My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (14 page)

“You look like a robust man; surely you can best a sick opponent.”

“Creed’s not like other opponents.” He felt the muscle in his jaw tighten when he shook his head. “No. You are to remain here until Creed is better. Only then will we have this conversation.”

With his words, she fell silent.

Turning muley on him. It didn’t surprise him. And with what little he knew about her he reckoned she would find a way to leave, one way or the other. He’d have to keep a closer eye on her comings and goings.

“I want your word that you will do as I say.”

She turned and refolded a skin.

“Cold shoulders don’t bother me.” He stepped to the tent flap. “I’m warning you, don’t do anything foolish.” He lifted the fold and stepped out, confident that he was talking to thin air.

If that lady wanted something, she made a way to get it, but it wasn’t going to be through him.

Eight

A
half moon slid lower when Anne-Marie slipped from her tent late that night and made her way to where the ponies were tethered. As promised, a brown and white spotted animal stood in the shadows waiting for her. Berry Woman had kept her promise, and why not? She desperately wanted to see her leave camp.
Lord, though I don’t deserve Your mercy, look after me
, she prayed silently.

Creed’s woman had been more than happy to oblige her requests, and Anne-Marie was more than happy to leave. She couldn’t wait for Creed and Quincy and their secret plans. She planned to take every precaution, using isolated back roads to avoid any hint of trouble. She wasn’t a simpleton; she was willing to take the risk.

Hitching her skirts above her knees, she grasped the reins firmly and mounted the pony. Snow drifted deep in ditches as she walked the horse to the outer edge of camp, but other riders had cleared a decent path.

The wind savagely whipped her hair as the horse picked its way along the snowy path. Shivering, she huddled deeper into the thin trader’s blanket. Berry Woman had not gone to extreme lengths to provide warmth.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she felt her earlier resolve fading. Quincy was right; she shouldn’t be so impulsive. She was acting more like Amelia now, flighty and high-strung instead of guided by plain old common sense.

Maybe being under Creed Walker’s protection wasn’t so bad. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. In truth, she was being downright foolish.

Berry Woman and River Woman slowed their horses beneath the barren branches of a cottonwood tree. Snow clouds churned beneath a watery moon.

“Storm Rider will be angry,” River Woman warned. The women watched Anne-Marie’s horse disappear into the blowing snow.

“Storm Rider will not know,” Berry Woman said.

“He will know. When he awakens and finds the woman gone, he will ask what has become of her.”

“And no one will have seen her,” Berry Woman countered.

“But she goes into the dark—into the coming storm. She will not survive—”

“Whatever happens to her is her own foolish doing,” Berry Woman snapped.

River Woman shook her head. “Your coldness saddens me. The white woman does not have the skills to protect herself. She will die.”

A smile touched the corners of Berry Woman’s mouth. “I do only what the woman asks. Is that not common hospitality? I do only what Storm Rider has instructed me to do.”

River Woman’s eyes reflected deep concern. “It is not right, Berry Woman. You do not speak the truth about Storm Rider. He would never send a woman into the night alone.”

“You worry too much. Come, the wind is rising.” Reining her horse, Berry Woman turned and rode in the direction of camp.

She was confused. Anne-Marie had ridden a good distance before she realized that her body was getting numb. Only her feet tingled, and she hadn’t been able to feel her hands for a while.

Dawn streaked the sky and she realized she was lost. At one time she thought she was riding west, but now she knew she wasn’t. Slowing the pony, she studied the muted rays streaking the cold morning sky. She was no longer riding west; she was riding south. In fact, that stand of trees looked familiar. She had made a huge circle and wasn’t nearly as far from the camp as she’d thought. Desperation filled her, and she giggled, realizing that it didn’t make any difference what direction she rode in, since she didn’t know where she was anyway.

She had to go back now while she could. Quincy was right; she shouldn’t be out here alone. She needed to turn back…

The pony sidestepped, catching Anne-Marie off guard. Reacting, she jerked the bridle around and the pinto bucked, crow-hopping blindly in the snow. She struggled to hang on, but the animal’s strength was greater than hers.

Pitching wildly, the horse threw her and she struck the ground hard, tumbling wildly down a steep, snow-covered incline.

By the time she reached the bottom, she welcomed the blackness that consumed her.

Smoke from the cook fires hung over the village this morning when Creed stepped outside the tent. Heavy snow covered the ground. Testing his leg, he found his strength returning. He knew if he stayed up too long, he would open the wound again, and he couldn’t spare another delay.

Memories flooded him as he drew deeply of the camp aromas.
Though he had spent a good part of his life with Father Jacob, the Indian ways were still a large part of him.

He stood for a moment watching children play as their mothers went about their daily chores and their fathers unloaded slain deer from packhorses. A hunting party had departed before dawn; they were back with a good kill. There would be fresh venison hanging over the fires tonight.

Turning away, he spotted River Woman carrying a bundle of sticks in the direction of her family’s tepee.

“River Woman,” he called. “Come, sit by my fire.”

River Woman’s pace didn’t slacken as she hurried toward her tent with an armload of wood. “I cannot. Our fire burns low, Storm Rider.”

Surprised by her reaction, Creed smiled and called out again. “River Woman, you work too hard. Come, sit with me and we’ll talk.”

Slowly putting down the wood, the young maiden turned and approached him, her eyes focused on her moccasins. “What is it you wish, Storm Rider?”

“Have you seen the white woman? I don’t see her around this morning.”

River Woman’s gaze stayed riveted to the ground and she murmured, “Not this morning.”

Creed frowned. Although yesterday he had asked Berry Woman and Quincy to send Anne-Marie to his tent, she had failed to respond. “You haven’t seen her today?”

“Not today.”

Berry Woman turned from her fire, her eyes sending River Woman a silent warning.

“I must go,” River Woman murmured. “Our fire burns very low.”

“If you see the white woman—”

“I will not see her. I must go.”

When River Woman walked away, Creed reached out and caught her arm. Studying her flushed face, he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Glancing at Berry Woman, River Woman shook her head quickly. “Nothing is wrong. Please, I must go.”

It was a moment before Creed finally released her. She was acting oddly today. “Give my greetings to your mother.”

Nodding, River Woman walked away and moments later ducked quickly into her tent.

Glancing at Berry Woman, Creed wondered about the significance of the look that had passed between the two women.

Meeting his gaze, Berry Woman smiled. “Storm Rider appears much stronger this day.”

“Yes, I gain more strength every day. Have you seen the white woman today?”

Berry Woman averted his gaze. “I have not seen her today. Perhaps she gathers wood with Elk Woman.”

Creed found that possibility even more remote. Anne-Marie had never volunteered to wander off alone. “Where is Quincy?”

“In his tepee.” She turned back to tend the haunch of venison hanging over her fire. Succulent juices dripped into the flames and the scent of cooking meat filled the camp.

He reached out to stop a small boy who was running through camp. “Have you seen the white woman?”

The child shook his head.

“Would you go through camp and look for her? She may be gathering wood with the other women.”

The boy spoke in the native tongue and turned to skip off.

“Bring her here when you find her,” Creed called after him, and then turned and lifted the thick buffalo fold. Anne-Marie would be angry because he hadn’t sent for her earlier, but he had needed time to think without her butting in. She was getting under his skin, yet he was reluctant to have Quincy take her to Mercy Flats. She was his responsibility, and his alone.

She would not leave this camp without him.

By late morning, the child had searched high and low and Anne-Marie had failed to appear. Creed made his way slowly to question River Woman.

When the tepee flap parted, River Woman glanced up. Storm Rider filled the doorway and apprehension mirrored in her dark eyes.

“I asked earlier if you had seen the white woman. I want the truth now,” he said.

Glancing away, she said softly, “I have spoken the truth. I have not seen the white woman this day.”

“When did you last see her?”

River Woman’s silence stretched.

“When did you last see her?”

“I cannot—”

Entering the tent, he knelt beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. He forced her to look at him. “When did you last see her?”