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Authors: Marcia Gruver

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BOOK: Bandit's Hope
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Miss Vee gasped and slapped his hands away. Making a run for the counter, she whirled with a war cry and a rolling pin.

Dicey screamed and pressed her back to the wall, both hands clutching her face.

Mariah slid between the vengeful redhead and her drunken suitor just in time to prevent a battered skull. Easing the flour-dusted weapon from Miss Vee’s hand, she smiled to calm her rage. "Steady, now. I’ll take it from here." Steeling her spine, Mariah faced the disrespectful dandy. "I’ll appreciate the removal of your overzealous friend. Even squaws recognize beastly behavior toward a lady."

Avoiding her eyes, he stood wiping his mouth and laid his napkin beside his plate. "Of course." He caught the swaying brute by his collar and hauled him down the hall with Mariah, Miss Vee, and Dicey close on their heels. In the parlor, he collected their waiting bags and escorted his companion onto the front porch. With a tip of his hat and a slight bow, he shoved him past the gaping yard boy to a wagon at the end of the walk.

Rainy nudged his hat toward one ear and scratched his head. "Everything all right, Missy Bell?"

Mariah flicked a sweat-dampened curl from her forehead. "It is now."

Miss Vee shook her head. "Not quite." Spinning on her heel, she led them back the way they came and waltzed up to the table, her crinoline petticoat swaying. With a meaningful glance at her rolling pin, she gave the two remaining guests a pointed look. "I believe you gents were about to take your leave as well?"

Her question ignited a frantic struggle to shove back their chairs and stand. Black Tooth snatched his hat from the hook on the wall and shoved it onto his head. "Yes ma’am. I can see it’s about that time."

Still chewing a bite of food, his partner’s head bobbed. "We’d like to thank you ladies for a most pleasant stay."

Miss Vee narrowed her eyes. "I’d invite you back, but you won’t be coming within ten miles of here ever again." She smiled sweetly. "Ain’t that right?"

"No, ma’am," said one man.

"Yes’m," croaked the other.

Swatting with their hats and stumbling over their feet, they battered each other soundly while racing for the back door, clattering off the porch in a sprint.

One glance at Miss Vee’s face, red blotches standing out against her rouge, and Mariah doubled over laughing.

Dicey yanked her apron over her mouth, but a giggle escaped.

Miss Vee sputtered a bit then joined in, howling until she gripped her sides.

Eyes shining, they dropped into the empty chairs and stared across the messy table, still grinning.

Mariah sobered first. Leaning her head to stare at the ceiling, she sighed. "Oh, Miss Vee … there go four paying customers who won’t be coming back. With travel along the Trace so scarce these days, perhaps we should’ve handled things differently."

"Oh, piddle," Miss Vee said. "There are still plenty of men who’ll cross over from Robinson Road just to have one of your breakfasts." She patted Mariah’s hand. "Don’t fret, honey. We’ll be just fine without the likes of those vermin."

She slapped the table, rattling the sugar bowl. "If your father was here, it never would’ve happened. John Coffee commands respect." Tilting her head, she smiled. "Folks like him on sight. It’s a gift."

A leaden weight settled in Mariah’s stomach. "You’re right, Miss Vee. If only my father was here …"

FOUR

T
he cheerful morning had disappeared. Storm clouds roiling in from the gulf met the afternoon sun overhead, sweeping across it like a giant snuffer dousing the light.

Tiller raised his collar against the sudden gusty wind, glanced up, and winced when the first chilly raindrops began to fall.

A little farther south and the Trace angled close to the Pearl. A few miles past the river bend, the road grew nearly impassable. He had decided to bypass that point, ride cross-country to Canton, and hide out for a few days, but then the squall blew in. With thunder rattling the treetops and lightning lifting the hairs on his arms, finding shelter was the only thing left on his mind.

Faint whistling pricked his ears. He flicked his collar away from his face, tilting his head to listen. Scared to blink, he watched the road ahead, his stomach hot, hands clammy.

He’d never waited in the shadows for an approaching stranger without the comforting presence of his men lurking nearby. It occurred to him that fate may have turned the tables—the bait used to lure unsuspecting prey would find itself ensnared. A part of him knew it’d be justice served.

Tiller reined his horse behind a cluster of oaks and watched, grateful for the cover of the darkening sky.

A gangly boy in a floppy straw hat ducked from the woody canopy, all dusky arms and skinny legs. Humming now, he picked his way down the slope into the misty ravine and ambled toward Tiller with a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.

In the manner of a soul who believes himself alone, he closed his eyes and sang with all his grit, so loud he flushed a chattering squirrel.

"Dat gospel train’s a comin’,

I hear it jus’ at hand,

I hear the car wheels movin’,

And rumblin’ thru the land.

Get on board, childr’n,

Get on board, childr’n,

Get on board, childr’n,

They be room for many a mo’."

Taking his first easy breath, Tiller nudged his horse onto the road.

The boy’s head jerked up, and he spun for the opposite rise.

"Hold up there," Tiller called. "I mean you no harm."

Chest heaving, the lad stilled with one foot braced on the grassy incline, watching over his shoulder.

Tiller rode closer. "Did you hear what I said? Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you."

A nod. His scrawny throat worked furiously, as if he found it hard to swallow. By the size of the budding Adam’s apple, he couldn’t be more than twelve, but his small stature made it hard to tell.

Inching closer, Tiller flashed his brightest smile. "How are you faring on this dismal afternoon?" He ducked his head at the empty sack on the boy’s bony shoulder. "About to pick a mess of berries, I see."

The boy twisted around to face Tiller, both thumbs shoved in the waistband of his tattered trousers. "Nawsuh." He stared at Tiller with darting eyes. "Cain’t pick nothin’, now. We ’bout to get us a drenchin’."

Tiller grinned. "I reckon we are at that." He softened his voice. "Where you bound for, young man? You have someplace to go to get in out of the rain?"

Despite the protection of Nathan’s hat, Tiller’s wet shirt stuck to his back. Rivulets of water ran along his spine beneath his braces, soakinghim down to the skin. It would take a mighty hot fire to dry him out and ease the chill from his bones. He shivered, waiting for an answer.

Say the right thing, boy. Tell me you live close by, somewhere warm and dry with plenty of room by the fire.

The little fellow stammered and slid one foot behind him. "Well, suh … you see, we … that is, we ain’t—"

Together, they spun toward the rustle of footsteps. A taller, meatier version of Tiller’s new friend rounded the bend, halting fast when he saw Tiller. The boy’s brother. No doubt about it. Gathered brows and a quick flick of his head summoned the smaller one to his side. "What you doing consortin’ with strangers? Pa gon’ take a switch to yo’behind."

"I ain’t consortin’, Rainy. I jus’ run up on him, same as you."

Like a puppy, the older boy hadn’t quite grown into his oversized paws. Lifting wary eyes to Tiller, he spread long fingers over his little brother’s chest and urged the child behind him. "Hush up, and come on with me. We going home."

"Wait." Tiller’s upraised hand stopped them cold. "I’m hankering to get out of this weather. You know of a place close by where I could hole up for a spell?"

Two sets of eyes studied Tiller, as dark and brooding as the angry clouds rolling in behind them. Jagged shards of lightning scattered overhead followed by violent thunder.

At last, the elder brother nodded. "Yessuh, Bell’s Inn." His arm shot out to point behind him. "A short piece that way. Mastah John and his Injun daughter run the finest stand on the Natchez Trace."

Tiller nodded. "I know just the one you mean, but I thought the new road shut down all the stands on the Trace."

"Bell’s Inn shut?" The boy wagged his head. "Nawsuh, it ain’t no such."

Tiller’s gaze flicked up the hill. "Am I close?"

The boy nodded, steadily easing his brother up the slope. "A good gallop will get you there in a tick. Watch for a split rail fence and a whole mess of magnolias out back." At the top of the rise, he flashed a toothy grin. "You cain’t miss it. Jus’ look for the best tended grounds in Madison County."

Sighing with relief, Tiller lifted his soggy hat. "Much obliged."

But they were gone. Nothing left where they’d been standing but the wind-whipped branches of a young hawthorn tree.

Grinning, he spun his horse into a trot up the Trace, his heart set on a soft bed and the warmth of a roaring fire.

Mariah gripped her forehead and fought to see the swirling digits scrawled across the ledger. She’d come close to crying over the dismal numbers in the past, but today the persistent threat of tears had little to do with the state of her accounts.

Laying aside her dusting cloth, Miss Vee swiped her palms on her apron. "Are you all right, Mariah?" She leaned to look out the window, drawing away again as thunder shook the pane. "You’re about as gloomy as this awful weather, and you didn’t touch your lunch."

Mariah summoned the will to answer. "I’m fine, thank you."

Miss Vee crossed to the desk and pressed the back of her hand to Mariah’s forehead. "You feel a bit warm, child. You don’t have a temperature, do you?"

Across the room, Dicey rounded her eyes and slid along the wall to the parlor door, ducking out of sight around the corner.

The yellow fever epidemic of 1878 had ravaged the state of Mississippi, creating ghost towns and wiping out whole families. Four years later, folks still got jumpy around any threat of sickness.

Mariah supposed suffering would resemble the Yellow Jack if no one knew a body was grieving. It would be difficult to hide the bitter ache in her heart, but she’d have to try harder. She drew a shaky breath and glanced up. "I’m a little tired, is all. Got up too early, I guess."

Pulling the accounting book from Mariah’s hands, Miss Vee closed the dusty cover. "This mess will keep, honey." Bending, she tossed it into the small safe beneath Mariah’s desk and closed it with her foot. "Go upstairs and have yourself a lie-down. There are still a few hours before suppertime."

"I really should—"

"No arguments." Miss Vee, who no one would describe as delicate, had surprising strength in her determined hands. She curled her fingers around Mariah’s wrist and pulled. "Come along, now. Don’t make me try to tote you up the stairs. We’d both wind up regretting it."

Smiling, Mariah allowed her spunky friend to tug her toward the landing. As they neared the bottom step, a knock came at the door. Miss Vee jumped then stumbled, nearly yanking Mariah’s arm from the socket. Her frantic grab for the newel post was all that saved them from falling. Wobbly, they clung together, breathing hard.

Dicey raced into the front hall and stood gaping at the door. "Who you s’pose that gon’ be?"

Miss Vee’s throat rose and fell. "You don’t think it’s those same fools?" Her hoarse voice cracked. "Returning to get revenge?"

Glancing toward Miss Vee, Dicey shuddered. "Who be addled enough to go out on a day like this … ’less they up to no good?"

Thunder rattled the house, and the three of them shrieked.

Feeling ridiculous, Mariah pulled free of Miss Vee’s clutches. "For pity’s sake, we’re behaving like schoolgirls, scaring ourselves silly with ghost stories. Those men are halfway to Jackson." She brushed wayward strands of hair from her eyes. "I’m sure it’s just some poor soul hoping to get out of the rain."

The rapping came again, louder this time.

Mariah fought to still her pounding heart. Why did ordinary things suddenly feel so scary? Knowing Father was gone had knocked the braces from under her. Resenting the fact, she balled her fists. Onnat Bell’s daughter wouldn’t give in to fear. "Answer the door, Dicey."

The girl whined and wrung her hands. "Me, Miss Mariah? Oh, no. Let Miss Vee."

"Go on, now," Mariah said. "We’re right behind you."

Dicey inched forward. Pausing, her trembling fingers stretched toward the knob, she pleaded over her shoulder with her eyes.

Mariah urged her on with a nod.

Swallowing hard, the girl eased the door open a crack and peered through. "Um, y-yessuh?"

"Afternoon." The booming voice dripped with sass as thick as country gravy. "I’ve come to see about a room."

Tension melting from Mariah’s shoulders, she released her breath. "Ask him in, Dicey."

Dicey stepped primly aside. "She say come on in."

Framed by the doorposts—his beaming face out of place against a backdrop of driving rain—stood the most curiously handsome man Mariah had ever seen.

Drenched from head to heels, his hair clung to his face in soggy strands, a light orangey red, even darkened by rainwater. Along with soaked-through britches and a damp cotton shirt, he wore a practiced grin and the forced cheerfulness of a man used to having his way.

BOOK: Bandit's Hope
10.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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