Bandit's Hope (41 page)

Miss Vee pushed her to arm’s length. "We’ll lay aside our grief and all regret for now. John Coffee wouldn’t have it any other way."

Wiping her eyes, Mariah beamed. "To quote Otis, ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.’"

"Amen!" Miss Vee grinned. "But I’m pretty sure Otis borrowed that from somewhere."

They stood together for a few more minutes, Mariah gazing at the painful reminders of her parents. Would it always be hard to come inside this room?

As if she’d read her mind, Miss Vee walked to the bed and ran her hand along the quilt. "If you don’t mind, I’m going to pack away their belongings while you’re gone." She glanced over her shoulder. "And move yours and Tiller’s in here." She smiled weakly. "After all, you’re the lord and mistress of the inn now."

The idea surprised Mariah, yet in a way pleased her. She felt her parents would approve. "Won’t that be hard for you so soon? I can always tend to it when I return."

Miss Vee waved her off. "I can manage. I’ll have this room so spruced up you won’t recognize it." She glanced up. "And don’t fret. I’ll take great care with their things."

On the way to the stairs, Mariah caught her arm. "Are you sure you’ll be all right until we return from North Carolina?"

Miss Vee swatted the air. "Don’t be silly. You’ll only be gone for a few weeks, and I can run this inn in my sleep. Besides, I still have Dicey and Rainy, if they don’t kill each other first." She made a face. "And if they can ever be on time."

Mariah laughed. "Now you’re spinning miracles."

Downstairs, Uncle Joe waited in the parlor with the minister of Grace Church. Immediately after Father’s memorial service, Uncle Joe had ridden to Canton to fetch him.

Otis stood beside Tiller and seemed to be holding him up.

Uncle Joe had invited Tobias. Mariah was stunned to see Christopher and Justin standing stiff as posts at his side.

The most pleasant surprise was the dark-haired man chatting with Tiller’s family. Spotting Mariah, he broke free of the group and approached her. "You’re a lovely bride, Miss Bell."

"Thank you, Nathan." She held out her hand. "I’m so happy to see you’re all right."

He rubbed the back of his head. "I’m too hardheaded to let an iron skillet keep me from Tiller’s wedding." His gaze fell. "That is, if you don’t mind."

"Of course not. Tiller told me how close the two of you are."

He winced, his eyes filled with regret. "I haven’t been a very good friend, but I plan to change. Starting with asking your forgiveness."

Mariah drew a cleansing breath and gripped his hand. "It’s been a season for seeking mercy. How could I offer you less than I’ve received?"

He ducked his head. "I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful. Thank you for tolerating my presence at your wedding."

She patted his arm. "I’m happy you’re here. Will you be riding to North Carolina with us?"

He grinned. "My brother and Tiller won’t have it any other way."

"I’m glad," she said. "We’ll have a chance to get acquainted. Now, will you excuse me?"

He nodded and Mariah slipped past.

Christopher lowered his gaze as she approached.

Justin turned his head.

Mariah reached for their hands. "I’m so glad you came."

In a sulk, Justin pursed his lips. "Don’t be. Our father made us."

Chris nudged him.

Hiding her smile, Mariah squeezed their fingers. "Please be happy for me, boys. It would mean so much."

Justin glared. "Why would you choose the nahullo over one of us?"

She crossed her fingers behind her back. "Dear Justin, how could I ever decide between you? The problem gave me many sleepless nights. I found the only possible solution in giving both of you up. Don’t you see? It was the only way."

The boys shared a startled glance.

"Of course." Chris smoothed her hair. "Poor Lotus Blossom."

Justin puffed his chest. "Still, it’s a shame you were forced to settle."

"Mariah?"

She turned at the sound of Tiller’s voice, so handsome with his fresh-shaved cheeks and wet-combed hair he took her breath. "Yes?"

"It’s time to start." His grin held no trace of the rogue she first met. "If you’re still agreeable."

She smiled and wiggled her fingers. "I’ll be right along."

Uncle Joe caught her hand as she passed. "I’ll be leaving right after the ceremony, niece."

She made a face. "So soon?"

Glowing with happiness for her, he patted her face. "What need has a new bride of a cantankerous old uncle underfoot?"

She leaned into his chest. "Won’t you at least wait until morning?"

"No, sabitek. I travel best at night." He wrapped a tendril of hair behind her ear. "Besides, you leave soon for North Carolina with your husband, and I’m long overdue at home."

"Mariah?" Tiller stood behind her, worry crowding his brows. "Have you changed your mind?"

Turning, she latched onto his hand. "After all I’ve been through to snare the proper husband?"

"Then you’d best get a move on. You know our policy here at Bell’s Inn"—he glanced at the parlor clock, about to strike the hour—"if you’re not standing before the minister promptly at six, you stand a fair chance of going without."

Tiller awoke to find Mariah staring down at him. Propped on one arm, she’d been watching him sleep by the moonbeam filtering through her bedroom window.

With her dark hair loose and flowing and the soft white fabric of her nightdress draped over one shoulder, she looked like an angel.

Tiller pushed up on his elbows and blinked at her. "Honey? What are you doing?"

She smiled sweetly. "Counting my blessings."

"At this hour?" He squinted. "Can’t we count them in the morning?"

Mariah threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. "I’m glad you’re awake." She held out her hand. "Get dressed and come with me."

Grinning, he allowed her to pull him to his feet. "Where are we going?" he asked, knowing it didn’t matter. He’d follow her anywhere.

She held her finger to her lips. "You’ll see."

He slid into his trousers while she slipped behind a screen, emerging in a buckskin dress he’d never seen before. Stunned, he stared at his wildly beautiful wife.

She caught his hand when he reached for his shirt. "You won’t need it."

Ducking into the hallway, they tiptoed to the kitchen stairs. At the bottom, she skipped the last step and whispered for him to do the same.

They crept out the back door and across the yard to the barn. Catching their scent, Sheki nickered softly before they ever opened the door. Mariah ran to throw her arms around the paint, nuzzling his neck.

Tiller caught up and hugged her from behind. "Do you think you’ll ever love me as much?"

She turned into his embrace. "Maybe. Someday." Laughing, she opened the stall and bridled the horse. Leading him next to the rail, she climbed on his back and motioned for Tiller to join her.

"Without a saddle?"

"You won’t need it."

He chuckled. "What else won’t I need tonight?" Swinging up behind her, he grimaced. "Hopefully I won’t need a doctor."

She giggled. "Just tighten your knees and hold on to me."

They trotted into the moonlit yard and veered toward the Pearl. Sheki seemed to need no direction. They’d taken this ride before.

Down a sandy slope, they leveled out on a long stretch of the riverbank. Reaching behind her, Mariah tightened his arms snugly around her waist. "Are you ready?"

He pressed his cheek to hers. "For what?"

"Hold on," she said then leaned toward Sheki’s ear. "Kil-ia!"

The pony bolted. Mariah clung to his mane and Tiller clung to her.

They soared past the shimmering water, the wind rushing in their ears. Emotion swelled in Tiller’s chest, and prickly hairs stood up on his neck. His heart broke inside him like a hammer on a clay pot, spilling tears down his cheeks and beauty inside his soul.

Anchored tighter to a person than he’d ever been in his life, Tiller McRae had never felt so free.

FORTY-SEVEN

E
very bruised muscle and strained sinew crying for relief, Joe urged the nag down the road that led to his lane and his little house at the end. He’d driven himself hard to cut time from his trip, stopping only when he had to and riding half asleep in the saddle.

He felt as old as the crescent moon overhead. So old that the idea of chasing a feisty young son didn’t seem quite as appealing as it had at the start of his journey.

He couldn’t help but wonder again why fate had played its trick on him and Myrtle. Though they neared the age for bouncing grandchildren on their knees, their firstborn would soon be nursing at her breast and teething on Joe’s thumbs.

A sudden thought threatened to choke him. Suppose little George became the first of many? Would their quiet little cabin swarm with crawling babes? Groaning, he pushed the exhausting thought out of his mind.

As selfish as the desire might be, he longed to reach his wife’s nimble, comforting hands so she could soothe him back together. Joe held no manly delusions. Myrtle’s courage and strength far surpassed his. She would be glad to see him, but Joe needed her.

He turned down his lane, sighing with pleasure at the sight of lights burning in the windows. She wouldn’t be expecting him, but it wouldn’t take her long to prepare him something to eat. Myrtle could make an old boot taste like a Sunday roast.

The front door eased open, and she peered out, steadying the barrel of his shotgun.

His heart squeezed at the sight of fear on her face. Still a few yards out, he whistled.

Setting aside the gun, she burst out the door and sailed over the porch, wearing nothing but one of his nightshirts.

Laughing, he lowered his stiff, aching body to the ground.

Myrtle flew at him, all tangled hair and white cotton, the feel of her in his arms welcome and familiar despite his sore muscles.

Familiar except for one thing.

Joe held her away and ran his hand over the bump that stood between them.

Crying, clinging to his neck, she fought to press close again.

"Look at you," he cried, his strength renewed and silly fears forgotten. "You’ve done a fine job of growing our son."

Laughing through tears, she placed a gentle hand over his. "A son is it? You sound quite sure of yourself." She glanced behind him. "Where is Mariah?"

He sighed. "You’ll have to manage without her. Mariah is where she belongs."

Myrtle cocked her brow but didn’t speak.

Joe pulled his pack off the horse and slung it over his shoulder. "I’m tired and hungry. Feed me well and let me rest, and I’ll tell you the legend of the buzzard that journeyed far from home to steal fire."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "You foolish man, I’ve heard that story many times."

He pulled her close to kiss her forehead. "But my tale has a happy ending. The buzzard makes it home with all his feathers—and learns the fire was there all along."

Smiling, Myrtle tucked her hand in his and led him toward the house. "I’m glad you’re hungry. I made rabbit stew." She reached the porch first and grinned over her shoulder. "The fat old thing is a little tough from all your chasing him, but he still tastes good."

Joe stilled with one foot on the bottom step. "Woman, tell me you didn’t."

With a gleeful laugh, she scurried inside.

Pausing, Joe patted the doorpost. The sun would rise to find him under the same roof with Myrtle and George. It felt good to be home.

Tiller strolled out of the Fayetteville haberdashery decked in finery from head to foot. He doffed his bowler hat at Mariah, and she covered her mouth and laughed.

There wasn’t a speck of pomp or pretense in his decision to buy new clothes. It started with his desire to buy her something nice. Once he had, he didn’t feel properly dressed to walk her down the street.

Neither did he intend to put on airs with their mode of transportation. It wasn’t his fault the last conveyance available for hire was a garish, pretentious carriage. "Well, we need a rig," he’d murmured, drumming his fingers on his chin. "I can’t have you straddling a horse in that getup."