Bandit's Hope (38 page)

Tiller ran up and caught his arm. "What are you up to?"

Nate winked. "Watch and learn." Pulling free, he nodded toward camp. "Go fetch my corks and bring an extra hook for yourself. We need to land a few catfish and get them frying before the old man wakes up again."

After rounding up Tobias and a few able-bodied men, Joe led the party down the Trace toward Jackson. The plowed soil, churned up by pounding hooves, left no doubt which way the fleeing men had gone. They’d burned a path into the rain-soaked dirt for several miles before slowing to a walk. A few yards later, their tracks faded into higher ground and disappeared.

Before Joe could dismount, the red-haired woman, as small and spry as a boy, slid off her horse and scrambled up the grassy knoll. After a spell, she trudged into view at the top of the rise and pointed behind her. "They came up here then veered off downriver."

Joe caught her horse’s reins, and the riders climbed the sloping earth wall that bordered the sunken road, cut out by years of rolling wheels, plodding hooves, and determined shoe leather.

Hooper nudged up the brim of his hat. "They wouldn’t go much farther without resting the horses. Not after riding them so hard."

Watching Hooper’s calm, determined face, Joe saw a man of power, a leader of men. He sensed in him the same strength he couldn’t deny in Tiller McRae.

Joe nodded. "Keep watch for signs of a camp along the bank. They’ll be long gone by now, but we’ll be able to pick up their trail from there." He twisted in the saddle and repeated the charge in Choctaw.

"Hoop, what if the old man and Joe’s niece are wrong about Tiller?" Wyatt asked, his throat working. "From what she said, Nathan’s in tight with this gang. We could be walking into a gunfight with our own kin."

Hooper wound his reins around his hand. "Once they know it’s us, I doubt they’ll take a shot." His jaw shifted. "If they do, we’ll get out of Joe’s way and let his men settle their hash."

Respect for Hooper surged in Joe’s chest. The dark-eyed man’s spirit was indeed strong and good. "I make you this promise," Joe said. "My men won’t harm Tiller unless he strikes first."

"And Nathan?"

Joe raised his chin. "We’ll fire if we’re fired on. Not before."

Hooper nudged his horse closer and held out his hand. "Thank you, Joe. I couldn’t ask for more."

The skillet sizzled over the fire, and the smell of seared catfish hung in the air. Nathan boiled a hunk of venison jerky in water from his canteen, stewing up a savory broth. Flicking weevils from sheets of hardtack, he busted them up in the broth and left it to thicken.

Tiller peeled and roasted the chicory he’d dug earlier, and Nathan brewed a fresh pot of coffee. For the first time since they’d fled the house, Tiller realized his belly was empty.

Fingering the tin plates Nathan kept in his pack, he leaned to peer into the pan. "Is the grub almost ready?"

"Just about." Grinning, Nathan lifted the biggest fish from the grease. "Hand me your shingle. I know it’s hard for you to wait."

Hade sat up moaning and briskly rubbing his face. "I smell food."

Nathan glanced behind him. "Almost ready, boss."

Hade gazed around with a blank look until deep furrows marred his brow. "What time is it, Nathan? Why the devil didn’t you wake me?"

"Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine," Nate said. "You woke up in a fine pucker."

"Why are you boys hanging around here? There ain’t near enough road stretched between us and that blasted inn." Grunting, he struggled to his feet. "You hear me, Sonny? Get this mess cleared up, and you plug-uglies break camp. It’s time to get a move on."

Nate went on stirring the hardtack slop. "Load your plate first, Sonny. We eat before we do anything else."

Sonny stood, his hesitant gaze jumping from Nathan to Hade.

Hade stalked to the fire, nervously working his fingers. "I’m telling you, we need to pull foot. Tiller’s spunky little innkeeper will have the law on our tails."

Nathan laughed. "She won’t turn in our boy. Didn’t you see the way she looked at him? The little lady is well smitten after a taste of Tiller’s charm."

"Nate’s right," Sonny said, dishing up his grub. "Tiller must’ve poured it on thick."

Tiller’s hands tensed until his plate shook. Forcing himself to relax, he squatted in front of the fire. "Don’t worry." He turned steady eyes on Hade. "Mariah won’t turn me in."

Hade snorted. "I wouldn’t be so sure, pretty boy. You know what they say about a scorned woman."

"’Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury, like a woman scorned.’"

Their heads swiveled to Sonny.

Fried fish clutched in his dirty hand and grease smearing his cheeks, he blinked. "What? You think I got no culture?"

Hade shook a warning finger at Nate. "Eat up then, but make it quick. If we get set on by the law, I’ll row you up salt crick." Filling his tin plate to overflowing, Hade settled against the tree to grumble and eat.

Nathan showed no fear of Hade rowing him up a creek. By the time Hade put away his usual three helpings, his bulging gut would be too heavy to give chase, much less give anyone a beating.

Tiller raised his brows at Nathan. His answering smile meant his scheme, whatever it was, must have been going according to plan.

FORTY-THREE

M
ariah walked Miss Vee to her room and tucked her in bed, plumping the crocheted pillows at her back. Sitting in a chair beside her grief-stricken friend, Mariah held her hand while they shared memories of the man who was father to one, cherished love of the other.

At last, Miss Vee slept. Her every shudder, every hitching breath laid the finger of blame on Mariah’s aching heart. Unable to bear another minute, she slipped from the room and closed the door.

Downstairs, she had Rainy fetch meat from the smokehouse and gave instructions to Dicey about preparing lunch, though she wondered who would have the stomach to eat. The thought of food put sawdust in her mouth, and she doubted Miss Vee would touch a bite.

And with Tiller gone—

The sound of his name in her head shot pulsing waves of pain to her chest. With Tiller gone, the house would go on feeling empty, the food tasteless, her once cheery table a soulless place.

Losing Father had robbed her of the ties to her past. Losing Tiller would mean the loss of her future, a loss she couldn’t bear.

She pushed onto the back porch, his spirit rising from every board and nail. Sitting on the top step, she ran her hands along the smooth cedar rail.

How blind they’d been in their innocence. Blissful, content, falling deeply in love—unaware of disaster approaching from three different directions.

Hooper McRae from the east, coming to cart Tiller home to Scuffletown.

Uncle Joe from the west, intent to carry Mariah away, over his shoulder if need be.

Hade Betts and his gang from out of nowhere, determined to lure Tiller back to their degrading lifestyle.

Angry, she brought her clenched fist down on the porch. "Why couldn’t they all just leave us in peace?"

"Life seldom works that way, little missy."

She raised her head. "I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there."

Otis ambled to the porch, wiping his hands on his baggy britches. "Just washing up at the pump." He glanced heavenward. "One of God’s greatest gifts is water. Did you ever consider what a stinking lot we’d be without it?"

Mariah tucked her chin at the mention of the God she’d sorely neglected. "I thought you were resting. What are you doing outside?"

He pointed over his shoulder. "I thought I’d lend Rainy a hand in the garden."

"Oh?" She angled her head. "I didn’t know you liked to work the soil."

"You’ll find most men do. There’s nothing more healing to the soul than the promise of new life." Otis patted her hand. "It’s the reason we’re awed by a woman ripe with child." He chuckled. "We can’t pull that off, but we can give birth to a fine crop of tomatoes."

Mariah’s cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t hold back a smile.

He leaned back to study her. "That’s better. I don’t like to see you fret. It paints lines betwixt them pretty eyebrows."

Mariah sniffed. "Lately I’ve had my share of things to fret over. But the most pressing burden I’m relieved to have off my chest." She stole a glance at him. "How did you know? That day in your room, I mean."

He crooked one brow. "You mean your secret?"

Lowering her gaze, she nodded.

"Well, I didn’t really know, did I? God gave me just enough to get His message across." He laughed. "If I’d known the particulars, I may have turned you over my knee."

Mariah covered her face with her hands. "I’m so ashamed. I don’t suppose I’ll ever forgive myself."

With palsied fingers, Otis lifted her chin. "It starts with asking God’s forgiveness."

She shook her head. "Oh, I couldn’t. I can’t even find the words."

"Well, that’s different." Otis withdrew his hand. "Sorry, gal. I mistook you for one of His."

Her head whipped around. "But I—I am. At least I was."

"Was?" He quirked his brow. "The Book says, ‘I have loved thee with an everlasting love.’"

Mariah braced her forehead with her palms. "Otis, I ache for God’s pardon. For everyone’s."

"What are you waiting for? God says to fess up then bet on Him to forgive. He goes the extra mile and washes us clean." He nudged her with his shoulder. "Why are you making it harder than He did?"

Tears squeezed between her tight lashes.

Otis pulled her close. "Oh, lamb. Why is it easier to accept mercy from your uncle and Miss Vee when God loves you most of all?"

She wiped her nose. "I don’t feel worthy."

"None of us are. Don’t you see?" He took her hands and peered into her eyes. "Godly sorrow pleases Him because it leads to repenting. Condemning yourself does just the opposite."

She nodded. "I think I understand."

"Good." He stood and hitched up his pants. "I’ll leave you alone so you and God can have a little talk."

Mariah stretched out her hand. "Before you go, I have to ask you something."

"Anything, child."

She searched his gentle eyes. "Will Tiller be all right? Will he come back to us?"

A shadow crossed his face. "I can’t see the future, honey. But I can tell you one thing—Tiller left here fully intent on coming home."

At the door, he turned. "While you’re talking to God, ask Him to be a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense to those disobedient men for Tiller’s sake."

Hade lounged across the fire from Tiller, shoveling hardtack mush in his mouth with a wide spoon. After two helpings, he laid aside his plate and pulled the pan off the fire to wolf down the rest.

Sonny tried to elbow in next to him for a share, but Hade turned aside, growling like a dog on a bone. "This here’s fine mush, Nathan," he said with bulging cheeks. "Best you ever made."

"You ought to share, Hade," Sonny whined. "I’m still hungry."

He tossed the empty pan at Sonny’s feet. "Here, I’ll share the washing up. Take that down to the river and rinse it out before I beat you to a jelly."

Sonny bent to grab the handle. "Aw, Hade. That ain’t no way to do."