Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  Tiller spun.

  Bell’s Inn stood untouched behind him, except for two whitewashed planks jutting from the wall. The wood, once part of the garden fence, had impaled the house without breaking, driven in like a hammer drives a nail.

  The oak tree, its twisted roots jutting to the sky like gnarled rope, had rolled the dice, and the house won. The barn hadn’t been so lucky.

  "Is it bad, son?" Mr. Lenard called.

  "Well, sure it’s bad," Miss Vee said beside him. "Can’t you see the man’s dumbstruck?" She tugged on Tiller’s pants leg. "The house is gone, ain’t that right? Everything is gone."

  He ducked his head inside. "You don’t get off so easy, Miss Vee. You’ll still be frying chicken."

  Miss Vee cheered and clasped hands with Dicey. Whirling, she drew Mariah into a smothering hug.

  Tiller sought Mariah’s worried brown eyes. "It’s a shocking mess up here, but you still have a roof over your head." He cocked his head. "I can’t say the same for Sheki."

  "The barn?"

  He tried for a comforting smile. "You’ll need a handyman for a while longer."

  "Do you see Sheki?"

  After a quick scan of the property, he shook his head. "No sign of any of the horses, but don’t fret. When they calm down, they’ll come home." Clearing the top of the ladder, Tiller peered below. "Come on out, but watch your step."

  The men came first, followed by Miss Vee, gasping and clutching her chest.

  Then Dicey, moaning and sobbing.

  Mariah came last, drawing in a quick breath as she reached the top. She tented her hands over her brow and whirled in a circle. "Oh my. It’s inconceivable. Where did all of this come from?"

  Tiller grimaced. "The storm dumped half of Mississippi in our lap."

  Staring across the backyard, Mr. Lenard heaved a sigh. "To think that just last night, I sat over there playing my fiddle and eating fish." He pointed. "Look. The cook pot’s still there." He chuckled, wonder in his voice. "Took the tree but left the kettle. Fickle old thing, weren’t it?"

  "Oh no, Mista’ Tilla’." Dicey tugged his sleeve. "Look what else it took."

  He turned to follow the direction her finger pointed, and his heart seemed to stop. "By thunder, it’s gone. Ripped up down to the soil."

  Mariah clutched his arm. "Even the sunflowers. What will I say to poor Rainy?" She lifted dazed eyes. "We’ll have nothing to eat. Nothing to feed our guests."

  Tiller gripped her taut knuckles. "I’ll set all this right, Mariah. You’ll see." He swept his arm over the wreckage. "I’ll clear the yard, repair the barn, and with Rainy’s help, I’ll replant the garden." He squeezed her hand. "In a few weeks’ time, you’ll forget this ever happened."

  She tilted her head up, and Tiller cupped her chin. "Bell’s Inn will be even better than it was before. I give you my solemn word."

  Though Dicey’s ramshackle house stood directly in its path, the twister had jogged off course long enough to spare her home and family. She returned to the inn, smiling and singing, to help with the cleanup.

  Mariah was grateful for the effort, since every muscle in her body ached and hysterical tears threatened to surface.

  The beast had spared the inn but demanded a high price for the favor. The destruction inside looked much the same as the yard. The storm had roared through the windows, turning the rooms upside down.

  Tiller assured her the inn hadn’t taken the twister’s full force. "If it had," he said, "you wouldn’t have a mess to clean because you wouldn’t have a house."

  Mariah tried hard to be grateful.

  Even Otis’s room on the opposite side suffered damage. The wind sucked his curtains out the window, soaking them through, and rain had wet his mattress.

  Otis didn’t want to give up his cozy den, so Tiller hauled the bedding from an upstairs room then changed the sheets and blankets himself. He pulled down the wet curtains, hanging a quilt in their place. Once he had a roaring fire going, he dressed Otis in a clean nightshirt and put him to bed.

  Mariah took note of how affectionately he cared for Otis, and it warmed her heart.

  After he had the old man tended, Tiller appeared at the parlor door. "Here you are," he said from the hallway.

  She glanced up. "Did you get Otis settled?"

  "I think so." He hurried to help her pull the settee away from the open window. Tossing out leaves and small branches, he pulled down the sash. "Mr. Lenard and his men are cleaning their rooms as best they can. Only one of them took in water. We may have to move that man to a different bed for the night."

  She bit her bottom lip. "I thought they were leaving."

  "They offered to stay one more night to lend a hand, and I agreed. We can’t afford to turn down the help.

  "Although"—he winced—"I don’t think you can charge them in this case."

  Her mind jumped to the near-empty pantry. "No, of course not."

  He gathered her hands and squeezed. "Don’t worry. We’ll manage."

  She nodded. "Except I don’t have another empty room. Otis has the mattress from the last one."

  Tiller bit the corner of his lip. "I know. I’m willing to give up my bed." He nodded at the settee. "I can bunk in here, if you don’t mind."

  Mariah shook her head. "I won’t allow it. That’s your room, Tiller. You’ve earned it with the sweat of your brow." She blew a determined breath. "One of them can sleep out here. Or they can double up. I’m sure they’ll understand in the circumstances."

  Tiller winked and saluted. "Whatever you say, boss." He took her hand and led her to the sofa. "I know you have plenty to do, but will you sit for a minute? There’s something I want to say."

  Curious, she perched on the edge of her seat.

  Sitting beside her, he ran his hands through his hair. "I know with the repairs almost finished, my time here was nearing an end. I figured any day you’d hand me my bedroll and send me down the Trace."

  She pulled in her lips and struggled to keep the truth to herself. Sending Tiller away hadn’t entered her mind.

  "But now"—he waved his hand to take in the chaos around them—"I think you need me more than you need my empty room."

  Mariah started to agree, but his hand shot up.

  "Hush, and hear me out." His lively grin reminded her of the Tiller she’d first met.

  "When I promised to put this place right, I meant every word." His dancing eyes glowed. "I looked over the wreckage of the barn. It won’t take much to rebuild."

  She had to stop him. "I can’t afford the lumber, Tiller."

  As eager as a boy at Christmas, he scooted closer. "You won’t need to buy a single board." He pointed behind them. "There’s enough wood on your felled oak to build a small town."

  Her chin came up. "Gracious, I forgot about the oak."

  He nodded. "It’s a fine, sturdy tree. A lot of them are hollow in the center, but yours is solid through and through."

  "But how will we cut it?"

  He patted her shoulder. "Leave the details to me. I have a few friends in Canton."

  She stared at her hands, twisting in her lap. "But I can’t pay you."

  He widened his eyes. "Sure you can. In room and board and the best hot rolls this side of the Mississip’."

  Catching his mood, she giggled. "I don’t feel so helpless now." She beamed at him. "How can I ever thank you?"

  He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just keep those rolls coming, I guess." He picked up her hand and squeezed. "And let me help Rainy replant the garden. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do."

  For a man who boasted of wanderlust, he was certainly in no hurry to leave. In fact, he seemed to care about Bell’s Inn as much as Mariah did. She tightened her fingers around his. "I think it’s a wonderful idea."

  He released her and stood. "It’s all settled then. I’ll let you get back to work. Miss Vee asked me to help sweep up in the kitchen."

  As he strode away, Mariah couldn’t help glancing at his b
oots. The carefree drifter once claimed to hit the road before roots sprouted from his feet to pin him down. Grinning, she sensed the presence of little green shoots between his toes.

  Tendrils of hope broke the surface of her despair. Like Rainy’s sunflowers chasing the sun, they yearned after Tiller as he loped out the door.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Mariah stepped out on the porch and searched the sundrenched yard for Tiller. In the six days since the storm, he’d wrought miracles. The green grass gleamed in the bright daylight, picked up and raked free of every scrap of trash.

  Piece by piece, the huge oak had disappeared, hauled off by wagonloads and returning as stacks of lumber. Most of the wood, gleaming in the afternoon light, jutted bare and skeletal over the barn, a sturdy frame awaiting wallboards and shingles.

  The furious winds had carted off the two magnolia trees beside the pump, and good riddance. Since the morning when she’d carried Father’s body from the house, the sweet-smelling blossoms had reminded her of his death.

  The storm had spared the wagon, one of the many miracles for which Mariah was thankful. Sheki, nickering outside her window the morning after the twister, was another.

  At first, Mariah thought he’d come home begging for oats, but the shameful horse was bloated from a rampant eating spree and returned in need of a stomach cure. Thankfully, Rainy knew a thing or two about horses and fixed him right up.

  Sheki and Tiller’s gelding slept in the corral for a few days, but once Tiller raised and braced the walls, they returned to their stalls to oversee the rest of Tiller’s handiwork.

  Shading her eyes, Mariah spotted Tiller high on the roof of the barn, his sun-toasted back and shoulders gleaming with sweat. She hurried down the steps with his lunch, waving when he raised his head. The warmth of his smile crossed the distance.

  She entered the newly set doors, peering up through the unfinished gap. With a grizzly growl, Tiller leaped from behind, howling and spinning her around when she screamed.

  Mariah clutched her heart. "You fiend! I almost threw this tray at you.”

  Laughing, he lifted the corner of the napkin and sniffed. "What a shame that would be."

  He lifted his shirt from a hook in the corner and slipped it on. Straddling a hay bale, he patted the one next to him.

  She cocked her head. "Is this your way of inviting a lady to lunch?"

  Nodding, he held out his hands for the tray. "If a lady will do me the honor."

  Mariah smoothed her skirt and sat, watching him eagerly plunder the food. She accepted a spoonful of potato soup and a roll stuffed with a bite of pork roast. It seemed only fair since she’d brought him her share to begin with to make sure he filled his stomach. Besides, it smelled too good to resist.

  The small roast was the last of a wild young pig, the rolls from her last cups of flour. After Otis and Miss Vee ate their fill, there wasn’t much left in the kitchen. Thank heavens Rainy and Dicey took their midday meals at home with their folks.

  Mariah wiped her mouth on the corner of the napkin. "How are things in town? I heard you drive up and wondered why you never came inside the house."

  Tiller had left for Canton the day before on more business with the sawmill. He returned in a rush then went straight up on the roof and set to work.

  He glanced at the sky through the gaping hole. "Rain clouds chased me most of the way home. I wanted to get the roof finished before Sheki got his ears wet, but I got fooled. It looks like the bad weather took a turn." His ears reddened. "Just because I didn’t come say hello doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you."

  Mariah’s cheeks warmed and her hand came up to stifle a giggle. Ten minutes in his presence, and she’d turned into a blushing girl.

  Tiller’s eyes widened. His throat made a choking sound, and he stood so fast he nearly upset the tray. "Curse me for a blasted fool. I can’t believe I let this slip my mind."

  Steadying his soup bowl, Mariah gaped at his eager face. "Gracious, what are you blathering about?"

  "I have something for you." He shoved his hand deep in his pocket and came up with a bulging white hankie tied up with all four corners. Grinning, he held it out to her.

  Mariah took the bundle and the weight sagged her arms to her lap. One knot loosened and bright coins spilled out in her hands.

  Her head shot up. "What is this?"

  His toothy smile lit the barn brighter than the sunbeam pouring through the roof. "Maybe it’s been quite a spell since you saw any, darlin’, but that’s money."

  She shoved it toward him. "I can see that much, but it’s not my money."

  He withdrew his hands, refusing to take it from her. "It’s yours, all right. Every dollar."

  Her heart pounded. "I’m scared to ask where you got this, Tiller, but it doesn’t belong to me. Take it back this instant."

  He wrapped his big hands gently around hers and guided them, handkerchief and all, back to her lap. "Our friend, the twister, cleared a path from here to Yazoo city and points north, creating a serious demand for lumber."

  Tiller let go and straightened with a hesitant smile. "The oak wasn’t the only tree down on your property. With Rainy’s help, I’ve been hauling them to the mill and selling them. I took the last one this trip. Apart from a few dollars to Rainy for his trouble, you’re holding the profits." He shoved back his hat and quirked one brow. "I hope you don’t mind."

  Stunned, Mariah’s gaze dropped to her hands. One finger twitched and more coins tumbled across her palms, more money than she’d ever seen in her life. Enough to run the inn for a year, maybe more, if she didn’t have a single paying guest. "It’s really mine?"

  He nodded.

  "I don’t know what to say." Laughter bubbled up in her throat. "I thought it took you an unreasonable number of trips to haul one tree." She glanced up. "Miss Vee said it seemed like the miracle of the loaves and fishes. God multiplying the oak." Awed, she shook her head. "I suppose in a way He did."

  Tiller tucked his chin. "So it’s all right?"

  "It’s more than all right." She shot up with a squeal and threw her arms around his neck. "I’m so grateful I could burst!"

  Remembering his shirt was unfastened, she pulled away blushing. "How forward of me. Please forgive me."

  His hands fumbled with the top button. "No, it’s my fault."

  She couldn’t contain her joy for long. "Oh, Tiller. We can eat again."

  He gave her a crooked smile. "Why do you think I went to all the trouble?"

  Leaning across the distance she’d put between them, she stretched to kiss his cheek. "Because you’re the dearest man in the whole world."

  "What’s this?" an angry voice snarled behind them.

  They spun, still beaming brightly.

  Gabriel Tabor loomed on the threshold.

  Mariah stepped away from Tiller. Fisting the money, she dropped it with a jangle into her skirt pocket. "Gabe. What a nice surprise. I didn’t expect you today."

  His bottom lip hung looser than usual, and fury blazed in his eyes. "I can see you didn’t." He pointed a murderous finger at Tiller. "Why’s he half naked and pawing at you?"

  Mariah had a moment to consider the absurdity of the charge. How preposterous for a man with a dozen untamed hands to accuse decent, respectful Tiller. She drew herself up. "I assure you he did no such thing."

  Gabe took three steps closer, his hulking size a tad frightening. "Don’t you lie, Mariah Bell. Maybe I ain’t real smart, but I ain’t stupid."

  His bulk shifted to Tiller. "Mister, you trying to steal my girl?"

  Tiller held his ground as Gabe approached. "Can a man steal a girl who wants to be taken?"

  "Huh?" Gabe balled his fist. "Don’t think you can get out of a thrashing by fast talk and riddles."

  Easing into a swaggering stance, Tiller clenched his hands at his sides. "I’m saying Mariah’s free to choose. If she wants you, I’ll step out of your way. But if she wants me, I’m staying right here." He jutted his jaw. "And you
’ll have to kill me to keep me away from her."

  Tiller’s brows raised to question marks as his eyes sought hers past Gabe’s shoulder. "Mariah?"

  The last ounce of resistance slid from around her heart. Tiller McRae had braved starvation, twisters, giant oak trees, collapsed barns, and now the ugly, big fists of Gabe Tabor. He’d more than proved himself worthy of her trust.

  With a teasing smile, she lifted her head higher to see over Gabe’s broad back. She didn’t need words for the message her eyes sent Tiller.

  Gabe stiffened and swung around to blink at her. "Well?"

  She lifted her chin. "Gabe, I think it’s time for you to go."

  "What?" He frowned and jabbed himself in the chest. "You’re giving me the boot? After you done kissed me and everything?"

  Blushing to the roots of her hair, Mariah lowered her lashes. "Your memory fails you, Mr. Tabor. You kissed me, and without an invitation." She glanced at Tiller. "And only on the cheek."

  Gabe shuffled toward her. His meaty, meddling hand snaked around her waist and slid to the small of her back, lingering too long to be respectable. "But you liked it, didn’t you?"

  Tiller blustered and lunged, but Mariah held up her hand. "Say good-bye, Tiller. Gabe was just leaving."

  "You really want me to go?" Gabe hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "I could go on and kill him like he said."

  Mariah couldn’t hold back a grin. "Killing Tiller won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer." She caught his sleeve and led him to the threshold. "Say hello to your father for me, won’t you?"

  "Well, sure, but I—"

  "Watch your step past those loose boards. You might trip and take a nasty fall."

  His droopy eyes bugged. "Mariah!"

  "Good-bye, Gabe." Reaching for the barn door, she nodded before pulling it closed.

  Leaning her head against the rough wood, she tried to still her thudding heart. Where would she find the courage to face Tiller after she’d just declared her love? Turning slowly, she stood across the barn from him, one hand over her mouth.

  He slouched with both hands on his hips, giving her a sideways look and a teasing smile.