My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  She noted approaching footsteps, and her pulse quickened when she saw Creed walking toward her.

  Smiling, he slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to go—but you must. Berry Woman needs you.” The words stung but they were heartfelt. If the situation were reversed and she lay near death, she would want this man’s comfort.

  Delicious warmth spread through her when he held her tightly for a moment. “I hate to leave this place,” she admitted. Here with him she had found a sense of completeness, and she didn’t want to abandon the emotion.

  Turning her around, he drew her closer to his chest. The scent of his warm skin set up an even deeper longing. Quincy came out of the mission whistling and they stepped apart. Creed strode to the front of the buckboard to check the rigging and Quincy stored his gear in the wagon.

  “Why the grim look?” Quincy teased.

  Sighing, Anne-Marie started to help. “I don’t know. I guess I should be happy that all this gold misery is finally about to end.”

  “Yes ma’am. You’ll be back with your sisters in no time at all.”

  The happiness she felt at the thought of being reunited with her sisters dimmed when she considered that Creed was about to be taken away from her.

  In such a short time he had become a necessary ingredient in her life, an ingredient that she would dearly hunger for.

  Sneaking a longing glance at the one she loved, she was reminded that leaving, no matter how painful, was the right choice. She had become far too dependent on a man she could never have. The journey had been long and arduous but she had discovered the power of love and how one man could stir feelings that she never dreamed existed.

  After adjusting the bit in the horse’s mouth, Creed returned. “Well, that about does it.”

  His eyes searched hers. “My visit will be brief. Quincy knows where to meet up. Your job is to find Cortes and the gold.”

  Quincy shook his head. “Personally, I am getting a little weary of that squirt.”

  Creed and Anne-Marie had not privately spoken of the time when they would part, but the unsettling thought hung over Anne-Marie like the pox.

  Casting a fond glance at the mission, she lifted her hem and climbed into the wagon. Adjusting her skirt primly around her knees, she kept her eyes trained straight ahead, fearing Creed would see the tears that threatened to give way. She had a hunch this was one man who didn’t like women who cried in the face of adversity.

  Quincy climbed aboard and settled himself on the narrow seat. Scooting across the bench, Anne-Marie made room for the lunch basket she had earlier prepared. Creed mounted up. Moments passed as the three sat watching the wind gently swaying the limbs of the old trees.

  “It’s been real peaceful here,” Quincy admitted. Was that a touch of regret she heard in his voice?

  Creed and Anne-Marie focused on each other, emotion raw in their eyes.

  “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered, flinching when she saw Creed’s jaw clench.

  “I will make my journey brief.”

  “Well.” She sat up straighter, her spunk returning. “Quincy and I have work to do.” Pausing, she ventured, “Locating Cortes isn’t going to be easy. By now he’s long gone—or I would be. Can I suggest an alternate plan?”

  Creed shifted. “Anne-Marie, we have a plan.”

  “You don’t have this one. I’ve come up with something I think might work better. Let’s forget Cortes for the time being. He’s undoubtedly delivered that gold to Streeter. Why not go after the councilman?”

  Quincy groaned aloud. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “No, listen,” Anne-Marie faced both men who plainly were going to be mule-headed about this. “It’s a solid plan, really.”

  “I’m sure it is, ma’am. I recall all too well your last brilliant plan. I still have nightmares about being bound up on those platforms.”

  She scooted forward on the wagon bench. “Wouldn’t you rather return to your commander bearing the gold instead of bad news?”

  Creed and Quincy shared a glance, mutual acknowledgment of the truth of her words creeping into their eyes.

  “See! You know you would.”

  “All right,” Creed said. “What is this new plan?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Creed!” Quincy objected. “We are this close to getting out of this mess by the skin of our teeth.”

  “We owe her the courtesy of listening.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s part of this, like it or not.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Then don’t listen.”

  Groaning, Quincy wrapped the reins around the brake handle. “I have a hunch the worst is coming in on a fast freight train.”

  “Here’s the plan.” Anne-Marie outlined her ideas and Quincy shifted on the seat, muttering under his breath. Rolling his eyes, he groaned and moaned when the new strategy unfolded. Sweat rolled down his face when she told them her scheme. By the time she was finished even Creed was skeptical.

  “That would never work.”

  “Why not?” She gazed back at him. “I’ve hatched up plots that were crazier than this one and they’ve worked.”

  “It won’t work,” Creed reiterated.

  “It will!”

  “Where do we get the clothing? The gold is gone. We don’t have a coin between us. We’re destitute.”

  She sobered. “I have some money left from the coin I took. I got a lot of change,” she admitted. “A whole lot.”

  Creed rolled his eyes.

  She supposed she had that coming. “Well, where would we be if I hadn’t taken that one precious coin that will never be missed anyway?” she accused.

  Creed and Quincy answered in unison. “We’d still have the gold.”

  “Oh, you two. I knew you’d throw that up at me.”

  They sat for a moment discussing the pros and cons of the new plan. To be sure it was unorthodox, but then so was Anne-Marie. Quincy was firmly against it, but after a while Creed was won over.

  “Well, it might work,” he reluctantly admitted. “The North desperately needs that money. Lives will be saved. Shoes, uniforms, warm coats—the men need everything they can get their hands on.”

  “No!” Quincy protested.

  Creed and Anne-Marie faced him and said in unison, “Yes!”

  “If this plan backfires, we’re all goners.”

  “We know,” Anne-Marie said, brushing off the possibility. She didn’t have time for negativity; her plan was better than theirs. “Okay, here’s what we do. Quincy, there’s a casket in the cellar. Get it and make sure the following items are in place.” She rattled off a list.

  “Lord, can’t You please have mercy on this poor soul?” Quincy grumbled when he climbed back out of the wagon. “This female’s gone clean out of her mind.”

  “High Bluff is a small town. It shouldn’t take us long to discover where they’ve stashed the gold if Cortes has brought it to Streeter already,” Creed said.

  “Quince and I can do this. You go and be with Berry Woman.”

  “I’ll delay my journey long enough to help with the plan. I should be with Berry Woman by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “All right.” Anne-Marie took a deep breath, smiling. She wasn’t in any hurry for him to leave.

  “We make one brief stop in Brittlebranch to purchase appropriate clothing, and then we proceed to High Bluff.” Scrambling out of the buckboard, she marched back to the mission, fire in her step now. “Then, Mr. Loyal Streeter, we’ll just see who gets that gold.”

  Loyal Streeter glanced up to see a young woman standing in the doorway. Though she was dressed in black mourning attire, she was still a stunning sight to behold.

  Getting slowly to his feet, his gaze locked on the vision of loveliness. “Yes, ma’am? Something I can do for you?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m looking for
a Mr. Loyal Streeter,” the young woman replied in a thick Georgia accent. Her voice was as sweet and melodious as a nightingale’s.

  Bowing from the waist, Loyal smiled. “Loyal Streeter at your service, ma’am.”

  Taffeta rustled as the woman entered the office. The severe cut of the black gown couldn’t begin to hide her delectable curves. Loyal fixed on the full, ruby-red lips. He quickly offered her a chair.

  Thanking him, she seated herself and continued, “I’m here to ask a great favor of you, Mr. Streeter.”

  Loyal smiled. “Ma’am, I am most eager to do anything possible to assist you. Anything, Miss…?” He searched for a name.

  “Willingham. Lillie Belle Willingham.”

  Lifting a gloved hand, Loyal placed a kiss on the back of it. “And what might I do for you, Miss Willingham?”

  “I would like permission to make use of your icehouse,” she replied.

  For the briefest of moments Anne-Marie thought she sensed him tense, but he quickly regained his composure.

  His smile faded. “The icehouse?”

  “Yes,” Anne-Marie said demurely. “I know it seems a most inappropriate request, but I’m afraid I’m just in an awful ol’ predicament.”

  His smile quickly returned. “And what quandary is that, Miss Willingham?”

  “My sweet, dear ol’ daddy passed on yesterday, Mr. Streeter. He had been in ill health for some time, and I’m afraid—” She paused, lifting the hem of her veil to dab the corners of her eyes.

  “Permit me to offer you a cool drink of water,” Loyal insisted. “Spring has arrived in full force; it’s dreadfully warm in here.”

  “Why, that would be most gracious of you, Mr. Streeter.” She batted her long eyelashes up at him.

  “Jake!” Loyal barked.

  The clerk’s head appeared in the doorway. “You called me, boss?”

  “Bring Miss Willingham a dipper of cool water.”

  Jake was back almost immediately with the requested item.

  “Thank you ever so kindly.” Anne-Marie drank daintily from the dipper before handing it back to Jake with a grateful smile. “I was shocked to hear of the terrible hostilities that took place in your small town last night. I overheard someone say that many men were killed—even your sheriff.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The whole town’s in mourning. Terrible turn of events—but do go on, Miss Willingham. You lost your father… ” Loyal prompted.

  “Yes, yesterday, and my two servants and I are taking Papa’s remains to be buried alongside Mama’s in Georgia.”

  “Please accept my heartfelt condolences,” Loyal soothed, reaching for her hand.

  “Thank you so kindly, Mr. Streeter. It has been a most dreadful time. Just evah so taxing on my strength. I am accustomed ta having my dear sweet daddy take care of simply everything for me, and now… now… he’s… ” Overcome by emotion, she reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief.

  “There, there, my dear,” Loyal consoled. “You have encountered some trouble?”

  “Yes, it seems—well, it seems indelicate to speak of, but due to the unseasonably warm weather that has set upon us we need to keep him someplace cool while we stop for the night.”

  “Traveling by rail, you say?”

  “Yes, we are. Fortunately there are only a few others, Mr. Streeter. Two or three more, and myself and my two manservants. Although the others haven’t complained, the situation is most unpleasant.”

  “Well, I wish I could help, Miss Willingham, but the icehouse is full—all those good men gunned down last night—”

  Lillie Belle quickly laid her hand across his jacket sleeve. “If you refuse me, sir, I haven’t any other place to turn.” Her voice broke with emotion, and he frowned when she began to weep.

  “But, ma’am—”

  “The casket would only take up a small area in the icehouse,” she pleaded, “and we’d be gone by early light.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Please, do not refuse me this little bitty ol’ favor. If Papa’s remains aren’t cooled immediately, we’ll not be able to continue on. Why, I’m afraid I will have to ask that you arrange for Papa’s immediate burial if you can’t oblige me, and I did so want to bury him next to my dear sweet mama. Papa would be crushed if he knew he wasn’t lyin’ next to Mama. Why, he’d nevah forgive me. Nevah.”

  Anne-Marie wrinkled her brow in consternation, blinking her eyes to hold back the tears. Sniffing loudly, she fumbled for her handkerchief.

  Loyal paled. His jaw worked as he mulled the dilemma. Anne-Marie knew what was going through his mind. Like any gentlemen, he would be thinking how bad it would look if he refused this sweet, innocent woman her touching request. Why, he’d be a cad of the worst sort not to help her out of her awful predicament.

  But then there was that little matter of the gold in the icehouse, he’d be thinking. It had taken Anne-Marie, Creed, and Quincy longer than expected to find the stash, but a coin and a bottle of rum loosened a vagrant’s tongue and he admitted he’d seen men unload a trunk of what appeared to be gold in the icehouse the night before all the shootings took place.

  The councilman bit his lip indecisively.

  “My two servants will assume full responsibility for the casket,” Miss Willingham assured him. The councilman’s intense inner struggle had become apparent. She was close—very close to persuasion. Abigail would be proud of her—

  Lord, You do understand this isn’t the same as my old life. This isn’t the councilman’s money, and it isn’t my money. It’s Your children’s money. The soldiers need shoes, clothing, and food…but then I guess You feel the same about Your children fighting on the other side. But You’re the wise one. You choose how this turns out.

  “Because of the”—she paused—“odor, my servants will carry the casket in and out so no one will be affected.”

  By now he had to realize that she had him between a rock and a hard place. The gold was in the icehouse. No one but his trusted employees knew that, and she was quite certain that he didn’t want anyone else to know. It was risky, to be sure.

  Lifting her hand to her forehead, Anne-Marie feigned lightheadedness.

  “Are you all right, Miss Willingham? Perhaps you would like more water, or might I fetch you a refreshing sarsaparilla?” Loyal offered. He lifted a hand to summon Jake again when she stopped him.

  “Please, I’m just weak with hunger.” Her voice sounded very small now. “I have eaten very little in the past few hours.” She peered up at him. “You do understand.”

  “Of course, Miss Willingham. Most understandable.”

  She believed that she was about to set the hook. She was such a winsome creature, small and vulnerable. Perhaps he’s thinking he could make this one harmless concession.

  She started to rise and then wilted back into the chair.

  “I must see to my servants’ needs,” she murmured. “One is blind, and the other is… dimwitted. They look to me for their welfare.” She sighed.

  “Well, perhaps we can arrange something,” Loyal offered. She smiled. Who would be so heartless to deny her? If one servant was blind and the other witless, then surely there could be no danger in letting her use the icehouse. After all, like she said, it would only be until morning.

  “Where are your servants now?”

  “With Papa.”

  “On the train?”

  She nodded, dabbing at her moist eyes again.

  “Come then, Miss Willingham.” Loyal offered her his arm and she stood up, placing her small hand on his wrist. “Once we have your papa settled, you will join me for supper.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested. “I have imposed enough on your kind generosity.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll see that your servants are fed and bedded down for the night. Then you and I will enjoy a leisurely dinner in the finest café in High Bluff.”

  “Well, if you insist,” she said, demurely offering him her most radiant smile. “You are just evah so kind.”

&nbs
p; Creed and Quincy were sitting in an empty boxcar when Anne-Marie stepped out of the councilman’s office on the arm of Loyal Streeter. The men sat up straighter. “Can you believe this?” Creed said. “Looks like she’s done it.”

  “Yeah, she’s done it all right,” Quincy murmured. “I figure she’s done it up real good this time.” He glanced down at the flour sack breeches and gunnysack shirt. “I feel like a fool.”

  “You look like a fool,” Creed agreed.

  “I’d laugh if you didn’t look worse.” Quincy burst out laughing anyway. “You got the same breeches and torn shirt, except that you’re barefoot and Anne-Marie wants you to be the ‘simple one.’ Now me? I’m luckier. She merely struck me blind.”

  Anne-Marie and Streeter approached the rail car and her laughter floated to the men.

  Heat coursed through Creed. When he had seen her dressed in her fine gown and hat, he knew what a magnificent woman she was. She would meet no resistance capturing the heart of any man she wanted. The recognition had hit him hard. Loyal Streeter would answer to him if he so much as indicated anything other than compassion for her situation.

  Approaching the train, Anne-Marie nodded solemnly to her two manservants.

  “Tobias, Malachi.”

  Two men climbed out of the boxcar and lowered their heads subserviently.

  “We are in luck,” she called brightly. “Mr. Streeter here has been evah so kind and graciously offered his assistance.”

  Quincy nodded. “I cain’t see you, Mr. Streeter.” He stared ahead sightlessly. “But you’se surely a good man—a good man.”

  Streeter nodded absently. “You men carry Miss Willingham’s papa on up to the icehouse now. Afterward,” Loyal offered, “go around to the back of the jail and someone will feed you. You boys can bed down in the railcar tonight.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Streeter, thank you. We shore nuf do thank you,” Quincy intoned.

  “Mr. Streeter has graciously invited me to take supper with him,” Anne-Marie warbled, bestowing a winning smile on Loyal.

  The muscle in Creed’s jaw tightened when Anne-Marie slipped her arm back through the councilman’s.