Bandit's Hope (25 page)

She swept past him to the back door. "Right this way, and I’ll pour you that lemonade I promised. You must be starving, too."

Grumbling, he followed her through the kitchen door. Tossing his wide-brimmed hat at the rack, he glanced across the hall. An ugly white stain marred the hardwood floor where the dining room had taken in water. The curtain rod hung by a loose nail, and the drapes were missing. More damage from the twister, no doubt. Thankfully, the kitchen, with the broad behind bending over the stove, was just as he remembered. "Woman, you haven’t changed a bit."

Viola glanced around then sprang up and slammed the oven door. "Joe Brashears. You old rascal." She scurried toward him, wiping her hands on her skirt.

Joe braced for her smothering hug.

"How are you, Joe?"

He’d given up on her calling him anything else. "It’s been awhile."

Viola released him, just barely, her painted lips stretched in a smile. "If you’re not the last person I expected to see in my kitchen …" She pulled out a chair. "Here, sit down. Let me fix you something to eat."

Mariah hurried for the pitcher. "He’s more thirsty than hungry, Miss Vee."

Joe shifted the weight of his pack. "Right now, I’d like to put this down somewhere." He glanced toward the hall. "Is my room empty?"

Mariah paused, the lemonade she poured slowed to a drip. "I’m afraid it’s taken." Her eyes flashed a warning at Viola, but it came too late.

"That’s Tiller’s room now," Viola said. "It has been since he got here. I doubt you could blast him out with a scattergun."

The best plan Joe had heard all day. Scowling, he dropped the heavy pack with a thud. "I always take that room."

Mariah finished filling his glass with shaky hands. "But Uncle," she said with a nervous laugh, "we didn’t know you were coming."

"You do now.
Tiller
can move."

"Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair, would it? He’s all settled, and—"

"I have an idea," Viola interrupted. "We’ll move young Tiller upstairs to your father’s bedroom, Mariah." She shot the girl a look Joe couldn’t read. "You know … the one right across the hall from yours."

Handing her wide-eyed uncle his drink, Mariah bit back a smile. "What a wonderful idea, Miss Vee. After all, it’s the largest room in the house, and a big man like Tiller McRae needs room to stretch his legs."

Uncle Nukowa cleared his throat. "On second thought, there’s no reason for the boy to move his things." He set the glass on the table, grabbed his pack, and started up the kitchen stairs. "If John’s room is empty, I’ll take it."

Miss Vee winked at Mariah. "Get washed up, Joe. I’ll have you something fixed to eat before you can say …"

His footsteps faded up the stairs.

"Bamboozled," she whispered.

They fell against each other laughing.

"What’s he doing here?" Miss Vee asked.

"Do you need to ask? I’m surprised he’s not in war paint."

Miss Vee’s hands fisted at her waist. "Joe needn’t think he can start badgering John the minute he returns. I won’t have it, you hear me? I just won’t."

Mariah released a weary breath. "Let’s not borrow trouble, dear. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’"

Miss Vee sniffed. "Now you sound like Otis."

"Speaking of Otis, where is he?"

Since the storm, Mariah’s terror of the little man had eased. She avoided being alone with him, but otherwise things had returned to normal.

Otis had started to venture out of his room more often, always supported by Tiller’s ready arms, but he still had a way to go toward regaining his strength.

"Last I saw, he was napping. He sleeps more than a newborn babe."

"I suppose he’s still recovering." Mariah glanced toward the stairs. "I need to explain Otis to my uncle before he trips over him in the parlor in his union suit."

Miss Vee’s laugh came out a snort. "Especially since the poor thing can’t keep his flap fastened."

They giggled together like naughty children.

Sobering, Miss Vee tied on her apron and opened the pantry. "Now then, what am I going to feed Joe? I’ve never seen the larder so bare."

Mariah grinned. "It won’t be empty for long. Tiller’s taking me to town to buy supplies."

Her casual announcement caught Miss Vee’s attention. "Granted, you and Tiller are a handsome pair, but I doubt the merchants will trade your looks for goods. How do you plan to pay for these supplies?"

With a saucy wink, Mariah jiggled the pocket of her skirt, letting the coins clink together.

Miss Vee’s eyebrows soared. "I know the sound of money when I hear it. Where’d you get those coins?"

"Isn’t it wonderful?" Mariah kissed her cheek. "Tiller’s been selling trees downed by the storm. He surprised me with a handful of gold."

Miss Vee clasped her hands toward the ceiling. "Hallelujah! Our troubles are over. I knew that boy was a blessing in disguise."

Mariah longed to share the rest of the morning’s good news, but with Uncle Nukowa around, she didn’t dare trust Miss Vee to keep it quiet.

"I can hardly wait to get to town and fill the pantry." She parted the kitchen blinds, searching the roof of the barn for Tiller. "Where is that man? We need to be on the road. It’s getting late."

Miss Vee shooed her with her hands. "Go roust him, honey. The sooner you leave, the quicker you’ll get back."

Mariah hurried to the back door. "Prepare a list of all we need. I’ll tell Tiller to hitch up Sheki and pull the wagon around."

"Where are we going?"

Her startled gaze jumped to Uncle Nukowa on the stairs. He had washed the gray film of grime from his face and loosened the cords that held his long braids. Gleaming hair draped his shoulders, still as black as when ten-year-old Mariah dogged the heels of her handsome young uncle, learning to hunt, fish, and trap on their Mississippi land. Watching his stern, rigid face, it seemed a long time ago.

"It’s just a supply run, sir. We’ll be back tonight."

"We?" He reached the bottom landing, his face drawn to a pucker. "Do you mean you and that … Tiller?"

She nodded.

He raised a staying hand. "I don’t think so. It’s a long drive, and you’ve waited too late to strike out. We’ll go tomorrow."

Mariah shifted her weight impatiently. "But Uncle, we’re out of supplies. I don’t have eggs or meat for breakfast."

He shot her a warning glare. "A matter you should’ve already tended. It’s settled. We go in the morning."

To defend herself would mean revealing more than she intended about the inn’s waning business. He didn’t need more ammunition in his war to make her leave.

She raised her lashes to peek at him. "We, Uncle?"

"It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Canton." He picked up his empty glass and strolled casually to the waiting pitcher. "Now then, Viola. Where’s this fine meal you promised?"

TWENTY-SIX

T
iller pounded the head of the nail until it disappeared inside the splintered wood. Growling, he forced himself to stop before the board split in two.

As long as he could remember, life had been an unlucky hand of poker. Any reasonable man would admit he’d suffered an unjust childhood. The mess he’d made of things since could be pinned squarely on his own shoulders, but not the way he got started in the unsavory way of life.

Just when he’d taken steps to turn the game around, fate had dealt him a marked card in the form of Uncle "I’m angry" Joe. Tiller tightened his grip on the hammer. "Thanks to you, I’m not so happy myself, old boy." He took another hard swipe at the nail and stood—spinning toward the river so fast he nearly tripped over his boots.

A lone rider sat on the far bank of the Pearl, dappled by the shimmering reflection off the water. By the easy forward slump in the saddle, his arms crossed over the horn, the dim outline could very well be Nathan Carter.

Tiller’s heartbeat raced in his ears. Shading his eyes, he squinted. If the sun didn’t shine so bright on the river, he could see that it wasn’t so. As soon as he caught his breath, he’d tear across the field and relieve his scattered mind.

Before he could move a muscle, the specter from his former life straightened in the saddle and fired a snappy salute. Reining his horse, he rode off the backside of the rise and disappeared.

Tiller’s legs turned to shifting sand beneath him. He lowered himself to the beam and clung to the braces.

Was it Nathan?

Impossible. Nathan wouldn’t ride away. If the hazy figure was his old friend, he’d have found a low crossing and rode across boasting about how he’d found him.

"Tiller?"

He whirled, nearly pitching himself to the ground.

Mariah gasped and stretched her arms toward him. "For goodness’ sake, be careful."

He swiped his mouth with his arm. "You shouldn’t be sneaking around like that."

She leaned to see out the back window of the barn. "What do you see over there? You’re the color of cotton."

"It’s nothing. Too much sun on my head, I guess." He scooted across the beam to the ladder and made his way down. "Are you ready to go? It’s getting late."

She made a face. "That’s what I came to tell you. We have to wait until morning."

"Why?"

"Uncle Nukowa doesn’t want me out so late."

Irritation crept up Tiller’s spine. "Since when does he make the decisions?"

She took a deep breath. "Since the moment he rode into the yard."

Tiller propped his hands on his hips. "Does he think you sit on a shelf and twiddle your thumbs until he shows up? You’ve managed just fine without him."

Mariah gripped his arms. "I know it’s hard to understand, but please try. In the tradition of my people, my uncle believes I’m his responsibility. Of course, my father never held with the Indian ways. He’s never allowed Uncle Nukowa that sort of access."

Tiller set his jaw. "Good for him."

"When Mother died, my uncle assumed I’d be returning with him to the Indian Territory. He became enraged when Father forbade it."

Twirling the soft hair beside her ear, Tiller frowned. "You’re not exactly a child anymore. Shouldn’t the tug-of-war be over?"

She gave a somber shake of her head. "Not until my wedding day. It’s up to my uncle to make sure I marry well."

"I’ll be happy to relieve him of that obligation." He leaned to see her face. "And very soon, I hope."

Her gaze shifted to his. "Within our tribe, Tiller. After Mother broke with custom and married an outsider, he’ll be extra vigilant to see it doesn’t happen to me."

Mariah reached for his hands. "That’s why you must promise to keep our engagement a secret." She tightened her grip. "Uncle Nukowa will go to any lengths to make sure we never wed."

The passion in her plea struck sudden fear in Tiller’s heart. "What’s to keep him from whisking you away from here?"

"He won’t. Not against my father’s wishes." She shook her head. "My uncle’s not here to kidnap me. He’s here to settle a feud and win a longstanding war of wills."

Tiller pulled her close. "Suppose your Father comes back and agrees to let you go? Do you hold enough sway to talk him out of it?"

With a weary sigh, Mariah leaned into his chest. "Believe me, that’s the last thing we have to fret about."

He caressed her head, the silky feel of her hair making it hard to stay mad—until the unmistakable moan of a hungry stomach sprang them apart.

"Yours or mine?" he asked.

She blushed and shrugged.

"Blast it! You’re hungry. Joe should credit me with enough sense to get you to Canton and back so you can eat tonight."

"It’s not so different in any culture, is it? Show me an uncle who wouldn’t be concerned about his niece traveling the roads at night. Alone with a man, at that."

Tiller blew out a frustrated breath. "This is different. We need food." He pushed back the dread of another long, lonely ride so soon. "If there’s no changing his mind, I’ll just go by myself."

"I’d rather you didn’t." She jingled her bulging pocket and smiled. "I’ve got my heart set on going into town."

Tiller drew back and laughed. "You’re still carrying that money around? Shouldn’t it be tucked away in the safe?"

She rattled the coins again. "Would you deprive me of my music? I’m rather enjoying the sound of plenty."

Unable to resist, he drew her into his arms. "All right, maestro. We’ll go in the morning. But in the meantime, what will you eat?"

"I think we’ll be fine. Miss Vee is a wonder at making something to eat out of scraps. She’s inside now turning a basket of wilted potatoes into soup and the leftover meal into fritters."

"And in the morning?"

"We found an old tin of flour in the back of the pantry. I’ll make flapjacks and cover them in honey so we won’t miss the butter. And I still have a few pieces left from the box of bacon." She gripped his hand. "We’ll make do, Tiller. Then we’ll leave first thing after breakfast."

He rubbed his forehead. "I wish I’d brought some things back with me from Canton."

She cocked her head. "Why didn’t you?"

"It wasn’t my money to spend." He cupped her chin. "I want you to always be able to trust me, Mariah. No matter what you may hear in the future, just know you can trust me."