My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  “Creed’s not like other opponents.” He felt the muscle in his jaw tighten when he shook his head. “No. You are to remain here until Creed is better. Only then will we have this conversation.”

  With his words, she fell silent.

  Turning muley on him. It didn’t surprise him. And with what little he knew about her he reckoned she would find a way to leave, one way or the other. He’d have to keep a closer eye on her comings and goings.

  “I want your word that you will do as I say.”

  She turned and refolded a skin.

  “Cold shoulders don’t bother me.” He stepped to the tent flap. “I’m warning you, don’t do anything foolish.” He lifted the fold and stepped out, confident that he was talking to thin air.

  If that lady wanted something, she made a way to get it, but it wasn’t going to be through him.

  Eight

  A half moon slid lower when Anne-Marie slipped from her tent late that night and made her way to where the ponies were tethered. As promised, a brown and white spotted animal stood in the shadows waiting for her. Berry Woman had kept her promise, and why not? She desperately wanted to see her leave camp. Lord, though I don’t deserve Your mercy, look after me, she prayed silently.

  Creed’s woman had been more than happy to oblige her requests, and Anne-Marie was more than happy to leave. She couldn’t wait for Creed and Quincy and their secret plans. She planned to take every precaution, using isolated back roads to avoid any hint of trouble. She wasn’t a simpleton; she was willing to take the risk.

  Hitching her skirts above her knees, she grasped the reins firmly and mounted the pony. Snow drifted deep in ditches as she walked the horse to the outer edge of camp, but other riders had cleared a decent path.

  The wind savagely whipped her hair as the horse picked its way along the snowy path. Shivering, she huddled deeper into the thin trader’s blanket. Berry Woman had not gone to extreme lengths to provide warmth.

  Turning to look over her shoulder, she felt her earlier resolve fading. Quincy was right; she shouldn’t be so impulsive. She was acting more like Amelia now, flighty and high-strung instead of guided by plain old common sense.

  Maybe being under Creed Walker’s protection wasn’t so bad. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. In truth, she was being downright foolish.

  Berry Woman and River Woman slowed their horses beneath the barren branches of a cottonwood tree. Snow clouds churned beneath a watery moon.

  “Storm Rider will be angry,” River Woman warned. The women watched Anne-Marie’s horse disappear into the blowing snow.

  “Storm Rider will not know,” Berry Woman said.

  “He will know. When he awakens and finds the woman gone, he will ask what has become of her.”

  “And no one will have seen her,” Berry Woman countered.

  “But she goes into the dark—into the coming storm. She will not survive—”

  “Whatever happens to her is her own foolish doing,” Berry Woman snapped.

  River Woman shook her head. “Your coldness saddens me. The white woman does not have the skills to protect herself. She will die.”

  A smile touched the corners of Berry Woman’s mouth. “I do only what the woman asks. Is that not common hospitality? I do only what Storm Rider has instructed me to do.”

  River Woman’s eyes reflected deep concern. “It is not right, Berry Woman. You do not speak the truth about Storm Rider. He would never send a woman into the night alone.”

  “You worry too much. Come, the wind is rising.” Reining her horse, Berry Woman turned and rode in the direction of camp.

  She was confused. Anne-Marie had ridden a good distance before she realized that her body was getting numb. Only her feet tingled, and she hadn’t been able to feel her hands for a while.

  Dawn streaked the sky and she realized she was lost. At one time she thought she was riding west, but now she knew she wasn’t. Slowing the pony, she studied the muted rays streaking the cold morning sky. She was no longer riding west; she was riding south. In fact, that stand of trees looked familiar. She had made a huge circle and wasn’t nearly as far from the camp as she’d thought. Desperation filled her, and she giggled, realizing that it didn’t make any difference what direction she rode in, since she didn’t know where she was anyway.

  She had to go back now while she could. Quincy was right; she shouldn’t be out here alone. She needed to turn back…

  The pony sidestepped, catching Anne-Marie off guard. Reacting, she jerked the bridle around and the pinto bucked, crow-hopping blindly in the snow. She struggled to hang on, but the animal’s strength was greater than hers.

  Pitching wildly, the horse threw her and she struck the ground hard, tumbling wildly down a steep, snow-covered incline.

  By the time she reached the bottom, she welcomed the blackness that consumed her.

  Smoke from the cook fires hung over the village this morning when Creed stepped outside the tent. Heavy snow covered the ground. Testing his leg, he found his strength returning. He knew if he stayed up too long, he would open the wound again, and he couldn’t spare another delay.

  Memories flooded him as he drew deeply of the camp aromas. Though he had spent a good part of his life with Father Jacob, the Indian ways were still a large part of him.

  He stood for a moment watching children play as their mothers went about their daily chores and their fathers unloaded slain deer from packhorses. A hunting party had departed before dawn; they were back with a good kill. There would be fresh venison hanging over the fires tonight.

  Turning away, he spotted River Woman carrying a bundle of sticks in the direction of her family’s tepee.

  “River Woman,” he called. “Come, sit by my fire.”

  River Woman’s pace didn’t slacken as she hurried toward her tent with an armload of wood. “I cannot. Our fire burns low, Storm Rider.”

  Surprised by her reaction, Creed smiled and called out again. “River Woman, you work too hard. Come, sit with me and we’ll talk.”

  Slowly putting down the wood, the young maiden turned and approached him, her eyes focused on her moccasins. “What is it you wish, Storm Rider?”

  “Have you seen the white woman? I don’t see her around this morning.”

  River Woman’s gaze stayed riveted to the ground and she murmured, “Not this morning.”

  Creed frowned. Although yesterday he had asked Berry Woman and Quincy to send Anne-Marie to his tent, she had failed to respond. “You haven’t seen her today?”

  “Not today.”

  Berry Woman turned from her fire, her eyes sending River Woman a silent warning.

  “I must go,” River Woman murmured. “Our fire burns very low.”

  “If you see the white woman—”

  “I will not see her. I must go.”

  When River Woman walked away, Creed reached out and caught her arm. Studying her flushed face, he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  Glancing at Berry Woman, River Woman shook her head quickly. “Nothing is wrong. Please, I must go.”

  It was a moment before Creed finally released her. She was acting oddly today. “Give my greetings to your mother.”

  Nodding, River Woman walked away and moments later ducked quickly into her tent.

  Glancing at Berry Woman, Creed wondered about the significance of the look that had passed between the two women.

  Meeting his gaze, Berry Woman smiled. “Storm Rider appears much stronger this day.”

  “Yes, I gain more strength every day. Have you seen the white woman today?”

  Berry Woman averted his gaze. “I have not seen her today. Perhaps she gathers wood with Elk Woman.”

  Creed found that possibility even more remote. Anne-Marie had never volunteered to wander off alone. “Where is Quincy?”

  “In his tepee.” She turned back to tend the haunch of venison hanging over her fire. Succulent juices dripped into the flames and the scent of cooking meat filled the cam
p.

  He reached out to stop a small boy who was running through camp. “Have you seen the white woman?”

  The child shook his head.

  “Would you go through camp and look for her? She may be gathering wood with the other women.”

  The boy spoke in the native tongue and turned to skip off.

  “Bring her here when you find her,” Creed called after him, and then turned and lifted the thick buffalo fold. Anne-Marie would be angry because he hadn’t sent for her earlier, but he had needed time to think without her butting in. She was getting under his skin, yet he was reluctant to have Quincy take her to Mercy Flats. She was his responsibility, and his alone.

  She would not leave this camp without him.

  By late morning, the child had searched high and low and Anne-Marie had failed to appear. Creed made his way slowly to question River Woman.

  When the tepee flap parted, River Woman glanced up. Storm Rider filled the doorway and apprehension mirrored in her dark eyes.

  “I asked earlier if you had seen the white woman. I want the truth now,” he said.

  Glancing away, she said softly, “I have spoken the truth. I have not seen the white woman this day.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  River Woman’s silence stretched.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “I cannot—”

  Entering the tent, he knelt beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. He forced her to look at him. “When did you last see her?”

  The young girl still hesitated and he lowered his voice persuasively. “Tell me what you know.”

  “I know nothing.”

  “Has something happened to her?”

  A sob caught in River Woman’s throat. “I cannot—Berry Woman will be angry.”

  His grip tightened. “Tell me what you know.”

  “She… the white woman rode away… ”

  Creed frowned. “Rode away? When?”

  “Last night.”

  “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

  River Woman shook her head, sobbing. “She rode… into the darkness. Berry Woman and I returned to camp, but I was worried, so I went back out and followed the woman a ways, but then I turned back because the weather was so cold.” Her eyes lifted defensively. “Berry Woman said she was only following your instructions.”

  Creed’s eyes narrowed. “Where is the woman now?”

  Tears rolled down the maiden’s cheeks. “I do not know, the snow blinded me—I can only take you to where I last saw her… ”

  “You didn’t try to help her!”

  She buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me, Storm Rider. I should have sent for help, but I feared that Berry Woman would no longer be my friend.”

  Creed could not believe what he was hearing. Berry Woman would not willingly disobey him when he had given instruction to see to the woman’s needs.

  River Woman was still explaining. “I did not wish to anger Berry Woman, so I turned back.”

  The muscle in Creed’s jaw flexed when he pulled the girl to her feet. “Show me where this happened.”

  River Woman drew back in fear. “I must ask Berry Woman… ”

  Ignoring her defiance, Creed pulled her out of the tent and went in search of two horses.

  Silence blanketed the frozen hillsides when the animals pushed through layers of crusted snow. A bitter wind battered the man and woman as they rode in silence, their eyes searching the icy hillsides. The fire in Creed’s leg became a roaring inferno.

  He and River Woman split up, scouting different areas but keeping each other in sight. River Woman’s pony came to a halt in a heavy strand of trees. “Here.”

  Creed’s gaze followed the tracks leading away from the clearing, the buffalo robe lying to the side. Nudging his horse, he traced the tracks a mile or so before he saw signs of a struggle. It looked like a pony had spooked and thrown its rider.

  His gaze shot to the deep ravine.

  Sliding off his animal, he limped to the edge of the steep divide. Halfway down, he could see a crumpled form lying at the bottom. A blanket of snow covered the familiar skirt and blouse.

  Turning, he shouted to River Woman. “Go! Tell the camp I have found the white woman, and she needs care.”

  Anne-Marie drifted in and out of consciousness, faintly aware that she was dying.

  Dying wasn’t so bad. Nothing at all like she had thought it would be. There was no pain, just a nice numbness that filled her whole body.

  She hadn’t heard any trumpets yet, but she expected them to blow anytime. She could picture St. Peter calling his trumpeters together, and right this moment they were getting ready to blow her up through the Pearly Gates.

  She had to start taking her faith more seriously. She had always meant to let God know that she accepted Him—she really did, though she often acted nothing like His child. The angels were getting ready to herald her arrival—or were they? She hadn’t been the most obedient subject, but she hadn’t been the worst. She’d never killed anyone or been unkind—except to Creed. Every misdeed she’d done, she’d done with the purest of intentions.

  What you’ve done, the stealing and misleading, is wrong, Anne-Marie. Selfish, childish, and wrong. You are not representing Christ or any form of His love. He looks upon the heart, not good intentions.

  But I meant to tell Him that I do accept Him and I know what I’ve done is wrong—and now my time for decisions has run out.

  She’d thought she had all the time in the world. She couldn’t be dying now—not so young. Remorse and panic filled her. Was it too late? “Dear God, forgive me. I want to be Your child… ” She forced the long-delayed acceptance through frozen lips. She had been lying in the snow for how long now? An hour? Two hours? Ten hours? It must be closer to ten hours, but then, if it was ten hours and not one hour or two hours, she would surely be wherever she was going by now, wouldn’t she?

  An ache, deep inside her, made her think that she was still on earth, a place that had nourished and sheltered her and brought her good and bad times. She bit back the urge to cry. Her death would bring such pain to Amelia and Abigail. And the mission sisters—they didn’t deserve sad tears.

  She didn’t want to be the cause of such pain.

  The McDougal sisters were all they had and now there would only be the two left to carry on the mission work. In one way she wanted to stay and help, but in another she longed to be where it was warm and dry and… happy.

  Creed Walker’s face floated above her, and she squinted, trying to see if he had a trumpet to his lips. Wasn’t that just like him—always showing up where he wasn’t wanted?

  Deciding he was trumpetless, she reached out to lay her numb hands against his face. No matter where she went lately, he was there. It was almost like the Good Lord had planted Creed Walker in her life and wouldn’t let her lose him.

  “Ohhh, you’ve come to save me again, but you’re too late this time,” she whispered.

  His rugged features swam into focus. Even if he was only a dying hallucination, she was beginning to like him. Really like him, although she couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t been particularly nice to her, although she had to admit that he hadn’t had much of a chance. What with going to jail and then ending up with a buckboard full of gold and being shot—well, she supposed, under the circumstances, few men would have been overly gracious.

  Why, who knows, if she wasn’t in the process of passing on this very minute, she might conceivably have fallen in love with Creed Walker. She, Anne-Marie McDougal, who never liked men, in love?

  If her lips weren’t frozen stiff, she’d laugh.

  She closed her eyes when realization flooded her again.

  I’m alone. I’m hurt. I can’t move. And I’m so very scared. Not one soul cares where I am, or what happens to me—except Abigail and Amelia. And You, God. I have You now. She smothered a sob that tore at her ribs and made breathing unbearable.

  Where were t
hose trumpets?

  “Breathe deep, Anne-Marie.”

  A heavy robe settled around her, and she absorbed the heavenly warmth. “Thank You—I was afraid You hadn’t heard me.”

  The time had come: She was gone from this earth.

  “Where’s your trumpet?” she murmured, wishing He would hurry because she was so very cold. Wait—maybe it was Gabriel. He blew the trumpet, didn’t he? “I didn’t hear it.”

  “I didn’t blow it.”

  The voice sounded close, and not at all like an angel. It was deep and masculine and… Oh dear.

  Had the devil himself come to claim her? Her heart hammered against her ribs and she tried to open her eyes, but the lids were frozen shut. “I’m sorry… don’t take me… There’s been a mistake; I accepted the Lord as my savior… ”

  Gentle hands fastened the heavy robe around her. “Anne-Marie, can you hear me?”

  That was Creed’s voice. What was he doing here, passing himself off as one of St. Peter’s trumpeters?

  When she tried to ask him, her lips refused to form the words. She swallowed and tried again, but the sound wouldn’t come.

  “I’m going to move you. We’re going back to camp now. Put your arms around my neck.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you must.”

  Wouldn’t you know it? He was trying to boss her around—even now when death was so close.

  “You’re angry with me. I left and I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “Right now, I don’t know whether to kiss you or curse you.”

  “A kiss would be better.” A nice, sweet kiss—she bet he was good at that sort of thing.

  A pair of incredibly strong arms lifted her, and she sighed, laying her head on the trumpeter’s shoulder, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Nine

  Prickly stinging slowly dragged Anne-Marie back to awareness. Her toes stung like fire, and she couldn’t feel her face. Panicked, she struggled to sit up.

  “Drink.”

  She didn’t recognize the male voice, but a gentle hand supported her head and pushed a cup against her lips. Drinking greedily of the warm, thin broth, she dropped back into unconsciousness.

  Twice more she awoke to find the same compassionate hands urging the cup back to her lips. Once she thought she heard Creed’s voice, but it seemed different somehow, restrained, concerned, and she couldn’t think why.