My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (12 page)

Pacing, she tried to formulate a plan. With a good horse and the proper provisions, she could make it on her own. But would Berry Woman provide a good horse—or merely a nag that would give out somewhere along the trail? She couldn’t trust her safety to this woman. Yet if she could make it to a town that had a stage or a train… The sisters had been in this fix many a time and rallied. Reaching Mercy Flats couldn’t be that hard, but she’d need money.

The coins.

There were two strongboxes full of gold sitting on the buckboard. So much gold that one or two coins would never be missed, and it was quite likely that Wells Fargo would pay a handsome reward when
the strongboxes were returned. She would just take her share now—a meager portion—and be on her way.

Quincy glanced up, his eyes widening when Anne-Marie burst into his tent. “Quick, where’s the gold?” she blurted breathlessly.

He sprang to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t got time to argue, Quincy. Berry Woman is arranging a horse for me. You can do what you want, but I’m leaving and I need money—and you, if you’ll go with me.”

“Why would Berry Woman be getting you a horse?”

“Because she dislikes me—and she’s envious because she thinks that I have… eyes for Creed. You could clearly persuade her otherwise if there was time, but there isn’t. I have to leave. Now.”

Next time she found something strange crawling in her pallet it might be worse than ants.

He shook his head, snapping his suspenders into place. “Don’t be a fool, girl. You’re not familiar with this area, and what with the war going on, you could run into all kinds of trouble wandering around out there alone.”

“I can’t stay here and sleep on ants and eat pepper gruel.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” She turned back to face him. “Where’s the gold? All I need is a couple of coins to see me back to Mercy Flats.”

He stiffened. “You’re not to touch that gold.”

“You’re acting like it’s yours when all of us took it. I’ll only take two pieces. You and Creed can split the rest. That’s fair.”

“Well, for one thing your assumption is dead wrong. That shipment is mine—in a way.” Judging his grave tone, she realized that he’d said more than he meant to. His eyes snapped back to the fire.

“Yours?” She stalked toward him, her eyes tapered with a promise of menace. “What is going on, John Quincy Adams—if that’s even your real name. And don’t tell me you don’t know, because you
obviously know more about that gold than you’ve led me to believe.” She crept closer. “Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to wheedle it out of you—which, I warn you, I can do? And you’re going to hate every agonizing minute of it, Mr. Adams.” She stomped in front of him. “Start talking. I’m a real good listener.”

“Woman, you are mean—just plain mean.”

“I assure you, I can get meaner.”

“All right, all right!” Glancing about uneasily, he lowered his voice. “You got to promise not to mention a word of this.”

“A word of what?”

“Of what I’m about to tell you.”

“All right, I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Creed and I are working for the Union Army.”

“Working for the Union Army? You mean you’re federal spies?”

He straightened. “We are paid agents. We were on our way to intercept that gold shipment when Creed decided to ride to your rescue.”

Anne-Marie took a step backward. “You and Creed knew about the gold?”

Quincy rubbed his neck. “We knew the gold was going to be confiscated by someone in High Bluff to further the Confederate cause. What we didn’t know was that it would be on that buckboard we stole.”

She turned and paced the confines of the tepee. “And you happened along when someone was in the process of stealing the shipment.”

“Creed and I were as surprised to see those two strongboxes on that wagon as you were.” He loosened his collar.

“So that’s why you and Creed are so intent on keeping the gold.”

“We are obligated to keep it. It’s the reason we’re here in the first place.”

“But where does that leave me? I’m risking my neck for that gold the same as you and Creed.”

“Ma’am, Creed and I feel bad that you’re involved in this, but the gold stays put.”

“But I need money or I can’t return to Mercy Flats. My sisters may be waiting there as we speak.” She refused to allow the thought that Abigail and Amelia had met with an even worse fate than hers.

Quincy’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I want to help, but my hands are tied.”

Her heart sank.
Dear Lord, what am I to do now?
Had her Heavenly Father finally tired of her misbehavior and decided to let her swim in her own deceit?

“Anne-Marie,” Quincy coaxed, “if you’ll be patient, Creed will see that you’re returned to your sisters, unharmed. Once he—”

“Creed doesn’t care a whit about my situation.”

“You’re wrong; Creed’s a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, and right now you’re one of his responsibilities.”

“Yes, and that’s all I am—one gigantic pain, a big one he doesn’t want.” Tears smarted to her eyes. “Quincy?”

“Ma’am?”

“Is it true that Creed is betrothed to Berry Woman?”

“Does it matter?”

She longed to deny that Creed’s engagement bothered her. She’d only known the man a short time, but in that short period she had grown fiercely defensive of him. But that was all her feelings were—loyalty and compassion to an injured person. These feelings she was having weren’t affection—not even close. They were simply protective ones, like a hen with little chicks.

Quincy took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him, his long fingers wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re plum worn out, Miss Anne-Marie. Now hear me out because I’m thinking of your welfare. I can’t allow you to leave. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. The snow is deep and travel is dangerous. If you were to do anything foolish, like run away, you’d have a slim chance of survival. Creed will be stronger soon… ”

His voice trailed off when Anne-Marie spun on her heel and stalked out of the tent, but she didn’t miss his soft, “Ma’am, you sure do try a man’s patience. You sure enough do.”

Seven

I
t is good to see you enjoying the fresh air, my brother. But do not linger long. The cold seeps through your injured bones.” The young chief tossed a stick in the fire, sat down, and lit a pipe.

Creed nodded, drawing the heavy robe closer. “My duties with the bluecoats have kept me busy. I apologize for not visiting my brother and his family sooner.”

Smoke from Bold Eagle’s pipe spiraled up in soft wisps. “It is said you work hard for the white man’s cause.”

“What is said is true.”

A twig snapped, sending a shower of sparks through the air. “This is wise?”

“It is what I believe, or I would not risk my life for this cause.”

Bold Eagle closed his eyes, clearly savoring the taste of the
kinnikinnick
. “Bold Eagle does not understand why brother fights against brother.”

“It isn’t only a matter of brother fighting against brother. The issues are more than a man buying and selling another man. It is economic and social differences, states against federal rights, the
Abolition Movement—even the election of Abraham Lincoln. Much is involved in this war.”

“I do not understand this way. The white man fights and dies for the black man, but he takes food, water, and land from the red man without a care.”

“This too is cause for a fight.” Creed sat up straighter. “The woman? Where is she?”

“She is well.”

The numbing effects of the sweet sage smoke and potent medicinal herbs flowed through Creed. “And Quincy?”

“John Quincy Adams?” Bold Eagle smiled. “He too is well, my brother.”

Creed shifted his leg and felt a stab of pain in his thigh. Although the wound was healing, it would be several weeks before it became a memory. Passing the pipe to Bold Eagle, he acknowledged, “If your warriors had not come upon Anne-Marie and Quincy when they did, I would not want to think what would have happened. I am in your debt, Bold Eagle.”

“There is no debt among brothers.” Smoke continued to filter up into the shadows as the wind whistled through the bare tree branches.

Long moments passed before Bold Eagle again broke the silence. “There are men, four of them, outside the camp. They arrived the same sun you did, shortly after you were brought here.”

Closing his eyes, Creed eased his injured leg to a more comfortable position. “That would be an outlaw band that’s been trailing us.”

“You know of these men?”

“I recognize one of them. Unless I miss my guess, he and his thugs are after that gold shipment.”

Drawing on the pipe, Bold Eagle stared into the fire. “I know of such enemies and many times I have helped Storm Rider defend his honor; now Bold Eagle will do whatever is needed to help. These men will not enter the camp. Of this I am certain.”

“The woman shouldn’t leave,” Creed murmured as the medicine drew him deeper into unconsciousness.

“Rest, my brother.” The man drew the animal hide closer around his friend. “We will let no harm come to the woman or your friend.”

Bold Eagle sat beside Storm Rider, the smoke drifting quietly in the cold stillness.

Cortes stamped both boots, trying to force feeling back into his frozen feet.

Cold wind whistled down the collar of his coat as his eyes darted back and forth, trying to ferret out any movement in the camp. He had been standing watch for hours, but the three outlaws were still nowhere in sight. But they could not fool Cortes; he knew they were in there.

His eyes filled with resentment when he studied the circle of tepees. They were in there all right. Huddled near a warm fire, eating wild game. Hot stew.

Such fools. Their buckboard tracks had led straight to the Indian camp. Walker and his party could not leave without Cortes spotting them.

Ollie hunched deeper into his sheep-lined parka when he approached Cortes. The wind tore at the brim of his hat, threatening to snatch it away. “See anything, boss?”

“Only Cortes’s breath in cold air.”

Squinting, Ollie focused on the camp. “Whaddya think’s going on?”

“I tell you what is going on. My eyeballs are frozen to my sockets!”

“Yeah,” Ollie admitted. “I know the feeling. We ain’t jest gonna sit here all night, are we, boss?” The outlaw’s breath formed a frosty vapor in the frigid air when he knelt beside the fire, feeding the dying embers a few scrawny limbs. Flames spurted and flickered in the high wind.

“
Sí,
we sit here,” Cortes mimicked. His eyes narrowed sharply. “They can’t stay in that camp forever; they have to come out sometime.”

“We could always go in after them.”

Cortes turned to stare at Ollie. “Them’s warriors, Ollie. Cortes does not go sashaying into an Apache warriors’ camp like a foolish peacock.”

“Yeah.” Ollie glanced sheepishly back to the fire. “Don’t guess that would be real bright.”

“Only if you grow weary of your—how do you say it?—scalp,” Cortes grunted.

The outlaw didn’t appear to take kindly to the thought. Ollie’s eyes switched to the circle of tepees. “You see the buckboard anywhere?”