Bandit's Hope (17 page)

They strutted across the clearing with the sun on their faces, as proud as buck deer and confidence in every step. Two worthy specimens. The pride of the Choctaw.

Fisting his hands, Tiller clenched his teeth and exhaled his frustration.

Mariah watched the brothers come with mixed emotions. Though always happy to see them, their pleasing manner and striking looks affected her good sense.

She usually found herself staring at one or the other, hanging on their words, and laughing too loud at their jokes. Whatever power they had over her behavior, she felt uncomfortable to have Tiller in the mix—especially since he’d caught her at it once before.

"
Halito
!" Christopher called as they drew near.

"Halito!" Mariah shouted.

Justin’s handsome face broke into a grin. "
Chim-achukma
."

"I am well.
Chishnato?”

"Can’t complain."

"What brings you? To barter for more corn bread?"

Chris laughed. "Our father sent us to ask about the old man."

"His name is Otis Gooch," Mariah said. "And thankfully he improves more each day." She frowned. "Though I wish Tobias had come himself. There is the matter of his forgetting things. His memory seems a little shaky."

Justin, in training to be the tribe’s next healer, tilted his head. "He’s well on in years, Mariah. I doubt it has much to do with his injury, but I’ll mention it to Father."

Chris placed his arm around Mariah. "How are you, Lotus Flower? Looking lovely, I must say." He leaned to peer at her feet. "I see you’re wearing your shoes today."

Mariah’s cheeks warmed. She’d grown up alongside the brothers and their familiar behavior, but Tiller had no way of knowing Chris meant no harm. She lowered her shoulder and let his arm slide away. "Do you remember Tiller McRae?"

"I believe so." Justin stretched out his hand. "You’re staying at the inn, aren’t you?"

"Yes." Tiller shook both their hands. "But not as a guest. Mariah put me on the payroll."

She nodded eagerly. "Tiller’s making our repairs, and doing a wonderful job. Wait until you see the new porch."

Chris pointed over their shoulders. "Right here at the back door? Well, let’s go see."

"It’s not finished," Tiller said. "It lacks steps and a rail."

Mariah glanced at him. He seemed less than eager to show off his work.

She smiled at the brothers. "I’d ask if you’re hungry, but it’s a pointless question."

"Well …" Justin rubbed his stomach. "It’s a mighty long walk from our place to yours."

Mariah laughed. "Follow me, and I’ll make you a corned beef sandwich. While you’re here, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Gooch. He’s a very nice man."

"Sure," Chris said. "But will he remember meeting us?"

Mariah punched his arm. "Oh, stop."

Tiller lagged behind on the walk to the house, so Mariah wound up flanked by the burly brothers, sparring and vying for her attention as they always did. Sensing Tiller watching their backs, she didn’t enjoy the flattery as much as usual.

She showed off the porch, careful to brag on Tiller’s workmanship.

Chris and Justin ran their hands over the wood then climbed up and tested the strength of the braces with little hops. They seemed fittingly impressed by Tiller’s skill.

As Tiller helped her onto the porch, he leaned close to her ear. "No one ever taught those two how to button their shirts?"

She pushed down the laughter bubbling inside. Self-assured Tiller McRae was jealous!

"Be thankful they’re wearing shirts," she whispered back then led the procession to the kitchen.

Tiller pulled down a glass from the shelf. "I’ll just grab another serving of lemonade then get back to work."

Mariah shot him a little frown. "Can’t it wait? We’d love to have you join us, and I know you have room for more corned beef."

"Nah," he said, pouring from the pitcher. "I’d like to finish that porch before nightfall."

"Are you sure?"

His mouth a grim line, he tipped his hat and backed out the door.

Watching the brothers devour the rest of the beef, Mariah mulled over Tiller’s downright unfriendly behavior. She’d never seen him less than charming, though she’d learned to spot when it wasn’t genuine.

Her first guess, that he resented her relationship with the boys, was the only explanation she could conjure. The thought made her smile.

Chris slapped the table in front of her with his broad hand, the sudden noise nearly firing her out of her corset. "What’s so funny, Lotus?"

Leaping, she gripped her pounding heart. "Christopher! You mustn’t do that."

Justin shot Chris a wicked grin. "That wasn’t a funny smile, brother. More of a cunning smile. Tell us, Flower. What evil thoughts were you thinking?"

Heat flashed up her neck. "Oh, stop. You two are scandalous." She stood and faced the counter with a whirl of her skirts. "Besides, a woman never tells, Justin. I should think you’d know that by now."

She poured three glasses of lemonade while regaining control. By the snickering and shoving behind her, the boys seemed certain her smile had something to do with them. Wouldn’t they be surprised to know it didn’t this time?

Busying her hands at the counter, Mariah pondered her distressing predicament. Three special men within the sound of her voice—thoughtful Justin, with his strong arms, broad chest, and beautiful brown eyes that pierced her soul; uncommonly handsome Chris, confident and daring, lighthearted and funny with a winsome smile; and Tiller—

Her breath caught remembering the yearning in his light green eyes, his boyish face so close she counted blond whiskers mingling with the dark red beard on his chin.

All pleasing suitors, all interested, yet she wasn’t free to choose any one of them.

Tiller’s irresistible allure frightened her the most. She needed a man she could count on to stay and protect the inn, one she could bend to her will. His need to float high and free like a dandelion seed clashed with her sense of family and strong ties to the land.

Even if Mariah could ground him long enough to marry her, she had no hope of holding him down. At the first strong wind, he’d lift to the sky and drift away again.

She took a deep breath and forced a bright smile before turning to serve the drinks. Her head should be busy with more pressing matters than fending off the wrong beaus. Like feed for the livestock and food for the guests she fervently prayed would arrive. Providing the necessities for her household, for that matter.

Not to mention persuading Gabriel Tabor to marry her before her dreadful secret blew up in her face.

SEVENTEEN

S
ix noisy men crowded around the breakfast table, never knowing God had used them to answer Mariah’s prayers.

They’d checked in the night before, cash in advance, and she quickly sent Rainy to buy eggs, shortening, and a rack of bacon. The merchant had only scraps of sowbelly left, but the box of ends and pieces would have to do. So far, she’d heard no complaints. They were eating too fast to notice.

She set the platter of biscuits on the table, hoping there’d be enough to go around. Glancing at the meager bowl of scrambled eggs, made without cream or butter, she winced. Father’s boast that a room at Bell’s Inn came with the finest breakfast in the state echoed in her mind, flooding her with shame. The inn’s reputation centered on her cooking skills. Whatever the cost, she had to find a way to get the supplies she needed.

It was an unjust cycle. With the last hog slaughtered and the cows sold, she needed money to buy most of her provisions. How could she fulfill her father’s promise if there weren’t enough lodgers to fill the coffers, especially now that she’d emptied her savings to ward off Dr. Moony?

Mariah grew weary with barely scraping by. Breakfast was the hardest meal to come up with, and the situation got worse every day. Rainy’s garden helped with lunch and supper, but the smokehouse was nearly empty. Miss Vee and Dicey had started to watch her with anxious eyes.

Even worse, Tiller had noticed the lack. He took skimpy portions at every meal, covering his plate when she offered him seconds, insisting he couldn’t hold another bite. Yet she caught him in the garden after supper, peeling and eating cucumbers.

Mariah chastened herself again for not riding out to see Gabe. She’d have to stop putting it off. Nothing would change until she did.

"Little lady, you got any more of these larruping good biscuits?"

She dropped a dishcloth on the three she’d saved for Tiller and turned with a pretty smile. "Mr. Lenard, it does my heart good to see such hearty appetites, but you’ve eaten the last one available, I’m afraid."

Scooping a spoonful of eggs onto his plate, she added a few extra pieces of bacon. "See if this won’t fill up your last hollow spot."

Mr. Lenard grinned as if she’d offered him treasure, his bushy mustache fanning. "Much obliged, miss." He took two bites of the eggs and glanced up. "Any chance there might be more biscuits tomorrow morning? If so, I’d be willing to stay one more night."

Mariah’s heart soared. "If you gentlemen are here in the morning, I’ll make you a double batch." She patted his back. "Along with butter and homemade peach jelly."

"You’ve got a bargain," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Put us down for one more night."

His companions, their faces buried in their plates, mumbled agreement around mouthfuls of food.

Near tears at the unexpected blessing, Mariah busied herself at the sink. Maybe her cooking was the key to saving Bell’s Inn after all.

Once she got her guests fed and out the door to Father’s favorite fishing hole, she crossed to the larder and took her last three eggs out of a wicker basket for Tiller. Pouring in the few drops of cream she had left in the house, she beat them good and poured them over bacon fat in the skillet.

By the time she had them nicely set, Tiller breezed through the back door.

She met him with an eager smile. "Good morning. It’s about time you showed up. Hurry and wash your hands. Your breakfast is getting cold."

Tiller hooked his thumb behind him. "Already washed up at the pump." He gazed around the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?"

She quirked her brows. "Dicey’s late again. I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually. Miss Vee’s upstairs cleaning. Our guests are down by the Pearl, yanking catfish for supper."

Happier to see him than she ought to be, her heart felt as light as the wind. She laughed. "With the stampede through here this morning, you almost lost your share."

Concern tightened his face. "If someone else is hungry, I can wait till lunchtime."

Mariah bit her lip, wishing she’d picked her words more carefully. "As hard as you work, mister? No one in this house deserves a hearty breakfast more than you."

In the time Tiller had been at Bell’s Inn, he’d transformed the place. No more loose rails. No squeaky boards, upstairs or down. Chipped paint was gone and a new coat applied. Gray, crooked posts had turned to shiny, whitewashed columns. With every day that passed, he brought the inn nearer its former glory.

"In fact"—she nodded for him to sit and handed him his plate with a grin—"you’re the only one who got cream in his eggs."

His green eyes flashed with alarm. "You’re out of cream, aren’t you?"

Heat rising to her cheeks, Mariah lowered her lashes. "That’s not your concern." Trying hard not to cry, she twisted her mouth to the side and nibbled the inside of her cheek.

Tiller stood and gripped her shoulders. "It might be true that it’s none of my business, but don’t tell me what to be concerned about." He lifted her chin. "Or who."

Mariah met his eyes. "I’m no stranger to lack, but we always pull through." She wriggled free and brought his biscuits, placing them on his plate. "It’s always a little tight through winter and spring. Once the roads dry up, I won’t have a single empty room to let."

Not easily put off, Tiller caught her wrist and gently turned her around. "I believed you when you said I’m part of this operation now. To be honest, Mariah, it feels grand to be part of something good." He lowered his head to make her look at him. "So, if there’s anything I can do to ease that frown from your pretty brow; say the word, and I’ll bust a gut trying."

His tender words spread warmth through her heart. "Oh, Tiller. That’s the nicest thing to say." Despite her resolve, she leaned into him. Nestled close to his chest, she felt safe, comforted.

The nearer she pressed, the tighter Tiller’s arms drew her. His fingers touched the base of her neck and slid to her chin, pulling her face up to his. His searching eyes consumed her, and the warmth of his quick breath fell on her lips.

Mariah slid from his arms, keenly aware of a sudden emptiness. "I can’t do this."

Worry creased his brow. "I didn’t mean to … I wasn’t—"

She spun away. "I can’t be with you."

On her heels, he followed her to the counter. "Why not? You like me—I know you do."

She stepped away and crossed her arms. "It’s not enough."

"It’s a start." He ducked low to see her face. "I’m not asking to marry you, Mariah. I just want to court you a little. Find out if we’re suited for each other."