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

Her eyes traveled the length of his ragged form. He was from an impoverished tribe. Even the leather moccasins he wore were old and threadbare.

Pity momentarily flooded her, and her compassion deepened when she saw that he was shivering from the cold.

Drawing a deep breath, she glanced about the campsite, wondering if either one of them would make it through the night. She didn’t see how. They had nothing, virtually nothing, to protect them from the elements.

“Do you have a blanket?” She mimed rubbing her shoulders.

His gaze fixed on the shower of sparks shooting up from the dry timber.

“Perhaps we should huddle together. We have to do something or we’ll both die!”

The man remained stoically silent.

She thought for a moment and then tried again. Pointing at the fire, she lifted her brows in question. Food? Surely he could understand that. They had ridden for hours. He had to be as hungry as she was. Didn’t his kind run down rabbits on foot or catch fish with their bare hands? She glanced around the campsite and her heart sank when she spied a stream that was little more than a trickle of water. There would be nothing in there to ease their hunger.

She rose and began to pace around the campfire, her frustration
mounting. She had to try to think of a way out of this. If she had to be stuck with a man, why couldn’t it be one who understood simple English? The other girls would surely have a laugh when this was over and Anne-Marie told them about her captor. At least Amelia and Abigail had been rescued by men who undoubtedly spoke or understood a common language.

Positioning herself on a rock, she focused on the sounds coming from the bushes. She wasn’t squeamish. It took more than rustling sounds in the thicket to spook her, but she had never been out alone much at night.

And she had never depended on a man for anything.

She didn’t like the fact for the time being that she was dependent on one now—and especially this particular man.

She bit her lower lip. If it weren’t so late, she’d scare up her own supper. Her eyes returned to the dense thicket, but it was extremely dark.

Not a hint of moon shone through the bare tree branches. In another few minutes she would barely be able to see her hand in front of her face, and she didn’t have a gun.

Shivering, she burrowed deeper into the woolen nun’s habit she’d been wearing as a disguise during the caper that had landed them in the jail wagon. The shrieking wind reminded her of how little protection the disguise was in a full-blown blizzard. Her gaze returned to the Indian. At least her habit was warmer than what he was wearing.

He stirred, adding wood to the fire, seemingly oblivious of her presence.

Miniature snowflakes began to form in the air as the two forlorn figures huddled close to the fire.

Long minutes of silence passed when Anne-Marie decided to take matters into her own hands. She was so hungry she couldn’t sleep, even if she wanted to, which was impossible in such deplorable conditions. She had no idea what she would find beyond the rustling bushes, but she—

She stiffened as the corner of her eye caught sight of something slithering across the ground. A lizard seeking the warmth of the fire.

She lowered her eyes to the toe of her boot, and her throat squeezed so tightly with fear that she couldn’t make a sound.

A pair of reptilian eyes stared up at her.

There were few things in life Anne-Marie dreaded, but a lizard was one of them. As a child, she had slipped into an abandoned well and spent the next hour in a bed of various species of lizards before Father Luis and Sister Agnes had been able, with the help of a long rope, to pull her out. For years afterward Anne-Marie couldn’t close her eyes without reliving the horror of that old well and the slithering reptiles that had mercilessly crawled over her body while she lay paralyzed with terror.

Cold yellow-green eyes stared back at her while she attempted to find her voice. She squeaked, and then squeaked again, trying to gain the Indian’s attention.

The man calmly piled more wood on the fire.

By willing her vocal cords to move, she succeeded in making a small, barely perceptible noise pass her lips as her eyes riveted on the intruder reclining on the top of her left boot.

Glancing up, the man finally caught Anne-Marie’s anguished stare. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes warning her not to move. The hairs on the back of her neck rose when she saw the glint of a blade appear in his hand.

With catlike stealth, he advanced on the lizard. The knife blade reflected the fire’s dancing flames, looking more sinister than any gun. The man’s black eyes glittered as he concentrated on his prey. Anne-Marie’s gaze beseeched him to move faster, but he showed no signs of understanding. Instead he crept closer, each step methodically calculated.

While still a few feet away, he took aim and let the knife find its mark.

Anne-Marie’s eyes rolled back in her head, and with a soft whimper she slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Snow had started to fall heavily when the Indian knelt beside the sister to check her pulse. He laid his fingers on the base of her throat, his eyes softening when he detected a strong heartbeat. For so small a sparrow, the sister had much spirit. His gaze traced her delicate features. It had been some time since he had seen such a lovely woman.

Bending forward, he gently picked her up and moved her closer to the fire.

His gaze lingered on her beauty when he slowly straightened. Snow was gathering on her dark lashes, and in the flickering firelight her face radiated a childlike innocence.

Kneeling again, he tucked the skirt of her habit around her tightly, making sure the wind could not penetrate her small frame.

When he stood, his eyes moved regretfully to the bushes where he had thrown the lizard carcass. Too bad she was so afraid of the creature; it would have made an adequate meal.

His eyes once again returned to the sister. She was such a beautiful woman to have chosen to live out her life in a convent. He briefly speculated as to why. Dedication like hers was not often found in one so young.

A moment later, carrying his knife, he disappeared into the heavy thicket.

Anne-Marie opened her eyes to see large, cottony white balls floating down in the moonlight, settling like feather down on her cheeks. For the longest moment she couldn’t remember where she was.

Staring up, she saw a layer of white coating the tops of the trees, their branches decked out in glistening winter finery. Icicles dripped from the boughs of cedar trees, turning branches into dazzling Christmas tree ornaments.

She lay drinking in the magnificent sight. The night was so silent she could almost hear smoke drifting from the fire.

When her memory rushed back she bolted upright. Where was the Indian? The campfire blazed brightly, but he was nowhere in sight. Panic seized her and she called out, her voice hollow in the icy stillness. She sat for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Had he left her? What if he had taken the horse and ridden off, leaving her to fend for herself? A groan escaped her when she remembered the lizard and the speed with which the Indian’s knife had killed it.

A sound drew her attention, and she glanced up, catching back a shout when she saw the man returning. He was carrying something in his right hand.

“There you are!” she called out. “I was afraid you’d left me here—alone.”

Her eyes focused on the meat he was carrying, and her stomach rumbled with hunger. “Thank goodness you found something.” She wasn’t sure what he held, but by now it didn’t matter. She’d settle for anything to appease her empty stomach.

Moving to the fire, the man deftly skewered the meat and hung it over the hot flame.

“What is it?” she asked, not expecting a response, but just to hear a voice breaking the unnerving silence. “Well, no matter, it looks delicious,” she added a moment later.

They sat in silence, surrounded by falling snow and the occasional sound of fat dripping into the fire.

When the meat was nearly black, the Indian removed it from the spit and laid it aside to cool.

After a while he tore the fare into chunks and handed her a portion. She couldn’t hide the trembling in her hands when she took it from him.

His eyes darted to hers briefly, and she smiled back in gratitude. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”

Picking up the crusted meat, she told herself to be grateful for the kindness he had shown her. Maybe they couldn’t communicate, but at least he had treated her with respect, and she should consider herself fortunate.

He paused as if waiting for something.

When she returned his gaze vacantly, his eyes fell away, and he began eating.

Later he tossed the last bone aside and settled near the fire and closed his eyes.

Anne-Marie rolled herself up in a blanket he provided from his saddlebags and lay down near the fire. Was there a woman somewhere tonight concerned about his welfare? Tall, sleek muscle ridges showed through the rugged buckskin. He was handsome to be sure—or he could be most striking with the proper care. A good scrubbing, a pair of scissors, and a shave would make a big difference. She looked away when her cheeks heated. What thoughts! Abigail would think she’d lost her mind.

She studied the worsening weather. “Maybe we should sleep close together.” The offer came out louder than she’d intended. She didn’t mean anything improper by the suggestion. If he planned to hurt her he would have done so by now. If they combined their body heat, they might survive the night.

In the distance coyotes—or something worse—howled. She wasn’t going to dwell on that fact for fear that panic would set in again.

“With the weather worsening, the good Lord would not hold us accountable for trying to survive the elements,” she continued, more to herself than to him, because he didn’t appear to be listening. The suggestion was brazen and dangerous but he couldn’t take offense. He didn’t understand a word she was saying. They would be frozen carcasses by morning, and if she dared creep closer to him for warmth she might very well end up in the bushes with the lizard carcass.

The wind howled through the bare tree branches when she rolled to her side and stared at the fire. She was safe. She huddled deeper into her habit. He thought her to be a holy woman. She was only using common sense; she didn’t want either of them to freeze to death. At the moment he was her only hope of reaching a town alive, and the thought of anything warm, no matter how unkempt and smelly, appealed to her survival instincts.

“Well… you can let me know if you should change your mind,” she said over her shoulder. Then she sat up to see if he had heard.

Rolling to his side, the man presented his back to her.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, the weight of the world heavy on her shoulders.

She didn’t know about his plans, but her goals were clear. She must stay alive. The McDougal sisters were the primary support for the mission, and without them, the mission would have to close.