Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  A dusty beam of light filtered through the open rooftop, the bright ray anointing his red head with fire. The unearthly glow seemed like the warm kiss of God’s approval.

  Tiller crooked his finger.

  Mariah’s stomach flipped. She crossed the barn into the sunbeam and the warmth of his embrace.

  Sliding his hand up her neck, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her to his chest. "It’s high time you came to your senses, woman."

  Breathless, she laughed against his shirt. "I’m inclined to agree."

  His arms tightened. "I love you, Mariah Bell."

  "I love you, Tiller McRae."

  "Enough to skip all that silly courtship business and marry me?"

  A thrill shot through her. "I don’t see why not." She leaned to frown up at him. "You’ve taken quite a leap from courting me a little to a proposal. What changed?"

  He kissed her forehead and snuggled her close again. "I wanted to marry you from the first. I thought if I told you, it might spook you."

  Her joy boundless, she tightened her fingers on the front of his shirt and smiled to herself. "And you really plan to stay on here at Bell’s Inn? What about your carefree coattails? Those roots you find so binding?"

  Tiller chuckled, the sound a rumble in his throat. "You believed the words of a shiftless drifter?"

  She laughed aloud. "A point well taken."

  He held her, swaying as if rocking a cherished child.

  Mariah swayed too, dizzy with loving him.

  Abruptly, Tiller stilled, dragging them to a stop. "What about your father? We need his blessing, don’t we? He’ll want to be here for the wedding, too." He patted her back. "I understand that you’ll want to put things off until he returns."

  Her heart surged and fluttered in her chest. "Father will be gone a very long time."

  A groan escaped his lips. "How long do we have to wait?"

  She shook her head. "I don’t think we can. It wouldn’t be practical."

  He brightened. "So we’ll be married right away?"

  She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "The sooner the better."

  Mariah braced for another squabble with Miss Vee. The poor woman would never understand, and Mariah couldn’t imagine how to convince her. Most likely, the time had come to tell her the truth.

  Tiller sighed in her ear. "You’re taking a gamble, aren’t you? You don’t know much about me." His heartbeat thudded against her cheek. "About my past, I mean."

  Caught in her own guilty thoughts, hot tears stung her throat. "You don’t know everything about me either."

  He cradled her head in his hands and raised her face to his. Determination, heart-stirring affection, and a touch of fear swirled in his eyes. "You won’t like some of what I’ve done."

  She bunched her brows. "It can’t be that bad."

  "I’m afraid it is," he said firmly then drew a deep breath. "But I swear to make it up to you." His throat rose and fell. "To everyone."

  He looked so grim. What dastardly deeds could sweet-faced Tiller McRae possibly be guilty of? Mariah shuddered and lowered her lashes. Whatever he’d done, she didn’t want to know. Not with their love just confessed.

  Besides, she wasn’t ready to lay her secrets on the table. There’d be plenty of time later for baring their souls. "Don’t say anything else, Tiller. We’ll discuss it later." She pushed out of his arms and backed away, despising herself for the pain that flashed in his eyes.

  Skirting past him, she picked up the tray. "Miss Vee will be wondering where I am."

  He caught her arm as she passed and held her, searching her face.

  She summoned a weak smile. "Don’t fret. Nothing’s changed."

  Gnawing his bottom lip, he nodded. "Let me walk you to the house then. I’ll get cleaned up and go for supplies."

  Crossing the yard, he cleared his throat. "Can we tell the others? Miss Vee, Dicey, and Rainy?"

  She grinned. "I suppose so."

  A delighted smile lit his face. "Miss Vee first. As soon as we reach the house."

  She touched his arm. "Don’t mention how soon we plan to marry, Tiller. I’ll break that news to her myself."

  Nearing the porch, she halted, clutching Tiller’s sleeve.

  A horse lumbered up the rise bearing a lone Indian. The big man slouched in the saddle with a broad, battered hat tugged low over his face.

  Mariah strained to see what the dread in her heart had already confirmed. The worst problem imaginable rode toward her on the sundappled Trace. She groaned. "Oh, no. It’s really him."

  Tiller stared with her. "You know that man?"

  "He’s my uncle, Joe Brashears. But please don’t call him Joe. It enrages him. He prefers Nukowa."

  "Nu-who?"

  "It’s pronounced Nook-o-ah. It means ‘angry’ in our tongue. He took the name when my mother died." She sighed. "It fits him well, I’m afraid."

  "I like Joe better."

  Ignoring him, she danced with frustration. "I adore my uncle, but I dread his visits. These days, they’re never pleasant."

  "I suppose not, if he’s angry all the time. What made him mad?"

  "He wants something, and he can be very stubborn about it."

  "What does he want?" Tiller asked, shading his eyes.

  She shrugged. "Me."

  "You?" He shot her a glance. "What for?"

  "To take me back to the Indian Territory."

  Tiller’s head whipped around. "What? No!"

  "He’s chosen a husband for me there."

  He growled low in his throat. "I can see I’m going to love Uncle Joe."

  Mariah pasted a welcome smile on her face. "Hush. He’s almost here."

  Tiller slung his arm around her shoulders. "Just in time to share our happy news."

  "No!" Mariah whispered harshly, shrugging off his arm. She moved a few paces away. "You mustn’t breathe a word of our engagement, Tiller. Not a word, do you understand?"

  "Why not?"

  She narrowed her eyes. "If you do, I’ll be on my way to marry the son of a chief, and you’ll be left here scratching your head."

  He gaped at her. "I can handle Uncle Joe, Mariah."

  "Nukowa," she hissed. "And please leave him to me." She frowned. "Maybe you should go on back to the barn."

  "No." Scowling, he closed the distance between them. "If it’s all the same to you, I’m staying right here."

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Joe squinted against the afternoon sun. Surely his tired eyes deceived him. The nahullo beside Mariah had drawn her beneath his arm as if he’d bartered for her and won.

  His stomach tightened. Who was the red-haired man at his niece’s side, his welcoming smile as forced as hers?

  Slant-eyed glances fired between the two. The feud of a couple in love. What mischief was afoot in John Coffee’s house, right under his nose?

  Joe snorted. He’d arrived just in time to help Blazing Hair find the road.

  Mariah strode to meet him. Pink tinged her cheeks, but the warmth of her greeting seemed more fitting. "Halito, amoshi!”

  "Halito, sabitek." He swung his aching body from the saddle. "Chim achukma?"

  "I’m fine, Uncle. And you?"

  "I need water." Joe swiped his hand across his dry mouth. "I have miles of dusty road in my throat."

  "Of course you do," Mariah said. "After such a long ride. Come up to the house, and we’ll do even better than water."

  Joe dragged his pack off the horse. "You have whiskey?"

  Mariah’s laugh was as false as her smile. "No, and you have no business drinking strong spirits." She handed the reins to the nahullo without a second glance in his direction. "I’m sure Miss Vee has a fresh pitcher of lemonade."

  Joe wasn’t fooled by the girl’s deliberate shun. She could go on treating the tall young man as if he didn’t matter, but Joe had spotted a fox in the henhouse. A lanky red fox.

  Over his shoulder, Joe watched the man lead the horse to the barn at an angry str
ide. He smiled. It wouldn’t be the last time he walked away mad, if Joe had his way.

  He turned his attention to Mariah. "Your father is well?"

  She stumbled a bit and lost her footing.

  Joe’s quick hand caught and steadied her. "Now I see why you have no more whiskey. Have you been sipping firewater this morning?"

  She wound her arm through his and continued walking, but her strained smile didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m drunk with happiness to see you, I guess."

  He patted her hand. "Is something wrong, sabitek?"

  Staring at the ground, she bit her bottom lip. "Father’s not here, Uncle."

  Joe peered at her. "John’s in town today?"

  "Not in town. He’s … gone away."

  Joe stopped so fast he pulled her off balance again. "What do you mean ‘away’? Where did he go?"

  Mariah angled her head so he couldn’t see her eyes. "I’m not sure. Not exactly. He left so suddenly." She looked everywhere but at Joe. "He became very ill and had to leave."

  "To the white man’s hospital?"

  "Not a hospital."

  "Then where? Don’t talk riddles, Mariah. I’ve come a long way. When will he return?"

  She raised her chin. "He’ll be gone for a very long time."

  Joe narrowed one eye and tried to read her. The girl’s tight mouth and sulky eyes were a black-watered pool.

  To what lengths would John Coffee go to outwit him? What trick had he put his daughter up to? Mariah wanted to stay in Mississippi—she’d made this no secret—but it wasn’t like her to deceive.

  Impatient, he stalked ahead of her. "No matter. I can wait. For as long as it takes." His bold words were a lie. He’d left Myrtle to pull corn and work crops, to grow a son for him, alone and frightened. John Coffee had the upper hand before the battle had ever begun. Furious, Joe reached the porch and spun to scowl at her. "Who is the red-haired nahullo?"

  The truth flickered in her eyes but skirted her mouth. "Tiller? He’s a drifter we hired to make a few repairs. He works for room and board."

  Peering past the haze of anger that had him blinded, Joe gazed around the inn’s backyard, seeing it for the first time.

  A careless giant had strolled through the familiar grounds. He’d plundered the garden, used the fence posts for toothpicks, and ripped up the oak for a parasol.

  Joe’s wandering gaze stopped at the half-finished barn. "What happened here?"

  "A twister." Mariah closed her eyes and shuddered. "It was awful. We hid in the root cellar."

  He whistled. "All this damage and the house still stands?"

  Mariah nodded. "The inn shook above our heads like a wet dog, but it held together."

  Smiling, Joe took in the old house from the eaves to the foundation. "She’s faced down worse in her time."

  He patted the railing on the new porch. "Nice job." He glanced at Red Hair scaling the barn like a nimble goat. "His doing?"

  Mariah nodded. "Tiller made all the improvements to the inn." She slid her fingers along the smooth wood with the pride of a mother caressing her child. "He built this porch in two days."

  Joe stuck out his jaw. "I thought you planned to quench my thirst."

  She swept past him to the back door. "Right this way, and I’ll pour you that lemonade I promised. You must be starving, too."

  Grumbling, he followed her through the kitchen door. Tossing his wide-brimmed hat at the rack, he glanced across the hall. An ugly white stain marred the hardwood floor where the dining room had taken in water. The curtain rod hung by a loose nail, and the drapes were missing. More damage from the twister, no doubt. Thankfully, the kitchen, with the broad behind bending over the stove, was just as he remembered. "Woman, you haven’t changed a bit."

  Viola glanced around then sprang up and slammed the oven door. "Joe Brashears. You old rascal." She scurried toward him, wiping her hands on her skirt.

  Joe braced for her smothering hug.

  "How are you, Joe?"

  He’d given up on her calling him anything else. "It’s been awhile."

  Viola released him, just barely, her painted lips stretched in a smile. "If you’re not the last person I expected to see in my kitchen …" She pulled out a chair. "Here, sit down. Let me fix you something to eat."

  Mariah hurried for the pitcher. "He’s more thirsty than hungry, Miss Vee."

  Joe shifted the weight of his pack. "Right now, I’d like to put this down somewhere." He glanced toward the hall. "Is my room empty?"

  Mariah paused, the lemonade she poured slowed to a drip. "I’m afraid it’s taken." Her eyes flashed a warning at Viola, but it came too late.

  "That’s Tiller’s room now," Viola said. "It has been since he got here. I doubt you could blast him out with a scattergun."

  The best plan Joe had heard all day. Scowling, he dropped the heavy pack with a thud. "I always take that room."

  Mariah finished filling his glass with shaky hands. "But Uncle," she said with a nervous laugh, "we didn’t know you were coming."

  "You do now. Tiller can move."

  "Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair, would it? He’s all settled, and—"

  "I have an idea," Viola interrupted. "We’ll move young Tiller upstairs to your father’s bedroom, Mariah." She shot the girl a look Joe couldn’t read. "You know … the one right across the hall from yours."

  Handing her wide-eyed uncle his drink, Mariah bit back a smile. "What a wonderful idea, Miss Vee. After all, it’s the largest room in the house, and a big man like Tiller McRae needs room to stretch his legs."

  Uncle Nukowa cleared his throat. "On second thought, there’s no reason for the boy to move his things." He set the glass on the table, grabbed his pack, and started up the kitchen stairs. "If John’s room is empty, I’ll take it."

  Miss Vee winked at Mariah. "Get washed up, Joe. I’ll have you something fixed to eat before you can say …"

  His footsteps faded up the stairs.

  "Bamboozled," she whispered.

  They fell against each other laughing.

  "What’s he doing here?" Miss Vee asked.

  "Do you need to ask? I’m surprised he’s not in war paint."

  Miss Vee’s hands fisted at her waist. "Joe needn’t think he can start badgering John the minute he returns. I won’t have it, you hear me? I just won’t."

  Mariah released a weary breath. "Let’s not borrow trouble, dear. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’"

  Miss Vee sniffed. "Now you sound like Otis."

  "Speaking of Otis, where is he?"

  Since the storm, Mariah’s terror of the little man had eased. She avoided being alone with him, but otherwise things had returned to normal.

  Otis had started to venture out of his room more often, always supported by Tiller’s ready arms, but he still had a way to go toward regaining his strength.

  "Last I saw, he was napping. He sleeps more than a newborn babe."

  "I suppose he’s still recovering." Mariah glanced toward the stairs. "I need to explain Otis to my uncle before he trips over him in the parlor in his union suit."

  Miss Vee’s laugh came out a snort. "Especially since the poor thing can’t keep his flap fastened."

  They giggled together like naughty children.

  Sobering, Miss Vee tied on her apron and opened the pantry. "Now then, what am I going to feed Joe? I’ve never seen the larder so bare."

  Mariah grinned. "It won’t be empty for long. Tiller’s taking me to town to buy supplies."

  Her casual announcement caught Miss Vee’s attention. "Granted, you and Tiller are a handsome pair, but I doubt the merchants will trade your looks for goods. How do you plan to pay for these supplies?"

  With a saucy wink, Mariah jiggled the pocket of her skirt, letting the coins clink together.

  Miss Vee’s eyebrows soared. "I know the sound of money when I hear it. Where’d you get those coins?"

  "Isn’t it wonderful?" Mariah kissed her cheek. "Tiller’s been selling tr
ees downed by the storm. He surprised me with a handful of gold."

  Miss Vee clasped her hands toward the ceiling. "Hallelujah! Our troubles are over. I knew that boy was a blessing in disguise."

  Mariah longed to share the rest of the morning’s good news, but with Uncle Nukowa around, she didn’t dare trust Miss Vee to keep it quiet.

  "I can hardly wait to get to town and fill the pantry." She parted the kitchen blinds, searching the roof of the barn for Tiller. "Where is that man? We need to be on the road. It’s getting late."

  Miss Vee shooed her with her hands. "Go roust him, honey. The sooner you leave, the quicker you’ll get back."

  Mariah hurried to the back door. "Prepare a list of all we need. I’ll tell Tiller to hitch up Sheki and pull the wagon around."

  "Where are we going?"

  Her startled gaze jumped to Uncle Nukowa on the stairs. He had washed the gray film of grime from his face and loosened the cords that held his long braids. Gleaming hair draped his shoulders, still as black as when ten-year-old Mariah dogged the heels of her handsome young uncle, learning to hunt, fish, and trap on their Mississippi land. Watching his stern, rigid face, it seemed a long time ago.

  "It’s just a supply run, sir. We’ll be back tonight."

  "We?" He reached the bottom landing, his face drawn to a pucker. "Do you mean you and that … Tiller?"

  She nodded.

  He raised a staying hand. "I don’t think so. It’s a long drive, and you’ve waited too late to strike out. We’ll go tomorrow."

  Mariah shifted her weight impatiently. "But Uncle, we’re out of supplies. I don’t have eggs or meat for breakfast."

  He shot her a warning glare. "A matter you should’ve already tended. It’s settled. We go in the morning."

  To defend herself would mean revealing more than she intended about the inn’s waning business. He didn’t need more ammunition in his war to make her leave.

  She raised her lashes to peek at him. "We, Uncle?"

  "It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Canton." He picked up his empty glass and strolled casually to the waiting pitcher. "Now then, Viola. Where’s this fine meal you promised?"

  TWENTY-SIX