My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (27 page)

Q
uincy paced the kitchen floor of the mission, beside himself with worry. Creed had left hours ago, and he wasn’t back yet. That could mean only one thing. Trouble with a capital T.

If he had found Anne-Marie, he would have been back by now. No one, not even Anne-Marie, picked mushrooms in the dark. Maybe Creed had located her and they had run into problems, possibly in the outlaws’ camp. Muttering under his breath, he pulled on his jacket and exited the mission through a side entrance.

If he lived through this, it would be a miracle.

Two riders pushed their animals hard through the fading light. Anne-Marie clung to Cortes’s back, her mind reliving the shocking image of Creed being shoved into the well. Biting back a sob, she closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. She would be glad to get rid of the gold; the shipment had brought them nothing but heartache.

When the mission came into sight Anne-Marie’s thoughts turned
to what she would tell Quincy. She was heartsick that once again her carelessness had not only endangered the men’s purpose but their lives. Quincy’s concern for Creed would override his instinct to protect the gold, but Anne-Marie now began to fear for Quincy’s life. What if Cortes decided to shoot Quincy once the gold was in his hands?

Choking back a sob, she realized that the McDougal luck, which had never failed her, was about to run out. Every breath felt like a desperate prayer. She’d been headstrong and set her own rules for years, and now someone else had the reins.
Not for my sake
, she prayed silently.
But God, don’t let Creed and Quincy come to harm because of me.

The horses were lathered and breathing heavily when the riders approached the mission.

Quincy, please don’t shoot
, Anne-Marie whispered silently when Cortes galloped the horse straight to the overgrown gardens near the kitchen door.

The outlaws dismounted and she held her breath as they made their way through the tangled thicket. Overhead, a night bird called, further fraying her ragged nerves.

Cortes and Rodrigo dogged her steps, their hands resting on their gun handles.

“The negro,” Cortes whispered. “Where is he?”

“He was here,” Anne-Marie said. “I don’t know where he is now.”

Cortes scowled. “If you speak the lie, he is a dead man.”

Please Quincy, be gone fishing
, she thought. Or maybe he had decided Creed needed help and had gone to look for him. She reached for the handle on the kitchen door.

Undoing the wooden latch, she stepped inside. Except for the dying embers in the mammoth stove there was no sign of life. Behind her, Cortes’s heavy breathing filled the room.

“Quincy?” Anne-Marie called. Her voice echoed back to her. When there was no answer, she called again. “Quincy?”

Moving through the kitchen, she hurried toward the cellar door.

“Where is the negro?” Cortes demanded.

“I don’t know. We’ll find him—and if we don’t, I know where the gold is hidden.”

“He is hiding,” Cortes said. “He is the weakling.”

“He wouldn’t hide.” And Quincy was far from a weakling. The outlaw might soon discover Quincy’s wrath.

Cortes, visibly uneasy, motioned for Rodrigo to stand watch at the door.

Kneeling in front of the cellar doorway, Anne-Marie searched for the candle stub. Locating it, she struck a match and light flooded the narrow stairway.

“It would not be wise to try to trick Cortes,” the outlaw warned.

“It’s no trick. This is where we hid the gold.”

Cortes batted a cobweb away. “I am not the coward; Cortes prefers to see his enemy.”

Anne-Marie started off, winding her way down the dark staircase. A cool, musty scent rose to their noses. Upon reaching the bottom, she hurried to the partially hidden door and quickly slid the wooden bar aside.

“What is this you do?” Cortes barked.

“I’m getting the gold. This is where we hid it.”

The man’s tone faltered. “Cortes smells a trick. A most reckless one.”

The door creaked when it slowly swung open to reveal an even darker abyss.

Straining to see around Anne-Marie, the Mexican squinted into the blackness. “It is dark in there.”

“Yes,” she said.

Dampness surrounded them as they entered the chamber. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls. Lifting the candle above her head, Anne-Marie allowed the light to play over the coins. She heard Cortes’s sharp intake of breath.

“We thought the gold would be safe here,” she said.

“Sí,”
the Mexican replied, his voice wavering now.

“Well.” Anne-Marie stepped back. She would lead him to the gold, but she wasn’t going to gift-wrap it for him. She pointed to the empty Wells Fargo box sitting on the floor. “There’s the box it came in.”

Cortes stared at the crate and his gaze worked its way to the gold. Swallowing, he reached for a coin, grasping it quickly.

Working feverishly now, he stacked the prize in the wooden crate. When the coins had been retrieved, Cortes fastened the lid on the crate, shouting for Rodrigo.

Rodrigo appeared in the doorway, gun trained on Anne-Marie.

“Quick!” Cortes panted. “Help Cortes carry the gold up the stairway.”

“
Sí
,” Rodrigo said.

The two men grunted and struggled up the narrow flight of steps, lugging the heavy crate and a candle between them. Moving through the kitchen, they dragged the crate across the floor and outside.

Extinguishing her light, Anne-Marie laid the stub on the step and then hurried behind them. When she emerged from the mission, the men were already sticking the gold into their saddlebags. “There is too much, boss,” Rodrigo grunted. “The horses can’t carry the load. We’ll have to come back.”

“Never. We take it all now. The animals, they are strong.”

“You have the gold. Can I leave now?” Anne-Marie was anxious to return to Creed. She suppressed a shudder of repulsion, picturing him in that pit of lizards. How would she get him out? How would she ever overcome her intense fear of iguanas long enough to help him—assuming he was still alive?

“Cortes does not care what you do.” He laughed, his evil voice piercing the air. “He has the gold!”

“What about Ollie?” Anne-Marie asked. She didn’t want him around when she came for Creed.

“Who cares about this fool, Ollie?” The outlaw laughed, tossing a grin at Rodrigo. “Please inform him that he no can have any gold.”

Tossing the empty crate aside, Cortes swung onto his horse. He
leered down at Anne-Marie, tipping his sombrero to her. “
Gracias, señorita
. You have been most helpful.”

Giving another maniacal laugh, he spurred his horse and the animal sprang forward. Rodrigo wheeled his animal and fell in behind him.

Anne-Marie waited until the two riders disappeared through the thicket and then raced to the carriage house. She grabbed the horse and needed supplies. Minutes later she emerged and rode swiftly to rescue Creed.

She had taken time to locate two long, thick ropes, fashion a kerosene torch, and secure the items to the saddle horn. When she located the well, she saw Ollie leaning against a rock, arms crossed, snoring. Her arrival stirred him, and he stared up sleepily. “Does the boss have the gold?”

She debated whether to tell him immediately about his misfortune. He wouldn’t take kindly to being shut out from the take or stick around to help her with Creed. The news would enrage the outlaw.

Sliding off the horse, she nodded. “He has it. You need to help me get Creed out of the well.”

“Well,” he crossed his arms smugly. “Maybe I don’t. Did the boss say I had to?”

“You’d better hurry. Cortes is riding into High Point right now to divide the gold.”

The outlaw’s face fell. “We’ll need a rope.”

“I have one, and a torch.” She untied the hemp and light from the saddle horn.

“Creed?” Anne-Marie raced to the well and fell on her stomach, peering into the gaping pit.
Dear Lord, please don’t let those crawly things have eaten him
. “Are you still in there?”

“Yes, I’m so comfortable I hate to leave.”

Incredulity and relief spilled over inside her. His voice didn’t sound as strong as it should, but it was Creed’s voice. He was alive!

“I can’t believe it.” She peered deeper into the pit, squinting to find
him. Nausea threatened when she saw the dim outline of a lizard. “I can’t find you.”

“I’m on a ledge just to your right.”

“The lizards didn’t eat you?”

“You don’t know anything about iguanas, do you?”

“No—and I don’t want to.”

“They spit on me.”

“What?”

“They spit on me,” he repeated.

“Why would they do that?”

“That’s their nature.”

“Oh. How far down is the ledge?”

“There is one ten feet down from the lip of the well. I’m sitting on a second ledge close to twenty feet below you.”

She thought for a moment, wishing it wasn’t pitch black, wishing she’d never gone to town for that silly cornmeal.

“Hold on, I’m coming after you.” She handed Ollie the lantern. “Hold this steady, and throw the rope when I tell you to.” She met the outlaw’s eyes sternly. “It is important that you do as I say and help me rescue Creed… or you won’t get any of the gold,” she added. The backhanded announcement was as close to telling him about his misfortune as she planned to come.

She saw the thought of riding off had crossed his mind, but he shrugged. “If that’s what the boss wants, but I’m not going down there.”

“You don’t have to; I am.”

“Good, ’cause I ain’t.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Don’t do anything foolish.” Creed’s voice echoed back to her.

“Hush up. I’m coming down.”

“Anne-Marie! No. There are lizards down here.”

Aware that what she was about to do was perhaps the most daring act that she’d ever performed, and perhaps the last thing she’d ever do,
Anne-Marie dropped a leg over the side of the pit and searched for a foothold. His injury had left Creed immobile. He would not have the strength to pull himself up. The toes of her boots scraped the sides until she found a niche. Testing its strength, she shifted her weight to one side, blindly groping for a second hold with the other boot.

“Turn around and go back,” Creed ordered.

“You’re not the boss now.” Step by agonizing step she made her way down the side of the crevice. Twice her foot slipped and she caught her breath, terrified by the thought of what lay below.

“Be careful,” he urged.

Hand over hand she lowered herself, scraping her knuckles against the sharp rocks that cut into her hands, praying that if she reached his shelf she wouldn’t knock them both to the bottom. Her rasping breath echoed harshly against the rock walls of the pit.

“Don’t look down,” Creed warned. “You won’t like what you see.”

“I don’t plan to look.”

“You’re afraid of lizards.”

“Don’t remind me, but I’ve grown accustomed to your face and I hate the thought of not seeing it every day.”

“I can take this as a compliment?”

“Sort of.” Grunting, she eased with a snail’s pace down the wall of the shaft.

“Go get Quincy—”

“Can’t talk right now. I have to concentrate.”

She continued her descent, searching for footholds and handholds, knowing that if she thought too much and too long about what she was doing, she would be lost.

“Careful.” When her foot touched his ledge his hand shot out to steady her.

“Creed?”

“I’m right here.” His hand grasped her ankle and he pulled her down beside him.

“Creed? Oh, Creed!” His chest felt solid and reassuring. Burying
her face in the curve of his neck, she held tightly to him for a moment while she caught her breath. “I thought you would be gone by now,” she whispered.

He held her close, smoothing her hair. “Tell me, how are we going to get out of here?”