Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  She smiled. "They made you think you saw them. Just as Gabe will believe it so surely his blood will run cold each time he sees a fire in the hearth. But they won’t go through with it."

  Relief washed Tiller pale in the meager light. He spun away from her laughing. "Of course. They were punishing him."

  She nodded. "And making sure it won’t happen again. For the rest of his days, Gabriel Tabor will cross the street if he sees me coming."

  Tiller slapped his knee. "It’s brilliant." He chuckled. "And effective. But suppose Gabe tells his pa? Won’t the tribe land in trouble with the law?"

  She raised her brows. "Believe me, Gabe won’t tell."

  He spun her around the clearing then reeled her in close. "Remind me to never get crossways with your folks."

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

  He grinned. "What was that for?"

  "For rescuing me."

  "I had a little help." He nodded toward the cabin. "Mariah Bell’s avenging angels."

  "My people stick together. I’m afraid we’ve had to." Ducking her head, she covered a yawn. "What time is it? It must be nearly dawn."

  Tiller took her wrist and led her to her horse. "Let’s get on the road. You’re exhausted, and Miss Vee will be frantic."

  The long ride home was harder than Mariah expected. She dozed when she could; her head bobbing like a fat bird on a skinny limb. She stirred, her heart surging with relief when the horse’s weight shifted to his haunches to climb the rise into the yard.

  Drifting off again, she awoke to Miss Vee’s soft clucking and Tiller’s gentle hands lifting her from the saddle. He carried her up the stairs, nudging the door open with his foot. Miss Vee pulled the covers back, and Tiller laid her on the bed. She lolled against her pillows, her head spinning like a whirligig.

  "Our girl will be just fine now that she’s home," Miss Vee said, as if trying to convince herself. She lowered her voice. "She is all right, isn’t she, Tiller?"

  Mariah fumbled for her hand and squeezed. "Tiller saved me," she mumbled, too drowsy to open her eyes.

  Miss Vee’s sigh came out on a sob. "Heaven be praised," she said, her voice cracking.

  Her footsteps crossed to the door and the hinges squealed. "Your work is done, young man. So if you please …"

  Tiller’s gentle touch on her cheek was as soft as a butterfly kiss. "Rest well. I’ll see you in the morning."

  Smiling into the fog was the last thing Mariah remembered.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Tiller closed the garden gate behind him and strolled to the pump. He felt good enough to whistle, but his mouth was too dry. Working the handle, he waited for the spit and gurgle then plunged his hands under the clear, cold water, washing away the dirt from his late summer plot.

  He hadn’t seen Mariah all morning. Miss Vee had her safely tucked in bed, resting after her ordeal with Gabe.

  The situation might’ve gone really bad. Suppose Gabe had carted Mariah off to Canton and forced her into marriage? Even worse, he might’ve succeeded in his cruel plan to take advantage of her. Considering the possibilities soured Tiller’s stomach all over again and gave him second thoughts about burning Gabe at the stake.

  What thoughts swirled in old Gabe’s head that bright, cheery morning? Tiller doubted they centered on Mariah. More likely, he pondered the blessing of uncharred flesh.

  Chuckling, he pumped more icy water into a cup and took a long drink. According to the sun, perched high over the house like a joyful smile, it would soon be lunchtime. Mariah would surely be awake by now. He hung the cup on the pump and started for the back porch, pausing when he saw the Jones brothers lounging around the new steps.

  Joe sat in Miss Vee’s rocking chair, staring toward the barn, his deep bass rumble carrying over the yard. "I’ll hear your terms, of course," he was saying to Chris. "Your brother’s, too."

  He sat forward in the chair. "Perhaps you might consider combining your offers."

  The boys shared a glance.

  "How would that work?" Justin asked. "Mariah can’t marry us both."

  Feeling a chill down his back, Tiller held his ground and listened.

  Joe laughed. "You’ll work it out between you. Compete for her. The one who wins the prize will vow to repay his brother’s share."

  Chris sneered. "Even if I lost, which I won’t, I wouldn’t help this cur take my girl."

  Justin shoved him with his shoulder. "Mind your tongue. Mariah’s my girl."

  They sprang off the porch, all long hair and sputter, flexing their muscles and jutting their chests. They took turns shoving each other backward, but neither boy swung a punch. As it should be between brothers, the true urge to fight seemed to be missing.

  Joe cackled, obviously entertained by their mock sparring.

  Justin rushed Chris. Chris spun to shake him off, and they both tumbled over the steps and sprawled in the dirt.

  Joe raised his hand to end the skirmish. "I don’t mean compete for her now." He dismissed them with a wave. "Take this match home and present your case before the elders. You won’t settle things here in my yard."

  Still glaring, they nodded toward Joe then trotted across the yard and disappeared down the sandy slope.

  Joe sat back in the rocker, still chuckling.

  Harnessing his rage, Tiller swung around the hedge to the porch and sat on the top step. "Afternoon, sir."

  Scratching his chin, Joe nodded. "How’s your patch of ground coming along?"

  Tiller glanced toward the garden. "Mariah will soon have vegetables on her table again."

  Joe blew out a breath. "She won’t be here to eat them."

  Tiller watched him quietly. Lowering his head, he focused on scraping a line of dirt from under his thumbnail. "You’re a peculiar man, Joe."

  Joe grunted. "You’re not the first to say so."

  "Is it a game for you?" He nodded toward the path. "Dangling false hope before their eyes? And before mine with your friendship?"

  One bushy brow twitched, but Joe held his somber expression. "Neither boy loves my niece. They only think they do. By the end of the challenge I’ve given them, they’ll know the truth in their own hearts."

  "And if they don’t?" Tiller glared. "Will you sell Mariah to one of them or wait for a higher bid? What was the offer back home?" He sneered. "Pretty high, I’ll wager. Since it brought you all the way to Mississippi to fetch her."

  Joe gripped the arms of the rocker. "Be careful."

  Tiller stood clenching his fists. "I love her, Joe. She loves me, too, and I think you know it." He shifted his weight. "I’m not Gabe Tabor. You can’t scare me out of her life."

  Joe stood and shoved past him down the steps. "Stay away from her, nahullo. I won’t tell you again."

  "If you want me away from Mariah," Tiller shouted at his retreating back, "have the guts to light the kindling. That’s the only way you’ll ever be rid of me."

  Groaning, Mariah sat up groping her head. She rubbed the spot where Gabe had yanked, expecting to find it bald. Despite the covering of hair, the skin her fingers probed sorely ached.

  She frowned at her reflection across the room. Looking down, she found what the mirror had reported was true. She’d slept fully clothed and in her stockings with her hair pinned up on her head. If it didn’t feel so scandalous, it’d be comical.

  Mariah grinned. She certainly looked funny with her rumpled clothes, sleep-creased face, and wildly tangled hair. Not unlike a discarded rag doll—played with by dirty hands then tossed aside.

  Her bright smile vanished. Gabe had meant to do that very thing. If Tiller and her uncle hadn’t come in time, she’d find no humor in the day.

  She shuddered at the memory of Gabe’s foul touch. How different from Tiller’s soft caress on her cheek.

  A knock on the door fired her heartbeat to life. Frantic, she stood, ready to hide. Tiller couldn’t see her in such an unkempt state.

  "Mariah?" Only Miss Vee.

  Reli
eved, she swiped wisps of hair off her forehead. "Yes, come in."

  The door opened a crack. Miss Vee peeked in and smiled. "She’s decent, Tiller. Go on in." Swinging the door wide, she stepped aside.

  In one leap, Mariah landed on the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  Tiller’s footsteps paused just inside the room then quietly approached. "Mariah? Are you all right?"

  Blushing and fuming beneath the quilt, she wondered how Miss Vee would like salt instead of sugar in her next cup of tea. Maybe soap flakes mixed with her powdered milk? "I’m not presentable this morning. Could you come back in just a while?"

  "I need to talk to you. It’s important."

  Miss Vee cleared her throat. "On second thought, a lady’s boudoir ain’t the proper place for chatting with a gentleman. You go wait in the parlor. I’ll get our girl prettified and send her down."

  In Tiller’s long pause, Mariah felt him beside the bed, staring down at her. "All right, I suppose. But hurry, please. This won’t keep."

  When the door closed, Mariah shot upright and gaped at Miss Vee. "How could you?"

  Red-faced, she hung her head. "I thought he had in mind a sickroom visit, not an important talk visit."

  Mariah huffed. "That’s ridiculous. I’m not sick."

  "No, but you had quite a shock."

  Mariah crossed her arms. "No more startling than the one you just gave me."

  Miss Vee hurried to pour water in the basin. "Come wash up while I fluff a clean dress. I don’t think Tiller’s in the mood to wait."

  He paced in front of the settee when Mariah reached the bottom step—feeling much better in a proper frock with her hair pinned. Crossing the room in broad strides, he pulled her close.

  Mariah peered up at him. "Aren’t you going to tell me how nice I look?"

  "I thought you looked nice before."

  She frowned. "You didn’t see me."

  "I didn’t have to."

  "Oh, Tiller. How sweet."

  He pushed her to arm’s length. "You won’t find me sweet for long." His throat worked furiously. "I have a confession."

  The dread on his face frightened her. "Go on."

  "I told Uncle Joe that I love you."

  Her arms slid from his shoulders and dropped to her sides. "Please say you didn’t."

  "I told him you love me, too, and he can’t keep us apart."

  She gripped her brow. "No, Tiller."

  Cupping her chin, he raised her eyes to his. "I broke my promise, and for that I’m sorry. You have to know I had good reason."

  She turned her back. "I hope so, since you’ve ruined everything."

  Tiller squeezed her shoulders then eased her around. "Joe already knew, honey. He’s known since the day he arrived. The only person you’ve been fooling is yourself."

  Mariah shook her head. "He would’ve left soon. I just know it. Now that you’ve challenged him, he’ll die first." She searched his troubled face. "What reason was so important that you broke our trust?"

  Tiller’s face flashed red. Indignant, he pointed behind him. "I caught him bartering with Tobias’s sons, offering your hand in exchange for goods."

  "Chris and Justin?" She lowered her head to hide her smile. "They both asked him?"

  Tiller angled his head. "You find this funny? They’re out there now, trying to gather enough mules and chickens, whatever they think you’re worth, to come back and make a trade. Meanwhile, Joe is sitting back, waiting to see who comes with the best offer."

  Mariah gathered his hands. "Yes, I know."

  "You know." His angry scowl deepened. "Well, you’re pretty calm about your own kin selling you off for livestock."

  She laughed. "It’s not quite like you make it sound. It’s our custom, Tiller … my uncle’s way to make sure I marry well. He’ll weigh several offers, but the value of goods won’t be his main concern. My position in the tribe, his position, too, will sway his final decision."

  "Position? What about your heart?" Tiller stalked away from her. "It’s nonsense, Mariah. You talk like you’re just a … a …"

  "A squaw?"

  He spun to face her. "I didn’t mean that."

  "What did you mean?" Pulling free of him, Mariah bit her lip, trying to think.

  Tiller cocked his head, his eyes fearful. "Where does all this leave us?"

  "After you betrayed me to my uncle?" She hung her head. "I don’t know."

  He touched her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Please don’t say that."

  She turned her face aside.

  "You could stand up to him," he said quietly. "Tell him what you want."

  Mariah shook her head. "Have you forgotten how fast the tribe came to his aid? One crook of my uncle’s finger, and we’d both be headed out of Mississippi … in opposite directions." She sighed. "Besides, I won’t openly defy him. It would shame my mother’s memory."

  "Then how can we ever marry?"

  She took a deep breath. "If I can get him to leave without me, he’ll go on with his life and forget. It’s happened before."

  Tiller snorted. "Good luck with that. Uncle Joe seems to be settling in for good."

  Her temper flared. "Don’t mention anything else to him, Tiller McRae. Maybe I can repair the damage." She shook her finger in his face. "Don’t speak of our love to anyone in this household, do you understand? Not even to me."

  He held up his hands. "I promise."

  Mariah jabbed his chest. "Keep your word this time."

  Gathering her skirt, she flounced out the door.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Six days had passed since Tiller spilled Mariah’s secret to Joe. She worked so hard to convince her uncle they weren’t really in love, Tiller had started to wonder himself.

  Even when they were alone, in the hallway or passing in the yard, she shrank from his touch and pulled away if he tried to whisper in her ear.

  She seemed to be a different woman, and it scared him, made him long for her with a passion he’d never known. He hoped her coldness was borne of determination to trick Joe and not a picture of her true feelings.

  Pushing aside his worrisome thoughts, Tiller lowered Otis into the cane-bottomed chair on the front porch and tucked a blue knitted shawl beneath his chin. The view toward the river in back was nicer, but it took so much out of Otis to walk the long hallway, he had little energy left to take pleasure in his time outside.

  He settled against the cushion and gazed around the yard with a satisfied smile. "Yes sir. Just what the doctor ordered."

  Tiller pulled the matching chair around and lowered his lanky body, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. His gaze wandered the grassy yard from Rainy’s climbing roses to Mariah’s herb garden set off by a border of white stones. Bright green ivy sprawled across the latticed arbor, stretching from the road to the house. Seated beneath its shade and tucked into the shadows of the portico, it wasn’t long before he wished he’d brought out an extra shawl. "You warm enough, Otis?"

  He nodded. "It’s a mite cool for this late in June, ain’t it?"

  Tiller rubbed his arms. "I suppose we’d best enjoy it while we can. We’ll be fuming about the heat come August."

  "What sort of weather you reckon Scuffletown is having, son?"

  Tiller had shared everything he could remember about his Carolina home and the family he’d left behind. The old man loved the stories and seemed willing to listen for hours.

  Time spent with Otis was the most relaxing Tiller had ever spent and the most distressing. The peace in Otis’s eyes stirred an emptiness long denied and a yearning Tiller couldn’t shake. He longed to purge the guilt that clawed his mind during long, sleepless nights, but he’d found some rest in a recent decision.

  It would be selfish to clear his conscience at the little man’s expense. Otis needed him, at least for now. When he regained his strength, Tiller would lay the ugly facts on the table and plead for pardon. Whether Otis forgave him or not, Tiller would beg him to stay on at the inn and a
llow them to care for him.

  Mariah would have to agree, but he couldn’t discuss this or anything else of importance with her until Joe left Mississippi. Of course, there was still the matter of coming clean with her.

  Tiller groaned inside. He’d made such a mess of his life. How would he ever set things right?

  Feeling Otis watching, he eased back and unclenched his fists.

  Otis continued to stare. "Got something to tell me, boy?"

  Squirming, he shook his head.

  "Well … maybe I got something to tell you."

  Tiller spun to the edge of his chair, hoping Otis would bring up the subject of Mariah. He needed assurance that Joe would leave, that things with Mariah would return to normal. He wouldn’t tell Otis their secret, but he sure hoped God would.

  Otis swiveled to face him. "I sense you’re ripe for turning your life over to God, and I reckon it’s time you stop putting it off."

  The simple words dashed Tiller’s hopes and made him uneasy. "I don’t have enough church in my background to know exactly what you mean, but I have an idea." He stole a quick glance. "You’re talking about baring my sins." He tried to smile. "A thing like that could take awhile."

  Otis waved his hand. "There’s no need to air your trespasses one by one. God’s already acquainted with each of them since they nailed Jesus to the cross." He patted Tiller’s hand. "A whispered plea for mercy will cover it."

  The ache inside Tiller’s heart swelled to bursting. "That don’t sound fair to God. Besides, there are a few things I need to set right first."

  Otis lifted his chin. "You reckon there’s anything in your life He can’t handle?"

  Tiller glanced away from his searching gaze. "There are deeds I’ve done that are too dark to bring to Him. I need to mop up behind me before I’ll be fit to talk to God."

  Setting his lips in a firm line, Otis shook his head. "That’s hitching the horse on backwards, boy." He gripped Tiller’s wrist. "You think I was lily-white when God found me?"

  His words swirled Tiller away to the day Nathan accused him of trying to protect his lily-white conscience. Blinded by the glare of God’s righteousness, the notion seemed absurd. He lowered his head to his hands. "My life’s been broke for so long, I don’t know how to fix it."