Bandit's Hope (36 page)

How could she forget Tiller McRae when he’d invaded every corner of her life?

Miserable, Mariah’s heart lifted to Miss Vee’s room. She longed to race up the stairs and knock on her door, but she’d find no comfort there.

Why hadn’t she realized how much she loved Miss Vee? She only prayed she hadn’t lost her for good. Life would be unbearable if Miss Vee left the inn. The loss would be like losing a mother all over again.

"Little missy?"

She glanced around.

Otis stood behind her wearing the stiff gray shirt and baggy trousers he wore when they first carried him to her door. He’d slicked back his hair and shined up his boots, as well.

"Otis." She blinked at him. "You’re dressed."

He grinned. "Well, not quite, thanks to you and Miss Vee. I can’t seem to fasten the top button of my drawers, and I don’t even need my suspenders."

She hid a smile behind her hand. "I was about to ask if you were ready for your breakfast."

He patted his bulging stomach. "Well, sure. It may be big, but it’s empty this morning."

She nodded at the table. "Have a seat. It’s almost ready."

He swung into a chair and glanced around. "Your uncle ain’t left yet to go hunt Tiller, has he?"

Mariah glanced up. "How did you know he was going?"

"It don’t take much figuring to know a man like Joe will go after those men."

She went back to stirring her eggs. "I’m about to wake him. He’s eager to get on the road."

"That makes two of us."

Laying aside her ladle, Mariah turned. "You can’t go. You’re not strong enough."

The banister creaked, jolting her heart. She prayed to see Miss Vee lumbering down to slip on her apron and help with breakfast as she did every morning, her threats to leave forgotten.

Uncle Joe’s heavy footsteps descended instead.

Otis lifted his head. "I’m going with you, Joe."

Her uncle smoothed back his hair and tied it with a leather strap then crossed to the coffeepot. "I don’t think you can keep up, Otis. We’ll be riding hard."

"I’ll keep up. I’m stronger than I look."

Uncle Joe poured his coffee and stirred in a cube of sugar. "Why do you want to go?"

Otis swung around in his chair. "I’ve been mulling over the day I first ran into Tiller on the Trace. The day they took my money and busted my head." He glanced at Mariah. "When Tiller told me he had a wife, he was outright lying."

She gave her head a little shake. "Why would he lie about a thing like that?"

Otis tapped his nose. "Tiller was the bait, you see. Those ruffians used his boyish face and winsome ways to lure folks. Then they’d swoop in and skin their prey." He nodded. "The story Tiller told me that day he made up on the fly. He meant to sidetrack me, get me feeling sorry for him, and take my mind off the danger." He chuckled. "It worked, too."

Hope surged in Mariah’s heart, but her anger squashed it. She slid a plate of food in front of both men and pulled out the opposite chair. "If it’s true, it’s still a crime. And a terrible thing to do."

Otis leaned across the table and peered into her eyes. "You’re right, honey. It don’t sound like the man we know, does it?"

Mariah bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "Not at all."

He touched her hand. "Why do you reckon Tiller came here in the first place, snuggling in and making himself at home?"

She’d never once asked herself that question. "I … don’t know."

"He was running from those men because a life of pure meanery and shecoonery never set right in his heart. Tiller rode away and left me that day for the same reason. He’s not the kind of man to take part in what happened next."

"He did have a part in it," Uncle Joe said. "He set you up to be fleeced."

Otis stared at his breakfast. "I’m not excusing him for that. He was guilty as sin." He glanced between them. "But Tiller brought that sin to the cross."

Silence settled over the table.

"It’s the truth," Otis said. "Yesterday, he knelt at my feet and sobbed his heart out to God. He got up a brand-new man." He reached for Mariah’s hand. "Little missy, Tiller came here for a fresh start, and now he’s had a true change of heart."

"Then why’d he run?" Uncle Joe growled.

Otis scratched his head. "I ain’t figured that part out yet. That’s why I intend to ride along, Joe. I mean to ask young Tiller myself." He squeezed Mariah’s fingers. "There are two things I know for sure. One, Tiller didn’t go willingly, and two, he loves you, honey."

Mariah got up and faced the counter, her napkin pressed to her mouth. "Then why didn’t he tell me about his past? Why did he keep secrets from me?"

Otis cleared his throat. "I seem to remember another secret." His quiet voice soothed and convicted her at the same time. "Did you share all yours with him?"

Dicey swept through the back door, her high-pitched voice shattering the stillness like busted glass. "Sorry I’s late. It ain’t my fault. That tomfool Rainy ain’t been on time one day in his life." Unaware of the strain in the room, she snatched her apron off the hook and set to washing the dishes.

Mariah wiped her eyes and brought another serving of eggs to Uncle Joe. She held the ladle suspended over his plate when Rainy ducked in the back door.

"Missy Bell?"

She glanced up.

"When Mista’ Tilla’ be back? We s’posed to build fences this mornin’."

She swallowed hard. "You’d best go on and start without him."

He frowned. "Yes’m."

As he ducked out of sight, a thought niggled at Mariah’s mind. "Rainy, wait," she called.

He poked his head in again.

"How did you know Tiller’s not here?"

Rainy, pointed. "Well, there’s you and Mr. Joe. Mr. Otis and Miss Vee don’t get on no horse." He grinned. "
Somebody
ridin’ Sheki, so it got to be Mista’ Tilla’."

Mariah dropped the ladle with a clatter, and Uncle Joe lurched up from his chair.

It felt like Rainy punched her in the stomach. She had to suck air before she could speak. "Sheki’s gone?" It came out a croak.

The boy’s eyes rounded. "Y–yes’m. Horse, bridle, and saddle."

Mariah shook her head at Uncle Joe. "He wouldn’t take Sheki."

Uncle Joe slammed his fisted napkin to the table. "Well, he did," he roared.

Dicey screamed and dropped a plate with a
crash.

Rainy made himself scarce.

The trembling in Mariah’s chest flamed into rage. Of all the betrayals, this one stung the worst. Tiller knew what Sheki meant to her. His actions stank with bold assumption, the cocky action of a man with no conscience and no capacity for love.

In that moment, her heart closed on him and turned a lock. From here on, any reminders of Tiller McRae would taste of bitter swill.

Otis half stood, his eyes pleading. "Now, little missy … don’t jump to conclusions."

Her hand shot up. "Don’t you dare defend him. If Tiller took Sheki, he can’t be who we thought he was." She turned to Uncle Joe. "I don’t care about the money. Just find my horse."

He nodded. "I’ll saddle up and come back for my provisions."

Otis watched Uncle Joe stalk to the door. "I’m going too, ain’t I, Joe?"

Her uncle chewed inside his cheek for a moment then sighed. "Against my better judgment, Mariah, pack enough for two." He wagged a warning finger. "I won’t slow my pace for you. If you can’t keep up, I’ll send you back alone."

Otis gave him a quick nod. "Fair enough."

A knock on the front door pulled them around. Staring at the hallway, Mariah clenched her fists. "Oh please, not today. I have no patience for lodgers."

Dicey set the dish towel filled with broken china aside and scurried past. "You want me to send them away?"

Mariah sighed. With her money stolen, she couldn’t afford the luxury of her wishes. "Just answer the door, Dicey. See what they want."

Uncle Joe returned to the table and picked up his coffee. "I’ll wait here until we find out who they are."

Exhausted, Mariah sank down at the table to wait. The breakfast she’d labored over had looked so good just moments before. Now its smell turned her stomach.

Dicey appeared wringing her hands. "They say they don’t need no room for the night. Jus’ a hot meal and coffee, if we please, and to fill their canteens at the pump. They willing to pay."

Mariah shared a look with Uncle Joe.

"I need to get on the road," he said. "I won’t leave you alone with a rough bunch of strangers."

"We need the money." Mariah bit her lip. "I can handle them. I’ve done it before."

"Not without Viola." He nodded at Dicey. "Bring them in so I can have a look at them."

She bustled away, returning quickly with two men and a woman trailing behind her. The beautiful redhead was definitely a woman, though she wore jean pants and a youth’s checkered shirt. She strutted into the kitchen ahead of her companions with the quiet confidence of a man.

Dust from the road covered them in a fine layer, and fatigue lined their faces, but the unmistakable light of decency shone from their eyes.

"Morning, ma’am," the striking, dark-eyed man said then nodded at Otis and Uncle Joe.

Uncle Joe shook hands all around. "Mariah, these folks look hungry. See what you can do to fix it."

"Yes sir," she said, turning to the stove.

"We need to clean up before we sit at your nice table," the woman said. "We’ve got many a long mile clinging to our hides."

"Show them to the pump, Dicey," Mariah said. "Take a towel for each of them when you go."

They returned refreshed and sat at the table, eagerly pouring cups of steaming coffee.

Mariah found the oddly attractive group so pleasant to look at she could hardly keep from staring.

Otis, gaping from one to the other, seemed to suffer the same affliction.

Heaping plates with eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and buttered biscuits, she passed them around. Grinning, her guests shared a pleased look then tucked into the food.

The handsome man, his cheeks bulging, beamed at Mariah. "Ma’am, this is the best spread we’ve had in weeks."

His friend nodded. "Not since we pulled out of Scuffletown."

Otis shot to his feet. "I knew it! I know just who you are."

The dark-eyed man sloshed his coffee.

His friend seemed to bite his tongue.

The forkful of food headed for the woman’s mouth fell to her plate.

They stilled, as if scared to move, gazing stupidly at Otis.

Uncle Joe scowled. "Man, have you lost your senses?"

Ignoring him, Otis pointed to each of them in turn. "You’re Hooper. You’re Duncan. And you’re Dilsey."

Staring blankly, the woman slowly shook her head. "No sir. I’m Ellie. And this here’s my husband, Wyatt. But how—"

"Close enough," Otis crowed.

Mariah gasped. No wonder these folks struck a chord in her heart. Like Otis, she already knew them from her long talks with Tiller. The family he hadn’t seen in ten long years sat for breakfast around Mariah’s kitchen table.

FORTY-ONE

M
ariah held her breath and waited, a pulse pounding in her throat.

The man Otis claimed to be Hooper didn’t deny it. Waking from his daze, he stood. "Tiller’s been here," he announced in a steady voice, his eyes brimming with hope. He glanced at each of them, settling on Mariah. "Is he still?"

She wondered if he saw the same bond to Tiller she sensed in him.

"No sir," Otis said. "You just missed him."

Ellie squealed and sprang up to hug her brother. Turning from the crook of his arm, she swiped at her tears. "Tell us where he is. We’ll go right now."

Otis cleared his throat. "Well, ma’am, that part’s a little tricky."

"If he’s coming back, we’ll wait," Hooper said. "No matter how long it takes."

Uncle Joe’s mouth tensed to a thin white line. "You’ll wait a long time. Tiller’s not welcome here."

Ellie spun, her green eyes flashing. "Why is that?"

"Tiller McRae is a thief and a liar," he said. "And a no-account beguiler of women."

The three stared in disbelief.

Uncle Joe jutted his chin. "Not to mention a horse thief."

"Who says?" Ellie demanded, her fists clenched.

Wyatt’s arm shot out to hold her. "Let him talk, Ellie. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Tiller. He’s not the young whelp you remember."

"I don’t care. Tiller’s our kin. He couldn’t be all those things." Her voice wavered. "He just couldn’t."

"Ask my niece," Uncle Joe said, pointing at Mariah. "The swindler proposed marriage to her when he already has a wife."

Ellie gasped and covered her mouth.

Hooper and Wyatt shot troubled frowns over her head.

"Not only that," Uncle Joe continued, "he robbed our safe last night of every cent we owned. I’m on my way this morning to form a posse and go after him."

Showing strength Mariah didn’t think he had, Otis pushed between them. "Now blast it! Hold up a minute, Joe. You’re only giving them part of the story. Tiller’s family deserves the whole truth."

Ellie’s hand slid away from her mouth. "If it’s any worse than what we’ve heard, kindly keep it to yourself."

Hooper gripped his shoulder. "Tell us what you know, old-timer."

Otis pulled out a chair for Ellie then gave Mariah a brisk nod. "Brew up more coffee, little missy. This might take a minute."

Uncle Joe fumed. "I don’t have time for stories, Otis. If you want to stay behind and flap your jaws, that’s up to you. I need to call out a manhunt."

Mariah gripped his wrist. "Please, Uncle Joe. Otis is right. These folks are Tiller’s family. They have a right to hear everything and decide for themselves."

Hooper nodded. "I’d be much obliged if you’d wait, sir. Since we’re both looking for the same man, I’d like to ride along."

Uncle Joe looked doubtful. "I don’t know if that’s a good idea."

"We might be of use," Hooper said. "My sister is quite gifted at tracking."

Looking down his nose, Uncle Joe scoffed. "I have no need of her. I can trail a goose in a southbound flock."

Ellie’s brow puckered. "I can track a flea in a sandstorm."

They challenged each other across the room.