Wyoming Renegade

“What medium do you prefer, oils or watercolors?” Josh took a bite of steak.

“Oils mostly.”

“In the classical or impressionist style?”

“You are familiar with the impressionists?”

Josh chuckled. “I’ve been known to wander into a museum from time to time.”

“You must have wandered a long way, because as far as I know, the closest museum showing impressionists is the Metropolitan in New York.”

“That’s right.” He lifted a forkful of potatoes to his mouth.

“You’ll excuse me if I’m a little surprised.”

“Why?”

“Well, you hardly seem the type. I mean…I thought…”

He chuckled again. “I’m a rancher. From time to time I have to go to New York on business. I’ve also been known to go to Chicago, and even all the way to San Francisco. I’ve been known to drop by a theater, and on rare occasions, a library.”

“Touché,” she replied with a ghost of a smile. “It isn’t often I meet men with an appreciation for art.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said. “This time I’m the one who will take it as a compliment.” He smiled a slow, easy smile that lit up his face like sunshine after a storm. “You, I mean Eddie here, mentioned something about a competition?”

She sliced into her chicken. “There’s a national competition for the most original sketch or painting that best depicts the culmination America’s Manifest Destiny.”

He sipped his coffee. “And you hope to find that in Gunlock?”

“Not in Gunlock but here in the West.” She put her fork down. “The western expansion typifies what’s best in America today. Pioneers taming a savage land. It shows the ultimate in character, strength, courage—”

“Patronization, condescension and forced assimilation,” Josh muttered.

“What?”

“Oh, I was only thinking about the Indians all those pioneers murdered in order to conquer the wilderness.”

“Murdered seems rather a harsh choice of words, don’t you think, Mr. Colter?”

“I call it like I see it.” He didn’t try to keep the sharpness from his voice. How could he when murder was so fresh in his mind?

If she noticed his sudden change of tone, she didn’t show it. Instead, she seemed to consider his remarks, then said simply, “I’d call it progress.”

“I see.” He thought of the high price the Indians had paid for this progress, knowing hers was the prevailing attitude. “I guess this means you won’t be making sketches of Indians then.”

“Indians?” Eddie spoke around cheeks pouched out with steak. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Good Lord, are there still Indians running around?” He fixed Alex with a hard stare. “You didn’t say anything about savages, Alex.”

There was that word again. Why the hell did all whites think all Indians were savages? When whites massacred Indians, it was a great victory. When Indians retaliated, it was a great slaughter.

For a moment he wondered what these good people would think if they knew he was half Indian?

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Josh reassured him. “With only a few exceptions, all those savages, as you call them, are on the reservations.”

“Whew.” Eddie heaved a sigh of relief, and Josh didn’t resent him for it. He was a boy. How could he know the truth? He wished they could see what it was like, how the Indians lived, then perhaps…

Eddie leaned in. “I was worried there for a minute, Mr. Colter. I mean, I agreed to come along to help Alex, you know, with the wagon and such, but I wasn’t counting on any trouble. Of course, I mean to protect her.”

Josh gave the boy the once-over. “And just who is it you are protecting her from?” By the look of him, he couldn’t protect a baby in a bathtub, let alone anything the frontier would throw at them. “I don’t want to worry you, but Indians are the least of your problems. San Francisco and New York might be civilized, but out here the James Boys are still holding up banks, not to mention several other gangs running loose between here and the Canadian border.”

“Outlaws?” Eddie repeated in a hushed whisper, as though he thought such men were lurking behind the potted palm.

“This is a wide-open country, you know,” Josh told them. “There isn’t a policeman or a sheriff on every corner. Hell, there aren’t even very many corners.”

Eddie turned a worried gaze on his cousin. “Alex, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Montana is awfully far.”

Alex stiffened. “Mr. Colter, please don’t frighten Eddie.” Then to Eddie, she said, “Don’t worry so, we’ll be fine. The mere fact that it is such a wide, open country means the chances of us running into some such group as the James Gang is highly unlikely.”

Eddie dragged in a breath. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Alex confirmed, not liking this turn of conversation. She had to finish this trip. She couldn’t do it alone, and she didn’t appreciate Mr. Colter scaring Eddie to death.

But all this talk about outlaws brought caution to the fore. She’d heard about men who pretended friendship to unsuspecting travelers, only to be scouting for some group who would later waylay them and rob them. She was a woman alone, well, nearly alone.

The caution bell in her head sounded.

It went to the level of a six-alarm fire when Josh Colter said, “I’m leaving tomorrow myself. Perhaps if you told me where, exactly, you are going, I could give you directions, tell you what to look out for and such. I believe you said something about Montana?”

“That’s right,” Eddie began, “there’s a friend of Alex’s who has a ranch—”

“You know,” Alex interrupted, “it occurs to me, Mr. Colter, that I don’t know you very well. And if what you say is true, then it would be unwise for me to discuss my plans…with anyone.” She gave him her sweetest smile in an effort to soften her words.

Smart girl, he thought grudgingly. Too smart. “I applaud your caution. It’s just that I’m heading north myself and thought I could ride along, give you a hand.”

“Yes, Alex,” Eddie entreated, “wouldn’t that be a good idea?”

Alex’s expression was blank. “It’s very kind of you to offer, Mr. Colter. However, I think we’ll be fine by ourselves. We are well-armed, should the need arise. I am an excellent shot,” she added deliberately.

Josh made a derisive sound in his throat. “What do you shoot? Targets?”

“Why, yes.”

“It’s a lot different when you’re about to blow a hole in a man.”

The silence was long and discomforting. Alex pushed her plate away and folded and replaced her napkin on the table. “I’m quite finished with dinner. How about you, Eddie?” She stood.

“Well, no.” Eddie glanced between the two. “Oh, yes, I’m finished.” He stood. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Colter.” They shook hands again.

She didn’t extend her hand this time. “Good evening, Mr. Colter. It was nice to have met you.”

With that, she turned and strode from the dining room with Eddie following close behind.

Josh sat there for a long time, his dinner forgotten.

Lady, you and I are a long way from finished.

Chapter Four

The team had been hitched for the past thirty minutes. The remaining supplies had been loaded and all was ready. Alex was sleepy but excited as they pulled away from Frankel’s livery stable at daybreak.

The wagon creaked and groaned like the old-timer it was. The canvas covering was dirty white and looked a little thin where it curved over the front bow. It flapped and fluttered with the movement and with the early morning breeze.

Not a soul stirred as they rolled out of town. Too early even for the dogs, she thought, stifling a yawn with the back of her gloved hand.

She shifted on the seat, grateful that Eddie had put a folded blanket over the rough wood. She could tell, already, this seat was hard as granite and it was going to get a lot harder as the day wore on—and her behind wore down.

Eddie was engrossed in trying to get a little speed out of the team, moving about as fast as ice freezing.

“Git up!” Eddie ordered with another slap of the thick leather reins. If the horses were at all impressed or concerned, they gave no indication of it.

“This is war,” Eddie grumbled to the team, and Alex chuckled.

Well, war or not, for better or worse, they were off. As they rolled away from the town, she had a minute or two of second thoughts. After all, she’d put her whole future on this undertaking. Her father had called it a wager, and that was true, but there was more than just money on the line, there was her happiness. For all her bravado, she had her doubts. Oh, she knew she was a good artist, better than most, not as good as others— not yet anyway. But still, that didn’t mean she could win a national contest, this one specific contest. She was an unknown in America. And she painted in a style that many were only lukewarm about—impressionism.

It was all or nothing now. She was determined to have it all.

About a mile out of town, they rolled through a stream, the crystal clear water churning around their moving wheels.

The road turned north and so did they. The sky was brighter now, nearly white at the horizon, darker shades of gray the farther west she looked.

The persistent breeze fluttered the hair at Alex’s neck where it was tucked up under her battered old Stetson. Goose bumps skittered over her arms. Instinctively she tugged her coat closed in front, overlapping the edges without doing up the half-dozen black bone buttons. “Brr. It’s cold, isn’t it?” Not cold enough to frost her breath, but darned close, and she rubbed her hands together again to ward off the chill.

Eddie didn’t comment.

“What are you scowling about?” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Jeez, Alex, it’s practically the middle of the night. How can you be so cheerful?” His youthful face was screwed up tighter than a mason jar.

She chuckled. “Mornings. I love mornings.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t, so give a guy a break, will ya? I need the sun to be up, I mean really up, for a couple of hours, then I can put words together.”

“Okay. Okay.” She held up her hands in surrender. “I get the idea. I promise not to talk to you for a while, how’s that?” Instead, she focused on the surrounding countryside.

The sunrise had turned into a glorious display of pink and red and lavender, the sun inching up like a golden ball rising from some sorcerer’s magic box. It was, in a word, breathtaking

Overhead, a pair of red-tailed hawks appeared in the sky, circling, gliding, hardly flapping their wings at all, just soaring effortlessly on the warming air.

Around them the world was quiet. As far as she could see, there was nothing but rolling hills and grass and sagebrush. Way in the west there was the shadowy blue shape of mountains, but between here and there, just prairie: no trees, no houses and no people.

Amazing. Having lived her whole life in one large city or another, it was startling. Just miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. It might have been intimidating; instead, in a way that was unexpected, she felt not overwhelmed but calm, free. It was as though she’d come back to a place that was familiar, which was absurd, but she felt it all the same.

They rode along in companionable silence for the next hour or more. And though there wasn’t much to sketch, she felt as though something were missing if she didn’t have her sketch pad in her hand, so she climbed over the seat to retrieve it.

The back of the wagon was filled with boxes and crates and bags of supplies. She reflected that maybe she did overbuy on the supplies: canned food including milk and fruit, dried food, grain for the horses, just in case. Yes, the livery man had told her it wasn’t necessary, but suppose the horses didn’t like eating grass? She’d had a colt once who wouldn’t eat anything but hay from a certain farm. She wasn’t taking any chances.

There were two trunks of her clothes and a couple of carpetbags and the wicker traveling case, and then Eddie had a couple of carpetbags, though how in the world he’d manage with so little was beyond her.

Her sketch pad—actually there were a dozen of them—was tucked in the red wooden trunk with all her other art supplies: oils, palette, thinner, brushes and the rest. She pushed aside the several precut pieces of canvas already rolled up, and some precut pieces of wood for making frames to hold the canvas.

Pulling out one sketch pad, she let the lid slam shut. Feet braced, she staggered up to the front again.

In an unladylike flurry of petticoats and legs, she rejoined Eddie on the seat, grateful he was her cousin, whom she’d known all her life.

“Lunch in a couple of hours, okay?” Eddie muttered as she settled beside him.

“Okay.” Neither of them was much for breakfast.

The road, two ruts in the loamy brown soil, stretched straight in front of them, dipping like a dragon’s back as it disappeared over each small hill only to reappear again on the next rise.

The sun shone summer bright, warming her face and arms, drying her skin. She was fair, and prone to sun burn, so she rolled her sleeves down.

Thank goodness she’d had the good sense to bring her Stetson. Okay, it wasn’t her hat exactly, it was Davy’s. He’d worn it that summer they’d traveled to Santa Fe. Her father had bought Davy the hat at a shop in the square. Davy had been so proud. Wearing it made her feel close to her brother. Lord love him, Davy had always had an adventurous nature. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

With warm thoughts of her brother on her mind, she settled back, her sketch pad on her lap, a pencil in her hand, only to surge to her feet. “Look! There! It’s antelope.” Eyes wide, she pointed in another direction. “Look, Eddie! There. Aren’t they beautiful?” Spread out on the hillside, bold as you please, were antelope, hundreds of antelope. Their tan-and-white coloring had made them almost impossible to see until one of them had moved.

“Stop the wagon!” Heart racing, she didn’t wait, just started over the side. Antelope. Just look at them.

“Whoa!” Eddie pulled back on the reins and slammed the brake into place with a clunk. The horses neighed and shook their heads in objection to the sudden command. “Whoa!” The wagon rocked forward and back.

Alex managed to find footing somewhere. All she knew was there were antelope and she was going to sketch them. She plopped down right there, her skirt ballooning out around her.

Eddie slid across the seat and spoke to her from above. “Jeez, Alex, what’s the matter with you?”

“I can’t draw in a moving wagon.”

“Well, you can’t draw if you’re crushed under a wheel, either.”

“Yes, yes.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, already focused on the animals. “Look at them. Aren’t they beautiful?” She arched her hand and arm to a new angle. She was only half talking to him, mostly she was talking to herself.

Fast as she could, she made her sketch, squinting against the sunlight. “This is wonderful,” she muttered, her hand flying over the paper.

“Come on, Alex, between you and these lumbering excuses for horses, we’ll never get there if we have to keep stopping. Besides, I have the feeling we’re going to see a lot of antelope before this trip is finished.”

“Wait.”

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie prompted her again. “Come on.”

“Okay. Okay.” Putting the finishing touches on her sketch, she scrambled to her feet. She knew he was right, they probably would be seeing a lot of antelope and buffalo and elk and about a dozen other animals this trip; it was just that this was the first.

Brushing off her skirt, she handed her drawing pad up to Eddie then, unaided, climbed up.

From then on, she kept the pad on her lap, her hand lightly caressing the rough paper. Paper and pencil, canvas and paints depicted who she was as accurately as a sketch depicted what she saw. She’d been like this ever since that first visit to the Louvre, when she had been twelve and they had been on a family vacation to the Continent.

She could remember how her parents had coaxed and threatened to get her to go along. She’d wanted to visit a certain carousel that was near the cathedral. She wasn’t interested in paintings by dead men, for heaven’s sakes.

But her parents had won out, as parents had a way of doing. It would be good for her, they’d promised in a way that she’d known meant she was going to be bored silly. She’d given in and gone along so they’d get it over with, and she could visit the carousel.

The museum was large, a converted palace, with huge corridors stretching this way and that. She remembered how loud her footsteps had sounded on the marble floors and she’d had this tendency to want to tiptoe and whisper.

But from the first painting, she had been enthralled.

It had seemed so easy then. She’d learn to draw and paint and have her paintings hanging in museums. Ha! It was, without a doubt, the hardest thing she’d ever done. For all the hard work, for all the gnashing of teeth and pounding of fists, she’d stayed with it, because every time she walked away, she couldn’t escape. Scenes, paintings were everywhere she looked. Ideas seemed to haunt her, to materialize right in front of her. She had to paint, that’s all there was to it.

Mama had been her champion until she died. Alex missed her terribly. True to her mother’s faith in her, she’d continued, returning to Paris to finish her studies. Then, just when things were breaking for her, her father had wired for her to return home. He’d cited recent changes in certain European governments; a fear of trouble brewing was his cryptic comment. She had been shocked, disappointed. She had wired back, asked for extensions but she hadn’t been able to delay the inevitable.

That had been almost a year ago. She had asked to return to France. Her father always had excuses, reasons, most of which had something to do with her darling baby brother.

Yes, Davy was always in trouble, but it was always innocent. Who could stay angry at him when he smiled? He had a smile that would melt a witch’s heart.

Davy and Alex. Alex and Davy. Over the years, they’d been a team. When they’d been little, she’d been the brains and he’d been the brawn. In other words, she thought up the mischief and he carried it out.

Her ears were still ringing with the lecture. She was convinced Papa had it written down somewhere—either that or he’d memorized the darn thing because, every time, it was the same, word for word. They must conform. Good boys and girls didn’t behave in such a manner. They had a reputation to uphold. He had a reputation to uphold as San Francisco’s leading banker.

She and Davy had tried to take it seriously. They’d tried to conform. Mostly they’d tried not to recite the speech along with him.

Mama had encouraged them both to follow their dreams. Alex had pursued her art but Davy, being the only son, had been expected to come into the family business and so his dream of writing the great American novel was never realized. Perhaps that was why they were so close, why they’d always supported each other…until that day six months ago. The day of Davy’s banishment.

Those first few days she couldn’t have felt any more guilty if they’d sold their favorite puppy to wandering gypsies.

Yes, Davy had gotten out of hand. Yes, his gambling debts far exceeded any income he could earn, which he didn’t. Yes, he had been spending an inordinate amount of time at a certain saloon on the Barbary Coast and the rumor was there was a woman.

Her father had convinced her that they must send Davy away for his own good.

His own good. She’d said those words like a litany for days before and weeks after. Now, having seen Gunlock…

She shook her head. No wonder Davy had taken off. There were no stores, no theaters, nothing to occupy a young man’s idle time. It was a miracle he’d lasted as long as he had. Cowboying must have sounded very exciting to Davy.

Cowboys were the stuff of dime novels, of adventure, of romance, of men like Josh Colter—dark, powerful, dangerous with warm sable eyes that seemed to look right through her and into her soul. A delicious warmth curled in her stomach and moved out through bone and flesh. She swallowed hard.

Never mind him. Get your mind back on business.

Yes, business. She stiffened and snatched back any further thoughts of the tempting Mr. Colter. Up ahead, a dust devil whirled across their path and disappeared in the grassland. She dragged in a calming breath, the tangy scent of sage sharp and refreshing. The sun continued to warm her face, adding to the heat that had stirred inside her.

Spring, the time for things new and bright and fresh, and sometimes for infatuation. Ah, of course, that was probably why she was feeling all this… this attraction.

Chapter Five

About an hour before sunset, Eddie veered off the trail and headed for a grove of cottonwoods near a stream. They’d put in a long day. Judging by her stiff back, it was more than long enough. Besides, this was the only shade for miles.

“I’ll take care of the horses,” he told her, jumping down from the wagon seat. His hat fell off. He snatched it up and slapped it on his thigh a couple of times. “See if you can find some firewood.” He tossed the hat up onto the seat.

Alex climbed down without help. She was getting used to this wagon business.

She peered at him over the edge of the wagon box. “Firewood?”

“Down by the stream,” Eddie added, with a chuckle at her uncertain expression.

“Of course.” Come on; Alex, where else would you find wood except down by the trees. “How much wood?”

“An armful will get us started. Try to find some different sizes, not all big ones, okay?”

“Okay.”

Walking felt good. The muscles in her bottom were tight as a well-stretched canvas and moving, flexing, really helped. What she needed was a feather pillow, the one thing she’d forgotten.

Camping wasn’t going to be easy, she could tell that right now. Thank goodness, she had Eddie to take care of the horses and cook.

She reminded herself that she’d better get the firewood or there wouldn’t be any dinner, and she was hungry. The cold meat and crackers they’d had for lunch wasn’t exactly sticking to her ribs.

At the top of the embankment, she hesitated, sizing up the slope. There was only one way down.

She hitched up her skirt, yards of green linen and more yards of white petticoats, and looped it all over one arm like a cape. The other she kept free to use for balance. Good thing, because two steps down her foot sank and twisted. She lost her balance and ran the last three steps to keep from falling.

“Well, that was graceful,” she spoke out loud.

Tucking her hair back behind both ears, she took another second or two to collect herself. The stream bubbled along in front of her, pooling in a particularly deep spot on the opposite side. The soft soil was rich and dark and the air was moist. Ferns, green and lush, sprouted around a large rock at the edge of the pool. Overhead, a songbird chirped its cheerful song. Now this was more like it.

Her grumbling stomach was an urgent reminder that she needed to get moving. Ten minutes later she had an armful of wood and, going up the embankment, she was careful to sidestep slowly. She made it with no trouble.

She spotted Eddie near the wagon, where he’d tied the team to the rear wheel. He had a horse’s hoof balanced on his bent knee.

She shifted the wood to the other arm, unmindful of the dirt smudging the front of her shirtwaist. “Is he okay?”

“I think so.” Hanging on to the hoof, Eddie positioned himself around to get a better view in the fading light. “There’s a stone caught in the hoof and I want to make sure there’s no damage. Can’t have the horse coming up lame. Would you mind starting the fire?”