My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (15 page)

The young girl still hesitated and he lowered his voice persuasively. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know nothing.”

“Has something happened to her?”

A sob caught in River Woman’s throat. “I cannot—Berry Woman will be angry.”

His grip tightened. “Tell me what you know.”

“She… the white woman rode away… ”

Creed frowned. “Rode away? When?”

“Last night.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

River Woman shook her head, sobbing. “She rode… into the darkness. Berry Woman and I returned to camp, but I was worried, so I went back out and followed the woman a ways, but then I turned back because the weather was so cold.” Her eyes lifted defensively. “Berry Woman said she was only following your instructions.”

Creed’s eyes narrowed. “Where is the woman now?”

Tears rolled down the maiden’s cheeks. “I do not know, the snow blinded me—I can only take you to where I last saw her… ”

“You didn’t try to help her!”

She buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me, Storm Rider. I should have sent for help, but I feared that Berry Woman would no longer be my friend.”

Creed could not believe what he was hearing. Berry Woman would not willingly disobey him when he had given instruction to see to the woman’s needs.

River Woman was still explaining. “I did not wish to anger Berry Woman, so I turned back.”

The muscle in Creed’s jaw flexed when he pulled the girl to her feet. “Show me where this happened.”

River Woman drew back in fear. “I must ask Berry Woman… ”

Ignoring her defiance, Creed pulled her out of the tent and went in search of two horses.

Silence blanketed the frozen hillsides when the animals pushed through layers of crusted snow. A bitter wind battered the man and woman as they rode in silence, their eyes searching the icy hillsides. The fire in Creed’s leg became a roaring inferno.

He and River Woman split up, scouting different areas but keeping each other in sight. River Woman’s pony came to a halt in a heavy strand of trees. “Here.”

Creed’s gaze followed the tracks leading away from the clearing, the buffalo robe lying to the side. Nudging his horse, he traced the tracks a mile or so before he saw signs of a struggle. It looked like a pony had spooked and thrown its rider.

His gaze shot to the deep ravine.

Sliding off his animal, he limped to the edge of the steep divide. Halfway down, he could see a crumpled form lying at the bottom. A blanket of snow covered the familiar skirt and blouse.

Turning, he shouted to River Woman. “Go! Tell the camp I have found the white woman, and she needs care.”

Anne-Marie drifted in and out of consciousness, faintly aware that she was dying.

Dying wasn’t so bad. Nothing at all like she had thought it would be. There was no pain, just a nice numbness that filled her whole body.

She hadn’t heard any trumpets yet, but she expected them to blow anytime. She could picture St. Peter calling his trumpeters together, and right this moment they were getting ready to blow her up through the Pearly Gates.

She had to start taking her faith more seriously. She had always meant to let God know that she accepted Him—she really did, though she often acted nothing like His child. The angels were getting ready to herald her arrival—or were they? She hadn’t been the most obedient subject, but she hadn’t been the worst. She’d never killed anyone or been unkind—except to Creed. Every misdeed she’d done, she’d done with the purest of intentions.

What you’ve done, the stealing and misleading, is wrong, Anne-Marie. Selfish, childish, and wrong. You are not representing Christ or any form of His love. He looks upon the heart, not good intentions.

But I meant to tell Him that I do accept Him and I know what I’ve done is wrong—and now my time for decisions has run out.

She’d thought she had all the time in the world. She couldn’t be dying now—not so young. Remorse and panic filled her. Was it too late? “Dear God, forgive me. I want to be Your child… ” She forced the long-delayed acceptance through frozen lips. She had been lying in the snow for how long now? An hour? Two hours? Ten hours? It must be closer to ten hours, but then, if it was ten hours and not one hour or two hours, she would surely be wherever she was going by now, wouldn’t she?

An ache, deep inside her, made her think that she was still on earth, a place that had nourished and sheltered her and brought her good and bad times. She bit back the urge to cry. Her death would bring
such pain to Amelia and Abigail. And the mission sisters—they didn’t deserve sad tears.

She didn’t want to be the cause of such pain.

The McDougal sisters were all they had and now there would only be the two left to carry on the mission work. In one way she wanted to stay and help, but in another she longed to be where it was warm and dry and… happy.

Creed Walker’s face floated above her, and she squinted, trying to see if he had a trumpet to his lips. Wasn’t that just like him—always showing up where he wasn’t wanted?

Deciding he was trumpetless, she reached out to lay her numb hands against his face. No matter where she went lately, he was there. It was almost like the Good Lord had planted Creed Walker in her life and wouldn’t let her lose him.

“Ohhh, you’ve come to save me again, but you’re too late this time,” she whispered.

His rugged features swam into focus. Even if he was only a dying hallucination, she was beginning to like him. Really like him, although she couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t been particularly nice to her, although she had to admit that he hadn’t had much of a chance. What with going to jail and then ending up with a buckboard full of gold and being shot—well, she supposed, under the circumstances, few men would have been overly gracious.

Why, who knows, if she wasn’t in the process of passing on this very minute, she might conceivably have fallen in love with Creed Walker. She, Anne-Marie McDougal, who never liked men, in love?

If her lips weren’t frozen stiff, she’d laugh.

She closed her eyes when realization flooded her again.

I’m alone. I’m hurt. I can’t move. And I’m so very scared. Not one soul cares where I am, or what happens to me—except Abigail and Amelia. And You, God. I have You now.
She smothered a sob that tore at her ribs and made breathing unbearable.

Where were those trumpets?

“Breathe deep, Anne-Marie.”

A heavy robe settled around her, and she absorbed the heavenly warmth. “Thank You—I was afraid You hadn’t heard me.”

The time had come: She was gone from this earth.

“Where’s your trumpet?” she murmured, wishing He would hurry because she was so very cold. Wait—maybe it was Gabriel. He blew the trumpet, didn’t he? “I didn’t hear it.”

“I didn’t blow it.”

The voice sounded close, and not at all like an angel. It was deep and masculine and… Oh dear.

Had the devil himself come to claim her? Her heart hammered against her ribs and she tried to open her eyes, but the lids were frozen shut. “I’m sorry… don’t take me… There’s been a mistake; I accepted the Lord as my savior… ”

Gentle hands fastened the heavy robe around her. “Anne-Marie, can you hear me?”

That was Creed’s voice. What was he doing here, passing himself off as one of St. Peter’s trumpeters?

When she tried to ask him, her lips refused to form the words. She swallowed and tried again, but the sound wouldn’t come.

“I’m going to move you. We’re going back to camp now. Put your arms around my neck.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you must.”

Wouldn’t you know it? He was trying to boss her around—even now when death was so close.

“You’re angry with me. I left and I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Right now, I don’t know whether to kiss you or curse you.”

“A kiss would be better.” A nice, sweet kiss—she bet he was good at that sort of thing.

A pair of incredibly strong arms lifted her, and she sighed, laying her head on the trumpeter’s shoulder, and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Nine

P
rickly stinging slowly dragged Anne-Marie back to awareness. Her toes stung like fire, and she couldn’t feel her face. Panicked, she struggled to sit up.

“Drink.”

She didn’t recognize the male voice, but a gentle hand supported her head and pushed a cup against her lips. Drinking greedily of the warm, thin broth, she dropped back into unconsciousness.

Twice more she awoke to find the same compassionate hands urging the cup back to her lips. Once she thought she heard Creed’s voice, but it seemed different somehow, restrained, concerned, and she couldn’t think why.

The third time she roused, her eyes opened slowly, trying to gain her bearings.

Unfamiliar surroundings met her gaze. Then understanding slowly dawned on her; she was lying in the medicine lodge where Creed had been. The heat, the incredible heat… the place was practically an oven.

Afraid to move, she looked out of the corner of her eye and saw the aged medicine man sitting beside the fire, smoking a pipe.

A burst of cold air swept her when the flap parted and Creed entered to kneel beside her, taking her hand.

Swallowing thickly, she tried to speak, but only a croak escaped her parched throat.

“You have slept a long time.”

Frowning, Anne-Marie lifted her hand to her throbbing temple. “What happened?”

His fingers brushed her cheek, and the motion brought about the nicest feeling inside her. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured. Her head throbbed and hot knives sliced her everywhere feeling was left in her body, but she didn’t expect his sympathy. What she had done was beyond foolish. Color heated her cheeks. He must think she was an utter imbecile, and her reckless actions only confirmed it.

His gaze swept her gently. “God has again smiled upon you. You have some frostbite, but Spirit Cloud says you will live.”

Anne-Marie wasn’t sure if she heard relief or regret in his tone.

“How… how did you find me?” Events of the past few hours were slowly coming back: the flight from camp, the worsening snowstorm, losing her direction, the fall from her horse into the ravine.

“River Woman led me to you.”

Anne-Marie frowned. “How did she know where I was?”

Creed hesitated, choosing his words. “River Woman saw you ride out of camp. She and Berry Woman followed to make sure your escape was successful.”

Sighing, Anne-Marie closed her eyes. “Berry Woman would be happy to see me turn into a stewing hen forever.”

He chuckled, a nice, rich-sounding timbre. “Berry Woman feels you are a threat.”

Anne-Marie wanted to look him directly in the eyes, but she didn’t. Why should the suggestion that he found her desirable be
anything but laughable? They had only known each other a short while and they battled each other constantly.

Admittedly she lacked experience where men were concerned, but simple logic told her that few men would be attracted to a woman who had landed him in jail and shot him to boot. “I acted foolishly. Will I lose my toes—or fingers?”

His calm tone soothed her. “You were foolish in many ways, but the frostbite was not severe; there should be no lasting effect.” Turning aside, Creed dipped a cloth in a bowl of warm water. “Bold Eagle extends his apology for your injuries. It is not their way to dishonor a guest.”

As he talked he smoothed the cloth back and forth across her brow, his touch surprisingly gentle. Anne-Marie wasn’t certain if the odd tingling he awakened inside her was the result of his compassion or merely a lingering effect of the recent fall. Either way, she found the gesture agreeable. She found him enjoyable.

“Berry Woman is aware that her actions have shamed her family and her heritage.” He tossed the cloth aside.

Drawing a ragged breath, Anne-Marie opened her eyes to meet his direct gaze. “She’s deeply devoted to you, you know.” The observation was too personal, she knew that, but she needed to know if he returned her feelings.