Bandit's Hope (34 page)

Hade slouched in his chair, puffing his cigar through a delighted smirk.

Sonny’s gaze darted around the room like a child with a secret.

Nathan, defeat sagging his face, sat on the edge of the couch twiddling his thumbs.

"Well, now," Hade said. "Who would’ve thought a dump like this would pull in that kind of dough?"

Sonny giggled like a girl. "I reckon Tiller knew. Ain’t that right, Tiller boy?"

Hade leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees, flicking a long white ash on Mariah’s rug. "In light of this new development, I’ll have to change my mind about the hardship your mutiny caused the gang." His steely gazed fixed on Tiller. "It’s time to pony up. I’d say a sixty-forty split in my favor is more than reasonable."

Tiller’s chest heaved. "I don’t intend to take any of that money."

"Suit yourself." Glancing from Nate to Sonny, Hade breathed a throaty laugh. "I have no problem with taking it all."

Tiller balled his fists and made a move toward the safe. Nathan leaped up to block him. "Don’t be stupid, Tiller," he warned, his voice laden with gloom. "Go to bed. By morning, we’ll be out of your hair for good."

Tiller shoved closer to Hade, but Nate held him.

"Better listen to big brother," Hade growled. "That is if you want to see morning." He lifted his chin toward the top of the stairs. "More to the point, if you want your friends to wake up tomorrow."

Tiller backed across the threshold into the hall, his eyes flashing a warning. Storming to his room, he swore under his breath that Hade Betts would steal Mariah’s money over his cold, dead corpse.

THIRTY-EIGHT

M
ariah’s eyes shot open. Raising her head from her pillow, she stared over her shoulder into the pitch darkness of the room, listening.

The house had been silent for hours, her guests all tucked into bed. Now a muffled ruckus drifted to her from downstairs.

She swung her legs over the side and quietly lowered her feet. Easing the door open, she crept down the hall in her nightgown to peer over the banister.

Her heart surged. Harsh whispers quarreled, and tall shadows danced a jerky waltz on the parlor walls.

Passing by her room, she paused long enough to lift her wrap from the hook by the door. Grateful that Tiller had fixed the squeaky boards, she slipped across the hall to Father’s room.

His scent overcame her as she entered. Standing dazed, she realized she hadn’t been inside the room since the morning she carried out his feeble body. The ache in her chest was crippling, but she lingered with the memories anyway, like the tip of a tongue jabbing a sore tooth.

Tears blinding her, she brushed them away. She had no time to surrender to grief. Opening the drawer bedside Father’s bed, she carefully lifted the revolver, the weight a comfort in her hand.

In the hall again, she cocked her ears and heard a thud. Scurrying on tiptoe, she took the back stairwell down to the kitchen, her pounding heart drawn to Tiller. The bottom stair creaked under her weight. Wincing, she made a mental note to have Tiller repair it—if they lived through the night.

Tightening her fingers around the handle, Mariah lifted the gun and skulked to Tiller’s door, pressing her face against the cold wood. She whispered his name and strained to hear him answer.

Afraid the intruders would hear if she called out again, she gripped the knob and turned, stepping warily inside another room she hadn’t visited lately. Here, too, she breathed the familiar scent of a man she loved. The woody, fresh-air scent of Tiller gave her strength.

The sound of his voice spun her around. Tiller argued fiercely in an ugly tone she’d never heard before, but not inside this room.

Her stomach pitched with fear for his safety. Bolting, she dashed for the parlor, one hand cocking the hammer, her finger tensed on the trigger.

Tiller lunged for the bag of coins in Hade’s white-knuckled hand. Hade whirled, and his shoulder collided with Tiller’s jaw. Tiller fell to one knee and blackness threatened.

The haze took him under briefly, but a high-pitched, wavering voice tugged him back to consciousness. "Hold it right there … and I mean you."

Fearing the "you" Mariah threatened could be him, Tiller froze. The way the barrel shook in her hand, she might’ve been aiming at any one of them.

Blinking up at her from the floor, he reached out his hand. "Mariah? Honey, be careful with that thing."

Sonny’s mouth gaped. "Did you just call her honey?" His shocked expression slid into a grin. "Nathan was right. She’s your girl, ain’t she, Tiller boy?" He reached to pull Tiller to his feet. "I reckon she’s the ripsnortin’est gal you ever romanced."

Mariah’s wide-eyed stare packed ice around Tiller’s heart. "You know these men?" Her gaze shifted to her drawstring bag in Hade’s clenched fist. "These are friends of yours?"

Hade leered. "Not just friends, little lady. We’re partners. Tiller here is a member of our gang."

Her aim steadied on Hade. "I don’t believe you."

Shame seeped from Tiller’s pores. "It’s a lie, Mariah." He had to talk fast. She was backing away. "I’m not one of them. Not since I—"

"Hey! What’s going on in here?"

The roomful of people spun to the door.

Otis tottered on the threshold in his nightshirt. "I woke up hankering for a slice of apple pie, but I see I’m missing a party." He spotted Tiller across the room and smiled. "I called out for you, son, but you couldn’t hear me for all the fun you’re having."

His merry eyes lit on Hade, and his smile waned. Leaning forward, he squinted. "Wait a minute, now. I know you, mister." His trembling fingers reached for the wound on his head. "You’re the no-good rascal who bashed in my skull."

His foggy gaze slid to Sonny and Nathan. "You fellas were there, too." He nodded at Nathan. "You rode up the rise chasing—"

He pivoted in his socks, his shaky finger aimed at Tiller. "Chasing you! By Job, I remember it all now. You’re the varmint who left me alone in the hands of these devils."

Mariah’s troubled scowl fixed on Tiller. "You? You’re the men who hurt Otis?"

Otis stared vacantly for several seconds before his face softened. "I won’t hold it agin’ you, Tiller. You were thinking of your little bride." He scratched his chin. "What was her name again?"

Tiller took a step toward him. "No, Otis …"

One finger shot up, and Otis flashed his toothless grin. "Lucinda! Sweet Lucinda with the big doe eyes." The smile died on his lips and confusion took its place. "But that can’t be, can it? Where is she, son? And what are you doing here with little missy? Couldn’t you convince Lucinda’s pa that your wife belongs with you?"

Tiller’s gaze swung to Mariah.

She stood pale and trembling, the big gun dangling at her side. "Your wife?"

Stumbling across the room, Tiller latched onto her arms. "I can explain all of this."

She tried to shrug his hands away, but he held on tight. "Mariah, please."

"You’re hurting me." Her voice was steely-calm, and the fire never left her eyes, but her wince of pain cut him to the core.

Nathan lunged and grabbed his collar. "The jig’s up, Tiller boy. Let’s go."

Tiller’s soul cried out to stay and fight for her. Shame spun him for the door.

Bumping shoulders, they bolted, Hade and Sonny fast on their heels. Like the cowards they were, they tore down the hall and out the back door.

And like ten years before in Scuffletown, Tiller’s traitor feet followed Nathan from the only place he really wanted to be.

Dazed and speechless, Mariah stared at the door. Whatever madness had just come to light, one truth broke through her shock. Tiller was leaving, taking her battered heart with him. If he rode away from Bell’s Inn, she might never see him again, might never understand what he’d done.

Miss Vee appeared on the stairs, tugging her dressing gown around her bosom, her hennaed hair an orange sunburst atop her head. "What the devil’s going on down here?"

His eyes clearer now, Otis toddled to Mariah’s side and touched her arm. "You’re just gonna let him leave?"

"He’s already gone." Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.

Otis shook his head. "They’re still saddling the horses. But you’d best hurry."

With an anguished cry, Mariah dashed out of the parlor and raced for the kitchen door. Tiller said there was an explanation. She wanted to hear it, needed him to deny the ugly things she’d just heard.

Clutching the knob, she yanked, rattling the doors on its hinges. Pounding hooves sped past, kicking up dust and uprooted grass. She sprang off the threshold, but strong arms caught her in midair. "Whoa, not so fast."

"Let go, Uncle," she cried. "I have to catch him."

Uncle Nukowa set her down, his narrowed eyes boring into her. "Not just yet. You have some explaining to do."

She struggled against him. "Please! They’re getting away."

His fisted hand loomed before her face, his raw knuckles blotting out the darkness of the yard. One by one, his fingers opened. Lit by the flickering kitchen light, Mother’s bead necklace slid out in a clicking rush, jerking to a dangling stop from the end of his thumb.

The necklace Mariah last saw when she tucked it under her father’s gravestone.

Stunned, she cut her eyes to him.

Watching her reaction, he nodded slowly then nudged her toward the door. "Go back inside, Mariah. It’s time you start telling the truth."

Tiller rode hard behind Nathan, the rush of wind in his face a harsh reminder. How many times had he fled with the gang, running from the bullet, beating, or noose they deserved?

The unwanted miles stretched between Tiller and Bell’s Inn. With every beat of his heart, he longed for Mariah. The sight of her proud face slack with shock, her eyes brimmed with pain, had broken him. To know he caused it rocked his soul.

His only comfort was the horse galloping beneath him—solid proof that he had every intention of returning. What would Mariah think when she found Sheki gone?

She’d add it to his list of sins and curse him for a soulless devil.

No matter. When he returned with her horse and money, it might be enough to convince her to listen. He’d be praying every second for God to work a miracle in her heart.

How to pry the gold from Hade’s greedy fingers?

Tiller still had to work that part out, but he planned to succeed if he had to loosen those fingers by death.

THIRTY-NINE

U
ncle Joe caught Mariah’s wrist and sat her down hard on a kitchen chair. Standing over her, he swung the jasper pendant strung between the wooden beads like a pendulum past her eyes.

She tried in vain to look away, but they held her mesmerized.

"I found the grave, Mariah."

"Mother’s grave?" She licked her lips. "You’ve always known where she rests."

He slapped the table hard. "Enough! The time for lies is past."

Mariah’s heart dove as Miss Vee hurried in, her face as pale as her white collar. "What’s going on in this house tonight? First that ruckus in the parlor, now this?" She tugged on his arm. "Come away from her. Joe. You’re scaring her to death."

His head swiveled. "That’s an interesting choice of words, Viola, when death is what we’re dealing with."