My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wondered how the Lord would judge her means of support. Abigail said that since the money went to a worthy cause it wasn’t really stealing—they were just helping people make donations.
    The man shook his head. “Do I look gullible enough to believe that?”
    “Well, it could be that you’re no more Indian than I am a nun. You certainly had me fooled into thinking you didn’t speak a word of English.”
    He settled back on the cot, leaning against the wall. “At least I’m not impersonating a priest.”
    He did for the world look exactly like a full-blooded Indian, but he sure wasn’t acting like one.
    “You’re not a normal Indian,” she scoffed. “And if you are, you’re not uncivilized and uneducated like you want everyone to believe.”
    He laughed—a cold, mirthless sound in the small cell.
    “What do you find so amusing?” They were sitting in a cell, hopeless for the moment. She didn’t have money for bail and he wouldn’t help her. She might sit here for weeks. The sheriff couldn’t be serious about hanging them, of course. He was just trying to scare her.
    The Crow shifted. “If what I’ve gotten myself into couldn’t be judged ignorant, I don’t know what would. I’m sitting here in jail with a con artist, waiting to be hanged at sunrise.”
    “They’ll never hang us,” she said. “By morning they’ll realize their mistake… ” Her voice died away as the sound of hammering reached them. Stepping to the windows, she peered out, her heart filling her throat when she saw the large platform being erected in front of the jail. “Will you look at that,” she whispered. “What do you suppose they’re building?”
    “A gallows.”
    Her cheeks burned. “You’re not serious.”
    “Do I look like I’m attempting to amuse you?”
    She turned to glance over her shoulder at his solemn features. He didn’t look like he was teasing; he looked dead sober.
    Shuffling back to the cot, she sat down, sighing. She had always been smart, too smart for her own good, so if the two of them put their heads together, they could think of a way out of this. “Who are you, honestly?”
    He shook his head. “It is not important that you know.”
    “Tell me your name.” If she was going to die with him, she’d at least like to know his name.
    “Creed Walker.”
    “That isn’t an Indian name.”
    “I didn’t say it was.”
    “What is your Indian name?”
    His eyes fixed straight ahead. She’d met stubborn men, but this one took the prize.
    “Did you hear me?”
    “Has anyone ever mentioned that you talk too much?”
    “No. Never.”
    “Consider yourself informed.”
    “You look like an Indian, but you don’t sound like one,” she said. He was just a man. A rather striking and dangerous one, it would seem, but still a man.
    Stretching his full length on the bunk, he closed his eyes. “Let’s assume I’ve not been living among my people for many years.”
    “Why did you pretend not to understand me when I talked to you?”
    “Because it suited my purposes.”
    “Well, Mr. Walker, does it suit your purpose to get us out of here?”
    His brows drew together autocratically and he sat up. “What can I do? In case you haven’t noticed, those are steel bars I’m looking at.”
    “We have to do something. We can’t sit here and let them hang us.”
    He looked at her, shaking his head with disbelief. “Hasn’t it sunk in yet? We’re not getting out of here. The jail is too tight, the sheriff is too crooked. We are going to hang.”
    “Pooh. Something will happen—it always does.” After all, yesterday when her circumstances looked bleak, God had rescued her. He still looked out for her, didn’t He? If only Abigail were here—she’d figure a way out of this.
    They glanced up as the front door opened again. An unkempt man entered this time, followed by a black man. He was wearing the fanciest duds Anne-Marie had ever seen. He must be a gambler. From the top of his black derby to