Bandit's Hope (37 page)

Mariah sought his hand and squeezed.

With a whispered curse, Uncle Joe nodded and plopped in his chair.

They settled around the table while Otis talked about the kindhearted Tiller, the man who hovered over his sickbed, bathing and feeding him with gentle hands when he was too weak to care for himself. He spoke of the Tiller devoted to Mariah, rescuing her from the twister and its aftermath and from crazy Gabe Tabor.

Otis told them how Tiller loved the inn, rebuilding it from rooftop to foundation then doing it all over again after the storm. He mentioned the garden, how Tiller spent long hours coaxing green shoots from the ground, determined that Mariah have fresh vegetables despite the destructive tornado.

In a voice filled with fatherly pride, he told of Tiller chopping up trees for days and hauling them off to sell, so proud of bringing every cent to place in Mariah’s lap. He ended with the story of Tiller in tears, kneeling on the porch to lay down his sins and invite Jesus into his life. "If there’s one thing a man can’t fake, it’s a repentant heart."

Ellie crossed her arms on the table and lowered her head to cry, strands of her long hair falling in the butter dish.

Dicey lifted her apron to cover her face and ran sobbing into the pantry.

Ducking his head, Hooper wiped his face with his sleeve.

Even Wyatt, Ellie’s husband, had shimmering eyes. "That sounds more like the boy we knew."

"So what happened after all that?" Hooper asked. "And what’s this about a wife?"

Otis opened his mouth to answer, but Mariah gripped his shoulder. "No. Let me."

Otis glanced up with a sweet smile. "Go ahead, honey."

Taking a deep breath, she told how Tiller had been riding with a raiding gang of thieves. She made it clear that he took off when the real crimes were committed because his tender conscience drove him to. She said Tiller didn’t really have a wife, that sweet Lucinda was a story he made up on the fly to gain Otis’s trust.

In a proud voice, she explained how Tiller broke with the gang to seek a fresh start, but they followed him to Bell’s Inn. She assured them Tiller took no part in robbing the inn. He’d been in the parlor to protect her money from his former gang, not to steal it.

Mariah said all these things to Tiller’s family because she knew without a single doubt they were true.

"Then why did he run?" Joe demanded.

Mariah hung her head. "I’m certain Tiller ran from the doubt in my eyes." Her heart breaking, she glared. "But he didn’t run for good. Tiller would never steal my horse, Uncle Joe. Leaving on Sheki proves he has every intention of coming back."

"That’s it!" Otis cried, slapping the table. "He’s planning to ride back here with your money and make you proud. It lines up with everything else the boy’s done since he got here."

Mariah crossed her arms over the sudden ache in her stomach. "That could be dangerous, couldn’t it? Those men won’t let him get away with all those coins. They’ll kill him first."

Uncle Joe raised his chin, staring down his nose at her. "You really believe in this red-haired nahullo?"

She smiled through her tears. "With all my heart."

Standing, he offered his hand to Hooper. "Looks like our manhunt just became a rescue."

Ellie’s husband seemed anxious. He stood with Hooper, wiping his trembling hands on his trousers. "This thieving gang," he said in a voice filled with dread, "did you happen to catch their names?"

"Yes." Mariah gave him a thoughtful nod. "The one with cold eyes was Hade Betts. The lanky man with a ready smile was Sonny Thompson."

She turned to Otis. "I can’t recall the quiet one’s name."

"Nathan somebody," Otis said.

Wyatt turned as pale as the tablecloth. "Carter? Nathan Carter?"

Mariah pointed. "Yes, that’s him."

Ellie wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s neck, and Hooper gently patted his shoulder.

Compassion squeezed Mariah’s heart. "You know him?"

Wyatt gave a somber nod. "He’s my brother."

"I’m so sorry."

Hooper hooked his arm around Wyatt. "Don’t worry. We’ll find them both and bring them home."

Wyatt shook his head. "I’d like to believe you, Hoop. Nathan’s pretty headstrong."

"Nonsense," Ellie said. "He’s bound to be tired of drifting." She smiled. "We’ll tell him he has a passel of nephews back home just dying to meet their Uncle Nate."

Wyatt grinned and squared his shoulders. "That might chase him off for good."

Uncle Joe grunted. "I hate to rush you folks, but it’s time to ride." He crossed to the rack and shoved his big hat on his head. "The longer we sit here, the farther away they’ll get."

He motioned to Otis. "I’ll saddle Tiller’s horse for you and meet you outside."

Otis waved his hand. "Aw, go on without me, Joe. I’d just slow you down."

Mariah smiled to herself. Funny how fast Otis lost his zeal to go once the tide of Uncle Joe’s anger switched off Tiller.

Swiveling on his chair, Otis gazed up at Hooper. "I have one more question, if you don’t mind."

"Not at all, sir," Hooper said.

Otis’s eyes crinkled in thought. "Why have you come looking for young Tiller?"

Hooper shot him a warm smile. "We’ve come to take him home."

Mariah’s breath caught. "Home? You mean to North Carolina?"

"That’s right." Ellie beamed. "Back to Scuffletown where he belongs."

Otis swung around to her. "Why now, after ten long years?"

Pulling on his leather gloves, Hooper lowered his gaze. "It’s not the first time we’ve searched, I can tell you that, but we finally got a good lead." He grinned. "Looks like it paid off."

Beaming, Otis glanced around at them. "I’m glad to know you care about him. Tiller don’t know that, you see."

Ellie clenched her hands and fixed determined eyes on Otis. "He’ll know soon enough, sir."

Mariah pushed up from the table. "What if Tiller doesn’t want to go back with you?"

Hooper’s mood seemed to lighten. "He’ll want to." He glanced at Ellie. "Once we tell him what’s waiting there for him."

Before Mariah could ask what he meant, Uncle Joe herded them out the door.

She called Dicey out of the pantry, and together they finished tying up bundles of food and filling canteens with water. As they carried them out the back door, the rising sun broke through the trees by the river.

Uncle Joe and the others rode up to the porch, and Dicey helped Mariah load their packs and tie on the full canteens.

Feeling her uncle watching from the saddle, Mariah glanced up at him.

He gently caressed her cheek. "Your mother loved you very much."

A lump rose in her throat. "Yes, she did."

"She loved your father, too."

Unable to speak, Mariah nodded.

Straightening, his thoughtful gaze swept his surroundings in a wide arc, from the Pearl River to the Natchez Trace stretching out of sight in the distance. "I’ll help you keep your promise, niece. I’ll bring home your Tiller so you can keep your mother’s land."

Her grateful tears blurred his dear face. "Thank you, Uncle. I love you with all my heart."

He nodded. "I’ll stay for your wedding, but then I must go home."

"Already? There’s no rush to leave."

A teasing glint sparked his eyes. "There is if I want to be home for the birth of my son."

A hush fell over the yard. "Aunt Myrtle is with child?"

He grinned. "Yes, at last. With my son, George."

Laughing, she reached up to give him a hug. "I’m so happy for you."

Pulling free, he took up his reins. "Enough of this dawdling. Let me go find your nahullo."

They rode down the slope of the yard and onto the Trace, turning left toward Jackson.

Mariah clung to the porch rail and watched as long as she could spot any sight of them flickering past the trees. Her heart felt somewhat lighter, but an unsettled matter weighed heavy on her mind. She had to face Miss Vee. The sooner the better.

There hadn’t been a peep from her all morning, despite her determined threat to pack and leave. Sudden fear struck Mariah’s heart. Miss Vee didn’t seem the type to harm herself, but—

Whirling for the door, Mariah burst into the kitchen and dashed for the stairs.

"She’s over here, little missy."

She froze, her trembling hand clutching the rail.

Otis sat across the table from a bleary-eyed Miss Vee, her face bare of makeup, her hair an unholy mess. Through bloodred eyes, the lids puffed like risen dough, she stared at her hands twisting the tablecloth.

Mariah cautiously approached. "Miss Vee?"

Otis stood. "Here, take my chair. She’s ready to talk." He backed toward the door. "I’ll just …" Then he was gone.

Unsure what to say, Mariah slid into his surrendered seat and laced her fingers in front of her, her knuckles white.

Her chest ached when Miss Vee groped for her hand. "I always knew, Mariah. Deep inside, I knew."

A lump crowded Mariah’s throat. "That Father was gone?"

Miss Vee shook her head. "That I wouldn’t be allowed to have him—not with how bad I wanted him." She raised her eyes. "I’d have lured your father straight from your mama’s arms if he’d given me the chance." She shook her head. "Such a thing should never go unpunished."

"Please don’t." Mariah squeezed her hand. "Father’s death wasn’t to punish you."

Miss Vee shrugged. "I reckon I know that in my head. My heart’s not so sure." She lifted tortured eyes. "It was an awful lie you told. A terrible, cruel secret to keep." Her gaze held Mariah captive. "You understand that now, don’t you?"

She nodded. "To my shame, I understood all along. That’s why I have to beg your forgiveness." She lowered her cheek to Miss Vee’s hand. "I knew how much it would hurt when you found out."

Miss Vee sat quietly for a moment then caressed Mariah’s bowed head. "Pretty girl, you’re all I have left of your father. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too."

Mariah sat up and flung her arms around Miss Vee’s neck, basking in the warmth of her pardon. Clinging together, they sobbed for the heartbreaking loss they shared.

FORTY-TWO

S
onny’s boisterous mood and Nathan’s loud rustling never stirred Hade. The man slept like the dead and always had. A dangerous inclination for a criminal, but it would work in Tiller’s favor. He’d find a way to distract Sonny, and then he’d pounce on Hade.

Licking his lips, he looked around, trying to get some idea of what to do with the gawky court jester who stayed loyal to a fault to Hade Betts.

"What you up to, Nate?" The clown in question leaned over Nathan’s shoulder while he rummaged in his saddlebag.

"Going fishing," Nathan said, holding up the hooks and ball of twine he kept in his pack. If not for Nathan’s knack with catching fish, many days on the trail the gang might’ve gone hungry.

Sonny danced with excitement. "Hey, I want to go."

Nathan shrugged. "Sure. Go dig up a mess of worms. I’ll rig the poles."

The tension in Tiller’s shoulders eased.
Thanks, Nate.
Without knowing it, he’d just solved Tiller’s problem.

Squirming with impatience, Tiller wiped his wet palms on his trousers while Nathan cut and trimmed two limber oak branches and rigged them with the makeshift tackle. Pulling his hat low over his face, he saluted Tiller and lumbered upriver, Sonny bounding behind him like a flop-eared hound.

Now that Tiller’s chance had come, he couldn’t seem to move. His heart pounded and sweat broke out on his top lip. He swiped it away, his nervous gaze fixed on Hade.

In the years since Nate had coaxed Tiller to join Hade’s gang, he’d never trusted the man. Never respected his spiteful tactics. Savage as a meat ax, Hade’s unpredictable cruelty was the reason Tiller rode away from every ambush. Still, what he was about to do wouldn’t be easy.

He stood, flexed his fingers at his side. Raised his head and sought the heavens for courage. Unsheathed his knife and squatted in front of Hade.

His mouth sagging, one arm flung over his head, Hade snored like the call of a bull moose. The leather pack under his neck forced his head back, exposing his fleshy throat like a formal invitation.

His first try, Tiller shook so hard he had to withdraw, taking deep breaths through his nose to settle his nerves.

Biting his bottom lip, he inched the blade forward again.

"Just … back away, Tiller boy." Nathan’s hoarse whisper jolted Tiller so close to Hade’s jugular, he nearly severed it. A firm grip on Tiller’s hand guided the knife away from the man’s throat. Dropping to his knees beside them, Nathan cocked his head and raised his brows to question marks.

"What’s going on?" Hade mumbled, struggling to sit up.

Nathan pried the knife from Tiller and swept moldy leaves from the base of the tree. "Just digging for worms, Hade," he said, twisting the knife in the exposed dirt.

"Worms?" Hade blinked his bleary eyes then hurled a foul curse. "Don’t dig them from under me, you fool." He waved his arm. "Go over yonder and dig the blasted things."

"Sorry, pardner. Go back to sleep," Nathan cooed, rising to his feet.

He pulled Tiller up by his collar and marched him across the camp to the river. Smiling brightly, he waved at Sonny, perched on a rock about fifty yards away, dangling his pole over the water. Hauling Tiller around, Nate punched his arm. "Are you crazy? It’s a good thing I forgot my cork."

Tiller frowned. "Where did you learn to be so quiet?"

"I’m a Lumbee, remember? We learned to be quiet or be dead."

He shoved Tiller’s shoulder. "What did you think you were doing? You’d never get away with killing Hade Betts. Besides, with your tender conscience, you couldn’t live with yourself."

Tiller lifted his chin. "I wasn’t going to kill him."

Nate flung the knife, burying it to the hilt in the ground. "I don’t know if you know this, Tiller boy, but if you slit a man’s throat, he dies."

Bending to yank the blade free, Tiller wiped it on his trousers and shoved it in the scabbard at his side. "I didn’t intend to cut him, but Hade had to wake up believing I would."

"If he believed it, he’d kill you even deader." Nathan pointed at the knife. "Do me a favor and leave that Mississippi toothpick in its sleeve. I know what you’re trying to do, but you’re going about it all wrong." He patted Tiller’s back and strolled ahead. "Just sit tight and leave the scheming to me. Trickery’s not your style."