Bandit's Hope (20 page)

Tiller might not be cozy with the Almighty, but he believed. As a frightened boy in Fayetteville, dodging broomsticks and scratching for crusts of bread, he’d felt God’s sheltering arms many times. Living with a half-crazy mama will get a boy searching for something to believe in.

Rescue came when his ma sent him to Scuffletown to live with Uncle Silas. When Tiller heard he’d be leaving her house, he sensed the hand of God reaching down to pluck him from a terrible fate.

Yet with the rash self-centeredness of a foolish boy, he’d managed to spoil everything. He fell in with a group of unruly youths in Scuffletown and barreled headlong into his own destruction.

The women’s voices pulled his head up from the bobbing fritters and his thoughts from the dreadful past. He shuddered as his mama’s shrill taunts faded to 1871 where they belonged.

"Here are the potatoes," Miss Vee said, handing over a large bowl brimming with thin slices.

Tiller took up the crisp fritters then dropped the potatoes by double handfuls into the iron pot. "It won’t take these long to fry." He nodded toward the men hunched over the platter of fish. "And even less time to eat them." He chuckled. "It might be a good idea to cut the pies. You’ll be dishing them up before long."

Dicey swung around to a smaller table where they’d lined up rows of Mariah’s fresh-baked desserts under a low, shady bough of the oak.

Miss Vee gathered a stack of small plates. "Wait, Dicey. I’ll help."

Mariah seemed wary and fretful. Keeping her distance, she watched him from under her lashes.

He’d said too much. Turned her skittish.

Laying aside his tongs, Tiller turned with a smile, but the reassuring words he planned to say turned bitter in his mouth.

Over her shoulder, Tobias Jones and his nuisance sons strolled toward them with wide grins.

Mariah spun to follow Tiller’s gaze, and her shoulders stiffened.

Tobias reached them first. He took off his battered slouch hat and nodded. "Halito, Mariah. Thank you for inviting us to supper."

A tiny frown gave her away. Mariah had no idea she’d extended an invitation. "You’re always welcome, Tobias." She accepted the hand he offered. "All of you."

Miss Vee scurried over. "My, my. Ain’t this a nice surprise?" A surprise to everyone but her.

Chris slipped up beside Mariah and gently touched her back. "Hello, Flower." His warm eyes and affectionate tone were as familiar as a kiss.

Tiller glared, but basking in Mariah’s answering smile kept the brash boy too busy to notice.

Miss Vee turned a bright smile on Tobias. "I hope you’re hungry."

Beaming, he nodded eagerly.

Wringing a napkin into a knot, Mariah’s anxious gaze flitted between her newest guests and the six boarders.

Tiller guessed what had her jumpy. The meal kept the men too busy to cast more than a few curious glances, but if Tobias and his boys pulled a chair alongside them, it could become a problem.

Tipping his chin, Tiller grinned. "Not much room over there, and it looks like they’ll be busy for a spell. Why don’t we move the kitchen table out to the porch?"

Mariah gripped his arm and whispered her thanks as she passed. "Dicey, you and Rainy drag out the table. Miss Vee, fetch a clean cloth and help with the chairs, please. I’ll see if our fishermen can spare a few pieces of their catch."

Grinning, Tiller handed her a plate and a pair of tongs. "Careful. You may wind up with a few less fingers."

She winked. "Not if I trade them for a slice of my strawberry pie."

With her bright smile and coy glances, it didn’t take her long to charm a heaping plate of food right out from under the beguiled men. Passing Tiller without a backward glance, she handed the plate to Dicey and took Chris’s and Justin’s arms. "I can’t decide which of you I’d rather sit by, so let’s set a place for me in between you, shall we?"

Watching her go, Tiller’s temper flared as hot as the bubbling grease.

TWENTY

M
ariah sat at her dressing table dragging a brush through her hair, her riotous thoughts sure to cost her a night’s sleep.

She scowled at her reflection, seeing Miss Vee’s self-satisfied smile. The meddling woman knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the Jones boys to supper. She figured if Tiller wasn’t enough to distract her away from Gabe, then Chris or Justin might.

Grumbling to herself, Mariah focused her anger on the real conniving female in the room. How could she have played those simpering games—shamelessly flirting with the boys in front of Tiller just to test his reaction? It wasn’t like her to toy with men’s affections. Such behavior was indecent, especially since she planned the shortest engagement ever with another man entirely.

She slammed the brush down hard on the vanity. Why should she feel guilty for engaging in the harmless fun considered normal courting behavior by most Southern girls?

Yet wasn’t that her problem? A Pearl River Indian fighting to save her ancestral land was far from a normal girl.

Besides, Tiller was guilty of toying with her affections, too. Whatever nonsense had gone on between him and Otis, Tiller wasn’t the marrying kind. He had plainly stated the fact down in the kitchen.
"I’m not asking you to marry me, Mariah. I just want to court you a little."

Blast his slippery hide. She needed a sight more than a "little" courting, and she needed it now. In her weakened state, her yearning heart betrayed her. If only Tiller intended to stick around, if he’d make his intentions clear, she could lay aside her fears.

She could lay aside most anything for him.

The admission pained her stomach. Gripping her middle, she rested her flushed cheek on the tabletop, weary from battling her muddled emotions.

"Mariah? Are you all right?"

She raised her head. If she didn’t answer, perhaps Miss Vee would go away and leave her in peace.

The door creaked open, and Miss Vee’s wide eyes peeked around the edge. "I heard a ruckus. Is something wrong in here?"

Mariah sighed and spun toward her. "Nothing’s wrong. Come on in."

Miss Vee entered wearing her faded dressing gown, a tasseled nightcap, and a worried frown. "What on earth was that banging? I could’ve sworn it came from in here."

Mariah slid her brush into the top drawer. "You can see for yourself that I’m fine." She managed a grudging smile. "Go back to bed. You must be worn to a frazzle."

"Who, me?" She blinked. "I’m no worse off than the rest of you. We all worked hard today."

"On the contrary." Mariah lifted one brow. "You took on the added weight of managing my personal life."

Miss Vee’s shoulders slumped. "So you caught me." Shuffling to the bed, she plopped down with a grimace. "I’m not very skilled at trickery, am I?"

"At least have the grace to seem contrite."

She leaned to squeeze Mariah’s knee. "I don’t mean to meddle, honey. Please understand, I feel responsible for you in your father’s absence." Her eyes widened. "What would John say if he came home to find his daughter rubbing cozy shoulders with the likes of Gabriel Tabor?"

"I think Father would find my interest perfectly reasonable. After all, Gabe stands to inherit his father’s plantation one day."

Startled, Mariah realized it hadn’t stung to speak of her father’s homecoming. Did it mean she’d grown callous in her deceit? Or had she pretended so long she’d started to believe it herself?

Disgust flickered in Miss Vee’s eyes. "That’s what this is about? With a man like Tiller McRae pining after you, you’d sell yourself for a patch of Mississippi dirt?" She shook her head. "Minti Bell’s daughter or not, I wouldn’t have believed it in a hundred years." Standing, she gazed at Mariah in disbelief. "It’s possible that what I said earlier is true. I don’t suppose I’ve ever really known you."

Tiller glanced at the ceiling then back at Otis.

Otis stared overhead, his brows raised so high he looked owlish. "That’s a lot of throwing things and slamming doors, even for a couple of women."

Tiller scooted to the edge of his chair. "Should I go see what’s going on up there?"

Otis grinned. "I wouldn’t. You might get your ears handed to you."

They listened together as a set of stomping feet reached the end of the hallway. After a last wall-rattling slam that shook the oil fixture above their heads, silence fell over the house.

The old man blew out a breath. "See what I mean?"

Tiller couldn’t help but chuckle. "For two people whose hearts seem so close-knit, Mariah and Miss Vee go at each other with shocking regularity."

Otis nodded. "Just means they’ve passed up friends and turned into family." His smile dimming, he shivered suddenly and tugged his blanket up around his shoulders.

Tiller helped him tuck the covers around his thin frame then patted his bundled arm. "Sit tight. I’ll throw on another log."

They were into the second week in June, but the weather hadn’t bothered to check the calendar. The days were mild enough that the meager daytime heat didn’t carry into evening, so at night Miss Vee had Rainy bank fires in all the hearths. Otis’s burned all the time.

Before long, the extra wood ignited to a roaring blaze. They sat quietly in the close little room, so warm and cozy Tiller felt drowsy.

The glowing fire wasn’t the only thing that set his heart at ease. Sitting beside the strange little man beneath the quilt soothed Tiller without a word ever passing between them. When they did share long talks, especially when Otis spoke his God-words, Tiller’s heart soared to receive them.

The only blight on their peculiar friendship was the dreadful truth. Tiller’s part in the terrible thing that happened to Otis was a leaden weight around his shoulders.

He sat forward and patted Otis’s arm. "Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get for you tonight?"

Otis shook with laughter. "Not since the last time you asked. Or the time before." He cocked his head. "You ain’t gettin’ befuddled same as me, are you?"

Tiller longed to confess his sins and purge his sore conscience, but a streak of yellow held him back. He forced a grin. "I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable."

Otis sat up in bed. "You know, boy … there is one thing I sure would like, if it’s not too much trouble."

Eager to please, Tiller leaned closer. "Anything at all. Just name your poison."

The rheumy old eyes darted past the foot of the bed. "I’ve been locked inside these four walls for quite a spell. I’d sure like to see what’s outside that door."

Warmth flooded Tiller’s heart. "You know what that means, don’t you?"

Childlike, Otis glanced up and shook his head.

"It shows you’re getting better."

"Sure enough? Well, how about that?"

Tiller slipped one arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up.

Otis swung his feet to the floor and scooted to the edge of the bed.

"Take it slow, now," Tiller warned. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "A little shaky, but I think I can make it … as long as you don’t turn me loose."

"There’s not a chance of that happening. Let’s go."

With a grunt, Otis pushed to his feet. He’d grown so thin and frail, holding him took no more effort than steadying a child.

Tiller guided him across the room and through the door. He paused in the hallway to study Otis’s face. "How are we doing?"

Otis grinned. "Not sure about you, but I’d take kindly to a seat in that nice parlor yonder."

They passed under the archway and made it to the settee in mincing steps. Tiller changed his mind at the last minute and steered him to a set of overstuffed chairs pulled close to the crackling hearth. "How’s this?"

"Fine, son. Just fine."

Otis reached for the padded arm, and Tiller eased him down. "Can I get you anything?" He wished he knew how to make Miss Vee’s foamy white tea. "A cup of coffee or a slice of pie?"

His movements a bit wobbly, Otis leaned to pat the opposite chair. "I just need you to sit right here beside me."

Tiller slid dutifully into the seat.

With a contented sigh, Otis nestled into the soft, tufted fabric. He sat quietly for so long, his mouth ajar, he appeared to have fallen asleep.

The heat from the blazing flames toasted Tiller’s arms and face. Before long, his own eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted in a pleasing fog. Resting against the pillowed headrest, he thought to doze awhile himself.

"She needs you, boy."

Tiller startled awake at the voice. He spun his head toward Otis, certain he’d dreamed the grim words.

Firelight danced in Otis’s eyes. "Mariah’s in a frightful mess." He shook his head, the weight of sadness sagging his cheeks.

Terrified, Tiller’s breath stilled while he waited for Otis’s God-words about the woman he loved.

"The Lord didn’t tell me." The old man pointed up the stairs. "I got this from the little missy herself."

Swallowing hard, Tiller nodded. "She told you something?"

"Not in words." Otis leaned to prop his chin, his thoughtful gaze fixed on the floor. "We were having a little talk. I gave her a message from God about some secret she’s keeping, and well … it hit her hard." He glanced at Tiller. "Poor girl jumped like she’d stepped on a darning needle. Nearly shook her right out of her skin."