My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  Anne-Marie stood up and stuck the lid back on the Wells Fargo box, refusing to face him. She couldn’t take her hurt out on him. He was only trying to soften the blow, but she didn’t want him to see tears. He didn’t need a stricken woman on his hands.

  Resting a large hand on her shoulder, he made a final observation. “Nor will it do any good to brood about it, child.”

  It was impossible for Anne-Marie to hide her feelings. After all, a woman’s eyes never lied. Tears spilled from her lids. “I wouldn’t waste time brooding about some man.” She turned away, snuffing back emotion. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Creed shifted, finding the wound much less painful.

  “See, it’s better today.” Anne-Marie studied the bandages the following morning, obviously proud of her handiwork. After only a few days at the mission the wounded leg looked much better, although he’d had to endure her reminders several times a day to keep his weight off the limb.

  “We’ll need to leave soon,” she observed when her eyes centered on the dwindling pile of makeshift bandages. “I don’t have much petticoat left.”

  Creed’s sober eyes focused on her when she wrapped the clean bandage neatly around his leg. Her hands were small and her touch was as light as a hummingbird. The past few days had revealed a different side of Anne-Marie McDougal. A softer, more vulnerable side he found very appealing. In the beginning he had thought her more man than woman with her rowdy ways and rapier tongue. Now he realized he had been wrong. She would bring honor to the man she chose to marry.

  He had begun to think about the time he would take Berry Woman as his wife. The war could scarcely last any longer, and once those dark days were past Bold Eagle would be anxious for the ceremony to take place.

  Creed had learned the white man’s ways, and many of those ways he found practical. Like the white man, when he married, he desired a woman of faith, gentle ways, and quiet strength. He would be her one weakness. This woman would come to him in her need when no other could comfort. To her husband she would give her deep and abiding love. Together, they would become one heartbeat, one soul.

  “There now.” Anne-Marie drew Creed back to the present when she patted the bandage into place. “All finished.”

  He smiled, resting his hand upon hers. “Your touch is gentle.”

  Turning aside, she asked, “Would you like to see some pictures I found this morning?”

  “Pictures?”

  “Yes, I found them in one of the chambers earlier.” She left the kitchen, returning shortly carrying two large canvas paintings.

  Propping the canvas against the wall, she considered them for a moment. “Admittedly the pictures are unusual in content, but the artist’s efforts were not in vain. What do you think?”

  Creed assessed the two canvases with a critical eye. “I’m not an art connoisseur, but the color’s richness and clean, broad strokes are evident.” One painting portrayed a dilapidated house, the other an eroded field. “Odd.”

  “Aren’t they, though? I suppose a sister—or a monk—must have painted them in their spare time.” She broke into a grin. “Let’s play a game.”

  She could practically hear his mental groan, but there was little else to do. The dishes were washed, Quincy was off hunting, and it was a long time yet until the noon meal needed to be prepared. She and her sisters had often played the game she had in mind to while away the hours.

  “What kind of a game?” he asked, skepticism lacing his voice.

  “We’ll each make up a story about the pictures. Whoever makes up the best story wins.”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “And the prize?”

  She thought for a moment and then smiled. “Whoever loses cooks the evening meal.”

  Leaning forward, he whispered, “I don’t want to play games. I’d rather just look at you.” Resting his hand across hers, he met her gaze.

  She dropped hers, blushing under his eyes.

  His fingers curled under hers. “I find you most charming—a little stubborn and rebellious, but nevertheless feminine and… ” He paused. “Men are not so frightening. Honorable men.” His fingers moved to gently tilt her face, forcing her to look at him. “I frighten you?”

  “It’s just that… you are promised to another and I know—and I agree that you should honor your word.” Sighing, she gazed back at him and then, as if sanity returned, she sprang to her feet.

  “Don’t run from me, Anne-Marie,” he whispered softly when she bolted for the door. How could he explain that his feelings were every bit as tormented as hers?

  The thick double sanctuary doors were open. He found her kneeling before the lighted candles. With head bowed and hands clasped tightly together, she appeared to him as a saintly picture of contrition.

  A shaft of sunlight slanted through the narrow window above Anne-Marie. It caught the lustrous glint of her hair, bathing her in radiance. The scene before him took on an ethereal quality. She looked so small, so vulnerable, so much in need of being protected, cared for, and loved. He wanted to be the one to do all those things for her.

  The knowledge shocked him almost as much as the desire that she caused in him. Desire he’d felt for no other woman.

  Her soft voice came to him in the quietness. “Why do your feelings for me frighten you so?”

  A voice drifted to her from the back of the room. “Why do your feelings for me frighten you?”

  Tensing, Anne-Marie clamped her eyes shut tighter. “Because I don’t want to love you,” she whispered brokenly. “Love hurts.”

  Her admission echoed hollowly in the chapel. Creed took a few quiet steps toward her. “Love should not frighten you. I feel this power between us,” he confessed.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Love does not frighten me. Commitment is my enemy. When a man gives his word there is little that he can do but keep it.”

  Moving up to the altar beside her, he knelt, grimacing when his leg touched cold stone. “Don’t look at me or dare touch me,” she begged. “A mere touch would undo my most sincere effort to preserve your integrity.”

  “Speak to me of your fears, Anne-Marie.”

  “I’m not afraid to love. I just don’t want to love you—” She broke off, her words catching in her throat as the tears welled up in her eyes.

  The planes of his face remained impassive. “I understand, but often love doesn’t ask why.”

  “Until you came along, I was happy.”

  He sighed. “And I have made you unhappy.”

  “No, you haven’t made me unhappy. Considering the agony I’ve put you through, I fear it is I who has made you miserable, but you’ve taken away my contentment and my freedom, whether you meant to or not. I want the carefree life I had, when all I wanted or needed was Abigail and Amelia.”

  “I have caused you this despair? This was not my intent.”

  She turned to face him, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. “You love another woman.”

  Pain crossed his features.

  “Isn’t that so?”

  “Love? I belong to another, but I am not in love with her.”

  “And yet you would marry her? How can you sit here and ask me why I can’t let myself love you when you can’t return the sentiment?” Her words tumbled out in a rush.

  “Anne-Marie.” He took her hand. He knew that his eyes spoke of his great love for her, but she refused to acknowledge it. “It is my honor and principle that binds me.”

  She stood up. “I assumed if a man loved a woman he would go to the ends of the earth to claim her.” She stood up. “I’m glad we’ve had this conversation. It has not only cleared the air between us, but it has cleared my foolish head where you are concerned. I would share a cup of cornmeal with another woman, but never the man I loved.”

  And most certainly, she would never share Creed Walker. What difference did it make if he revered her? He planned to marry another. “It’s time to choose, Creed Walker. You eithe
r love me or another.”

  She fled the chapel, slamming the doors on her way out.

  Fifteen

  Mission supplies dwindled to a critical low. Creed and Quincy knew it, but neither seemed inclined to do anything about it. As promised, Bold Eagle had kept fresh meat on the doorstep, but Anne-Marie needed flour and cornmeal—something that would stick to a man’s ribs. She had to deal with the problem daily, while the men seemed content to eat the thin gruel she prepared each morning, noon, and night without complaint. Rhubarb wasn’t in yet, so that left only chokecherries and wild turnips as staples.

  “Don’t wander away,” Creed warned on various occasions, and at first Anne-Marie obeyed. Now she was seriously considering going against his wishes. Creed and Quincy wouldn’t do anything about seeing that they were fed, and she was tired of being hungry. Besides, Creed’s wound would heal faster if he ate properly. But she’d need money for supplies, and she knew of none except the gold hidden in the mission cellar. One single coin wouldn’t be missed. And besides, she and Creed were going out of their way to keep from talking. So what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  Any gold she took would be for a worthy cause. They had to keep up their strength. The gold would never reach the commander’s hands unless they delivered it, and they couldn’t deliver it if they were emaciated and half-starved.

  The decision made, she planned to start off early the next morning—right after she dressed Creed’s wound. She was confident he wouldn’t miss her.

  Creed silently handed her his empty plate after breakfast. He touched her a lot lately, always spontaneously, but with enough feeling to heighten her awareness of the strong pull between them.

  Guilt brought her cheeks to a rosy red. She should tell him something about her brief absence. What if he came looking for her? “I thought I might look for mushrooms today.”

  “You are to stay close by,” he warned.

  “How far could I go?” The paths surrounding the mission were overgrown with weeds. It would be all she could do to find her way out.

  On the way here they had passed the small community of Brittlebranch. The town wasn’t more than an hour’s ride away, so if she left now, she’d be back well before dinnertime. Oh, Creed would be angry when he discovered she had disobeyed him, but his anger would fade once he enjoyed a pan of cornbread tonight. There would be plenty of money left and she would give it to him, so he couldn’t scold her too much.

  The plan was simple, and she could pull it off with her eyes shut. She would be in and out of Brittlebranch before a cat could give itself a bath.

  “Well.” Quincy got up from the table to hand her his empty plate. “I’m going fishing this morning.”

  She dunked the plate in a pan of hot water. “Fishing?”

  “Yes, I spotted a little stream about a mile up the road. I thought I’d try my luck at getting us a fish for our supper tonight. ’Course,” he added wistfully, “a nice fat catfish is going to be mighty tasty, but there won’t be any cornbread or fried potatoes to go with it.”

  Don’t be so sure about that, she thought. There just might be a big pan of cornbread, some nice creamy butter, and a huge pan of fried potatoes waiting when he got back with his catch. But she played right along. “And with what do you plan to catch a fish? You don’t have a fishing pole, a string, or even a hook.”

  “Why, ma’am.” Quincy held up both hands. “I have two of the finest fishing poles the good Lord ever created.” Grinning, he walked out of the kitchen, merrily whistling as he struck off for the stream.

  Rinsing the last plate, Anne-Marie laid it on the countertop and then wiped her hands on her skirt. She silently stepped around Creed and reached for her coat.

  The moment she was out of sight, she raced out of the kitchen and down the cellar stairway. Sliding the heavy bolt aside, she lit the candle stub, took a deep breath, and entered the dank chamber. Then taking one gold coin from the bag nearest the door, she slipped it into her pocket, turned, closed the heavy door, slid the bolt back into place, and raced back up the stairway.

  Blowing out the candle, she laid the stub on the first step and firmly shut the door. Leaning against the wooden frame, she paused for a moment to catch her breath. So far, so good. Giving a hurried glance to the back of the mission, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Creed was already engrossed in chopping wood.

  Now all she had to do was get to town and back by suppertime.

  Sunshine warmed Anne-Marie’s back as she straddled the horse. Hitching the buggy would make too much noise and Creed would hear her, so she took the mare. It was a beautiful morning and Anne-Marie was tempted to dawdle. But she had to complete the errand and return to the mission as quickly as possible.

  A gentleman in a passing buggy tipped his hat to her, and she returned his smile as the horse clomped merrily along the road. The last thing she needed to do was draw attention. She must be careful to hurry about her purpose and remain as inconspicuous as possible. A passing stranger would think that she was merely a woman on her way in to town to purchase supplies—which was mostly true.

  As she entered Brittlebranch, several more gentlemen tipped their hats, bidding her a pleasant morning. Nodding demurely, she acknowledged their greetings.

  Riding straight to the mercantile, Anne-Marie dismounted and entered the store.

  The proprietor glanced up when she walked in. Smiling, he walked toward her. “Morning, ma’am.”

  Anne-Marie nodded. “Good day, sir.”

  She was delighted to see that the shelves were adequately stocked despite the war. Quickly gathering the needed supplies, she lingered before the sugar, thinking how nice it would be to have some, but decided on a jar of honey instead. Selecting six nice plump apples from a barrel, she placed them on the counter beside her other purchases.

  When the clerk saw that she had finished, he turned from where he was busy stacking canned goods and began to total her selections. “That about do it for you?”

  “Yes, this should be sufficient. Thank you.” Anne-Marie fished inside her pocket and handed him a gold coin.

  The clerk examined it closely, but he made no comment.

  “You’re new around here,” he observed when he boxed her purchases.

  “Yes.” A small, pretty porcelain music box caught her eye. It was lovely and she still had plenty of money left over from her purchases, but she didn’t dare. Creed would understand the need for supplies, but he wouldn’t condone a foolish whim like a music box.

  “Right pretty, isn’t it?” the clerk remarked. He must have noticed that she couldn’t take her eyes off the trinket.

  “Yes, that it is,” she agreed.

  “Make you a real good price on it,” he offered. “Stocked it for Christmas, but with the war and all, I didn’t have any takers.”

  “It is lovely.” Anne-Marie picked the box up to admire it more closely. The detail was exquisite. Tiny engraved flowers and vines encircled the lovely porcelain box.

  “Quality craftsmanship,” he remarked.

  It was indeed; the finest Anne-Marie had seen. Amelia was fond of doodads and she would love the music box. Before prudence intervened, she hurriedly laid the box beside her other purchases.

  The clerk’s brows arched curiously. “You don’t want to know the price?”

  “I’m sure it will be fair.” Anne-Marie glanced anxiously out the window. “Add it to my other purchases, please.”

  “Be glad to. I’ll even wrap it for you,” the clerk said obligingly.

  “Thank you, that’s most kind of you—if it won’t take too long.” Anne-Marie’s eyes returned to the search the empty streets.

  “Looking for someone?” The clerk tore off a sheet of heavy brown paper and began to wrap the delicate box.

  “No—oh, would you stick in a few pieces of the peppermint candy?” Creed and Quincy would like the special treat.

  The front door opened and a woman holding a small child’s hand entered.<
br />
  “Mrs. Bigelow.”

  “Morning, Mr. Kinslow.”

  “Be right with you.”

  The young woman browsed while the grocer completed Anne-Marie’s order. Handing her the basket, he smiled. “Be glad to carry this to the wagon for you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, sir, but that isn’t necessary. I’ll manage on my own.”

  Emerging from the store, Anne-Marie glanced up and down the street before hurrying to the horse rail.

  A speck of violet hanging in Harriet’s Millinery caught her eye. Her footsteps slowed when she spotted the exquisite display of finery.

  Drawn closer to the sight, she admired the beautiful straw hat. Violet and white plumes adorned the sides. She had never seen anything so lovely. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she closed her fingers around the remaining coins left from her purchases. She had more than enough to buy the hat. After all, she had gotten the music box for Abigail, and Amelia would surely feel slighted if she didn’t receive a similar token of her sister’s affection.

  Impulsively her hand closed around the doorknob and she entered the shop. When she emerged from the store a few minutes later, she was carrying a large box gaily tied with a red ribbon around the middle.

  She paused, wondering how to safely carry the box and her basket of supplies, when a steely hand closed around her shoulder. Her heart sank when she met the cold, hard eyes of Cortes.

  “Morning, Sister.” The outlaw flashed a nasty grin. “I’ve been hoping to bump into you.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” Creed paced the kitchen floor, his frustration mounting. For over two hours he had searched for Anne-Marie, but she was nowhere to be found. When he returned to the mission for dinner and found her and the horse missing, he had immediately begun to search.

  “I saw her the last time you did,” Quincy told him for the hundredth time. “This morning at breakfast.”

  Creed’s strained features darkened when he strode back to look out the window again. “Where could she be?”

  Shaking his head, Quincy admitted that her disappearance had him stumped. “I’ve spent the last half hour scouring the gardens and the surrounding area and there isn’t a sign of her anywhere. The horse is missing too.”