My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (3 page)

Dawn lit the sky, and the Indian doused the fire long before daybreak. The snow had tapered off to occasional blowing flakes, but bitterly cold air encompassed the campsite. Only the golden sunrise filtering through the trees promised a pleasant day for traveling. The orange ball of sun, now beginning to top the trees, brought a smile to Anne-Marie’s face and a renewed optimism when she accepted the Indian’s hand and he pulled her up behind him on the chestnut.

Reining the horse, he set off, riding south.

It was late morning when their stallion topped a rise. What a strange sight they must be—a nun and an Indian together on a horse.

Peering anxiously around the man’s shoulder, Anne-Marie couldn’t hold back the shout that bubbled to her throat when she spotted the small community spread out below them. “Holy smokes!” They’d made it! They’d beaten the elements, and she was going to live!

The Indian glanced over his shoulder at her, and for the first time since they’d met, she thought she detected shock on his perpetually stoic features.

Catching herself, she added a perfunctory “Thank the Lord,” and hurriedly crossed herself.

Nudging the horse forward, the Indian rode into town.

Two

H
igh Bluff, Texas, was an ordinary border town. The steady clang of the blacksmith’s hammer rang out from the livery, the mercantile sat next to the cafe, and the hotel was facing east so it wouldn’t bake in the late afternoon sun.

The saloon, the Gilded Dove, was just beginning to come to life as the Indian and nun rode through the center of town.

An occasional head turned when the couple passed, but for the most part folks were accustomed to strangers. The train ran straight through town every Tuesday and Friday morning, regular as clockwork, so the comings and goings of outsiders never caused much of a stir.

Although a nun riding horseback with an Indian wasn’t an ordinary sight.

Reining the horse in front of a hitching post, the Indian swung down and then lifted a hand to help the sister.

Adjusting her rumpled skirts, Anne-Marie glanced up and down the street, relieved to see they weren’t attracting the curiosity she’d feared they might. “I want to secure a room at the hotel right away,” she murmured.

Looping the reins around the hitching post, the Indian pointed to the train depot.

Anne-Marie located the hotel near the large water tower and nodded. “Oh, yes—thank you so much for all your trouble.”

Her words dribbled off when she realized she was talking to his retreating back. He disappeared into the mercantile, closing the door behind him.

Straightening her habit, she turned with quick, determined steps and headed for lodging. She would rent a room, order a hot bath and a hot meal, and then lie down in a soft bed and sleep for hours. Who knew how long she’d have to wait for the next train? She wasn’t ready to presume that God was on her side today. Dare she ask for His help when so much of her life was lived in deceit?

She shrugged off the troublesome questions. Whatever the reason, she’d survived another day. Although she was rumpled and penniless, she was still wearing her disguise, and any God-fearing man or woman would be eager to provide a woman of the cloth with food and comfortable quarters while she waited.

Minutes later the front door opened and Anne-Marie stepped out, drawing a deep breath as she straightened her veil. There wasn’t a single room available.

So much for God-fearing charitable souls. “May they all get a blood blister today,” she muttered as she crossed the street.

Turning to her right, she headed for the mercantile where the Indian had earlier disappeared.

When the bell over the door tinkled, the proprietor turned from stacking boxes on his shelves. He climbed slowly off the ladder, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked toward her, smiling. “Afternoon, Sister.”

“Good afternoon.” Anne-Marie glanced around the room, trying to locate the Indian. He was standing near the back, studying a knife
display in a glass case. When he glanced up and recognition registered on his face, he quickly stepped away from the counter and disappeared behind a tall stack of dry goods.

The kindly-looking clerk skimmed the nun’s rumpled habit, still smiling pleasantly. “Something I can help you with today?”

She leaned over the counter, trying to see around the stacks of woolens and linens. Was it her imagination or was her benefactor actually trying to avoid her? “Nothing in particular. I’m just browsing, thank you.”

“If you see anything you want, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

“Thank you, I’ll let you know.”

Moseying toward the bolts of colorful ribbons and lace, she kept an eye on the Indian, who—no, it wasn’t her imagination—was making himself conspicuously absent. Apparently he understood enough to think his part in the rescue was over, but since he had rescued her and she now found herself without a cent to her name and not a single room available, he might take pity on her.

Turning pleading eyes on him, she was annoyed to see he was returning her silent reprimand with a surprisingly astute one of his own, one that clearly suggested that he considered his part finished.

Done.

Through.

Stepping to the counter, the Indian pointed to an expensive-looking rifle.

Climbing off the ladder again, the clerk said, “You want to see the Sharps carbine?”

The man gave a brief nod.

“You got enough wampum to purchase it?”

He nodded curtly.

“All righty.” The clerk took the rifle off the shelf and handed it to him.

After a cursory inspection the Indian nodded, indicating his approval.

“Guess you’ll be needin’ shells? A box do you?”

The man nodded.

Anne-Marie watched the exchange with growing interest. The Indian seemed to have no trouble understanding the clerk. No trouble at all, yet he’d pretended he hadn’t understood a word she’d said for the past twenty-four hours.

Laying the cartridges on the counter, the clerk totaled up the purchase. “Looks like you owe me forty dollars.”

Anne-Marie’s lips parted indignantly when she saw her rescuer produce a small leather pouch attached to his breeches and calmly remove several gold coins. Judging from the lumps in the pouch, there was more where they came from, maybe a lot more. Why, the man had enough money to burn a wet mule! She felt her cheeks turn red. What was he doing with that kind of funds? He didn’t have a penny an hour ago—her eyes narrowed—or did he?

The proprietor tossed a few coins of change onto the counter while glancing at Anne-Marie. “Finding everything you need, Sister?”

“Thank you, I’ll just be looking today. Does the stage come through here?”

Picking up his purchases, the Indian turned and walked out the door. Anne-Marie’s teeth worried her lower lip as she watched him leave.

“The stage? Sure does, once a month, just like clockwork.”

“What about the train?”

“Twice a week regular as clockwork.”

The man seemed to have a fixation on clocks. “On what days?”

“Tuesdays and Fridays.”

Her frown deepened when she watched the Indian cross the street. “Today is Saturday, isn’t it?”

“That it is, Sister. Saturday.”

Two whole days in town without a penny. She smiled, bowing her head subserviently. “Thank you, you have been most kind.”

Plucking an apple from a barrel, the proprietor polished it on the sleeve of his shirt before handing it to her. “An apple a day will keep the doctor away,” he offered with a twinkling eye.

Nodding, Anne-Marie jammed the fruit into her mouth and stepped out of the store.

Now what? She stood looking up and down the unfamiliar street, munching on the apple. Her eyes located the Indian, who was walking in the direction of the sheriff’s office, and a sense of injustice struck her. Where did he think he was going with his pouch full of coins and a new, expensive rifle? Her eyes followed him as he strolled past a saloon. He’d rescued a woman in distress and now he planned to leave her still in danger?

Since he had taken it upon himself to be her protector, the very least he could do was see that she was properly protected. What was she to do about the price of a train ticket and, for that matter, where was she supposed to stay until the train got here? Men. No matter what color skin, they were all alike.

Taking another bite of the tart fruit, she made a face, stepped off the planked sidewalk, and crossed the street, falling into step behind the Indian. If he had understood that clerk, then he could understand her—and he was going to be made to comprehend in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to desert her now.

“I would like a word with you, Mr. Indian!”

When his footsteps didn’t falter, she articulated more loudly. “I know you have money, and obviously I don’t, so don’t you think that since you appointed yourself my rescuer, it’s only fair that you see to my well-being until the train arrives on Tuesday?”

He walked on.

Anne-Marie’s temper flared. “I know you can understand what I’m saying—you understood the clerk at the mercantile perfectly.”

He crossed the street and picked up his pace.

Following him, she grabbed the apple out of her mouth and hurled the uneaten portion at his back, thumping him soundly between his very impressive shoulders.

“Answer me! Do you hear me? I said, say something!”

The door to the sheriff’s office opened and a deputy cautiously stuck his head out, eyes trying to locate the ruckus.

At the sight of the lawman, the muscles in Anne-Marie’s stomach tightened. For a moment she had forgotten her disguise. Nuns didn’t fling apples at Indians’ backs and demand a response.

“Afternoon, Sister,” the deputy called when she walked past.

Nodding severely to the deputy, she marched on, passing the jailhouse door, still dogging the Indian’s steps.

She told herself to calm down when the deputy continued to stare after her. Neither she nor her sisters had ever been in High Bluff, so no one could possibly recognize her as one of the three women who had been operating con games in the area.

“Oh, Sister?”

Anne-Marie froze, not particularly liking the tone of a second man’s voice that had suddenly joined the conversation.

“Oh, Sisterrrr?” repeated the mocking voice.

The Indian’s footsteps picked up and he walked faster.

Anne-Marie was close on his heel when the voice sang out again, “Sister!”

Turning around slowly, Anne-Marie swallowed when she saw a large man with a silver star on his chest striding toward her. A man in a brown suit followed on his heel, breathing like a charging bull.

“Sister, I wonder if I might have a word with you?” the sheriff inquired pleasantly when he approached.

Shoot! Shoot!
Shoot!
A.J. Donavan, the man she and her sisters had scammed just a few short weeks earlier, was accompanying the sheriff, his swarthy features molten with anger.

Whirling, Anne-Marie started to make a run for it when she suddenly felt the cold barrel of a .32 caliber Colt resting lightly between her shoulder blades. “Now, now, what’s your hurry, little lady?”

She jerked upright. “Sir, how dare you—”

“Is this the woman, A.J.?”

“That’s her, all right. I’d know those green eyes anywhere!”

“Now, Sheriff,” Anne-Marie began, and then immediately piped down when she saw that the deputy had cornered the Indian and was pushing him back, at rifle point, in her direction. Donavan had
a grudge. She and her sisters had sold him cattle that didn’t belong to them—but how had he found her so quickly?

She straightened her veil. “Now, see here, how dare you treat a woman of the cloth—”

A.J. sneered “Save your breath, woman. We’ve got you dead to rights. No con artist sells me a herd of stolen beef and lives to brag about it!”

The sheriff ushered the Indian and the nun down the sidewalk over Anne-Marie’s loud and spirited objections.

Entering the jail, the sheriff steered Anne-Marie into a cell.