Bandit's Hope (32 page)

She seemed to be a different woman, and it scared him, made him long for her with a passion he’d never known. He hoped her coldness was borne of determination to trick Joe and not a picture of her true feelings.

Pushing aside his worrisome thoughts, Tiller lowered Otis into the cane-bottomed chair on the front porch and tucked a blue knitted shawl beneath his chin. The view toward the river in back was nicer, but it took so much out of Otis to walk the long hallway, he had little energy left to take pleasure in his time outside.

He settled against the cushion and gazed around the yard with a satisfied smile. "Yes sir. Just what the doctor ordered."

Tiller pulled the matching chair around and lowered his lanky body, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. His gaze wandered the grassy yard from Rainy’s climbing roses to Mariah’s herb garden set off by a border of white stones. Bright green ivy sprawled across the latticed arbor, stretching from the road to the house. Seated beneath its shade and tucked into the shadows of the portico, it wasn’t long before he wished he’d brought out an extra shawl. "You warm enough, Otis?"

He nodded. "It’s a mite cool for this late in June, ain’t it?"

Tiller rubbed his arms. "I suppose we’d best enjoy it while we can. We’ll be fuming about the heat come August."

"What sort of weather you reckon Scuffletown is having, son?"

Tiller had shared everything he could remember about his Carolina home and the family he’d left behind. The old man loved the stories and seemed willing to listen for hours.

Time spent with Otis was the most relaxing Tiller had ever spent and the most distressing. The peace in Otis’s eyes stirred an emptiness long denied and a yearning Tiller couldn’t shake. He longed to purge the guilt that clawed his mind during long, sleepless nights, but he’d found some rest in a recent decision.

It would be selfish to clear his conscience at the little man’s expense. Otis needed him, at least for now. When he regained his strength, Tiller would lay the ugly facts on the table and plead for pardon. Whether Otis forgave him or not, Tiller would beg him to stay on at the inn and allow them to care for him.

Mariah would have to agree, but he couldn’t discuss this or anything else of importance with her until Joe left Mississippi. Of course, there was still the matter of coming clean with her.

Tiller groaned inside. He’d made such a mess of his life. How would he ever set things right?

Feeling Otis watching, he eased back and unclenched his fists.

Otis continued to stare. "Got something to tell me, boy?"

Squirming, he shook his head.

"Well … maybe I got something to tell you."

Tiller spun to the edge of his chair, hoping Otis would bring up the subject of Mariah. He needed assurance that Joe would leave, that things with Mariah would return to normal. He wouldn’t tell Otis their secret, but he sure hoped God would.

Otis swiveled to face him. "I sense you’re ripe for turning your life over to God, and I reckon it’s time you stop putting it off."

The simple words dashed Tiller’s hopes and made him uneasy. "I don’t have enough church in my background to know exactly what you mean, but I have an idea." He stole a quick glance. "You’re talking about baring my sins." He tried to smile. "A thing like that could take awhile."

Otis waved his hand. "There’s no need to air your trespasses one by one. God’s already acquainted with each of them since they nailed Jesus to the cross." He patted Tiller’s hand. "A whispered plea for mercy will cover it."

The ache inside Tiller’s heart swelled to bursting. "That don’t sound fair to God. Besides, there are a few things I need to set right first."

Otis lifted his chin. "You reckon there’s anything in your life He can’t handle?"

Tiller glanced away from his searching gaze. "There are deeds I’ve done that are too dark to bring to Him. I need to mop up behind me before I’ll be fit to talk to God."

Setting his lips in a firm line, Otis shook his head. "That’s hitching the horse on backwards, boy." He gripped Tiller’s wrist. "You think I was lily-white when God found me?"

His words swirled Tiller away to the day Nathan accused him of trying to protect his lily-white conscience. Blinded by the glare of God’s righteousness, the notion seemed absurd. He lowered his head to his hands. "My life’s been broke for so long, I don’t know how to fix it."

A warm, trembling hand touched his shoulder. "You can’t."

Embarrassed by his swimming eyes, Tiller shot Otis a troubled frown. "Then what’s the use?"

"That’s what I’m trying to tell you, boy. None of us have the power to make things right again." His face glowing, he pointed to the sky. "But He can."

The emptiness inside Tiller couldn’t be denied a second longer. Guilt weighed him to his knees. "Please, Otis. Tell me what I need to do."

Gnarled fingers rested on Tiller’s head. "You just made a good start, son. Repeat this prayer after me, and I’ll lead you on home."

Otis’s gentle voice overhead, thick with unshed tears, washed over Tiller in waves like warm molasses, the graceful ebb and flow pulling out the years of lonely heartbreak, rushing in with tides of peace.

When they finished praying, Otis hugged him. "You’ll never regret this decision."

Patting his bony back, Tiller withdrew and smiled. "I don’t see how I could." He chuckled, deep and free, unlike any laugh he’d had before. "I feel different."

"Because you are." Otis gave a satisfied nod. "That just proves it took."

They beamed at each other like carefree boys trading secrets.

Otis tugged on his arm. "Get up from there before the cold seeps into your bones."

Tiller returned to his chair, wiping tears on his sleeve. "I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you."

"Don’t talk foolish. After all you’ve done for me?"

"This doesn’t come close to anything I’ve done, and you know it." Tiller stared in the distance. "I suppose I’ll always think of you as a father of sorts." He lifted one brow. "I hope you don’t mind."

"Mind?" Tears tracked his ruddy cheeks, but he grinned. "I’m honored to know you feel that way." He winked. "But I’m more like a grandfather, don’t you think? On account of I’m older than thunder."

Tiller patted his knee. "You’re not so old."

Otis snorted. "You must need a pair of spectacles." Scooting to the end of his seat, he held out his arm for Tiller to grasp. "Take me inside before I rust."

Hauling Otis to his feet, Tiller took one last look around. Whether from the haze of recent tears or the freedom of a burden lifted, the front yard blazed with brilliant color. The grass was greener. The roses redder. Patches of sky peered through the ivy-covered trellis, as clear and blue as a newborn’s eyes.

"One more thing," Otis said before Tiller opened the door. "You’ll need a Bible so you can study on the scriptures." He scratched his head. "I’d give you mine, but it was in my pack when those mangy scoundrels stole it."

Tiller’s heart sank, but not with the sickening thud of before. He felt certain God had removed the terrible deed from his account, but if it took the rest of his days, he’d make it up to Otis. "Don’t worry," Tiller said. "Next time I’m in town, I’ll get us both new ones." He guided Otis inside the house.

Men’s voices and heavy-booted footsteps sounded from the dining room, along with the smell of serious cooking.

Otis stared down the hall. "Sounds like Mariah has a passel of new guests. I didn’t see them come in off the road, did you?"

Tiller frowned and shook his head. "I suppose they came downriver. I’d best get you settled and go lend the women a hand."

Plopping on the side of his bed, Otis grinned. "We stayed outside longer than I thought if it’s already lunchtime." He lifted his finger. "But I ain’t complaining."

Patting his stomach, Tiller smiled. "That makes two of us."

When he reached the door, Otis called his name. "Tiller, little missy’s better acquainted with God than you were before this morning, only she’s lost her way." Lying back on his fresh-plumped pillows, his eyes twinkled. "But don’t you worry. He’ll reel her in before long."

The details were sketchy, but it was the reassurance Tiller needed. After the morning’s encounter with God, it was enough.

He saluted and Otis returned it.

"I’ll go see if I can hurry those vittles."

Otis raised his thumb. "Now you’re talking."

Smiling, Tiller strolled toward the back of the house whistling a merry tune. He didn’t see how life could get much better. Following the lively voices of men enjoying good food and better company, he turned the corner into the dining room—and rocked back on his heels.

The mocking eyes of Nathan Carter, Sonny Thompson, and Hade Betts lifted to greet him, mischief in their depths.

Nailed to the spot, Tiller stared, his blissful joy paled to hopeless loss.

THIRTY-SIX

T
he sudden stillness in the room brought Mariah’s head up from the bowl of mashed potatoes in her hand.

A whitewashed version of Tiller slumped in the doorway, his bottom jaw unhinged.

"Tiller?"

His wide eyes darted to her.

"Won’t you greet our guests?"

The youngest of the three men stood quickly and offered his hand. "How-do, sir. I’m Nathan Carter." His friendly smile lit up a handsome face. With his swarthy complexion and dark hair, he looked to be Indian, though not from a local tribe. "Did she say your name’s Tiller?"

Tiller nodded dumbly.

The other two beamed up at them. Nathan introduced them by turn. "That skinny, ugly soul to your left is Sonny Thompson."

Sonny’s smile revealed a gap in his front teeth. "Nice to know you, Tiller."

"And the old man to my right is Hade Betts."

Mr. Betts stretched his arm past Nathan. "I can’t tell you how pleased."

Prying himself from the wall that seemed to hold him up, Tiller allowed Mr. Betts to shake his limp hand, but he didn’t seem to put much effort into it. Wiping his palm on his pants leg, Tiller lifted his vacant stare to Mariah. "I’ll just"—he hooked his thumb—"go on out and take care of their horses."

Mariah frowned. What had him in such a state? "Rainy’s tending them." She bugged her eyes. "Like he always does. Are you all right?" She shared a quick smile with Mr. Betts. "I apologize for Tiller. He’s not himself today."

"We can see that, Miss Bell." He winked at Tiller. "Your boy seems a little tongue-tied."

"He sure does," Sonny said, his dancing gaze bouncing from Tiller to Mr. Betts. "He always like this?"

Mariah tensed. The rude men seemed to be making fun of him. None too gently, she plopped a spoonful of potatoes on Sonny’s plate and picked up the carving knife. "Care for more beef, Mr. Thompson?"

Swallowing his simpering grin, he sat back in his chair and shook his head.

Glancing up, Mariah found Tiller gone. His behavior, so unlike him, churned her stomach. The way she’d treated him for the past week, his sullen mood had to be her fault.

"Enjoy your meal, gentlemen," she said, untying her apron. "Miss Viola will be in soon with your dessert."

"Where’d Tiller fly off to?" Miss Vee asked, meeting her at the doorway.

Mariah handed her the apron. "Have Dicey bring in the apple pie, Miss Vee. I’ll be right back."

"You’re leaving me, too?"

Out the door so fast it slammed behind her, Mariah scurried across the yard.

Tiller paced the barn. Sheki, hoping for a treat, followed with his head each time Tiller passed the stall.

Rainy glanced up from brushing down Hade’s bay. "Mista’ Tilla’, you’re bound to hit water soon in that ditch you’re digging. You got something peckin’ at you?"

The barn door squealed open.

Tiller’s breath caught at the sight of Mariah. What did she know? How much had the blackguards told her?

"I thought I’d find you here." She pulled the door shut and hurried toward him.

He lifted his chin at Rainy.

Glancing at the boy, she slowed her steps. "Rainy, leave that for now, please. I need to have a private word with Mr. Tiller."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Rainy pushed the stall open with one shoulder, hiding his grin with the other. He ducked out the door whistling the tune his little brother had sung the first time Tiller laid eyes on them. A lively song about a coming gospel train rumbling through the land.

Tiller’s heart squeezed. Something was rumbling toward him all right, and it wasn’t the gospel train. Weak in the knees, he felt powerless to stop it.

Mariah’s chin shot up. "What happened to you in there?"

She didn’t know. Not yet, at least. He shrugged and leaned against Sheki’s stall. "I don’t like the look of that bunch around the table."

She frowned. "I’ll admit they’re rude and uncouth, but we’ve seen worse, I assure you."

Tiller longed to grab her shoulders and shake her, tell her she’d never seen the likes of Hade Betts. He wanted her to promise to watch her back every second the men were in the house. Since he could do no such thing, he vowed to watch her every second himself. Until he found out the purpose of Hade’s deceitful game, he’d guard his own back fairly close, too. "Did they pay up front?"