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

figure so.”
    Anne-Marie sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “Are you suggesting something unlawful is going on?”
    He shrugged. “Someone might have been transferring those boxes to their wagon instead of delivering them. Lot of thievery going on in these parts. Guess most anything’s possible.”
    Anne-Marie looked at him, skepticism forming in her mind. “Exactly why are you and Creed traveling together?”
    The combination of an educated black man and Indian keeping company seemed suspect to her, unless there was an underlying motive, one the men had failed to mention.
    Accepting another hunk of bread from Eulalie, Quincy busied himself buttering it.
    “What were you and Creed doing when Creed rescued me?” she repeated.
    “I think Creed should explain that, ma’am, not me.”
    She studied him, trying to decide why he was so evasive. “Friends, maybe?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced up, smiling. “We’re that all right. Met years ago and formed a tight friendship.”
    “Where?”
    “Where what?”
    “Where did you meet and form a tight friendship?”
    “Through our work.”
    “You work together?”
    “I didn’t say that we worked together—I said we met at our work.”
    “Which is?”
    “Can’t tell you.” He glanced at Eulalie. “Ma’am, could I have some of those strawberry preserves?”
    “You work together,” Anne-Marie pursued, “but you can’t say where?”
    “Miss Eulalie, ma’am.” He spooned thick preserves on his bread. “These are quite possibly the best looking preserves I’ve ever seen. You put these up yourself?”
    Eulalie smiled. “I shore do, and I got more where those come from. Before you leave remind me to give you a jar… ” The two went into great detail about jams and jellies.
    Anne-Marie’s gaze narrowed on him. He was clearly avoiding the subject of Creed and their friendship. But why? She butted in on the preserves conversation. “Is it possible that you know something about that particular gold that you’re not telling me?”
    Was that why he was choosing his answers so carefully?
    “Ma’am, I guess when it comes right down to it, I don’t know much of anything,” he conceded. “I just eat my preserves and thank the good Lord for giving me another day.”
    “Well.” Anne-Marie sighed, biting into her bread. It was apparent she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him than his overwhelming desire for more jam. “I suppose Creed will know what to do about the strongboxes once he’s awake.”
    Quincy kept his eyes on his plate. “Yes, ma’am, I expect he will.”
    She watched as he ate the meager fare with appreciation, convinced he was hiding something from her. Obviously he and Creed were in cahoots, but she wasn’t going to get anything out of Quincy. Not this morning. Turning to Eulalie, she said quietly, “We’ll have to stay a few days—long enough for Creed to get back on his feet.”
    “Stay as long as you like. Be happy to have the company.”
    Turning to Quincy, Anne-Marie tried to gauge his reaction to her suggestion. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Adams? You don’t have to be anywhere at any particular time?”
    Now she had him cornered. If he was up to something, he’d have to tell her or he wouldn’t be able to finish whatever he was up to on time.
    “Fine with me, ma’am.”
    Oh, he was smart, all right. If he and Creed were working together, she’d never hear it from John Quincy Adams.
    The morning turned to one of waiting. Snow cleared and a cold wind rattled the old dwelling. Eulalie waited for bread and pies to come out of the oven, while Anne-Marie and Quincy waited on Creed’s return to consciousness. Eulalie wondered aloud if she’d baked enough bread for everyone and had put enough cinnamon in her apple pie; Anne-Marie wondered if Creed was really going to be all right and why Quincy was deceiving her; and Quincy wondered what he and Creed were going to tell Anne-Marie to satisfy her curiosity when