My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  Spurring his horse, Cortes kicked the animal into a fast gallop. The trophies broke loose from his hands when he tried to avoid hitting Ollie’s horse.

  “Out of my way!” Both animal and rider plunged down a steep incline.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Ollie shouted when he rejoined Rodrigo, who was waiting below.

  “Who knows,” the outlaw grumbled. “I told you to stay down here with me.”

  The sound of men’s shouts, horses veering, and beating hoofs pounding the ground in the opposite direction met Anne-Marie in the midst of her escape attempt. Fighting and clawing, she tried to break the binds. “Drat—these straps are so tight… ” She wiggled, feeling the platform sway with her efforts.

  Still trying to free herself, Anne-Marie heard a familiar voice below her.

  “Anne-Marie, it’s Creed. Are you all right?”

  “Get me out of here!”

  “Hold on, I’m going to cut you loose now. Who were the riders?”

  “Those crazy outlaws. Hurry, Creed. I can barely breathe.”

  She felt the ropes give way, and moments later her pallet was slowly lowered to the ground. The bindings were cut away, and she shivered at the sudden chill she felt when her sweat-drenched body was exposed to the cool night air.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Creed whispered.

  “I’m fine. What about you? And Quincy?” She tried to wring feeling back into her hands when she noticed blood seeping through his britches. The wound had broken open again. “Your leg—it looks awful.”

  He busied himself cutting away the last of the ties. “It feels awful too.”

  “The moment we can, we’re going to see a doctor and have that taken care of properly. I’m sorry,” she added. She hadn’t thought about the effect her crazy plan would have on his injury, but the plan seemed to have worked. With a quick look around, she saw no sign of the outlaws. “Do you think they’ve gone?”

  “We’re not sticking around to find out. Let’s free Quincy and get out of here.”

  When Creed cut the binds and Quincy rolled free of his prison, he bent over his knees, sucking in air. “Anne-Marie, if you ever suggest such a plan again, remind me to ride as hard and as fast as I can in the opposite direction.” He took long, deep breaths.

  “Bold Eagle had better be where he said he’d be,” Creed whispered. “Let’s go.” The three struck off in a northwesterly direction under a cloak of darkness.

  Thirteen

  Three indistinguishable figures rounded a bend in the road and two waiting riders slipped from the shadows. Kneeing his horse forward, Creed rode to greet his brother.

  “You have survived your ordeal,” Bold Eagle greeted when he drew closer.

  “By the Father’s grace, we have survived.” Creed studied the blood-soaked bandage wrapped tightly around his thigh. The wound was pounding from the arduous walk.

  Black Earth and Two Belly brought along a fresh horse. A moment later Berry Woman appeared astride a pony. Slipping from her mount, she ran quickly to Creed’s side. “Storm Rider—you cannot continue this madness,” she pleaded. “It is not wise.”

  Anne-Marie glanced away when she saw the possessiveness in the young maiden’s eyes. Creed responded to her, taking her hand tight in his. A razor-sharp pain split her heart. She wanted him to hold her, to comfort her.

  The thought shocked sense into her. She was falling in love with this man, a man she couldn’t have. Not only did he have feelings for this lovely young maiden, but his emotions ran deep—like still waters.

  Quincy was busy examining the buckboard. “I have to hand it to you, Anne-Marie. I had strong reservations about the plan, but I’ve never seen a slicker operation in all my born days. Breaking down that buckboard and then hauling the parts—plus the gold—out of camp on several travois right beneath the outlaw’s noses was brilliant all right, even if a woman did mastermind it.”

  Berry Woman helped Creed to the back of the reassembled wagon and Quincy and Anne-Marie climbed aboard. Securing the spare horse to the gate, Black Earth and Two Belly dropped back.

  “You will rest?” Berry Woman fretted over Creed as she carefully stretched his leg out in the bed of the wagon.

  “My sister clucks like a mother hen,” Bold Eagle scolded. “Come, we must move on before we are noticed. It is a day’s ride to our new encampment.”

  “Will you go to your summer grounds?” Creed asked.

  “It is too soon; the grass is not new, but water is plentiful here and so is buffalo and game.”

  “I’m sorry for this upheaval.”

  Bold Eagle rested a hand on Creed’s shoulder. “My brother would do the same for me.” The men’s eyes met and sealed the words with a silent understanding. Bold Eagle drew back and straightened. “I have sent riders ahead with provisions to see you through a short time. You will remain at the mission?”

  Creed nodded. “We’ll remain there until this thing heals again.” Gritting his teeth, he shifted his boot.

  “Herbs, fresh kill, and water await you.”

  “Thank you, my brother.”

  Leaning forward, Berry Woman whispered into Creed’s ear. He nodded, and she returned to her horse.

  Turning their animals, the party rode off.

  Quincy picked up the buckboard reins. “Well, Miss McDougal. The plan went off smooth as my grandma’s Christmas pudding.” He chuckled. “I’d sure like to have been there and seen the looks on those bandits faces when Bold Eagle broke camp and rode off. I’ll bet they’re still shaking their heads and wondering what happened.”

  At one time the Santa Maria Mission had been a lovely sight. Low adobe structures sheltered with red-tiled roofs dotted the hillside. Now the buildings were neglected and falling into ruin. However, years of disrepair could not detract from the beauty of the twelve arches, some tall, some short, some semicircular, and others majestic and narrow. Their grandeur was still breathtaking.

  The outer buildings were crumbling to the ground, but the mission’s beauty and serenity still showed through the rubble. Though it would be weeks yet before spring came, Anne-Marie could imagine what a magical place the gardens would be when the heady scent of Castilian roses and myrtle filled the air with a scent sweeter than honey.

  High above in the old tower, a bell stood sentry. It reminded Anne-Marie of all the mornings a bell much like this one had awakened her and her sisters for morning prayers. Scampering into their clothes, they had raced giggling to the chapel, to be detained by a stern-faced nun who reminded the impetuous McDougal sisters that young ladies never ran, they walked.

  A pain so deep she could hardly bear it flooded her when she thought about those happy, carefree days with her sisters. Would she ever see them again? Yes, they’d outwitted authorities, but Creed had to heal and then the gold had to be delivered before she could even begin the journey to Mercy Flats. Perhaps she could find a way to send a message to her mission and have the sisters inform Amelia and Abigail that she was well and would join them as soon as possible. Time was passing; perhaps they had grown tired of waiting and gone home to seek solace among the nuns. Or they could still be with their rescuers, either captive or unable to return. She would never know until she got home.

  Quincy’s dark eyes studied the crumbling building. “Doesn’t look like much, but I guess it’ll keep the rain off our heads.”

  Anne-Marie agreed without much spirit. She was suddenly very tired.

  She drove the wagon under a vine-covered portico. Creed was asleep, so rather than disturb him and start his wound bleeding again, she pulled an extra buffalo hide over him for warmth. They needed to choose a good place to build a fire, assess their supplies, and be sure the deserted mission held no dangers.

  Leaving Creed in the buckboard, she and Quincy set out to explore the main building. They entered the dim interior and Anne-Marie wrinkled her nose when the scent of the musty-smelling alcoves reached her. What few pieces of furniture had been left behind were
either damaged or broken. All were covered with dust.

  They entered the kitchen with its vaulted roof, and a sigh escaped her when she saw the chimney was intact and the kitchen stove still there. It was a huge, monstrous contraption, but at least they would have hot water and a more convenient way to cook their food. Her eyes scanned the room and found the pile of provisions left by Bold Eagle’s braves. Meat would be hanging in the smoke house.

  “Have mercy,” Quincy murmured when they moved upstairs and roamed the empty corridors. Thick walls with innumerable rounded stones rose from the clay floors. They passed through the baptistery and into the large sanctuary.

  Light streamed down through a long, narrow, horizontal window, illuminating the reredos with nine statues in various niches. The resplendent altar was elegantly carved with winged cherubim. Pieces of the dais candles still remained, waiting to be lit for prayers.

  A bat darted from the high ceiling toward the intruders. They ducked for cover. Quincy shook his head and stepped closer to Anne-Marie.

  “This place gives me the jitters.”

  “A little jitters never hurt anyone,” she whispered.

  “Why do we always end up in spooky places?”

  “It’s not so bad.” Anne-Marie moved on, with Quincy following close behind. Returning to the kitchen, she parted a layer of thick cobwebs and peered down a black column of steps leading to the cellar.

  “Now if you’re thinking of sending me down there, you can just get that idea out of your head,” Quincy said. “There is a limit to my cooperation—and you reached it with that last plan you hatched up.”

  “You’re such a scaredy-cat,” she chided. Searching for a light source, she spotted a candle stub lying near the base of the first step. “You have matches with you, don’t you?”

  “No, ma’am.” His answer was too quick for Anne-Marie to believe him. “Miss Anne-Marie, I have a phobia of dark places. I’d just as soon we didn’t go down there.”

  “All right, I understand phobias. I’m not over-fond of water, iguanas, and spiders, but we do what we must. Give me a match. I know you have some; now give me one.”

  “Ma’am, you don’t want to go down there. It’s dark and dirty, and who knows what’s at the bottom? I don’t want to even speculate on what might be crawling around down there—or even worse, slithering around down there on its belly.”

  “You don’t have to go. Wait here and I’ll be right back.” The old mission seemed spooky only because it was so quiet and in disrepair. Dark cellars didn’t bother her. When she was small, she had fetched potatoes and rutabagas for Sister Delia from the storeroom nearly every day. “There might be something to eat down there,” she reasoned. “Something the former occupants might have left behind.” Sisters always had large gardens and most likely there were jars of tomatoes, corn, and green beans left behind. Canned goods lasted a very long time.

  “By the looks of the place there’s been no one here for months—maybe years,” he countered. Taking a deep breath, he muttered. “I’ll go—just make it quick.”

  “Your choice. Where’s the match?”

  He fished the match from his vest pocket and handed it to her.

  She struck the sulfur tip on the sole of her shoe and then lit the candle stub, brightening the narrow stairway with enough light to see the way down.

  “Oh.” Quincy’s eyes grew rounder. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” She felt him cringe when the sound of scampering feet ruptured the silence.

  “It’s just some old mice. They won’t hurt you.” Hitching up the hem of her skirt, she stepped down a couple of stairs and then turned to peer over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  When he didn’t answer, she continued in a peeved tone, “You don’t have to, but if I should find something, I’ll need your help bringing it up.”

  “What we need is two or three torches instead of one little candle. Why don’t you just forget looking for something to eat? Anything you’d find would be spoiled by now, anyway. The last thing we need is a good case of the grippe. And besides, Creed’s tribe gave us supplies.”

  “I just want to take stock of all our provisions,” said Anne-Marie.

  Quincy jumped back when a mouse darted up the stairway and shot between his legs.

  Drawing a shaky breath, he started down the stairs behind her.

  Candlelight danced across dirt walls when Anne-Marie stepped deeper into the dank cellar. The sound of dripping water momentarily distracted her. Cool drafts of musty-smelling air threatened to extinguish the candle, plunging the stairway into total darkness.

  “Do not let that candle go out,” Quincy hissed.

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “You do more than try, sister.”

  Pausing on the bottom rung, she lifted the candle higher, trying to see. It was black as night down here. “See anything?” she whispered.

  “Nothing. I couldn’t spot a speeding locomotive if it was coming straight at me.” Squinting, he slapped blindly at something that zoomed by his ear.

  Drifting deeper into the vault, Anne-Marie noted the cellar wasn’t as large as the one in Mercy Flats, but it was adequate.

  She moved the light slowly along the walls, searching for shelves lined with canned goods. It appeared as if nothing had been left behind.

  It was spooky down here.

  A man’s voice shattered the silence. “What are you two doing?”

  Quincy started at the sound of Creed’s voice. “What are you doing down here?” Creed repeated when he stepped off the bottom step to join them.

  “What are you doing down here?” Anne-Marie snapped, shaken at the unexpected intrusion. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was, but when I woke up and found you both gone, I thought I’d better look for you.” His eyes roamed the dark interior. “What are you searching for?”

  “I thought the former occupants might have left something we could eat,” Anne-Marie murmured. “You never know where a sister might have stored provisions.” Canned green beans, corn, tomatoes. Lifting the candle higher, she moved the light slowly through the inky interior. Her hand paused, swinging the light back to the left a little more when she thought she detected a small chamber in the very back of the room.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “It looks like a room—maybe more storage.”

  “We’re not going in there,” Quincy warned.

  Brushing past him, Anne-Marie held the candle out in front of her and moved toward the rustic door, her skirt fabric rustling in the shadowy darkness.

  Quincy glanced at Creed. “That woman is going to give me the green apple quickstep before this is over.”

  Brushing aside a layer of cobwebs, she lifted the heavy bar blocking the chamber entrance. When she slid the bar aside it rattled on its rusty hinges, making a menacing sound throughout the small chamber.

  Using her slight weight, she shoved against the door. The hinges groaned at the disturbance but refused to budge. Quincy stepped up, laid his shoulder against the wood, and heaved.

  The door slowly swung open, yielding an even blacker void.

  Three sets of round eyes peered into the gaping edifice.

  “See anything?” Anne-Marie whispered.

  Creed edged closer. “Nothing. Hold the light higher.”

  The three pressed close to each other and entered the stale-smelling chamber. The inside was pitch black.

  Anne-Marie moved the light along the walls and her gaze anxiously roamed the tight quarters. The room appeared to have no apparent purpose that Anne-Marie could identify.

  “Just more empty shelves,” she announced.

  Sinking back against a ledge, Quincy fumbled in his back pocket for a rag to wipe his brow. “This place is worse than Eulalie’s house and that Indian camp put together.”

  Creed closed the door and slid the rusty bar back into place.

  The next morning Anne-Marie was up before dawn. Meals were meager, consisting m
ostly of a thin gruel, nuts, winterberries, and the venison Bold Eagle had left for them.

  After breakfast, Anne-Marie dressed Creed’s wound and bandaged it using strips of petticoat that she had washed and hung out to bleach dry in the sun. To her delight, Creed’s health gradually showed signs of improvement.

  Each hour brought a new and wondrous discovery for Anne-Marie. She found contentment with Creed. A satisfaction she hadn’t known was possible. At times she thought she was falling in love and at others she knew it. The idea was so unlikely and complicated that it made her laugh, but at other times she would try to analyze her frightening new feelings. She decided she felt the way she did about Creed Walker because he was the first man who made her aware that she was a woman. Not by anything he’d done or said, but the way he watched her over the supper table, the way his hand brushed hers when she poured his coffee, or the way he put his fingers on the small of her back to usher her out of a room. His gaze would fix on her at times, following her as she went about her work. Their eyes would lock, and there was something indefinable in his expression. Creed Walker was not the type of man to settle down on a homestead and raise potatoes; he was an adventurous man, one who would eventually return to Bold Eagle’s camp and marry the waiting young maiden who had a claim on him.

  Sighing, Anne-Marie dunked another dish in the hot sudsy water. There had been little time for daydreaming of late, so she didn’t feel bad about taking her time with this morning’s dishes, watching robins outside the mission window forage for seed. Lifting the window, she took a long breath of fresh morning air, her mind still on Creed.

  For all the times interest dominated his gaze, she had to admit there were often as many times he’d stared at her as if she suffered from a rare brain disorder. Like the night she was invited to share her poetry. She had warned the men that she was only a novice poet, and her attempts were amateurish at best, but they had insisted she recite something she’d written, so she had complied.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, afraid she would bore them to tears. Nights were long at the mission and entertainment was as scarce as hen’s teeth, but that particular night the men were in a charitable mood.