Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance)
Read Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance) Online
Authors: Elaine Levine
Tags: #Lakota, #Sioux, #Historical Western Romance, #Wyoming, #Romance, #Western, #Defiance, #Men of Defiance, #Indian Wars
AGNES
AND THE
RENEGADE
A
Men of Defiance Novel
by
© 2014 by Elaine Levine. All rights reserved
The Men of Defiance series continues with the long-awaited conclusion to Chayton’s story!
The Artist...
Alone on the remote prairie in Wyoming Territory, Agnes Hamilton plans to spend a summer painting landscapes of the rugged terrain…until she comes face to face with the renegade Lakota warrior hiding out in the bluffs above her rented cabin. As wild as the territory, haunted by all he’s lost, the warrior becomes the focus of her art, filling canvas after canvas like a madness.
…And the Warrior
Chayton has lost everything to the white invaders—his family, his people, his world. He lives in the hunting grounds stolen from his tribe, a Lakota warrior, feared by all, claimed by none…until she invades his valley—and his heart. Something about the blue-eyed woman draws him out of the dark place he’s existed in for so long, but loving her means he’ll have to step into her world and claim the heritage left him by his white mother…and that he will never do.
CHAPTER ONE
Defiance, Wyoming Territory, May 1879
Aggie put the last pin in her hair with shaking hands. She could hear voices downstairs in the boardinghouse’s large kitchen. Her landlord, Logan Taggert, and his family had arrived. When she’d queried him about the possibility of leasing his hunting cabin for a summer spent painting, he’d quickly accepted. She’d been clear about her gender, age, and experience. All her work had been as a student under Theo Hamilton, her teacher, mentor, and adoptive father. She’d never stepped out on her own before. And truthfully, had Theo not died the winter past, she would still be his student. She wondered whether she would satisfy the Taggerts’ expectation of an artist tenant.
She gave a cursory look at herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her light brown hair was too silky to stay neatly coiffed without an excess of pins. Her blue eyes were unexceptional. She wasn’t particularly curvy, either—a fact that had never bothered her before and didn’t now. She was used to assessing the world and its inhabitants and rarely gave any thought to her own appearance. It wasn’t as if she would be doing a self-portrait any time soon. She smiled when she thought of the ones Theo had done of himself in the second half of his life. She treasured those portraits now. She hoped she didn’t seem too waif-like for her new landlord; if Mr. Taggert thought she wasn’t equal to the difficulties of life in a remote cabin, he could still turn her away.
“Miss Hamilton! The Taggerts are here!” Maddie, the boardinghouse proprietress, called up to her.
“I’ll be right down!” she answered. Her dress, one of only three she was bringing with her, was a simple cotton in a purple, two-tone checkered pattern. It buttoned up the front, and had a hem, cuffs, and a collar of ivory cotton. She tugged on her sleeves and straightened her spine. If her landlord and his family did turn her away, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Theo had left her a modest inheritance that included their new warehouse in Denver and its apartment, plus a small annual stipend. The arrangement she’d made with the Taggerts suited her needs—and budget—perfectly. The cabin she’d leased from them was in an isolated spot near interesting land features. For the sum she paid, they were to keep it fully stocked with food supplies and provide her with the use of a horse for the summer.
Without the Taggerts’ help, it might not be a good idea to go to such a remote location as their isolated hunting cabin. If they withdrew their support now, she would have to find other subject matter for her work—perhaps a sampling of frontier towns like Defiance.
She slipped the strap of her art bag over her head, picked up her carpetbag, draped her linen duster over her arm, then grabbed her wide-brimmed Plainsman hat and hurried from her room. Her trunks and crates of art supplies were already downstairs, ready for loading. She came to an abrupt stop in the kitchen when she saw the Taggerts; she’d thought they’d be much older, but they were close to her age.
“Miss Hamilton, I’m very pleased to meet you!” Mr. Taggert came forward to introduce himself, his wife, and their foster daughter, White Bird. All three of them greeted her warmly, easing her worry. Both Taggert adults had blond hair and Scandinavian features—she with warm, brown eyes and he with cool gray eyes. Their foster daughter, who might have been nine or ten, looked nothing like them with her warm olive skin, big dark eyes, and thick black hair.
Mrs. Taggert took Aggie’s hand and squeezed it. “I had no idea you were so young.”
Aggie looked between her and Mr. Taggert. “Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not.” Mrs. Taggert smiled. “We’re always happy to help artists. Your portfolio was impressive. We can’t wait to see the work you’ll do out here.”
A little tension eased from Aggie’s spine.
“I hope you don’t mind, Miss Hamilton, but I did an inventory of the supplies you’ve packed,” Mr. Taggert said. “I think we should stop at the general store to pick up a few more things. And I noticed you don’t have a gun.”
Her tension returned full force. “No, I don’t. I don’t know how to use one and would likely not, even if I needed it.” She glanced at the adults in the room. “I thought you said the area where your cabin is was settled and…peaceful.”
Mrs. Taggert and White Bird looked up at Mr. Taggert, who gave them a reassuring smile that came a heartbeat too slowly. “It is. I’m only thinking of snakes or mountain lions.”
“Oh. Well, then, no. I’m not coordinated enough to shoot a snake. And by the time I happened to see a mountain lion, it would surely be too late.” A terrible thought entered her mind. “Unless you mean for me to hunt for my food, which I can’t do.”
Mr. Taggert laughed. “Not at all, Miss Hamilton. Our agreement included weekly provisions. The gun would be for your protection. The cabin’s ten miles from us at the ranch.”
A little shiver of doubt cooled her enthusiasm—but not her determination. “I understand. However, my funds are limited for such purchases. I would prefer not to buy a gun at this point.”
“Understood. If there’s trouble of any sort, we’ll bring you up to the house.” Mr. Taggert loaded her things into the bed of the wagon. She and White Bird sat on the back bench while Mr. and Mrs. Taggert sat up front. They took their leave of Maddie, waving to her as they pulled forward into the town. It had poured overnight, and though the sky was now a clear, brilliant blue, the street was clogged with mud. Mr. Taggert kept the wagon to the side of the road, where the horses’ hooves and the wagon wheels could get some traction.
They drove only a couple of blocks before stopping in front of a general store. Mr. Taggert helped them all down. Aggie followed Mrs. Taggert and White Bird into the store. A rich scent filled her nostrils as she entered—tobacco, burlap, licorice, wood smoke. The store held the chill of the night in it; the heat from the woodstove was comforting. She took another deep breath, adding coffee and tea to the list of fragrant scents. She strolled around the store, taking note of the goods available.
Mrs. Taggert waved her over. “Miss Hamilton, these are our friends Jim and Sally Kessler.” Aggie nodded at the older couple as Mrs. Taggert continued, “Miss Hamilton is an artist. She’s rented the hunting cabin south of our house for the summer.”
Mrs. Kessler had an odd expression. “The one out by the bluffs?”
“That’s the one.” Mrs. Taggert nodded.
The shopkeeper’s wife’s eyes widened. “Is it safe?”
“Of course it’s safe. We wouldn’t let her have the cabin if it weren’t.”
“But”—Mrs. Kessler looked at her then back at Mrs. Taggert—“but
he’s
out there.”
Mrs. Taggert sent Mrs. Kessler a meaningful glance, nodding her head almost imperceptibly toward her daughter. The shopkeeper’s wife dropped the conversation, smoothly switching to Mrs. Taggert’s shopping list.
Aggie wandered around the store, preoccupied with Mrs. Kessler’s whispered warning. Who was the man she was worried about? In what way was he a danger? After a few minutes, Aggie went outside, seeking the fresh air to clear her mind. The Taggerts wouldn’t have rented her their cabin if the situation there were dangerous. And where they lived was not that far away. If an active danger was present, it would affect them as well—surely they would not remain in the area?
As she leaned against the railing on the boardwalk in front of the store, she drew deep and calming breaths of the warm morning air. She knew the day would heat up rapidly, drying the quagmire in the middle of the road, here and on the trails they would travel today.
The general store was on the edge of town at the convergence of two roads—one led back into the residential area where Maddie’s boardinghouse was, the other led around a bend and into the business district. It was a quaint and bustling town, with its petite white church, small cottages, and newer brick homes.
She could tell Defiance was a thriving outpost. The railroad spur stopped there once a day, making travel down to Cheyenne, and from there to Denver, easily accomplished. Telegraph wires followed the train tracks and led to several business establishments, including the general store. The town was remote, but it was connected to the rest of the world. Its modern conveniences made her feel better about having chosen it as her base of travel for the summer.
As she leaned lazily against one of the boardwalk’s support beams, she watched a rider come into town. An
Indian
. He rode a black-and-white spotted pony, moving with its rolling gait as if the horse was an extension of himself. The horse had a yellow circle drawn about one eye. Other symbols decorated its hip. A couple of feathers were tied at the top of its mane.
Although the horse was decorated, the man was not. Straight black hair spilled around his shoulders. His face was unpainted, his clothes simple—a fringed deerskin tunic over leggings and moccasins. The Indian sat on an unusual pad and a colorful blanket. The reins and halter were not the usual tack, but were made of finely braided rawhide. He looked over at the store and saw her. Aggie’s entire body tightened as his eyes locked with hers. Without cause or provocation, a chill slipped through her mind—not of fear exactly, as he hadn’t threatened her. More a warning, an awareness.
As she watched, he took his horse to the hitching post, moving from the pink wash of the morning sun into the blue shadow of the store’s building. She noticed he didn’t tie his horse, just let the reins fall forward in front of it. He collected a thick package he’d brought, swung his leg over his mount’s neck, and slid off its back. She couldn’t look away from him as he started up the stairs. Nor did he look away from her.
She studied him, remembering everything about him, cataloging his features as she often did when studying a new model. When she got to the cabin, she’d paint him, she decided. His face was narrow, his cheekbones high, his chin broad, his mouth wide. His nose was straight, triangular. His eyes were as black as his hair. His brows were straight slashes over dark, almond-shaped eyes. He had no hair on his jaw, and none that she could see through the ties of his tunic or on his forearms. His skin was a warm brown, even in the shade of the boardwalk. Tall and lean, he walked toward her with the limber prowl of a wolf. Though he had no weapons on him, she didn’t doubt he was capable of terrible violence.
