My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (21 page)

“We’re not sticking around to find out. Let’s free Quincy and get out of here.”

When Creed cut the binds and Quincy rolled free of his prison, he bent over his knees, sucking in air. “Anne-Marie, if you
ever
suggest such a plan again, remind me to ride as hard and as fast as I can in the opposite direction.” He took long, deep breaths.

“Bold Eagle had better be where he said he’d be,” Creed whispered. “Let’s go.” The three struck off in a northwesterly direction under a cloak of darkness.

Thirteen

T
hree indistinguishable figures rounded a bend in the road and two waiting riders slipped from the shadows. Kneeing his horse forward, Creed rode to greet his brother.

“You have survived your ordeal,” Bold Eagle greeted when he drew closer.

“By the Father’s grace, we have survived.” Creed studied the blood-soaked bandage wrapped tightly around his thigh. The wound was pounding from the arduous walk.

Black Earth and Two Belly brought along a fresh horse. A moment later Berry Woman appeared astride a pony. Slipping from her mount, she ran quickly to Creed’s side. “Storm Rider—you cannot continue this madness,” she pleaded. “It is not wise.”

Anne-Marie glanced away when she saw the possessiveness in the young maiden’s eyes. Creed responded to her, taking her hand tight in his. A razor-sharp pain split her heart. She wanted him to hold
her,
to comfort
her
.

The thought shocked sense into her. She was falling in love with this man, a man she couldn’t have. Not only did he have feelings for this lovely young maiden, but his emotions ran deep—like still waters.

Quincy was busy examining the buckboard. “I have to hand it to you, Anne-Marie. I had strong reservations about the plan, but I’ve never seen a slicker operation in all my born days. Breaking down that buckboard and then hauling the parts—plus the gold—out of camp on several travois right beneath the outlaw’s noses was brilliant all right, even if a woman did mastermind it.”

Berry Woman helped Creed to the back of the reassembled wagon and Quincy and Anne-Marie climbed aboard. Securing the spare horse to the gate, Black Earth and Two Belly dropped back.

“You will rest?” Berry Woman fretted over Creed as she carefully stretched his leg out in the bed of the wagon.

“My sister clucks like a mother hen,” Bold Eagle scolded. “Come, we must move on before we are noticed. It is a day’s ride to our new encampment.”

“Will you go to your summer grounds?” Creed asked.

“It is too soon; the grass is not new, but water is plentiful here and so is buffalo and game.”

“I’m sorry for this upheaval.”

Bold Eagle rested a hand on Creed’s shoulder. “My brother would do the same for me.” The men’s eyes met and sealed the words with a silent understanding. Bold Eagle drew back and straightened. “I have sent riders ahead with provisions to see you through a short time. You will remain at the mission?”

Creed nodded. “We’ll remain there until this thing heals again.” Gritting his teeth, he shifted his boot.

“Herbs, fresh kill, and water await you.”

“Thank you, my brother.”

Leaning forward, Berry Woman whispered into Creed’s ear. He nodded, and she returned to her horse.

Turning their animals, the party rode off.

Quincy picked up the buckboard reins. “Well, Miss McDougal. The plan went off smooth as my grandma’s Christmas pudding.” He chuckled. “I’d sure like to have been there and seen the looks on
those bandits faces when Bold Eagle broke camp and rode off. I’ll bet they’re still shaking their heads and wondering what happened.”

At one time the Santa Maria Mission had been a lovely sight. Low adobe structures sheltered with red-tiled roofs dotted the hillside. Now the buildings were neglected and falling into ruin. However, years of disrepair could not detract from the beauty of the twelve arches, some tall, some short, some semicircular, and others majestic and narrow. Their grandeur was still breathtaking.

The outer buildings were crumbling to the ground, but the mission’s beauty and serenity still showed through the rubble. Though it would be weeks yet before spring came, Anne-Marie could imagine what a magical place the gardens would be when the heady scent of Castilian roses and myrtle filled the air with a scent sweeter than honey.

High above in the old tower, a bell stood sentry. It reminded Anne-Marie of all the mornings a bell much like this one had awakened her and her sisters for morning prayers. Scampering into their clothes, they had raced giggling to the chapel, to be detained by a stern-faced nun who reminded the impetuous McDougal sisters that young ladies never ran, they walked.

A pain so deep she could hardly bear it flooded her when she thought about those happy, carefree days with her sisters. Would she ever see them again? Yes, they’d outwitted authorities, but Creed had to heal and then the gold had to be delivered before she could even begin the journey to Mercy Flats. Perhaps she could find a way to send a message to her mission and have the sisters inform Amelia and Abigail that she was well and would join them as soon as possible. Time was passing; perhaps they had grown tired of waiting and gone home to seek solace among the nuns. Or they could still be with their rescuers, either captive or unable to return. She would never know until she got home.

Quincy’s dark eyes studied the crumbling building. “Doesn’t look like much, but I guess it’ll keep the rain off our heads.”

Anne-Marie agreed without much spirit. She was suddenly very tired.

She drove the wagon under a vine-covered portico. Creed was asleep, so rather than disturb him and start his wound bleeding again, she pulled an extra buffalo hide over him for warmth. They needed to choose a good place to build a fire, assess their supplies, and be sure the deserted mission held no dangers.

Leaving Creed in the buckboard, she and Quincy set out to explore the main building. They entered the dim interior and Anne-Marie wrinkled her nose when the scent of the musty-smelling alcoves reached her. What few pieces of furniture had been left behind were either damaged or broken. All were covered with dust.

They entered the kitchen with its vaulted roof, and a sigh escaped her when she saw the chimney was intact and the kitchen stove still there. It was a huge, monstrous contraption, but at least they would have hot water and a more convenient way to cook their food. Her eyes scanned the room and found the pile of provisions left by Bold Eagle’s braves. Meat would be hanging in the smoke house.

“Have mercy,” Quincy murmured when they moved upstairs and roamed the empty corridors. Thick walls with innumerable rounded stones rose from the clay floors. They passed through the baptistery and into the large sanctuary.

Light streamed down through a long, narrow, horizontal window, illuminating the reredos with nine statues in various niches. The resplendent altar was elegantly carved with winged cherubim. Pieces of the dais candles still remained, waiting to be lit for prayers.

A bat darted from the high ceiling toward the intruders. They ducked for cover. Quincy shook his head and stepped closer to Anne-Marie.

“This place gives me the jitters.”

“A little jitters never hurt anyone,” she whispered.

“Why do we always end up in spooky places?”

“It’s not so bad.” Anne-Marie moved on, with Quincy following close behind. Returning to the kitchen, she parted a layer of thick cobwebs and peered down a black column of steps leading to the cellar.

“Now if you’re thinking of sending me down there, you can just get that idea out of your head,” Quincy said. “There is a limit to my cooperation—and you reached it with that last plan you hatched up.”

“You’re such a scaredy-cat,” she chided. Searching for a light source, she spotted a candle stub lying near the base of the first step. “You have matches with you, don’t you?”

“No, ma’am.” His answer was too quick for Anne-Marie to believe him. “Miss Anne-Marie, I have a phobia of dark places. I’d just as soon we didn’t go down there.”

“All right, I understand phobias. I’m not over-fond of water, iguanas, and spiders, but we do what we must. Give me a match. I know you have some; now give me one.”

“Ma’am, you don’t want to go down there. It’s dark and dirty, and who knows what’s at the bottom? I don’t want to even speculate on what might be crawling around down there—or even worse, slithering around down there on its belly.”

“You don’t have to go. Wait here and I’ll be right back.” The old mission seemed spooky only because it was so quiet and in disrepair. Dark cellars didn’t bother her. When she was small, she had fetched potatoes and rutabagas for Sister Delia from the storeroom nearly every day. “There might be something to eat down there,” she reasoned. “Something the former occupants might have left behind.” Sisters always had large gardens and most likely there were jars of tomatoes, corn, and green beans left behind. Canned goods lasted a very long time.

“By the looks of the place there’s been no one here for months—maybe years,” he countered. Taking a deep breath, he muttered. “I’ll go—just make it quick.”

“Your choice. Where’s the match?”

He fished the match from his vest pocket and handed it to her.

She struck the sulfur tip on the sole of her shoe and then lit the candle stub, brightening the narrow stairway with enough light to see the way down.

“Oh.” Quincy’s eyes grew rounder. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” She felt him cringe when the sound of scampering feet ruptured the silence.

“It’s just some old mice. They won’t hurt you.” Hitching up the hem of her skirt, she stepped down a couple of stairs and then turned to peer over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

When he didn’t answer, she continued in a peeved tone, “You don’t have to, but if I should find something, I’ll need your help bringing it up.”

“What we need is two or three torches instead of one little candle. Why don’t you just forget looking for something to eat? Anything you’d find would be spoiled by now, anyway. The last thing we need is a good case of the grippe. And besides, Creed’s tribe gave us supplies.”

“I just want to take stock of all our provisions,” said Anne-Marie.

Quincy jumped back when a mouse darted up the stairway and shot between his legs.

Drawing a shaky breath, he started down the stairs behind her.

Candlelight danced across dirt walls when Anne-Marie stepped deeper into the dank cellar. The sound of dripping water momentarily distracted her. Cool drafts of musty-smelling air threatened to extinguish the candle, plunging the stairway into total darkness.

“Do not let that candle go out,” Quincy hissed.

“I’ll try not to.”

“You do more than try, sister.”

Pausing on the bottom rung, she lifted the candle higher, trying to see. It was black as night down here. “See anything?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I couldn’t spot a speeding locomotive if it was coming straight at me.” Squinting, he slapped blindly at something that zoomed by his ear.

Drifting deeper into the vault, Anne-Marie noted the cellar wasn’t as large as the one in Mercy Flats, but it was adequate.

She moved the light slowly along the walls, searching for shelves lined with canned goods. It appeared as if nothing had been left behind.

It was spooky down here.

A man’s voice shattered the silence. “What are you two doing?”

Quincy started at the sound of Creed’s voice. “What are you doing down here?” Creed repeated when he stepped off the bottom step to join them.

“What are
you
doing down here?” Anne-Marie snapped, shaken at the unexpected intrusion. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, but when I woke up and found you both gone, I thought I’d better look for you.” His eyes roamed the dark interior. “What are you searching for?”

“I thought the former occupants might have left something we could eat,” Anne-Marie murmured. “You never know where a sister might have stored provisions.” Canned green beans, corn, tomatoes. Lifting the candle higher, she moved the light slowly through the inky interior. Her hand paused, swinging the light back to the left a little more when she thought she detected a small chamber in the very back of the room.

“Do you see anything?”