Free My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) by Lori Copeland

“It’s plain to see the shanty burned down. There’s nothing living around here now.”
    Cortes set his jaw. “Our outlaws could have buried the gold here, planning to come back later and get it.”
    “But where? No sir, I ’spect they’ve got the gold with them right now. If it were me, well, I wouldn’t let that gold outta my sight for one minute.” Butch looked around. The other men were nodding silently.
    “Idiots!” Cortes’s dark eyes narrowed with contempt. The indio , the negro, and the monja . They would pay for making Cortes look the estúpido .
    Oh, they would pay.

Six
    I ’m worried.” Anne-Marie drew her brows together when she turned from checking on Creed again. He had slept since they’d left Eulalie’s, and she had barely been able to rouse him throughout the day. “His fever’s come up.”
    “I’m not surprised.” The buckboard rattled along the rutted road as Quincy scanned the back roads.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “Southern patrols.”
    “Creed needs proper food and warmth.”
    “I know.”
    There was no shelter or food to be found. Huddling deeper inside a buffalo robe Eulalie had given them, she watched the passing scenery. Patches of dirty snow littered the hillsides, but a thin sun made the temperature bearable.
    A back wheel hit a pothole, jostling Creed. Upon hearing his groan, she quickly turned around, shooting Quincy a censuring look.
    “Be careful.”
    “I am, ma’am, I am.”
    Turning around, she wrapped the heavy buffalo robe around herself tighter in an effort to block the wind. “It wouldn’t do us any harm to have a nice meal and a warm bed, either, you know.”
    “No, ma’am, it wouldn’t.” Quincy’s eyes softened. “Are you warm enough?”
    “Yes, thank you.” She was only being polite. The robe helped, but a fierce wind stung her nose.
    “Do you have any ideas?” They couldn’t just wander the countryside like gypsies. They had no food, no clothing, no shelter, and it would be dark before long.
    “I’ve been thinking… there’s a mission up ahead. Creed and I overnighted there during a rainstorm a few months back. We could hole up there until Creed’s leg is better.”
    “How far?” She frowned. “It’ll be dark soon.”
    “Three, maybe four miles. I figure we’ll take shelter in some rancher’s barn tonight and then start out first thing in the morning. There’s always an egg lying around for the taking. We’ll be warm and fed, and then with a little luck, we’ll reach the mission by late tomorrow afternoon.”
    Anne-Marie turned to look over her shoulder at Creed again. “I don’t know, Quincy. The nuns are so busy with prayer and… he needs care, and soon.”
    “The mission is deserted now, ma’am—by the looks of it, has been for years. I don’t know what else we could…” Quincy’s voice faded when the buckboard rounded a bend, and they found two young, strong Indian warriors sitting astride war ponies in the middle of the road.
    “Oh, give us grace, oh Lord,” Quincy murmured.
    Anne-Marie sat up straighter when Quincy set the brake on the wagon. The old buckboard clattered to a halt a few feet in front of the horses. “Who are they?” she whispered.
    “Look to be Apache. They must be from the encampment.”
    The Indians, wearing war paint, regarded the three travelers, their dark eyes traveling slowly over the wagon and its occupants.
    “Do you suppose they understand English?” Anne-Marie whispered.
    “The way our luck’s been running? No, ma’am, not a word.”
    The four sat in the middle of the road, sizing each other up.
    Finally one of the Indians broke away, kneeing his horse to the back of the wagon. Anne-Marie closed her eyes when he slowed, peering into the wagon bed.
    “Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord,” Quincy agonized in a low whisper. “Miss, if you got any pull with the Man upstairs, now might be a good time to use it.”
    Anne-Marie winced. She didn’t have any pull; chances were the Man