“Go ahead,” Quincy invited. “Recite something for us.”
Glancing at Creed, Anne-Marie sensed that he wasn’t necessarily the poetic type, but he seemed agreeable. “Well,” she began, drawing a fortifying breath, “I’m not as good as my sister Amelia.”
“You have to be better than either one of us,” Creed said, the corner of his mouth lifting.
They sat on the floor in the kitchen, around the huge cook stove. The fickle spring weather had turned balmy, but there was still a brisk chill at night. May wasn’t far off, and Anne-Marie found herself longing for the time when honeysuckle, bougainvillea, and jasmine would perfume the mission air.
“I wrote a poem about robins once. Would you like to hear that one?” she asked.
“Sure.” Quincy lay back, resting his head on crossed arms.
“Shoot,” Creed said.
“All right.” She curtsied and, clearing her throat, she began:
The robin hopped, the robin sang,
The robin fell, and hurt his wing.
He got right up and chirped some more
And found some crumbs upon the floor.
She drew a deep breath. “The robin—”
Creed’s brow lifted. “Sang and wing don’t rhyme.”
Her face clouded. “I told you—I’m not very good.” That was one occasion when he looked at her as if he doubted her sanity.
Later that night the conversation had turned to the gold.
“The buckboard’s well hidden?” Creed asked.
Quincy nodded, pouring coffee from the pot that sat on the kitchen stove. It wasn’t real coffee—just the chickory brew Creed carried in his saddlebags. “Well hidden. No one could spot it, even if they got this close.”
“Where?”
“In the mission courtyard, beneath a thick growth of tangled vines.”
Creed toyed with his cup. “I don’t know, Quincy. I think the hiding place would be pretty obvious if one had a mind to do some looking. Maybe we should move the shipment to a safer place. That wagon is our only means of transportation if we’re forced to leave on short notice.”
“It’s seems safe to me, but if you want it moved I’ll move it. Are you thinking what I am? That squirrely outlaw Cortes is still hanging around, looking for us?”
“His type doesn’t give up easy.”
Anne-Marie supplied the logical solution. “Why not store the gold downstairs?” She glanced at Quincy, aware he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of going into the basement again.
Quincy had two words. “No. Way.”
“Think about it, Quincy. What better way to assure that the gold will be safe? No one but us knows the room’s there, and even if those outlaws find us, they know nothing about that room.”
“That outlaws aren’t going to find us,” Quincy stated.
“They might.”
Quincy shook his head. “Cortes isn’t smart enough to blow his nose on a hanky. I’ll wager he’s given up and gone home.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain about that.” Creed got up to stretch, still favoring his wound.
“Are you siding with her?”
“Yes, because she’s right, Quince. That gold isn’t safe where it is.”
“Now look, you two. Do you understand the meaning of fear? I’m not just afraid; I get paralyzed in dark, cramped spaces. Can’t get my limbs to move. Creed can’t carry the gold to the cellar; he’s still babying that leg. So who does that leave to move the gold down there? John Quincy Adams, that’s who. I’m not going near that room, so don’t ask. Someday I would like to settle down, marry me a fine woman and have sons and daughters. If I stay with you, the prospect is looking less likely every hour.”
“If a light were on it wouldn’t be dark.” Anne-Marie tried to make the task more tolerable. “I’ll find a larger candle… ”
Quincy wasn’t buying it. He set his jaw, crossed his arms and stared at her.
Sighing, Anne-Marie got up to stir the fire.
When the silence lengthened, Quincy grew more vocal. “I know what you’re doing; you two don’t fool me. You’re trying to make me feel guilty about not doing my share to get us out of this, but you are wasting your time. Period. That gold is fine right where it sits. There hasn’t been a sign of those outlaws for days, so you might as well get it through your thick skulls I am not going back to that cellar.”
Creed calmly turned to Anne-Marie. “Do you have any more robin poems?”
She frowned. “Really? You didn’t think the other one was awful?”
“Pretty awful, but I’ll listen to another one.”
“No. I think I’d rather just sit and think.”
Silence stretched. Creed lay back, closing his eyes. Night birds called back and forth in the courtyard.
“You’re not going to shame me into that cellar,” Quincy said. “I’m not going in that dark hole again. It isn’t like the gold is in any danger.”
Moving back to the pallet, Anne-Marie sat down, gathering the hem of her skirt between her legs. Loosing the pins from her hair, she absently ran her fingers through the thick mass.
A slow awareness crept over Creed as he studied her movements beneath hooded lids. Candlelight caught the fiery silk highlights and he wanted to run his fingers through the thick layers, draw in her sweet feminine scent. His gaze moved to her mouth and lingered.
When she absently glanced up and caught him staring, color filled her cheeks and she quickly looked away. He was waiting when she lifted her eyes again and their gazes touched. What would she feel like held tight against his chest, listening to his heart’s erratic thump? Berry Woman was nothing more in his mind than a young girl; Anne-Marie was a woman.
“Oh, all right!” Quincy shoved back. “You’re not going to let up until I move that blasted gold.”
Startled, Creed broke eye contact with Anne-Marie. Quincy stalked to the door, jerked it open, and left.
Glancing back to Anne-Marie, he frowned. “What got into him?”
Shrugging, she got slowly to her feet. “He must have changed his mind about moving the gold. He’ll need my help.”
Before Creed could argue, she followed. Quincy was still grousing. “I have lost my mind. I swore I would never go back into that cellar, but here I go, like the numbskull that I am. They got a place for men like me, insane asylum… wouldn’t be surprised if they already had my name on the door ’cause that’s sure where I’ll be heading when this little farce is over… ”
Fourteen
Sheriff Ferris Goodman sat across the table from Loyal Streeter in the Gilded Dove saloon. The men had kept company for over an hour, and Loyal was getting restless. He kept toying with his glass, sending nervous looks toward the door.
“Relax, Loyal. Cortes is gonna show up any minute now.”
“Where is that buffoon?”
“We’re gonna get the gold back,” Ferris assured the councilman. “The job’s just takin’ a little longer than expected.”
Loyal tossed down another drink. “It’s like the earth opened and swallowed that Indian, black, and woman alive.”
“There’s an Apache camp the other side of Brittlebranch. Fifty or so tepees.”
“You think they went there?” Streeter blanched, and then shook his head. “Cortes ain’t got the guts to confront a band of Apaches. The man is crazy, but not that crazy. Those outlaws would be nuts to mess with an Apache—unless the Crow’s in cahoots with the chief.”
“Well, you never know. If the Indian’s desperate enough, and I’d say right about now he is, he might try anything to hold on to that gold shipment.”
“Maybe—but I’m still puzzled about what part the black has in this. And what about the nun? Why is she with them? Seems real strange she’d be in such company. You think she’s a captive?”
Loyal signaled to the bartender for another refill. “I don’t know, but you can bet your life the Indian’s not worried about the black or the woman right now. He’s looking after h
is own self.”
Ferris frowned. “Them redskins are smart—and wily. Suppose the Crow knows something about that gold? It was plain bad timing that we moved the shipment when we did. I should have been more careful.”
Shrugging, Loyal tossed down another drink. Shoving the glass aside, his gaze focused on the empty glass. “Nah, those three couldn’t have known about the gold. No one knew about it other than me and the officials.”
“Dirty agent?”
“You know I don’t reveal my contacts.” Loyal glanced back to the doorway. “Where is that two-bit outlaw? I should have insisted that you put someone other than Cortes in charge.”
Goodman’s face clouded. “Relax. He’ll show up. He’s on to something, or he would have been here by now.”
Shoving out of his chair, Streeter tossed a coin on the table and reached for his hat. “Time’s running out, Goodman.”
Ferris nodded. “The South can’t hang on much longer without funds.” He paused, eyeing his companion. “You’re not thinking of doing anything crazy, are you, Loyal?”
Loyal paused. “Crazy? What kind of fool question is that?”
“Just wondering. You wouldn’t be thinking of pulling a switch, would you? I’ve seen the look in your eyes lately, that greedy look you get when you’re busy hatching a plan. I don’t know what you got in mind, but it’s a pretty safe assumption that the Confederacy isn’t going to see a single coin of that gold.”
Loyal’s voice tightened. “If you haven’t heard from Cortes by sundown, send someone out to find him.”
“I will—if he don’t show up before long.”
Striding across the saloon, Streeter shoved the double swinging bar doors open and left.
“Yeah,” Ferris muttered. “Whatever you’re up to Mr. Streeter, it’s a safe bet it stinks to high heaven.”
“You have family, Quincy?” Anne-Marie stacked another bag of gold. She was hoping that idle chatter would keep Quincy’s mind off his work.
“Got three younger brothers at home.”
“You said you were from Alabama.”
He nodded and then paused to wipe the sweat rolling from his temples. The cellar was cool, but the gold was heavy and he’d worked up a sweat.
She hefted another bag onto a shelf. “You said you hoped to marry one day, have children, settle down.” He had not looked up once, fixing his eyes on his work.
“That’s what I plan, if I live to see the day.” He strained to lift the bags of coins, taut muscles working in his corded arms.
“Got any particular woman in mind?” There must be a long line of willing candidates awaiting him back home. His tall, muscular frame, deep brown eyes, and molasses-colored skin were sure to attract women, but it was his good nature, his ability to make her laugh and want to choke him at the same time that had found its way into her heart. Her life would feel hollow when the three parted.
“If she’s out there, she hasn’t made herself known yet.”
“Guess you’ll be real happy when the war is over and you can go home.”
His tone turned wistful. “Yes, I sure will be.”
“How many children do you want?”
“However many the good Lord sends—I’d like to have a couple of sons, maybe a daughter.”
“I’m sure your family misses you.” Anne-Marie barely remembered her papa. She couldn’t have been much more than a toddler when she and her sisters were left at the mission by kindhearted neighbors when both of her parents were waylaid on the way to town to purchase supplies. When the sheriff came to inform the family he found her and her sisters alone and frightened. Their closest neighbor would have taken the girls, but they could barely feed their flock, so she and her sisters were taken to the mission. But she remembered Papa’s booming voice. Loud and spirited, Irish McDougal’s voice made everyone grin. Irish must have inspired many a winsome thought among women in his younger years, but it was Mary Catherine McCurdy who had won his heart.
Memories didn’t sadden her. The good Lord had provided shelter and food at the mission; the sisters were like mothers. Strict but fair.
“Creed thinks the war can’t last much longer,” she said quietly.
“Don’t see how it can last, but man’s got a stubborn streak. They’ll get their fill of death and bloodshed one of these days and the fight will be over.”
Anne-Marie paused to catch her breath. “You’re still worried about the gold, aren’t you?”
Quincy’s solemn gaze met hers. “I’d just as soon it was in the commander’s hands,” he admitted.
“It will be—the moment Creed’s able to travel.”
“Well,” Quincy tucked the last bag among the others. He didn’t have to say that he was mighty relieved to have the job finished; his strained features told Anne-Marie as much. “I hope you’re right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? We outsmarted the outlaws, didn’t we? They haven’t a clue as to where we are right now.”
“Yes, ma’am—maybe it’s safe.”
She hated it when he “yes ma’amed” everything she said. His superficial answers meant that he didn’t share her optimistic view.
“What’re your plans once you and your sisters are reunited?” Quincy slid down the wall and stretched his long legs in front of him.
“Well… ” Anne-Marie thought before answering. Before their arrest, she and her sisters had planned another scam near Dallas County…but she was through with thievery. Never again would she take anything that wasn’t hers. “I guess we’ll return to the mission and help the sisters. They’re all very old now.”
“You ever thought about marrying, settling down?”
“No. No I haven’t.”
“Your sisters. Have they…”
“No.”
Quincy leaned back, smiling.
“What are you grinning about?”
“You’re downright funny.”
“I don’t mean to be.” And she resented the observation. Having a genial personality was one thing, but being the butt of someone else’s joke was another.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Old enough to know a lady never tells her age.”
Sighing, Quincy said, “I remember when I was your age. Nary a brain in my head.”
Anne-Marie focused on his earlier remark. “Is that why you think I’m funny? That I don’t have a brain in my head?”
He continued as though he was talking to someone else. “Pretending not to have an interest in men, pretending to be a nun. When are you going to tell him?”
Her heart leaped. “Tell who… what?”
“Creed. Tell him you’re in love with him.”
Denial sprang to her lips and she clamped her teeth on her lower lip. She’d promised God to never lie again. Did that mean she could skirt the issue? Lacing her fingers through her hair, she closed her eyes. “What a fine mess I’ve made of everything. Creed will never forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what? He’s a reasonable man and you’ve been more than cooperative.”
“Reasonable enough to forgive a foolish young woman for dragging him around the countryside, shooting him, demanding that he take me to Mercy Flats above his duties to his country?” She slumped against the wall, fighting tears. “What man in his right man would forgive a woman for driving him to complete madness?”
Silence filled the small room. She needed to get Quincy out of here and into the sunlight, but she didn’t have the energy.
Quincy finally broke the stillness. “He’s pledged to Berry Woman.”
“I am well aware of Creed’s… situation.” If she knew nothing else, she knew about Berry Woman. In camp, someone went out of their way to remind her everywhere she went. Her voice took on a small, soft quality. “Do you think he loves her? I mean, the way a man really loves the woman he’s going to marry?”
“Well, that’s hard to say. Creed never mentions her, but then, that doesn’t mean much. Creed doesn’t talk about his personal lif
e.”
“Yes, I suppose men don’t talk about things like that—not the way women do,” she admitted. She and her sisters would sit up half the night talking, but men were different. But then… “Don’t you think if a man truly loved a woman that he couldn’t do anything but talk about her?” she persisted.
If she loved someone that much, it wouldn’t bother her one bit if the whole world knew it. She’d shout it from the highest hilltop; stop strangers on the road and tell them.
“You don’t know men,” Quincy said.
“I don’t. I haven’t been around men for any length of time. Tell me, why doesn’t Creed talk about Berry Woman?” Berry Woman’s life and his were so different now. They were both Indian, but Creed had learned the white man’s way. Was it possible he wanted to return to Berry Woman’s way of life? He and Bold Eagle were closer than brothers.
“You don’t know much about the Crow, either.”
“No,” she admitted. “Nothing.” She’d seen Indians all her life, and she had heard tales about how they not only fought each other, but also had to fight to protect their territory from a variety of enemies, including miners, settlers, and soldiers.
Quincy’s expression sobered. “A Crow’s marriage is also a treaty between clans. It’s not only about love. It’s about honor and duty. The Crow’s idea of an ideal marriage is one between a man with honor to his name and a girl who is no clan or kin relation. So it doesn’t matter if he loves her or not, he’ll marry her.”
Meeting his gaze, Anne-Marie couldn’t hide her emotions. “But why—if Creed doesn’t love her?”
“No one but Creed can say if he loves her, but he has given his word to his blood brother, Bold Eagle. Nothing”—Quincy’s eyes searched hers—“and no one can alter his pledge.”
“Then you admit that Creed may not be in love with this woman?”
Anne-Marie didn’t know why the speculation should make her so happy. Whether he loved Berry Woman or not, Quincy had just said Creed would marry her regardless.
Getting slowly to his feet, Quincy dusted off the seat of his breeches. “Won’t do any good to dwell on it, little sister. As soon as the war’s over Creed’s going to have to sort through this and find his answer.”
My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) Page 14
