My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  She studied the worsening weather. “Maybe we should sleep close together.” The offer came out louder than she’d intended. She didn’t mean anything improper by the suggestion. If he planned to hurt her he would have done so by now. If they combined their body heat, they might survive the night.

  In the distance coyotes—or something worse—howled. She wasn’t going to dwell on that fact for fear that panic would set in again.

  “With the weather worsening, the good Lord would not hold us accountable for trying to survive the elements,” she continued, more to herself than to him, because he didn’t appear to be listening. The suggestion was brazen and dangerous but he couldn’t take offense. He didn’t understand a word she was saying. They would be frozen carcasses by morning, and if she dared creep closer to him for warmth she might very well end up in the bushes with the lizard carcass.

  The wind howled through the bare tree branches when she rolled to her side and stared at the fire. She was safe. She huddled deeper into her habit. He thought her to be a holy woman. She was only using common sense; she didn’t want either of them to freeze to death. At the moment he was her only hope of reaching a town alive, and the thought of anything warm, no matter how unkempt and smelly, appealed to her survival instincts.

  “Well… you can let me know if you should change your mind,” she said over her shoulder. Then she sat up to see if he had heard.

  Rolling to his side, the man presented his back to her.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes, the weight of the world heavy on her shoulders.

  She didn’t know about his plans, but her goals were clear. She must stay alive. The McDougal sisters were the primary support for the mission, and without them, the mission would have to close.

  Dawn lit the sky, and the Indian doused the fire long before daybreak. The snow had tapered off to occasional blowing flakes, but bitterly cold air encompassed the campsite. Only the golden sunrise filtering through the trees promised a pleasant day for traveling. The orange ball of sun, now beginning to top the trees, brought a smile to Anne-Marie’s face and a renewed optimism when she accepted the Indian’s hand and he pulled her up behind him on the chestnut.

  Reining the horse, he set off, riding south.

  It was late morning when their stallion topped a rise. What a strange sight they must be—a nun and an Indian together on a horse.

  Peering anxiously around the man’s shoulder, Anne-Marie couldn’t hold back the shout that bubbled to her throat when she spotted the small community spread out below them. “Holy smokes!” They’d made it! They’d beaten the elements, and she was going to live!

  The Indian glanced over his shoulder at her, and for the first time since they’d met, she thought she detected shock on his perpetually stoic features.

  Catching herself, she added a perfunctory “Thank the Lord,” and hurriedly crossed herself.

  Nudging the horse forward, the Indian rode into town.

  Two

  High Bluff, Texas, was an ordinary border town. The steady clang of the blacksmith’s hammer rang out from the livery, the mercantile sat next to the cafe, and the hotel was facing east so it wouldn’t bake in the late afternoon sun.

  The saloon, the Gilded Dove, was just beginning to come to life as the Indian and nun rode through the center of town.

  An occasional head turned when the couple passed, but for the most part folks were accustomed to strangers. The train ran straight through town every Tuesday and Friday morning, regular as clockwork, so the comings and goings of outsiders never caused much of a stir.

  Although a nun riding horseback with an Indian wasn’t an ordinary sight.

  Reining the horse in front of a hitching post, the Indian swung down and then lifted a hand to help the sister.

  Adjusting her rumpled skirts, Anne-Marie glanced up and down the street, relieved to see they weren’t attracting the curiosity she’d feared they might. “I want to secure a room at the hotel right away,” she murmured.

  Looping the reins around the hitching post, the Indian pointed to the train depot.

  Anne-Marie located the hotel near the large water tower and nodded. “Oh, yes—thank you so much for all your trouble.”

  Her words dribbled off when she realized she was talking to his retreating back. He disappeared into the mercantile, closing the door behind him.

  Straightening her habit, she turned with quick, determined steps and headed for lodging. She would rent a room, order a hot bath and a hot meal, and then lie down in a soft bed and sleep for hours. Who knew how long she’d have to wait for the next train? She wasn’t ready to presume that God was on her side today. Dare she ask for His help when so much of her life was lived in deceit?

  She shrugged off the troublesome questions. Whatever the reason, she’d survived another day. Although she was rumpled and penniless, she was still wearing her disguise, and any God-fearing man or woman would be eager to provide a woman of the cloth with food and comfortable quarters while she waited.

  Minutes later the front door opened and Anne-Marie stepped out, drawing a deep breath as she straightened her veil. There wasn’t a single room available.

  So much for God-fearing charitable souls. “May they all get a blood blister today,” she muttered as she crossed the street.

  Turning to her right, she headed for the mercantile where the Indian had earlier disappeared.

  When the bell over the door tinkled, the proprietor turned from stacking boxes on his shelves. He climbed slowly off the ladder, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked toward her, smiling. “Afternoon, Sister.”

  “Good afternoon.” Anne-Marie glanced around the room, trying to locate the Indian. He was standing near the back, studying a knife display in a glass case. When he glanced up and recognition registered on his face, he quickly stepped away from the counter and disappeared behind a tall stack of dry goods.

  The kindly-looking clerk skimmed the nun’s rumpled habit, still smiling pleasantly. “Something I can help you with today?”

  She leaned over the counter, trying to see around the stacks of woolens and linens. Was it her imagination or was her benefactor actually trying to avoid her? “Nothing in particular. I’m just browsing, thank you.”

  “If you see anything you want, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

  “Thank you, I’ll let you know.”

  Moseying toward the bolts of colorful ribbons and lace, she kept an eye on the Indian, who—no, it wasn’t her imagination—was making himself conspicuously absent. Apparently he understood enough to think his part in the rescue was over, but since he had rescued her and she now found herself without a cent to her name and not a single room available, he might take pity on her.

  Turning pleading eyes on him, she was annoyed to see he was returning her silent reprimand with a surprisingly astute one of his own, one that clearly suggested that he considered his part finished.

  Done.

  Through.

  Stepping to the counter, the Indian pointed to an expensive-looking rifle.

  Climbing off the ladder again, the clerk said, “You want to see the Sharps carbine?”

  The man gave a brief nod.

  “You got enough wampum to purchase it?”

  He nodded curtly.

  “All righty.” The clerk took the rifle off the shelf and handed it to him.

  After a cursory inspection the Indian nodded, indicating his approval.

  “Guess you’ll be needin’ shells? A box do you?”

  The man nodded.

  Anne-Marie watched the exchange with growing interest. The Indian seemed to have no trouble understanding the clerk. No trouble at all, yet he’d pretended he hadn’t understood a word she’d said for the past twenty-four hours.

  Laying the cartridges on the counter, the clerk totaled up the purchase. “Looks like you owe me forty dollars.”

  Anne-Marie’s lips parted indignantly when she saw her rescuer produce a small leather pouch attached to hi
s breeches and calmly remove several gold coins. Judging from the lumps in the pouch, there was more where they came from, maybe a lot more. Why, the man had enough money to burn a wet mule! She felt her cheeks turn red. What was he doing with that kind of funds? He didn’t have a penny an hour ago—her eyes narrowed—or did he?

  The proprietor tossed a few coins of change onto the counter while glancing at Anne-Marie. “Finding everything you need, Sister?”

  “Thank you, I’ll just be looking today. Does the stage come through here?”

  Picking up his purchases, the Indian turned and walked out the door. Anne-Marie’s teeth worried her lower lip as she watched him leave.

  “The stage? Sure does, once a month, just like clockwork.”

  “What about the train?”

  “Twice a week regular as clockwork.”

  The man seemed to have a fixation on clocks. “On what days?”

  “Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  Her frown deepened when she watched the Indian cross the street. “Today is Saturday, isn’t it?”

  “That it is, Sister. Saturday.”

  Two whole days in town without a penny. She smiled, bowing her head subserviently. “Thank you, you have been most kind.”

  Plucking an apple from a barrel, the proprietor polished it on the sleeve of his shirt before handing it to her. “An apple a day will keep the doctor away,” he offered with a twinkling eye.

  Nodding, Anne-Marie jammed the fruit into her mouth and stepped out of the store.

  Now what? She stood looking up and down the unfamiliar street, munching on the apple. Her eyes located the Indian, who was walking in the direction of the sheriff’s office, and a sense of injustice struck her. Where did he think he was going with his pouch full of coins and a new, expensive rifle? Her eyes followed him as he strolled past a saloon. He’d rescued a woman in distress and now he planned to leave her still in danger?

  Since he had taken it upon himself to be her protector, the very least he could do was see that she was properly protected. What was she to do about the price of a train ticket and, for that matter, where was she supposed to stay until the train got here? Men. No matter what color skin, they were all alike.

  Taking another bite of the tart fruit, she made a face, stepped off the planked sidewalk, and crossed the street, falling into step behind the Indian. If he had understood that clerk, then he could understand her—and he was going to be made to comprehend in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to desert her now.

  “I would like a word with you, Mr. Indian!”

  When his footsteps didn’t falter, she articulated more loudly. “I know you have money, and obviously I don’t, so don’t you think that since you appointed yourself my rescuer, it’s only fair that you see to my well-being until the train arrives on Tuesday?”

  He walked on.

  Anne-Marie’s temper flared. “I know you can understand what I’m saying—you understood the clerk at the mercantile perfectly.”

  He crossed the street and picked up his pace.

  Following him, she grabbed the apple out of her mouth and hurled the uneaten portion at his back, thumping him soundly between his very impressive shoulders.

  “Answer me! Do you hear me? I said, say something!”

  The door to the sheriff’s office opened and a deputy cautiously stuck his head out, eyes trying to locate the ruckus.

  At the sight of the lawman, the muscles in Anne-Marie’s stomach tightened. For a moment she had forgotten her disguise. Nuns didn’t fling apples at Indians’ backs and demand a response.

  “Afternoon, Sister,” the deputy called when she walked past.

  Nodding severely to the deputy, she marched on, passing the jailhouse door, still dogging the Indian’s steps.

  She told herself to calm down when the deputy continued to stare after her. Neither she nor her sisters had ever been in High Bluff, so no one could possibly recognize her as one of the three women who had been operating con games in the area.

  “Oh, Sister?”

  Anne-Marie froze, not particularly liking the tone of a second man’s voice that had suddenly joined the conversation.

  “Oh, Sisterrrr?” repeated the mocking voice.

  The Indian’s footsteps picked up and he walked faster.

  Anne-Marie was close on his heel when the voice sang out again, “Sister!”

  Turning around slowly, Anne-Marie swallowed when she saw a large man with a silver star on his chest striding toward her. A man in a brown suit followed on his heel, breathing like a charging bull.

  “Sister, I wonder if I might have a word with you?” the sheriff inquired pleasantly when he approached.

  Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! A.J. Donavan, the man she and her sisters had scammed just a few short weeks earlier, was accompanying the sheriff, his swarthy features molten with anger.

  Whirling, Anne-Marie started to make a run for it when she suddenly felt the cold barrel of a .32 caliber Colt resting lightly between her shoulder blades. “Now, now, what’s your hurry, little lady?”

  She jerked upright. “Sir, how dare you—”

  “Is this the woman, A.J.?”

  “That’s her, all right. I’d know those green eyes anywhere!”

  “Now, Sheriff,” Anne-Marie began, and then immediately piped down when she saw that the deputy had cornered the Indian and was pushing him back, at rifle point, in her direction. Donavan had a grudge. She and her sisters had sold him cattle that didn’t belong to them—but how had he found her so quickly?

  She straightened her veil. “Now, see here, how dare you treat a woman of the cloth—”

  A.J. sneered “Save your breath, woman. We’ve got you dead to rights. No con artist sells me a herd of stolen beef and lives to brag about it!”

  The sheriff ushered the Indian and the nun down the sidewalk over Anne-Marie’s loud and spirited objections.

  Entering the jail, the sheriff steered Anne-Marie into a cell.

  The deputy snatched a key ring from a hook on the wall. “What are you, mister? Crow?”

  The Indian lifted his head, black eyes spirited, and nodded.

  “How did you fall in with the likes of this woman?” He shoved the man in the cage and turned the key.

  “I demand you release me this instant! You can’t grab innocent people—” Anne-Marie glared accusingly at A.J. Donavan. “Innocent nuns,” she amended. She turned pleading eyes to the sheriff. “You can’t just grab me off the street and treat me like common riffraff because some wild man is making ludicrous accusations about—cows.”

  “There’s two more of ’em around somewhere,” A.J. warned the sheriff.

  “We’ll find them, A.J. They couldn’t have gone far.”

  Glaring at the Crow, Anne-Marie warned him silently that if he could speak, he’d better be doing it.

  The Indian refused to meet her eyes.

  The sheriff smiled reassuringly. “Now, don’t you be worrying your pretty little head, ma’am. You and the Injun will have yourselves a fair trial. I guarantee you that.”

  “I demand proper legal representation! Get me an attorney!” Anne-Marie shouted as she clasped the bars with both hands.

  “Why certainly, ma’am.” He turned to A.J., smiling. “I believe the lady would like a word with you, A.J.”

  Anne-Marie frowned. “He’s my lawyer?”

  The sheriff nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but don’t you worry none. Not only is A.J. the town’s finest attorney, but he’s the onliest.”

  Anne-Marie’s heart sank. “Onliest what?”

  “Onliest attorney.” The sheriff’s smile widened. “He’ll be speaking on you and your friend’s behalf.”

  Three

  Anne-Marie sank down on the cot opposite the Indian, frustrated. It had been weeks since they’d sold Donavan that herd of stolen cattle, and she’d have sworn she’d seen the last of him.

  Springing back to her feet, she started talking under her breath as she paced the small cell. �
��Just don’t—how—the man—Amelia—then Abigail said—rotten luck. Pure rotten luck.”

  The front door opened and the sheriff came in with A.J. trailing behind. Hooking his hat on a peg, Ferris Goodman walked over to the woodstove and poured two cups of steaming black coffee.

  “Sheriff,” Anne-Marie called, “can I have a word with you?”

  “No ma’am.”

  Handing A.J. a cup of coffee, the sheriff sat down behind his desk. “Now, A.J., tell me again what happened.”

  A.J. pointed an accusing finger at Anne-Marie. “That she-devil and two others dressed just like her sold me a herd of stolen beef.”

  “You’re certain it was this woman.”

  “As sure as hair grows on a pig’s back!”

  “And the Crow?”

  “I don’t know nothing about the savage, but the way I figure it, he was with her when they rode into town, so they must be in cahoots.”

  “Well, your word’s good enough for me.” The sheriff got up and walked to the cell where Anne-Marie stood, gripping the bars. “Don’t suppose you plan on telling me where your sisters are?”

  “That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. I don’t know where they are.”

  “Then by the authority vested in me by the great state of Texas, I hereby sentence you and your friend here to hang at sunrise.”

  Anne-Marie’s jaw dropped. “Now, just a minute! What happened to my fair trial?”

  The sheriff met her eyes with an unwavering gaze. “You just had it.”

  “Just had it?” They’d had it, all right, but good.

  Returning to his chair, Ferris took a swig of coffee, peering over the rim of the cup at A.J., and raised his voice to talk above Anne-Marie’s vehement protests. “You know, A.J., I’d still like to know how you let yourself get swindled by a woman. Don’t rightly seem like you.”

  Red crept up Donavan’s neck. “I hate to admit it, but the woman snookered me slicker than glass. She told me the cattle had been a gift and they had to sell them because the mission couldn’t afford to feed them. Some orphanage they ran needed money, not cattle, she said. Well, Ferris, who’s going to question a nun, much less three of ’em?”

  “Well now, I might have questioned getting a top head of cattle for hundreds of dollars below market value,” Ferris argued.