Issuing a harsh command, the man motioned for help. The flap of a tepee parted to reveal a startlingly beautiful girl with doe-like eyes. The girl hurried to the wagon to peer down at the man’s unconscious form. Worry flooded her features. Leaning over, she gently touched his face and whispered, “Storm Rider.”
His eyes opened, and he smiled at her.
Anne-Marie noted the exchange, surprised to feel a trace of envy. When Creed gazed at the young woman Anne-Marie could see something akin to love reflected in his eyes before they slowly closed again.
“Berry Woman, go with Storm Rider to the medicine man,” the chief said. Two braves stepped forward to lift Anne-Marie from the wagon. Without ceremony, she was taken to a colorful tepee in the center of the camp. She stood by helplessly when Quincy was led to a tent on the opposite side of the circle.
The two warriors loaded Creed onto a travois as Berry Woman hovered near his side. Slowly they made their way to the medicine man’s tent.
It was over an hour before anyone returned to Anne-Marie’s tepee. During that time she had sat huddled near the fire, feeling no particular sense of fear. Obviously Creed was acquainted with the Apache band, and if they were going to harm her, they would have already done so.
Her thoughts returned to Creed and the young Indian maiden. She’d hated the way her stomach had cramped up when he looked at the girl. Obviously he knew her well enough.
The flap on the tepee parted and Berry Woman entered, carrying a wooden bowl of stew. Although Anne-Marie was famished, she was more concerned about Creed.
“How is he?” she inquired.
The maiden’s eyes met hers coolly. “You need not concern yourself with Storm Rider. I will see that he is cared for.”
“You speak English?”
“When necessary.” The edge in her tone told Anne-Marie that they were not destined to become friends.
Berry Woman turned to leave, and then apparently changed her mind. “How was Storm Rider injured?”
“I shot him. Accidentally.”
The girl’s eyes grew more opaque. “You shot the man who will be my husband?”
“Husband?” Was there no end to the surprises concerning Creed Walker?
“We have been promised to one another.”
“Since when?” Anne-Marie didn’t know why she had this sudden urge to cry, but it was all she could do to control the impulse.
“Since a long time ago. The arrangement is sealed.” Her eyes skimmed her clothing. “You have no expectations concerning Storm Rider.”
“No… of course not. Creed hasn’t mentioned that he is… spoken for.” Of course he hadn’t mentioned anything about his life, so the news shouldn’t startle her. “You… and Creed,” she clarified, just to make certain she understood, and she dearly hoped that she had.
“Storm Rider and I. And since he is soon to be my husband, his welfare is my concern. You are welcome to our fires.” Dipping her head, she backed toward the tent opening.
Anne-Marie felt compelled to add. “My only concern is Creed’s well-being.”
The young woman nodded.
“But I do need to talk to him, if you have no objections.”
Berry Woman hesitated, apparently weighing her trust. “Perhaps. Tomorrow. When his wound has been treated and he is rested.”
The two women openly measured each other.
“Thank you—you will tell me when he awakens?” Why Anne-Marie felt this protective urge she wasn’t sure. She barely knew the man, and their brief time together had been less than ideal. Still, if it were not for her, Creed Walker would be dead by now. Maybe she ought to point that out to this woman. And then maybe not. She’d caused Creed enough trouble.
The young woman bent her head. “I will send for you when he is stronger.”
“Thank you. You’re most kind.” Anne-Marie’s thoughts swirled with the past hour and the abrupt change of plan. She was truly alone now, and in a place so foreign to her that she swallowed back rising terror. She couldn’t fall apart. She still had long miles to cover to reach her sisters.
Berry Woman turned, parted the tent folds, and exited, leaving Anne-Marie to wonder where her fate now lay. Surely in God’s hands, but also in Quincy’s protection? He had been a gentleman in every sense, but would he be good enough to see her back to Mercy Flats? She lay back on a soft buffalo pelt, weary and discouraged. And yet sleep eluded her. She longed to cry but she wasn’t a quitter. The McDougals never gave up. Creed was safely with people who would care for him now and she could rest. And yet she couldn’t deny that deep within her heart she longed to look into those warm dark eyes and be comforted, but Creed Walker belonged to another woman.
Cortes’s swarthy features flamed. Veins bulged in his neck. No one bested Cortes!
Pacing beside his horse, he went over his predicament. He must find that gold, and pronto. He was Cortes! Finding gold was his heroic mission. Not to mention Streeter would have his hide if he didn’t. They’d been following the buckboard tracks for hours and they were getting nowhere. Either that indio, black, and nun didn’t know where they were going, or they were taking the long way getting there.
“They no fly like a bird. You no look muy bueno!”
“We have so looked good. We’ve spread like bad news and covered every inch of that wagon track trail, but the folks is wily, boss, just plain wily,” Ollie accused.
“Weren’t our fault,” Butch declared. “The truth is we’ve just plain lost ’em.”
“How can we lose a negro, a monja, and an indio?”
The men hung their heads.
Cortes thought he had met up with some stupid people in his past adventures, but Ollie, Butch, and Rodrigo were just plain idiots. He glanced up to study the worsening weather. “They no go far. They are here somewhere, you’ll see.”
“Maybe they found somebody to help ’em,” Ollie volunteered.
Cortes’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know of anyone who’d help an indio?”
The men swapped stumped looks.
“Well, what do we do now?” Butch asked.
“What we do ahora?” Cortes slapped his forehead. “We search, fool!”
Squinting, Butch nodded. “What do you suppose Walker’s doing with a nun? Last I heard he had joined up with the North.”
“I cannot read the man’s mind!” Climbing back in the saddle, Cortes spat his cigar on the ground. “There’s a band of Apaches camped out not far from here. Maybe Walker’s party is holin’ up there.”
Butch frowned. “I ain’t real crazy about the idea of snooping around a bunch of Apaches. That could be risky business. Real risky. We could get ourselves scalped poking our noses in them Injuns’ business.”
“Are you a little girl? We no get scalped,” Cortes snapped. “We ride that direction and wait to see who comes and goes. If Walker and the woman are there, they have to leave sometime, sí? No hole up forever.” A silver tooth glistened like armor in the sunlight when the outlaw’s lips parted in a smile. “And when they show their faces, we greet them with hot lead.”
“What if they don’t come out?” Butch insisted.
“Yeah, what if they ain’t even in there to begin with? We could lose time just waitin’ here like a bunch of sittin’ ducks,” Ollie said.
Cortes exploded. “My brain! You make it pound! If they are there, they come out sometime!”
“If Walker doesn’t, the woman will.” Rodrigo entered the fracas. “And when she does, we grab her.”
Butch nodded. “What about the black?”
“We don’t worry about the negro,” Cortes snarled. ‘‘We can handle him.”
Nodding, Ollie said, “Then we take the gold. You think Walker and the woman’s still got it with ’em?”
Wedging a cigar between his teeth, Cortes struck a match on his thumbnail. “He’s got it. He wouldn’t let it out of his sight.” He swore as sulfur flared, searing his thumbnail before he could drop the flame.
“And if th
ey don’t have the gold, we use the woman for bait to get the Injun to tell us where it is.” Butch shook his head. “Once we get the gold back, we leave the three for the buzzards.”
“Leave a nun for buzzard fodder?” Rodrigo shook his head. “I’d have to give that some thought.”
Sucking his blistered thumb, Cortes growled. “Silencio! Find that gold!” Reining his horse hard, Cortes spurred the animal and galloped off in the direction of the Apache camp.
Butch, Ollie, and Rodrigo exchanged resigned looks, shrugged, and then rode after him.
Berry Woman parted the tent flap and paused to focus on Anne-Marie. “Bold Eagle inquires about your comfort.”
“Bold Eagle?”
“Our chief.”
“I’m fine. Creed?” She met the young girl’s eyes. “Is he… ”
The young woman nodded. “He lives. Walks-in-Morning will bring your food.”
“Wait!” She reached out when the woman turned to leave. “Has…he asked about me?” She knew the question would not sit well with the young maiden, but so much of her time had been invested in his care. She’d earned the right to know if he was concerned even a tiny bit about hers.
“He does not speak, but you need not be concerned about Storm Rider. Soon Bold Eagle will provide someone to take you away from camp.”
Anne-Marie’s pulse thrummed. Exactly what did that mean? And where was Quincy? She should be allowed to speak with him.
“Where is the man who came with us?”
“He is comfortable.”
“I want to talk to him. He… he can take me away from here.”
Gratification showed in Berry Woman’s eyes. “Storm Rider is an honorable man. He will arrange your departure when he has healed.”
Anne-Marie’s thought swirled. She switched subjects. “You speak English well. Both you and Creed.”
The young girl clearly grew weary of the conversation. “Creed taught me when he and Bold Eagle became blood brothers.”
“Blood brothers?”
“When my brother Bold Eagle was attacked by a band of marauders, he sought refuge in the fort where Creed was living with Father Jacob. Together, Creed and Bold Eagle rode to meet my brother’s enemies.”
So, Bold Eagle was her brother. Imagination swept her and her mind conjured a thought. Could it be one brother was repaying another by providing a wife? A very lovely, winsome bride who must surely be the object of every young man’s eyes?
“How long ago was this?”
“Many moons ago—five years.”
So Creed had spent part of his life at a fort among white men, Anne-Marie mused. “How is it that Creed speaks such good English?” The question had plagued her from the moment he had spoken to the sheriff in the jail cell.
Sighing, Berry Woman sat down, crossing her legs. Her features remained stoic but the expression in her eyes softened. Perhaps she was lonely and needed to converse with someone outside the situation, or maybe she sensed that Anne-Marie wouldn’t give up until some questions were answered. Either way, it seemed she was reluctant but willing to provide answers. “When Creed lived at Fort Walters, Father Jacob taught him English. He learned everything—reading, writing, history. There are many among the Apache as well who are willing to learn the white man’s ways.” Her eyes lowered as she continued, “Though Creed and I prefer the ways of our fathers. When we are one, we will live among our people.”
Nodding, Anne-Marie decided that Creed’s wife-to-be wasn’t so bad. She was very pretty, and she spoke in soft, bird-like tones. If Creed must marry, this young woman would be an ideal choice. “If I can’t see Creed, may I speak to Quincy?”
“You speak of the dark-skinned one?”
“Yes, I want to talk to him.”
“I will tell my brother of your wish.” Berry Woman reached for the pail of water sitting by the door. “Your pail is nearly empty. I will bring fresh water from the spring.”
She left, dropping the flap back into place behind her. Apparently simple courtesy demanded that she provide a bed and food, even to those she didn’t trust.
Anne-Marie turned back to the fire seconds before she heard a hushed but heated exchange break out between Berry Woman and another female.
A moment later Walks-in-Morning entered the tepee carrying a steaming bowl, which she sullenly extended to Anne-Marie. Turning on her heel, she left as quickly as she’d entered.
Sitting down on the pallet, Anne-Marie began to eat the unidentifiable fare. The mush was very spicy. It made her eyes water and her nose run, but she continued eating, aware that she had to keep her strength up. When the wooden bowl was empty, she fanned her mouth, muttering when she realized Berry Woman had not returned with her water.
Lying back on the pallet, she would have sworn someone had put hot peppers in her gruel.
Bright sun filled the tent when she next opened her eyes. Exhausted by the lack of sleep, she had dropped off shortly after breakfast and slept the morning away.
Drawn to the trails of sunlight shining through the tent top, she focused on the sound of hunters returning to camp. She lay for a moment, idly scratching her arm. Her mouth still tingled from the wretched breakfast and the pit of her stomach was ablaze.
Rolling to her side, she scratched her neck and then her shoulder. Before she knew it, she was itching all over. Springing to her feet, she slapped at her clothing, finally realizing that something was terribly wrong.
She stripped off her blouse, her temper flaring when she saw red ants running in a zigzagging frenzy throughout the material.
Muttering, she jerked the pallet aside, confirming her worst suspicion. Berry Woman had made the pallet over an anthill, the inhabitants of which were now crawling over and through the bearskin and blanket as well as every stitch of her skirt.
“Very funny, Berry Woman,” she muttered, shaking the ants out of the soiled material.
By the time Berry Woman returned, she’d had enough of her antics. “I want to see Creed,” she demanded.
“Storm Rider is ill and cannot be disturbed.”
“If I can’t see Creed, then I demand you let me leave.”
Actually, she’d never insisted on anything in her life but getting back to her sisters. The words felt foreign and hostile—exactly her thoughts at the moment.
Smiling, Berry Woman lowered her head submissively. “If this is your wish.”
Anne-Marie paused, uncertain she’d heard right. She was giving her permission to leave? Her eyes narrowed. There had to be a catch. A really sneaky catch. “You will arrange for a horse and enough food and water to last me for two days.”
“If that is your wish.”
“That is my wish. And I want to take Quincy with me.”
The girl dropped the tent flap into place.
“Well, this is just dandy,” Anne-Marie fumed as she dressed. Now what had she let herself in for? Exactly where did she intend to go—and would Quincy agree? If he and Creed were best friends he might very well be comfortable in his new surroundings, and she was terrible at reading maps. Abigail was the navigator. Anne-Marie merely followed.
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.<
br />
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.”
My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) Page 7