My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (10 page)

Cortes and his three
compadres
topped the horizon. The disheveled horsemen focused on the smoldering ruins of what once had been Eulalie’s cabin.

“Looks like there’s been a fire,” Butch observed.

Turning slowly in his saddle, Cortes glared at him. “What is your clue? The smoke still curls from the ruins.”

“Well, guess that settles it. The Injun, the nun, and the black ain’t down there,” Ollie said. “Guess we won’t be stirring up that scary old crone anytime soon.”

Cortes’s gaze strayed to the mound of fresh dirt located near the stream. “We no know the
indio
hasn’t been here. We will see for ourselves.”

Ollie, Rodrigo, and Butch passed a series of uneasy looks. Ollie bent and muttered out of the corner of his mouth to the other two men. “What do you think?”

Rodrigo thought for a moment and then said, “Even being touched in the head, he’s still had the smarts to get us into and out of plenty of schemes, but lately he does seem odder than usual.”

“Better do what he wants,” Butch advised. “That’s a lot of gold.”

Ollie snorted. “ ’Pears to me that one of them there meteors must have hit ’em instead of a horse kicking him in the head.”

Nodding, the three men slowly fell in behind Cortes and rode toward the old crone’s shack.

When the outlaws reached the creek, Rodrigo reined his horse around a bucket sitting on the bank. “Must be the old lady’s water bucket.”

“Maybe.” Cortes chewed the stub of the cigar absentmindedly. “Maybe, no.” He stood up in the stirrups, spotting the set of wagon tracks leading away from the shanty. “Someone has been here.” He kneed the horse forward.

The riders approached the smoldering ruins with caution. Climbing off their horses, the men stood for a moment, assessing the situation. The place was deader than a cemetery.

“Can’t we just leave?” said Butch. “It’s plain to see the shanty burned down. There’s nothing living around here now.”

Cortes set his jaw. “Our outlaws could have buried the gold here, planning to come back later and get it.”

“But where? No sir, I ’spect they’ve got the gold with them right now. If it were me, well, I wouldn’t let that gold outta my sight for one minute.” Butch looked around. The other men were nodding silently.

“Idiots!” Cortes’s dark eyes narrowed with contempt. The
indio
, the negro, and the
monja
. They would pay for making Cortes look the
estúpido
.

Oh, they would pay.

Six

I
’m worried.” Anne-Marie drew her brows together when she turned from checking on Creed again. He had slept since they’d left Eulalie’s, and she had barely been able to rouse him throughout the day. “His fever’s come up.”

“I’m not surprised.” The buckboard rattled along the rutted road as Quincy scanned the back roads.

“What are you looking for?”

“Southern patrols.”

“Creed needs proper food and warmth.”

“I know.”

There was no shelter or food to be found. Huddling deeper inside a buffalo robe Eulalie had given them, she watched the passing scenery. Patches of dirty snow littered the hillsides, but a thin sun made the temperature bearable.

A back wheel hit a pothole, jostling Creed. Upon hearing his groan, she quickly turned around, shooting Quincy a censuring look.

“Be careful.”

“I am, ma’am, I am.”

Turning around, she wrapped the heavy buffalo robe around herself tighter in an effort to block the wind. “It wouldn’t do us any harm to have a nice meal and a warm bed, either, you know.”

“No, ma’am, it wouldn’t.” Quincy’s eyes softened. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” She was only being polite. The robe helped, but a fierce wind stung her nose.

“Do you have any ideas?” They couldn’t just wander the countryside like gypsies. They had no food, no clothing, no shelter, and it would be dark before long.

“I’ve been thinking… there’s a mission up ahead. Creed and I overnighted there during a rainstorm a few months back. We could hole up there until Creed’s leg is better.”

“How far?” She frowned. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Three, maybe four miles. I figure we’ll take shelter in some rancher’s barn tonight and then start out first thing in the morning. There’s always an egg lying around for the taking. We’ll be warm and fed, and then with a little luck, we’ll reach the mission by late tomorrow afternoon.”

Anne-Marie turned to look over her shoulder at Creed again. “I don’t know, Quincy. The nuns are so busy with prayer and… he needs care, and soon.”

“The mission is deserted now, ma’am—by the looks of it, has been for years. I don’t know what else we could…” Quincy’s voice faded when the buckboard rounded a bend, and they found two young, strong Indian warriors sitting astride war ponies in the middle of the road.

“Oh, give us grace, oh Lord,” Quincy murmured.

Anne-Marie sat up straighter when Quincy set the brake on the wagon. The old buckboard clattered to a halt a few feet in front of the horses. “Who are they?” she whispered.

“Look to be Apache. They must be from the encampment.”

The Indians, wearing war paint, regarded the three travelers, their dark eyes traveling slowly over the wagon and its occupants.

“Do you suppose they understand English?” Anne-Marie whispered.

“The way our luck’s been running? No, ma’am, not a word.”

The four sat in the middle of the road, sizing each other up.

Finally one of the Indians broke away, kneeing his horse to the back of the wagon. Anne-Marie closed her eyes when he slowed, peering into the wagon bed.

“Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord,” Quincy agonized in a low whisper. “Miss, if you got any pull with the Man upstairs, now might be a good time to use it.”

Anne-Marie winced. She didn’t have any pull; chances were the Man upstairs was pretty put out with her right now. Would He even want to keep caring for her when her choices brought trouble everywhere she turned? The nuns who’d raised her would say yes. They’d claim no one was irredeemable. But after the events of recent weeks, Anne-Marie wondered if she’d tested His patience too far.

The Indian shouted in a tense, guttural tone to the second Indian.

Surprise flickered across the warrior’s features. Cutting his horse around the wagon, he joined his companion. The two men gestured at Creed as they conversed in animated tones.

“What are they saying?” Anne-Marie longed to turn around and look, but she was too scared to move a muscle.

“I’m not sure we want to know.”

One of the warriors trotted back to the front of the wagon and leaned over to grab the horse’s bridle.

“Have mercy,” Quincy groaned when the Indian started leading the team down the road.

A young man led the buckboard into camp and a crowd gathered. Anne-Marie had never seen so many Indian men, women, and children—and all were peering at her curiously.

The lead warrior shouted orders, and two young braves scattered to various tents. The women crowded closer, some touching Anne-Marie’s skirt, eyes bright with curiosity.

When the wagon rolled to a stop a tall, lean man wearing breech-cloth stepped from his tent to view the spectacle. Parting the crowd, he made his way to the back of the buckboard. Surprise and gladness registered on his handsome features when he apparently recognized the injured man, followed closely by worry when he focused on the blood-soaked bandage around Creed’s right thigh.

“Who is that?” Anne-Marie asked.

Quincy bent closer. “Can’t say for certain, but I’d guess it’s the tribal chief.”

Issuing a harsh command, the man motioned for help. The flap of a tepee parted to reveal a startlingly beautiful girl with doe-like eyes. The girl hurried to the wagon to peer down at the man’s unconscious form. Worry flooded her features. Leaning over, she gently touched his face and whispered, “Storm Rider.”

His eyes opened, and he smiled at her.

Anne-Marie noted the exchange, surprised to feel a trace of envy. When Creed gazed at the young woman Anne-Marie could see something akin to love reflected in his eyes before they slowly closed again.

“Berry Woman, go with Storm Rider to the medicine man,” the chief said. Two braves stepped forward to lift Anne-Marie from the wagon. Without ceremony, she was taken to a colorful tepee in the center of the camp. She stood by helplessly when Quincy was led to a tent on the opposite side of the circle.

The two warriors loaded Creed onto a travois as Berry Woman hovered near his side. Slowly they made their way to the medicine man’s tent.

It was over an hour before anyone returned to Anne-Marie’s tepee. During that time she had sat huddled near the fire, feeling no particular sense of fear. Obviously Creed was acquainted with the Apache band, and if they were going to harm her, they would have already done so.

Her thoughts returned to Creed and the young Indian maiden. She’d hated the way her stomach had cramped up when he looked at the girl. Obviously he knew her well enough.

The flap on the tepee parted and Berry Woman entered, carrying a wooden bowl of stew. Although Anne-Marie was famished, she was more concerned about Creed.

“How is he?” she inquired.

The maiden’s eyes met hers coolly. “You need not concern yourself with Storm Rider. I will see that he is cared for.”

“You speak English?”

“When necessary.” The edge in her tone told Anne-Marie that they were not destined to become friends.

Berry Woman turned to leave, and then apparently changed her mind. “How was Storm Rider injured?”

“I shot him. Accidentally.”

The girl’s eyes grew more opaque. “You shot the man who will be my husband?”

“Husband?” Was there no end to the surprises concerning Creed Walker?

“We have been promised to one another.”

“Since when?” Anne-Marie didn’t know why she had this sudden urge to cry, but it was all she could do to control the impulse.

“Since a long time ago. The arrangement is sealed.” Her eyes skimmed her clothing. “You have no expectations concerning Storm Rider.”

“No… of course not. Creed hasn’t mentioned that he is… spoken for.” Of course he hadn’t mentioned anything about his life, so the news shouldn’t startle her. “You… and Creed,” she clarified, just to make certain she understood, and she dearly hoped that she had.

“Storm Rider and I. And since he is soon to be my husband, his welfare is my concern. You are welcome to our fires.” Dipping her head, she backed toward the tent opening.

Anne-Marie felt compelled to add. “My only concern is Creed’s well-being.”

The young woman nodded.

“But I do need to talk to him, if you have no objections.”

Berry Woman hesitated, apparently weighing her trust. “Perhaps. Tomorrow. When his wound has been treated and he is rested.”

The two women openly measured each other.

“Thank you—you will tell me when he awakens?” Why Anne-Marie felt this protective urge she wasn’t sure. She barely knew the man, and their brief time together had been less than ideal. Still, if it were not for her, Creed Walker would be dead by now. Maybe she ought to point that out to this woman. And then maybe not. She’d caused Creed enough trouble.

The young woman bent her head. “I will send for you when he is stronger.”

“Thank you. You’re most kind.” Anne-Marie’s thoughts swirled with the past hour and the abrupt change of plan. She was truly alone now, and in a place so foreign to her that she swallowed back rising terror. She couldn’t fall apart. She still had long miles to cover to reach her sisters.

Berry Woman turned, parted the tent folds, and exited, leaving Anne-Marie to wonder where her fate now lay. Surely in God’s hands, but also in Quincy’s protection? He had been a gentleman in every sense, but would he be good enough to see her back to Mercy Flats? She lay back on a soft buffalo pelt, weary and discouraged. And yet sleep eluded her. She longed to cry but she wasn’t a quitter. The McDougals never gave up. Creed was safely with people who would care for him now and she could rest. And yet she couldn’t deny that deep within her heart she longed to look into those warm dark eyes and be comforted, but Creed Walker belonged to another woman.