nukowa beamed over his shoulder. "Yes, I believe so."
Tobias shot Mariah a crooked grin. "I’m glad. You ready, Joe?"
Her uncle waved him on. "Go ahead. I’m coming." Ignoring the question in Tiller’s anxious eyes, he nodded at Mariah. "Take my niece home, please."
"What’s going on, Joe?"
"Take her home." He raised one brow. "Or shall I ask the sons of Tobias?"
Tiller cleared his throat and slid his arm around Mariah’s waist. "Are you up to the ride?"
"Of course."
"All right, let’s go."
Outside, Justin led his pony to the porch. "She can take my horse, Joe."
Her uncle nodded.
Concern swam in Justin’s thoughtful eyes as he helped her into the saddle. Gazing up at her, he smiled sweetly. "I’m glad you’re unhurt, Flower."
She gripped his hand. "Thank you." Raising her head, she glanced around the yard.
Gabe sat on the ground in a tight circle of her people, blubbering into his hands. He glanced up and stretched a pleading hand toward her as Tiller led her past. "Tell ’em I’m sorry, Mariah. I wasn’t really going to do nothing. I swear it." His voice rose with hysteria. "Don’t let these savages hurt me."
Straightening her spine, she lifted a regal chin and raked him with slanted eyes.
At the edge of the yard, Tiller jerked the reins and pulled her to a stop. Behind them, Gabe’s sniveling had turned to babbling shrieks.
Off the far corner of the house, a clothesline stretched from a nail to a leaning pole. The men were dragging him to the post where they’d stacked a pile of kindling. Binding his hands behind him, they tied him to the stake and shoved a dirty rag in his mouth. Gabe went on screaming with his eyes.
Tiller gaped at her. "Merciful heavens! They mean to burn him." With a strangled cry, he let go of the horse and ran.
Uncle Nukowa stepped out of the circle with a lit torch in his hand. His fierce glare held a warning for Tiller. "Don’t interfere, nahullo. Go find your horse and ride away."
Mariah’s stomach tensed as several men closed in on Tiller, ugly scowls on their faces.
Backing away with clenched fists, he pleaded. "Come on, Joe. You can’t.
" His hands raked his hair. "You’ll never get away with it. Julian Tabor will hunt you down." He waved his hand. "All of you will hang."
Fearing for his safety, Mariah slid off the pony and ran. Catching his sleeve, she pulled him along behind her to where the horse stood pawing the ground. Climbing into the saddle, she scooted to make room. "Mount up, Tiller. Please."
He stared at the men in horror. "You’re going to let them do this?"
"I can’t stop them, and neither can you. Let’s go."
Swinging up behind her, he urged the paint through the scatter of young cypress and entered the thick pine forest. In the clearing where they’d left Tiller’s horse, he couldn’t switch saddles fast enough. Spurring his mount, he trotted ahead, pushing the animal too fast along the unfamiliar ground. They rode toward the Trace until the echoing shouts faded, so distant they were hard to pick out from the other night sounds.
With several miles between Mariah and the dreadful cabin, she pulled up the pony and slid to the ground. A few yards ahead, Tiller did the same. They met in a bright patch of moonlight.
He groaned and crushed her to his chest. "I should’ve stopped them, Mariah. If they killed me for trying."
She clung to him, comforted by the strength of his arms. "I’m so sorry."
He cupped her face with trembling fingers. "For what? It’s not your fault."
Mariah caressed his hands, turned one to kiss the hollow of his palm. "For this. Look how you’re shaking." She tilted her head to peer up at him. "I wanted to tell you sooner. I just couldn’t until we got away from the cabin."
Tiny lines appeared between his brows. "Tell me what?" Sudden alarm rocked his features. "Oh, honey …" Pain glazed his eyes, and his body shook beneath her hands. "Gabe did hurt you, didn’t he?"
Her heart skipped a beat. "No, Tiller. I wouldn’t lie to you, even for a moment."
"Then what haven’t you told me?"
She smoothed his face with her fingertips. "That my uncle and his men won’t really burn Gabe."
He drew in his bottom lip, gave his head a little shake. "But they did. I saw them."
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