Bandit's Hope (13 page)

The ladder slid to the ground with a clatter, but Tiller hardly noticed. In all his years, he’d never seen a more fetching sight.

Mariah’s dark eyes flashed and her chest heaved. Waist-length hair, tangled by the wind, puffed like shiny black tumbleweed around her delicate seashell ears. The deep flush of high spirits tinted her mouth and cheeks a glorious rosy hue. The genteel daughter of the innkeeper had become a wild and beautiful creature.

Defiantly meeting his stare, Mariah gathered her hair over one shoulder and lifted her chin. "I see you’re finally starting to work."

Startled from his trance by her voice, he realized his lips had parted. He clamped them shut and nodded. "Miss Vee showed me where you keep the tools."

As if sprung into action by the sound of his voice, Miss Vee bustled toward Mariah. "Gracious, child. What have you been tromping through?"

Leaving the ladder, Tiller followed, stealing a peek at Mariah’s feet. Clumps of mud clung to them in thick gobs, and red clay oozed between her toes. At least four inches of her hem was soaking wet.

"I—went for a walk," Mariah stammered. "Along the river."

Miss Vee’s forehead crinkled. "Last we saw, you were talking to Rainy."

"Yes, I finished with him and decided to take Sheki out for a while."

"At this time of day?"

"I had a sudden impulse. It’s such a nice, cool morning."

"Before your chores?" The older woman pressed, ignoring her explanation. "What were you thinking?"

Mariah’s delicate brows lowered. "I was thinking to take a ride. Why are you questioning me?"

"Because it’s not like you. With your father away, you have added responsibilities."

Mariah’s fiery gaze flashed hotter. "I’ll thank you to mind your business. I’ll run this inn as I see fit."

Miss Vee’s temper ignited to meet hers. "I don’t understand your behavior, young lady. Something is quite off kilter." She scowled. "Just look at you, straddling a horse in a dress, showing off your knees to half of Mississippi. You have mud up to your ankles and grass stains covering the front of your skirt." She bent to dust off Mariah’s garment. "Have you been crawling on the ground?"

With a sharp inhalation, Mariah yanked the fabric out of her reach. "Certainly not."

Straightening, Miss Vee’s chest heaved. "Mariah Bell, if your father was here, why he’d—"

Mariah glared. "Well, he’s not! And try to remember you’re not my mother."

Miss Vee drew back, flushed as bright as her hair. Shock and pain darkened her green eyes. "I hardly recognize you." Clutching her blotchy face, she whirled for the back door.

Snatching up her pony’s leads, Mariah stomped inside the barn.

Captive, Tiller followed.

At the stall, she flung the door open and slapped the animal hard on the rump. "Hurry up, you worthless fat horse."

The pony startled then hustled through the gate like a chastened child.

Mariah slung the door closed, fastened it, then spun around—stopping with a muted cry at the sight of Tiller. "What are you doing in here?" She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you following me? Don’t you have work to do?"

As surprised to be standing behind her as Mariah was to find him there, Tiller couldn’t answer the first question. The second seemed a whole lot like the first, so he let it pass and went for the third. "I reckon I have plenty to do." He held up the hammer still clutched in one hand. "At the moment, I’m supposed to be up on your roof, but I wanted to make sure you’re all right."

"Why wouldn’t I be?" Her scowl would blister paint.

He shrugged. "I get the feeling you women don’t usually go at each other like that." He nodded at the pony. "Or you and the horse."

Mariah’s gaze dropped to the ground, and her pretty mouth puckered. Tears brimmed perilously close to spilling, and she chewed her bottom lip so hard Tiller winced.

He took a step closer. "Mariah?"

With a moan, she lunged to open the stall door and fling her arms around the horse’s neck. "Oh, Sheki. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Obviously deciding to forgive, the handsome animal stood still while Mariah pressed her forehead against the side of his face.

"Miss Vee’s right. I don’t recognize myself either."

Tiller took off his hat. "Is there … anything I can do?"

Mariah shook her head against the pony. "There’s nothing anyone can do." She peeked at him. "Though I’d appreciate your pardon for our behavior. I’m ashamed we aired our grievance in front of a guest."

Tiller grinned and wiggled the hammer. "I don’t qualify as a guest anymore. I’m officially part of this operation."

Mariah lowered her lashes, a faint smile softening her lips. "So it’s all right to rail like shrews as long as we confine it to the staff?" She straightened, staring toward the house. "I suppose I’d best go mend things with Miss Vee, or she’ll mourn herself sick. I do regret saying those things to her. She’s been good to me since my mother died."

Tightening the grip on his hat brim, Tiller ducked his head. "I’m real sorry."

"Thank you." She smiled. "It’s been two years, but I miss her every day." Mariah left the stall and brushed past him to lean against the rail. "Miss Vee’s been the closest thing to a mother ever since. I can’t believe I spoke so harshly to her."

Tiller nodded. "I suspected you two were more like family than anything else. I know she can’t take your ma’s place, but she sure does fret like one."

Mariah studied his face. "What about you? Is it true you don’t have a family? A wife or mother somewhere who worries about you?"

"A wife?" He drew back. "Hardly. No one will have me." The familiar ache filled his chest. "As for my ma"—he quirked his mouth—"she’d run me off with a broom if I stepped one foot on her porch."

Mariah laughed. "I doubt that."

Grinning, he gaped at her. "Well don’t. It’s a fact." He sobered and shook his head. "I have family up in North Carolina that used to care about me a little. My uncle Silas and aunt Odell plus a few rowdy cousins and a handful of friends." He sighed. "But I haven’t seen them in a good long while."

Mariah tilted her head. "How long?"

"Oh, about ten years now."

"Gracious. Why?"

Tiller offered a shaky laugh. "That’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with it."

Her steady gaze said he hadn’t fooled her. "Tell me about them."

He tucked his chin. "Really?" She nodded.

Crossing his arms, Tiller leaned against the stall in deep thought. "My folks are Lumber River Indians from a place called Scuffletown." He shrugged. "Come to think of it, I suppose I am, too. At least a part of me."

"You’re Indian?" The fact seemed to please her. "With that crop of red hair?"

Tiller grinned. "That’s the other part, I suppose." He feigned an accent. "The Irish."

With an air of fascination, she scooted closer. "Keep going."

"You’re sure you want to hear all this?"

"Positive."

Her earnest answer stirred his heart. "I suppose Uncle Silas sticks out in my memory the most." Warmth he’d not felt in a while made him smile. "The old man could spin a yarn from here to China. Farfetched tales about warriors, giants, and magic lanterns." He laughed. "I was nearly sixteen. Old enough to know better, but he had me believing most of the things he said."

Mariah giggled. "What about your aunt Odell?"

Tiller stared at the ceiling. "Ah yes, Aunt Odie. She worked magic with a frying pan the way Uncle Silas did with his stories."

He shot her a sidelong glance. "If I remember right, her cooking was almost as tasty as yours." He winked. "Not quite, but close."

She bumped him with her shoulder. "And what of the cousins?"

Tiller called out their names, ticking them off with his fingers. "There was Hooper. His brother, Duncan. Their little sister, Ellie." He grinned. "And Miss Dawsey Wilkes, who was Ellie’s twin sister, but no kin to the rest."

She frowned. "That makes no sense at all."

"You’re right, it doesn’t, but I’ll try to explain. You see, Ellie was raised by my aunt and uncle instead of her real parents, so the girls never knew they had a sister until they ran into each other by accident."

Mariah angled her head. "Are you making this up?"

Laughter bubbled up from Tiller’s belly, the first genuine glee he’d felt in a while. "That story’s a doozey and would take all day to tell." He waved his hand. "Don’t get me started."

Mariah joined in the laughter. "It sounds fascinating. You’ll have to make time one day to fill me in."

The warmth of her arm pressed against his. Sobering, he turned his head toward her, wondering how she wound up so close. "I sure will, if you want me to."

"I want you to." Her big brown eyes, inches away, lured him.

His breath grew shallow, and he couldn’t draw air. The floor seemed to tilt, and his ears buzzed like they were stuffed with honeybees. He longed to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, and his fingers twitched with the urge to touch her bottom lip. "Mariah, I—"

Behind them, the pony snorted and pawed the ground, jolting Tiller’s heart. Blushing, he leaped to his feet. "Look at me dawdling again. I suppose I’d best get going. I’ve got a roof to mend."

Mariah glanced up with a shy smile. "By all means. Now that you’re part of this operation, you’ll have to toe the line. I can’t have an idler on my payroll."

With ease that came of much practice, Tiller slid into his cocky role as smoothly as slipping on his boots. "Well, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am …" He tossed his hat on his head, bowed, and turned to go.

"Tiller?"

He pivoted on one heel. "Yes, boss?"

"You should go up to North Carolina. Pay your folks a visit. Sounds like you’re long overdue."

Tiller worked to keep his roguish grin in place, but his traitor mouth trembled. Drawing in his bottom lip, he scraped it hard with his teeth. "Nah, it’s too late. After all this time, they don’t remember my name."

THIRTEEN

T
iller’s mama is dead?"

Hooper tensed. "I’m sorry to say it’s true, Pa." For a moment, he wished they’d heeded Dawsey’s inclination to wait a bit before they sprang the news, but with Pa sniffing around, the story was bound to come out.

Despite the dismal report, Hooper rejoiced at being home. Inside the tiny cabin, the folks he loved most in the world huddled in a tight circle around Papa’s rocking chair. The cheery fireplace crackled, stoked by Ma to ward off the morning chill. The smell of breakfast hung so thick in the air, he could almost taste crispy bacon and golden, flaky biscuits. The only thing missing from the familiar scene was his younger brother, Duncan, who married a Lumber River girl and moved across the swamp.

Papa gripped the arms of his rocker. "So my poor brother’s widow passed on?"

"Yes, sir. Aunt Effie’s neighbors found her five days ago. We had to bury her right away." He glanced at the twins playing a board game around the table and lowered his voice. "She’d been gone a day or so when they found her. She died all alone, though I think she might’ve preferred it that way."

His eyes red-rimmed and moist, Pa sat forward in his rocker. "Effie perished more than a week ago, and I’m just now finding out?"

Hooper swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He hadn’t shared the worst yet. "There were … complications, Pa. This is the quickest we could come."

"You couldn’t send a wire?"

Hooper and Dawsey exchanged glances.

Before Hooper could answer, Pa lost interest in the question. "Poor old soul." He reached over his shoulder for Ma’s hand. "Effie never had much of a life, did she, Odie?"

Mama shook her head. "She did without things most folks take for granted. Her plight grew even worse after Sol died, God rest him."

Papa’s jaw tightened. "If he’s resting, I don’t see how. I’m ashamed to speak ill of the dead, but the truth is my brother didn’t provide well for his family. He left Effie and Tiller penniless, living off the kindness of strangers and begging for crumbs of bread. It’s no wonder Effie sent Tiller to live with us. She didn’t want the poor lad to starve."

With a quick look at Dawsey for courage, Hooper waded in. "You’ve got it all wrong, Pa. The only one starving Tiller was Aunt Effie. She lived poor all right, but she didn’t have to."

Papa frowned. "Don’t talk foolish. No sane person would live Effie’s life if they had a choice."

Ma nodded in agreement. "Papa’s right. What are you saying, son?"

Hooper stared at their puzzled faces. "I’m saying Aunt Effie wasn’t sane. Tiller’s plight grew worse when his pa died, because Uncle Sol wasn’t there to stand between the boy and his mother’s greed."

The high color faded from Pa’s wrinkled cheeks. "Come again?"

"I’m saying Aunt Effie was a miserly old woman who never spent a nickel she didn’t pinch. She died richer than Ma’s apple potpie."

Mama gasped, and Pa swung his chair around and stared.

"It’s true," Hooper said. "The bed Aunt Effie died on was stuffed to bursting with money." They gasped, and he nodded. "A treasure in greenbacks and gold coin."

Ellie touched Hooper’s arm. "How is that possible? Tiller was a bag of bones when he came here to live."

Hooper patted his sister’s hand. "I remember. He couldn’t keep his trousers on without a tight pair of suspenders."

A purple vein stood out on Papa’s neck. "Effie’s been squirreling away money since my brother died?"

Hooper snorted. "A far sight longer, considering her bulging nest egg. The old skinflint tucked nearly every dollar Uncle Sol earned in her cotton tick mattress. Besides being tight with her family’s purse strings, she inherited a sizable fortune from her parents when they died. I doubt she spent a dime of it."

Papa stared around the circle with bulging eyes. "Which means …"

"Tiller’s a wealthy man," Mama finished, her brows lifted to her hairline. "And he don’t even know it."

Hooper nodded. "I’ve deposited the money in a Fayetteville bank in Tiller’s name. It’s sitting there waiting for him." His fists clenched. "When I think how Aunt Effie starved that boy, made him go without, I get mad all over again."