Bandit's Hope (9 page)

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "And she’ll always be part of the inn."

"Miss Vee? Miss Bell? Anybody?"

With a shared look of surprise, they hurried from the room and rushed to the head of the stairs.

Tiller stared up from the bottom step. A spate of freckles Mariah hadn’t noticed before stood out on his whitewashed face. "I think you ladies might want to come down here."

Mariah took the stairs two at a time. Respectability be hanged. Tobias Jones was in her house.

Behind her, Miss Vee moaned. "What is it, son?"

Tiller shook his head. "I can’t rightly say. I’ve never seen anything like it before."

It was all Mariah needed to hear. Clutching her skirts, she sprinted for the sickroom.

EIGHT

M
ariah spun out of the parlor and across the hall, lurching to a stop outside the guest room. She stared at the scene before her, dumbstruck.

Their patient, as bare as the day his mother bore him except for a sheet draped over his middle, sprawled on the floor in front of a blazing hearth. His skinny arms were stretched out to the sides. His pasty legs and knobby knees were on display.

The Choctaw healer knelt at his side with puckered lips pressed to his forehead like a child drawing juice from a lemon.

Too shocked to look away, Mariah found her voice. "Stop it this instant."

Ignoring her, Tobias lifted his mouth and spat in his cupped palm, then gracefully rose and shook an unseen substance off his hand into the fire. A bright red mark appeared on the old man’s brow.

Mariah had heard of the Indian practice of dry cupping, but she’d never witnessed the procedure. Most felt it a silly superstition, with no real power to heal. After seeing it in action, she tended to agree.

"We brought you here to care for his injury. To clean it and apply healing herbs." She waved her hand over the scene. "Not for all this nonsense."

"Sucking near the wound draws out the poison."

"So will a poultice of cotton-tree root."

Tobias’s glare held scorn. "Old way better."

Mariah cautiously approached the poor soul stretched out on the floor. Moisture beaded his top lip and pooled in the hollow of his chest. "Why is he sweating so?"

"China root tea. To cleanse from
isht abeka
." Tobias nodded firmly. "Infection," he repeated as if she hadn’t understood him the first time.

She frowned. "How’d you get it down him?"

He crossed his arms, his scowl deepening.

She’d questioned his skill, insulting him. Her shoulders drooped. "All right. Never mind."

Movement from the corner startled her. Tobias’s sons, Justin and Christopher, stood in the shadows, trying in vain to hide their amusement.

Recalling what Miss Vee said about her black-ringed eyes, Mariah lowered her head and touched her burning face with her fingertips.

Tiller pushed past and stood over the man on the floor. "What’s he done to Mr. Gooch?"

Mariah’s head came around. "You know him?"

Tiller blanched like beans in hot water. "Just his name."

"But, how?"

"He, um … came to for a minute. Thanked me for taking care of him. Before he passed out again, he said his name. Otis, I think it was." He nodded and backed toward the corner. "Otis Gooch."

Miss Vee swept inside and took command. "Whatever his name, with him sweating like this, we should cover him. He’ll catch a draft." She motioned to the younger men. "Help me get him back in bed."

Grinning and casting furtive glances in Mariah’s direction, Chris and Justin took Mr. Gooch’s arms. Tiller hoisted his legs. They carried him with ease and gently placed him against the pillows.

Miss Vee hustled to his side with a dry towel to wipe his face. "He’ll stink now. After all the care we took to get him washed."

Tobias stood his ground in front of the fireplace, mumbling under his breath. As always, despite his irritation, he watched Miss Vee closely from under veiled lids.

Mariah propped her fisted hands at her waist. "Are you quite finished?"

He grunted. "All done. He’ll be better now."

She shot him a doubtful look. "What do I owe you?" "Corn bread."

She tilted her head. "Did you say corn bread?" He nodded. "Whole pan. Butter, too. Big tub."

Miss Vee paused from tucking the quilt under Mr. Gooch’s chin. "See, Tiller. I told you this girl was known for her cooking."

Mariah sighed. "I don’t have any corn bread prepared, and it’s too late to start. Can you come for it tomorrow?"

Tobias quirked his mouth then gave her a solemn nod. "By noon. No later. My boys will fetch it."

"I’ll have it ready."

The Jones men filed past her out of the room. Chris winked as he passed, and Justin smiled and touched her arm, both so handsome up close her toes curled.

Cursing her twisted fate, she groaned inside, wishing with all her might that they weren’t Choctaw.

Tiller’s brows lifted. Tilting his head, he took another look to be certain of what he’d seen.

Mariah stood in a trance, ogling the cumbersome broad backs and prissy long hair of the departing braves. She watched them go, the dreamy look turning to pouted lips and an angry scowl.

Tiller cleared his throat. "Mariah?"

Her shoulders twitched and she spun. "Yes? I’m sorry."

He smirked. "Forgive me for interrupting your musings."

A crimson blush swept up from her collar. "Not at all. I was just—"

His eyes held hers until she lowered her lashes. He couldn’t contain his knowing smile.

"Is there anything else before I turn in?"

Her gaze flickered up then dove to her feet. "Thank you, no. Miss Vee and I plan to take turns sitting with Mr. Gooch. You’ve done more than enough, and it’s very late. I’m sure you had a tiresome day on the road."

He offered a small bow. "I’ll say good night then."

"Just a minute, please," Miss Vee called in a hushed tone. Hurrying over, she ushered them into the hall. "Actually, I need to talk to you both. Now seems as good a time as any."

"Our guest said he’s tired," Mariah protested. "Can’t this wait until morning?"

Miss Vee cocked her head at Tiller. "Are you too bushed for a little chat? I have a business proposition." By the eager glow on her face, she had something big to say.

He grinned. "I suppose I can fend off sleep, now that you’ve piqued my interest."

"That’s what I thought." Ignoring Mariah’s furrowed scowl, she pointed at the parlor. "Take a seat inside. I’ll fetch us some tea."

Tiller raised his hand. "None for me, ma’am. Keeps me awake."

"Don’t worry"—she waved him off—"I’ll brew a pot of chamomile."

They crossed the hall, and Tiller stepped aside to allow Mariah into the room. She hadn’t met his eyes since he’d embarrassed her, and he couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts swirled in her head while she stared at the two young men with such admiration.

The possibilities churned his gut and lit a small fire of jealousy in his heart. Surely, she wasn’t interested in those two showy braves.

Don’t be a fool. You have no right.

He’d just met her, after all, though it seemed he knew her well. He felt a kinship with Mariah. An easy bond greater than simple attraction. Greater and more enticing by far.

She settled into a chair across the low table and folded her hands in her lap.

Tiller studied her, taking advantage of the fact that she refused to look up.

In her frenzied rush to deal with the Indian healer, a few locks of hair had escaped from the topknot on her head. Long and bountifully black, the wispy strands gleamed in the firelight coming from the hearth. Her eyes were the color of chestnuts. This he recalled from memory since only her sleepy lids were visible. Dark brows with a delicate arch set off her sweeping lashes. His meddling appraisal moved to her full lips, and his pulse surged.

Mariah’s hand fluttered to her mouth, waking him from his daze. She’d caught him at the very thing he’d mocked her for doing.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention to the hearth.

"I apologize for Miss Vee," she said lightly. "She gets worked up at times."

He glanced at her. "I don’t mind. She seems to have a good heart."

Mariah tucked in one of her loose strands. "It’s very astute of you to notice." She angled her head. "Considering you’ve known her for such a short while."

For the first time, Tiller took note of the slight crook in her nose. An imperfection, some might say, but it took nothing from her beauty. No more than the pleasing slant to her eyes.

He blinked as the realization hit. The boy he met on the road had said, "Mastah John and his Injun daughter run the finest stand on the Natchez Trace." Little wonder the Choctaw brothers would appeal to her. The elegant mistress of Bell’s Inn was an Indian, too.

Did it matter? He’d have to think on it awhile.

"Mr. McRae?" Mariah said softly. "Have I lost you?"

He covered his wayward thoughts with a wide grin. "What happened to calling me Tiller?"

She gave him a shy smile. "Your name bears getting used to. It’s very unusual."

"Just think of tilling the ground, and you won’t forget. That’s why folks started to call me Tiller in the first place. I suppose I’m good with the soil."

Mariah leaned closer. "So it’s not your given name?"

He shook his head. "Reddick’s on my birth papers, but I doubt I’d remember to answer to it. No one’s called me Reddick in years."

She thoughtfully mouthed the name. "I think I like it. Reddick has a nice ring." Her chin came up. "Though Tiller’s nice, too."

"I agree." Miss Vee swept into the room on the tail end of their conversation, placing a tray filled with teacups and little cakes on the table. "Tiller’s very nice indeed. Why would there be any question?"

Mariah shot him a grin. "Never mind, dear. Let me help you with the tea."

Miss Vee handed Mariah a delicate cup, which she passed on to Tiller. Once she’d served them, they settled down to watch each other over the steaming rims of their drinks.

Tiller’s first sip coated his top lip with creamy foam, the warm liquid so pleasant he hated to swallow. He held up his cup. "What did you say this concoction was?"

Miss Vee beamed. "Chamomile. I doctor it to my own peculiar taste. I hope you like it."

He chuckled. "You could say so. What makes it so good?"

Miss Vee set her saucer on the table. "Oh, I’m glad you like it. I brew it like everyone else then add a dollop of beaten cream and a teaspoon of honey. Sometimes I scrape in a little cinnamon, but I didn’t this time."

Tiller shook his head. "I like it fine the way it is."

"Tastes positively cozy, doesn’t it? It’ll help you sleep, too."

"Is that a fact?"

Mariah sat forward. "Speaking of sleep, it’s well past everyone’s bedtime, so if you will, kindly get on with it."

Swiping foam off her lip with the back of her hand, Miss Vee nodded. "You’re right. I’ll come to the point." She shifted toward Tiller. "Were you serious when you said you were in no hurry to leave?"

He glanced at Mariah. "Well yes, but—"

"Good, because we’re in no rush to see you go."

Mariah’s cheeks colored. "Dear lady, what are you suggesting?"

Miss Vee seemed not to hear. "Like I told you before, Mariah’s in need of a strong, trustworthy man."

Mariah’s pretty face paled and she gulped air.

Still ignoring her, Miss Vee tilted her head at Tiller. "At supper you said there’s no family to speak of, correct? No wife and passel of kids tucked away, waiting for you to come home?"

"Miss Vee!"

The lady finally glanced over her shoulder. "Keep your garter fastened, honey. It’s not what you think."

Tiller came to the rescue. "Listen, I’m not sure what this is about, but I can only stay until my pockets dry up." He raised his hands and shrugged. "And the truth is I’m not carrying that much cash."

Miss Vee clapped her hands. "Perfect. My idea may be the solution to both your problems."

Standing so fast her teacup sloshed, Mariah scowled at Miss Vee. "I don’t know where you’re going with this nonsense, but I’ve heard quite enough." She set her saucer on the table. "If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed."

Miss Vee caught her wrist. "Hear me out." Her pleading gaze seemed to hold Mariah tighter than her restraining hand.

Mariah sniffed. "With the way you started, I don’t think I want to hear the rest."

Wringing her hands, Miss Vee colored. "Oh fiddle! That’s because I’m not saying it right. Sit down and let me start over."

Easing into the chair, Mariah picked up her cup. "Very well, but make it quick." She narrowed her eyes. "And choose your words carefully."

Miss Vee grimaced. "Yes, of course. I’ll try." She raised her chin. "I’ve been mulling over the facts in my head, honey. About the inn being so neglected."

Mariah colored and shot her a warning scowl. "A few things may need a hammer and a coat of paint, but—"

"You said it yourself, the walls are collapsing on our heads." She followed Mariah’s pointed look at Tiller. "No need in posturing. I doubt the state of this place has escaped his notice."