My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) Page 8

  “A word of what?”

  “Of what I’m about to tell you.”

  “All right, I promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Creed and I are working for the Union Army.”

  “Working for the Union Army? You mean you’re federal spies?”

  He straightened. “We are paid agents. We were on our way to intercept that gold shipment when Creed decided to ride to your rescue.”

  Anne-Marie took a step backward. “You and Creed knew about the gold?”

  Quincy rubbed his neck. “We knew the gold was going to be confiscated by someone in High Bluff to further the Confederate cause. What we didn’t know was that it would be on that buckboard we stole.”

  She turned and paced the confines of the tepee. “And you happened along when someone was in the process of stealing the shipment.”

  “Creed and I were as surprised to see those two strongboxes on that wagon as you were.” He loosened his collar.

  “So that’s why you and Creed are so intent on keeping the gold.”

  “We are obligated to keep it. It’s the reason we’re here in the first place.”

  “But where does that leave me? I’m risking my neck for that gold the same as you and Creed.”

  “Ma’am, Creed and I feel bad that you’re involved in this, but the gold stays put.”

  “But I need money or I can’t return to Mercy Flats. My sisters may be waiting there as we speak.” She refused to allow the thought that Abigail and Amelia had met with an even worse fate than hers.

  Quincy’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I want to help, but my hands are tied.”

  Her heart sank. Dear Lord, what am I to do now? Had her Heavenly Father finally tired of her misbehavior and decided to let her swim in her own deceit?

  “Anne-Marie,” Quincy coaxed, “if you’ll be patient, Creed will see that you’re returned to your sisters, unharmed. Once he—”

  “Creed doesn’t care a whit about my situation.”

  “You’re wrong; Creed’s a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, and right now you’re one of his responsibilities.”

  “Yes, and that’s all I am—one gigantic pain, a big one he doesn’t want.” Tears smarted to her eyes. “Quincy?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Is it true that Creed is betrothed to Berry Woman?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She longed to deny that Creed’s engagement bothered her. She’d only known the man a short time, but in that short period she had grown fiercely defensive of him. But that was all her feelings were—loyalty and compassion to an injured person. These feelings she was having weren’t affection—not even close. They were simply protective ones, like a hen with little chicks.

  Quincy took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him, his long fingers wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re plum worn out, Miss Anne-Marie. Now hear me out because I’m thinking of your welfare. I can’t allow you to leave. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. The snow is deep and travel is dangerous. If you were to do anything foolish, like run away, you’d have a slim chance of survival. Creed will be stronger soon… ”

  His voice trailed off when Anne-Marie spun on her heel and stalked out of the tent, but she didn’t miss his soft, “Ma’am, you sure do try a man’s patience. You sure enough do.”

  Seven

  It is good to see you enjoying the fresh air, my brother. But do not linger long. The cold seeps through your injured bones.” The young chief tossed a stick in the fire, sat down, and lit a pipe.

  Creed nodded, drawing the heavy robe closer. “My duties with the bluecoats have kept me busy. I apologize for not visiting my brother and his family sooner.”

  Smoke from Bold Eagle’s pipe spiraled up in soft wisps. “It is said you work hard for the white man’s cause.”

  “What is said is true.”

  A twig snapped, sending a shower of sparks through the air. “This is wise?”

  “It is what I believe, or I would not risk my life for this cause.”

  Bold Eagle closed his eyes, clearly savoring the taste of the kinnikinnick. “Bold Eagle does not understand why brother fights against brother.”

  “It isn’t only a matter of brother fighting against brother. The issues are more than a man buying and selling another man. It is economic and social differences, states against federal rights, the Abolition Movement—even the election of Abraham Lincoln. Much is involved in this war.”

  “I do not understand this way. The white man fights and dies for the black man, but he takes food, water, and land from the red man without a care.”

  “This too is cause for a fight.” Creed sat up straighter. “The woman? Where is she?”

  “She is well.”

  The numbing effects of the sweet sage smoke and potent medicinal herbs flowed through Creed. “And Quincy?”

  “John Quincy Adams?” Bold Eagle smiled. “He too is well, my brother.”

  Creed shifted his leg and felt a stab of pain in his thigh. Although the wound was healing, it would be several weeks before it became a memory. Passing the pipe to Bold Eagle, he acknowledged, “If your warriors had not come upon Anne-Marie and Quincy when they did, I would not want to think what would have happened. I am in your debt, Bold Eagle.”

  “There is no debt among brothers.” Smoke continued to filter up into the shadows as the wind whistled through the bare tree branches.

  Long moments passed before Bold Eagle again broke the silence. “There are men, four of them, outside the camp. They arrived the same sun you did, shortly after you were brought here.”

  Closing his eyes, Creed eased his injured leg to a more comfortable position. “That would be an outlaw band that’s been trailing us.”

  “You know of these men?”

  “I recognize one of them. Unless I miss my guess, he and his thugs are after that gold shipment.”

  Drawing on the pipe, Bold Eagle stared into the fire. “I know of such enemies and many times I have helped Storm Rider defend his honor; now Bold Eagle will do whatever is needed to help. These men will not enter the camp. Of this I am certain.”

  “The woman shouldn’t leave,” Creed murmured as the medicine drew him deeper into unconsciousness.

  “Rest, my brother.” The man drew the animal hide closer around his friend. “We will let no harm come to the woman or your friend.”

  Bold Eagle sat beside Storm Rider, the smoke drifting quietly in the cold stillness.

  Cortes stamped both boots, trying to force feeling back into his frozen feet.

  Cold wind whistled down the collar of his coat as his eyes darted back and forth, trying to ferret out any movement in the camp. He had been standing watch for hours, but the three outlaws were still nowhere in sight. But they could not fool Cortes; he knew they were in there.

  His eyes filled with resentment when he studied the circle of tepees. They were in there all right. Huddled near a warm fire, eating wild game. Hot stew.

  Such fools. Their buckboard tracks had led straight to the Indian camp. Walker and his party could not leave without Cortes spotting them.

  Ollie hunched deeper into his sheep-lined parka when he approached Cortes. The wind tore at the brim of his hat, threatening to snatch it away. “See anything, boss?”

  “Only Cortes’s breath in cold air.”

  Squinting, Ollie focused on the camp. “Whaddya think’s going on?”

  “I tell you what is going on. My eyeballs are frozen to my sockets!”

  “Yeah,” Ollie admitted. “I know the feeling. We ain’t jest gonna sit here all night, are we, boss?” The outlaw’s breath formed a frosty vapor in the frigid air when he knelt beside the fire, feeding the dying embers a few scrawny limbs. Flames spurted and flickered in the high wind.

  “Sí, we sit here,” Cortes mimicked. His eyes narrowed sharply. “They can’t stay in that camp forever; they have to come out sometime.”

  “We could always go in after
them.”

  Cortes turned to stare at Ollie. “Them’s warriors, Ollie. Cortes does not go sashaying into an Apache warriors’ camp like a foolish peacock.”

  “Yeah.” Ollie glanced sheepishly back to the fire. “Don’t guess that would be real bright.”

  “Only if you grow weary of your—how do you say it?—scalp,” Cortes grunted.

  The outlaw didn’t appear to take kindly to the thought. Ollie’s eyes switched to the circle of tepees. “You see the buckboard anywhere?”

  “Sí. Near the large tepee.”

  Ollie clasped his hat to his head and strained to see around the boss’s shoulder. “Is the gold still in it?”

  “I do not have eyes like the puma.”

  The men turned when they heard Rodrigo jump back, hollering as a violent gust of wind shot a shower of sparks up the back of his coat. He hopped around the campsite, slapping at his back.

  Butch stepped over to help. “Ah, you’ve done gone and burned a hole in your coat,” he chided. He smacked the smoldering embers with his gloved hand.

  Rodrigo glared at him. “Mind your own business.”

  Butch threw up his hands. “All right, all right, I was just a-tryin’ to help.”

  “Stop your bickerin’,” Cortes called over his shoulder. “We have a long night in front of us.”

  Ollie threw more wood on the fire and the four outlaws hunkered down, prepared to wait out the Indian, no matter how long it took.

  “Sure hope they come out soon,” Ollie admitted. He blew on his hands.

  “You are a sissy pants,” Cortes said. “Only Cortes knows real danger. Once, many years ago, his ship sank. Not one survived but Cortes. The waters, they were filled with sharks, they come and try to eat Cortes, but he fights them off bare-fisted and swim great distance. On shore, Cortes lost his boots in the water and had to walk five miles to find nearest shelter. There, he had to chase down a wild jackal and kill it with only a tiny blade. Then Cortes must start a fire and there were no stones to strike together… ”

  Ollie rolled his eyes and bent close to the others. “How many times do we tell Cortes we don’t believe his stories? When he gets confused he just gets mad and mean.”

  “Jest let him talk,” Rodrigo advised. “We will close our ears.”

  Berry Woman entered the medicine lodge on a gust of heavy wind. “Is he stronger?” she asked.

  The old woman nodded. “You still favor this man.”

  Berry Woman’s eyes focused on the injured man. “Storm Rider stole my heart when I had lived but twelve summers.” Smiling, she softly traced his sleeping features. “He rode into camp beside my brother, Bold Eagle, and remained among my people, teaching them the ways of the white man. He is wise and strong and an ample provider, having killed more buffalo than all the seasoned warriors combined. Every young maiden in camp envied me because Storm Rider spent his leisure hours with me. When the white men went to war, Storm Rider rode off to fight on the side of the bluecoats. I accepted his absence without question, for I knew, just as Heammawihio had promised, that one day Storm Rider would come for me and I would be the envy of every woman.”

  A smile bowed the corners of her mouth. “Soon the war will be over and Storm Rider will be mine. He will ride into camp, long locks flying in the breeze, a single eagle feather braided in his flowing hair, his bronze chest bare except for the necklace of eagle claws and his splendid form encased in the finest deerskin breeches. His dark eyes will boldly search mine and claim me for his own.”

  “Storm Rider and Bold Eagle will soon come to a proper agreement, and a wedding feast will be scheduled. It will be a great honor to have such a man for my husband.” Her smile faded when the young maiden saw that Storm Rider was trying to open his eyes.

  As his vision cleared Creed saw Berry Woman bending over him, her smile as soft and welcome as a summer shower. He tentatively moved his leg, relieved to find the pain was no longer sharp and penetrating. When he struggled to sit up gentle hands lowered him back to the pallet.

  “No, you must rest. It is too soon,” she scolded.

  “Quincy—the gold… need to leave… ”

  Berry Woman frowned. “Why can you not stay awhile with your people? Why must you always leave?”

  “The woman has sisters awaiting her return. I must see her safely back home.”

  “Why cannot the black man assume the woman’s care?”

  Pride made him obstinate. “I assumed her care, and she expects me to reunite her with her family.”

  Berry Woman’s jaw firmed. “I do not understand this.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. The woman is not your concern.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” Storm Rider spoke with authority. “You will see to the woman’s well-being.”

  The young woman’s eyes lowered submissively. “Forgive me, Storm Rider. I will speak of this matter no more.”

  Creed’s eyes closed and he started to drift off. “You will see that that no harm comes to her… ”

  Her answer came as soft as a cloud. “Why would you think otherwise? Are our people not kind and courteous? Do we not care for our guests?”

  “When I awake, bring her to me.”

  Berry Woman nodded. “Rest.”

  Later, the tepee flap opened to reveal a relieved Quincy. Creed looked up from his pallet and answered Quincy’s questioning gaze.

  “I’m still alive. Much better thanks to Spirit Cloud’s healing herbs.”

  “There was a time I thought you were a goner for sure.” Quincy sat down and crossed his legs. “Cortes and his hoodlums are camped half a mile away. No doubt they’re after the gold.”

  “What about the posses?”

  “Haven’t seen one since we left town. They must have turned back—but those outlaws won’t. What are we going to do about them?”

  “I’m not sure,” Creed admitted. “I do know that we will need Bold Eagle’s help in order to get out of camp.”

  “The chief will help?”

  “Yes. Our bond is strong. He will help.”

  “Want me to take Anne-Marie to her sisters while you recover? The gold should be safe here.”

  Creed was silent for a moment. Anne-Marie had been nothing but a millstone around his neck. Why should he care if Quincy fulfilled his obligation? She was resourceful—more than capable of caring for herself. She could outthink a man and whip a bull with her free hand. It would serve her right to let her go it alone.

  And yet she had practically saved his life. If she hadn’t gotten him to Eulalie he doubted that he would be here now. “The woman is my concern, and I will see that she is returned to Mercy Flats.” He would never see Anne-Marie again once he delivered her to Mercy Flats, but he would know that he had not fulfilled a man’s promise if he sent Quincy in his place. He’d seen what a legacy of broken promises had done to his mother, and he refused to be like his father.

  “We’ll talk again later,” Creed said. His leg was beginning to throb, and he wanted to sleep now. “Send Anne-Marie to me.”

  “You’re sure? She’s not in the best of moods today.”

  “Send her to me.” Creed had dealt with every mood that woman could muster up. He welcomed the chance to best her.

  “It’s your funeral, brother.”

  Anne-Marie was busy rearranging her bedding when Quincy asked for permission to enter the tepee.

  “It’s real chilly out there,” he began awkwardly when he stepped inside. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

  “What is it now, Mr. Adams?” She turned her back on him, a clear sign she resented his attempts to keep her in camp. She added more sticks to the fire.

  “I just spoke with Creed.” Looking at her, he wondered how anyone could ever mistake her for a nun. There wasn’t a nun-ish thing about her, all nice curves and womanly softness.

  She whirled and a mass of auburn hair tumbled around her face. Green eyes wide with concern faced him. The transformation w
as nothing short of jaw-dropping. “Is he better?”

  “Somewhat.” Quincy willed his eyes away from the inviting sight and cleared his throat. “He’s feeling stronger. He wants you to come for a visit.” He paused. “He was hoping that you would stick around until he can take you to Mercy Flats.”

  She frowned. “He would do that for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you’ll just hold on a few days until he’s able to ride.”

  She turned back to the skins. “I’m not making any promises. He doesn’t deserve my loyalty—why, he hasn’t even asked to see me.”

  “He just did. I told you, he wants to see you.”

  “Too little too late.”

  “Ma’am, he’s real sick. Now you need to use some common sense here. You can’t take off by yourself. This is rough country. A woman like you wouldn’t last any time at all in these wilds.” He eyed her appearance. He knew that what he was about to say was highly improper, but he couldn’t hold back. “Anne-Marie, would you be offended if I made a simple observation—one any red-blooded man could see?”

  Shrugging, she fluffed a robe.

  “A man would have to blind to not understand what’s got Creed howling up a tree.”

  “Howling up a tree?” She straightened. “I don’t understand.”

  “Excuse me. I shouldn’t have said that. But I want your promise that you won’t do anything foolish until Creed is stronger.”

  “I’ll make no such promise. I’m leaving. I have been on my own since I was a mere child, and I know how to take care of myself.”

  “You’ve always had your sisters with you. You provided protection for each other.”

  “Abigail and Amelia know how to take care of themselves. If you want to help, get me a pony.”

  “I can’t do that, woman!” Quincy ran a hand through his hair. “Creed says I’m to keep you here.”

  “Since when is Creed my keeper? You have no control over my comings and goings. A few days ago we were total strangers. Now get me a few provisions and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “What hair? I’ll not have one left when Creed gets through with me.”

  “You look like a robust man; surely you can best a sick opponent.”