Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  A warm, trembling hand touched his shoulder. "You can’t."

  Embarrassed by his swimming eyes, Tiller shot Otis a troubled frown. "Then what’s the use?"

  "That’s what I’m trying to tell you, boy. None of us have the power to make things right again." His face glowing, he pointed to the sky. "But He can."

  The emptiness inside Tiller couldn’t be denied a second longer. Guilt weighed him to his knees. "Please, Otis. Tell me what I need to do."

  Gnarled fingers rested on Tiller’s head. "You just made a good start, son. Repeat this prayer after me, and I’ll lead you on home."

  Otis’s gentle voice overhead, thick with unshed tears, washed over Tiller in waves like warm molasses, the graceful ebb and flow pulling out the years of lonely heartbreak, rushing in with tides of peace.

  When they finished praying, Otis hugged him. "You’ll never regret this decision."

  Patting his bony back, Tiller withdrew and smiled. "I don’t see how I could." He chuckled, deep and free, unlike any laugh he’d had before. "I feel different."

  "Because you are." Otis gave a satisfied nod. "That just proves it took."

  They beamed at each other like carefree boys trading secrets.

  Otis tugged on his arm. "Get up from there before the cold seeps into your bones."

  Tiller returned to his chair, wiping tears on his sleeve. "I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you."

  "Don’t talk foolish. After all you’ve done for me?"

  "This doesn’t come close to anything I’ve done, and you know it." Tiller stared in the distance. "I suppose I’ll always think of you as a father of sorts." He lifted one brow. "I hope you don’t mind."

  "Mind?" Tears tracked his ruddy cheeks, but he grinned. "I’m honored to know you feel that way." He winked. "But I’m more like a grandfather, don’t you think? On account of I’m older than thunder."

  Tiller patted his knee. "You’re not so old."

  Otis snorted. "You must need a pair of spectacles." Scooting to the end of his seat, he held out his arm for Tiller to grasp. "Take me inside before I rust."

  Hauling Otis to his feet, Tiller took one last look around. Whether from the haze of recent tears or the freedom of a burden lifted, the front yard blazed with brilliant color. The grass was greener. The roses redder. Patches of sky peered through the ivy-covered trellis, as clear and blue as a newborn’s eyes.

  "One more thing," Otis said before Tiller opened the door. "You’ll need a Bible so you can study on the scriptures." He scratched his head. "I’d give you mine, but it was in my pack when those mangy scoundrels stole it."

  Tiller’s heart sank, but not with the sickening thud of before. He felt certain God had removed the terrible deed from his account, but if it took the rest of his days, he’d make it up to Otis. "Don’t worry," Tiller said. "Next time I’m in town, I’ll get us both new ones." He guided Otis inside the house.

  Men’s voices and heavy-booted footsteps sounded from the dining room, along with the smell of serious cooking.

  Otis stared down the hall. "Sounds like Mariah has a passel of new guests. I didn’t see them come in off the road, did you?"

  Tiller frowned and shook his head. "I suppose they came downriver. I’d best get you settled and go lend the women a hand."

  Plopping on the side of his bed, Otis grinned. "We stayed outside longer than I thought if it’s already lunchtime." He lifted his finger. "But I ain’t complaining."

  Patting his stomach, Tiller smiled. "That makes two of us."

  When he reached the door, Otis called his name. "Tiller, little missy’s better acquainted with God than you were before this morning, only she’s lost her way." Lying back on his fresh-plumped pillows, his eyes twinkled. "But don’t you worry. He’ll reel her in before long."

  The details were sketchy, but it was the reassurance Tiller needed. After the morning’s encounter with God, it was enough.

  He saluted and Otis returned it.

  "I’ll go see if I can hurry those vittles."

  Otis raised his thumb. "Now you’re talking."

  Smiling, Tiller strolled toward the back of the house whistling a merry tune. He didn’t see how life could get much better. Following the lively voices of men enjoying good food and better company, he turned the corner into the dining room—and rocked back on his heels.

  The mocking eyes of Nathan Carter, Sonny Thompson, and Hade Betts lifted to greet him, mischief in their depths.

  Nailed to the spot, Tiller stared, his blissful joy paled to hopeless loss.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The sudden stillness in the room brought Mariah’s head up from the bowl of mashed potatoes in her hand.

  A whitewashed version of Tiller slumped in the doorway, his bottom jaw unhinged.

  "Tiller?"

  His wide eyes darted to her.

  "Won’t you greet our guests?"

  The youngest of the three men stood quickly and offered his hand. "How-do, sir. I’m Nathan Carter." His friendly smile lit up a handsome face. With his swarthy complexion and dark hair, he looked to be Indian, though not from a local tribe. "Did she say your name’s Tiller?"

  Tiller nodded dumbly.

  The other two beamed up at them. Nathan introduced them by turn. "That skinny, ugly soul to your left is Sonny Thompson."

  Sonny’s smile revealed a gap in his front teeth. "Nice to know you, Tiller."

  "And the old man to my right is Hade Betts."

  Mr. Betts stretched his arm past Nathan. "I can’t tell you how pleased."

  Prying himself from the wall that seemed to hold him up, Tiller allowed Mr. Betts to shake his limp hand, but he didn’t seem to put much effort into it. Wiping his palm on his pants leg, Tiller lifted his vacant stare to Mariah. "I’ll just"—he hooked his thumb—"go on out and take care of their horses."

  Mariah frowned. What had him in such a state? "Rainy’s tending them." She bugged her eyes. "Like he always does. Are you all right?" She shared a quick smile with Mr. Betts. "I apologize for Tiller. He’s not himself today."

  "We can see that, Miss Bell." He winked at Tiller. "Your boy seems a little tongue-tied."

  "He sure does," Sonny said, his dancing gaze bouncing from Tiller to Mr. Betts. "He always like this?"

  Mariah tensed. The rude men seemed to be making fun of him. None too gently, she plopped a spoonful of potatoes on Sonny’s plate and picked up the carving knife. "Care for more beef, Mr. Thompson?"

  Swallowing his simpering grin, he sat back in his chair and shook his head.

  Glancing up, Mariah found Tiller gone. His behavior, so unlike him, churned her stomach. The way she’d treated him for the past week, his sullen mood had to be her fault.

  "Enjoy your meal, gentlemen," she said, untying her apron. "Miss Viola will be in soon with your dessert."

  "Where’d Tiller fly off to?" Miss Vee asked, meeting her at the doorway.

  Mariah handed her the apron. "Have Dicey bring in the apple pie, Miss Vee. I’ll be right back."

  "You’re leaving me, too?"

  Out the door so fast it slammed behind her, Mariah scurried across the yard.

  Tiller paced the barn. Sheki, hoping for a treat, followed with his head each time Tiller passed the stall.

  Rainy glanced up from brushing down Hade’s bay. "Mista’ Tilla’, you’re bound to hit water soon in that ditch you’re digging. You got something peckin’ at you?"

  The barn door squealed open.

  Tiller’s breath caught at the sight of Mariah. What did she know? How much had the blackguards told her?

  "I thought I’d find you here." She pulled the door shut and hurried toward him.

  He lifted his chin at Rainy.

  Glancing at the boy, she slowed her steps. "Rainy, leave that for now, please. I need to have a private word with Mr. Tiller."

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Rainy pushed the stall open with one shoulder, hiding his grin with the other. He ducked out the door whistling the tune his little b
rother had sung the first time Tiller laid eyes on them. A lively song about a coming gospel train rumbling through the land.

  Tiller’s heart squeezed. Something was rumbling toward him all right, and it wasn’t the gospel train. Weak in the knees, he felt powerless to stop it.

  Mariah’s chin shot up. "What happened to you in there?"

  She didn’t know. Not yet, at least. He shrugged and leaned against Sheki’s stall. "I don’t like the look of that bunch around the table."

  She frowned. "I’ll admit they’re rude and uncouth, but we’ve seen worse, I assure you."

  Tiller longed to grab her shoulders and shake her, tell her she’d never seen the likes of Hade Betts. He wanted her to promise to watch her back every second the men were in the house. Since he could do no such thing, he vowed to watch her every second himself. Until he found out the purpose of Hade’s deceitful game, he’d guard his own back fairly close, too. "Did they pay up front?"

  "Of course."

  "How many days?"

  "Two, but Mr. Betts said they might stay longer." She caught his arm. "What’s this about? I’ve never seen you this way."

  "Don’t trust them, Mariah. I’ve got a bad feeling."

  She smiled. "Now you sound like Otis. They’re just guests, Tiller. In a few days they’ll be moving on."

  He drew a deep breath. "Let’s hope it’s a short visit."

  Mariah took a step closer. "Are you sure that’s what’s bothering you? I sense you’re angry with me." She reached to finger a button on his shirt. "I’ve only acted the way I have because I had to. But you should know—"

  Tiller brushed her hand away and stepped back.

  Pain glazed her eyes until Joe’s voice growled behind her. "Mariah, come inside. The guests are fed; now it’s time to feed me."

  "Coming, Uncle." She whirled away, slipping past Joe at the door.

  He glared a warning at Tiller.

  Smiling brightly, Tiller raised his chin and winked. "Save me some mashed potatoes, Uncle Joe."

  His craggy face stiff with rage, Joe spun on his heel and followed Mariah.

  Sheki bobbed his head, and Tiller laughed and patted his neck. "You liked that, didn’t you, boy? I really put the old man in his place." The thing was he shouldn’t have. Mariah wouldn’t approve, especially after Joe had just caught them together.

  Tiller’s desperate sense of swimming upstream had returned. Now with Hade and Nathan showing up …

  He smoothed his hand along the horse’s soft muzzle. "Ah, Sheki. I can’t just give up and run. She’s too important."

  "Well, well."

  Tiller’s head swiveled to watch Nathan saunter toward him.

  "You’re slipping, Tiller boy. With that pretty little thing in the house, you’re out here snuggled up to a horse?"

  Tiller nodded toward the river. "That was you the other day, wasn’t it? Across the Pearl."

  Nathan grinned and snapped a salute. "That hair of yours stuck out like a red flag atop this roof."

  Dread knotting his stomach, Tiller leaned against the stall while Hade and Sonny strolled up behind Nathan.

  Sonny ran up and slapped his arm, a huge grin on his face. "I knew we’d find you! Mississippi ain’t big enough to hide you from us."

  Tiller scowled. "Keep your voice down."

  Hade watched him with admiration shining in his eyes. "This is some arrangement you fell into. What’s your angle?"

  "There’s no angle. Just taking some time away."

  Hade sneered. "Come on, now. This is old Hade you’re talking to. If you want to keep the profits to yourself, go ahead, but at least fill us in."

  Nathan spat in the straw at his feet. "I think it’s the girl."

  "Whooee!" Sonny cried. "She sure is a looker."

  "Nah." A lewd smile curled Hade’s lips. "Tiller has his pick of the gals. There’s something else he’s after."

  Forcing himself to relax, Tiller crossed his ankles. "More to the point, what are you boys after? What’s the reason for pretending you don’t know me?"

  With a rowdy laugh, Hade slapped him on the back. "Just having a little fun with you. Besides, we’re not here to throw a polecat at your picnic." He tightened his arm around Tiller’s neck. "We were starting to miss having you around is all."

  Sonny sniffed and hauled up his pants. "Hadn’t been the same in camp without you and your stories. I suppose you’ve missed us, too. Ain’t that right, Tiller?"

  "After all," Hade continued, "I’ve been like a daddy to you." He reached for Nathan, pulling him into a clumsy three-way hug. "And old Nate has been like your elder brother." He gave them both hearty pats on the back. "I reckon we’ve been the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family."

  No doubt about it. Hade was up to something.

  It didn’t take long to flush it out. "I don’t mean to sound impatient"—he bumped heads with Tiller—"but how long will it take you to fleece this lamb and come home to our loving arms?"

  A rock in the pit of his stomach, Tiller laughed softly and casually drew away. "What if I said I may not be coming back?"

  Hade’s gleeful eyes hardened to glassy stones. "Well, that won’t do, will it?" His fatherly grip became a vise around Tiller’s neck. "Not by a jugful. I’ve lost a lot of revenue since you left, McRae." His rattled exhalation, reeking of roast beef and raw onion, warmed Tiller’s cheek. "An unfortunate turn I’m willing to forgive if you’ll stop all this foolishness and come back to the camp."

  Struggling to stay calm, Tiller steadied his voice. "How have I cost you money?"

  Hade gave a breathy laugh. "Look around at these ugly mugs. Would you stop on the road to have a friendly chat with one of us?"

  Tiller tightened his jaw. "I’d start shooting and ask questions later."

  Loosening his hold, Hade chuckled. "Then you see my problem." He gripped Tiller’s chin and shook it. "This pretty-boy face is worth a gold mine."

  Nathan, quiet until now, moved closer to the stall. Smoothing Sheki’s mane, he cleared his throat. "Look, Hade … if Tiller wants out, there’s really no way to make him stay. He’ll just hang up the fiddle again, first chance he gets." He glanced over his shoulder. "Besides, it ain’t smart to place all our bets on one man." He grinned at Tiller. "Little brother here won’t always be good-looking."

  Hade frowned. "So, I should just let our meal ticket walk out?" He shook his head. "No sir."

  Nate drew himself up and strutted a few paces. "I’ve been doing some pondering. I think it’s time we found us a new game. The word’s out on the Trace. Folks are leery. Trigger-happy."

  He turned. "If we’re going to risk getting filled with lead, it’s time we thought bigger." His eyes glowed. "Richer."

  Hade joined him near Sheki. "Keep talking."

  "Boss, I’m thinking banks … trains. Real jobs yielding big money."

  Sonny’s eyes bugged. "Like the James brothers?"

  Nathan pointed. "Exactly like the James brothers."

  Tiller frowned. "May I remind you that Jesse was shot dead two months ago?"

  Greedily rubbing his chin, Hade ignored him. "I think this merits more discussion. How about we grab a cup of coffee and meet around the fire in the parlor to draw up some plans."

  Sonny rubbed his stomach. "I’m hankering for another piece of that fine apple pie."

  Nathan nodded at the door. "You two go on but save me a slice. I’ll be right along."

  Tiller drew a deep cleansing breath as Hade and Sonny left the barn. His heart filled with warmth for Nathan, and he shot him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Nate."

  Nathan waved him off. "Nothing to it."

  "Why’d you step out like that for me?"

  Nate glanced up, his eyes shimmering in the dim light. "I suppose I’m trying to make amends for how I’ve messed up your life." He offered a wry laugh. "Including telling Hade where I found you."

  "Then why did you?"

  Nathan crossed to where Tiller stood and chucked him on the chin. "I lo
oked for you because I missed you. I wanted you riding with us again. You’re the only family I have left."

  "And now you’ve changed your mind?"

  "You changed it for me. When I saw you, saw the way that pretty gal looks at you, I knew you were happy."

  They shared a long look; then Tiller grinned and swatted his arm. "I’ll miss you, pardner."

  "Not for long. I’ll be stopping by."

  Tiller frowned. "Unless you find yourself chained to Hade and Sonny on a Mississippi prison farm. Or worse, wind up like Jesse James."

  He gripped Nathan’s arm. "Stay here, Nate. Mariah won’t mind, and we could use the extra hands."

  Nathan gazed around the barn. "Trade my carefree life on the road for this?" He shook his head. "Tilling soil and pitching hay won’t cut it for me, I’m afraid."

  Staring at his feet, Tiller nodded. "Be careful, won’t you?"

  Nathan flicked the brim of Tiller’s hat—his until Tiller snatched it from his head the day he left. "Nice headgear. Keep it free of holes, won’t you?" At the door, he turned. "I’ll try to get those two to leave as soon as possible. Until then, keep a close watch on them."

  Tiller nodded. "You can count on it."

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Hade, Sonny, and Nathan huddled around the settee hatching dastardly schemes until suppertime. Pretty worked up about their new plans, they gobbled Mariah’s soup and corn cakes like pigs on slop and hustled right back to the parlor.

  Tiller loathed knowing the gang was sowing the seeds of a crime spree around Mariah’s cozy hearth, but if it took them away from the inn, he’d have to live with it for now.

  His heart soared at how God had used Nathan to rescue him from Hade’s clutches. He longed to do the same for Nate, but one man couldn’t force his viewpoint on another. The life Tiller found empty and degrading, Nate’s reckless nature seemed to feed on. Tiller would chose pitching hay over robbing banks any day.

  Seated at the kitchen table playing a game of Dr. Busby with Mariah and Miss Vee, he tried not to focus on the excited voices floating down the hall. Thankfully, Otis slept like the dead, but he prayed the ruckus wouldn’t disturb him. The last thing he needed was Otis awake, itching to socialize with the new guests.