Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance) Read Free Page A

herself. She’d eaten late—it had taken her a while to organize her gear. And she’d spent hours sketching the Indian she’d seen in town. She closed her eyes and let herself dwell in the heat of his gaze. No one had ever looked at her the way he did. What would have happened had the fight not broken out?
    When she opened her eyes, the evening’s gloaming light had softened the world around her, coloring the clouds and land in pastels far more beautiful than anything she could paint.
    She walked a small circle around her house, looking at the expansive land surrounding the cabin. Off to the north, she could see a line of sandstone bluffs. Perhaps that would be the first area she would go exploring once Mr. Taggert brought her horse.
    After her walk, she prepared to retire for the night, drawing water from the pump to fill the pitchers in the house and the water kettle for the morning. She made sure the front door was barred, then did a quick sponge bath and changed into a nightgown. The windows had shutters that could be closed from inside the house, an oddity she thought might have been left over from the Indian wars, which put her in mind of the man she’d seen in town so many hours ago.
    She brought a lamp to her dresser, then retrieved her charcoal and sketchpad, setting to work, filling more pages with the things she’d seen in town. Her Indian. The way he’d looked on his black-and-white pony. The men who’d attacked him. The fight. And afterward, his cryptic, angry conversation with Mr. Taggert.  
    At some point, she fell asleep, the sketchpad still on her lap, her pencil still in her hand. When she woke, she didn’t know whether she had dozed a few minutes or if it had been longer. She doused the lamp, then lay still and listened, wondering if something had awakened her.  
    In the dark isolation of her new home, sounds were amplified. The wind in the eaves outside. Distant coyotes. Strange screeches and calls she hadn’t heard during the daylight hours—any of which might have been what roused her. She shut her eyes, trying to force herself to relax and go back to sleep. As eerie as things sounded, she reminded herself there was no such thing as ghouls; everything out there was natural, not unnatural. She had nothing to fear.  
    Her cabin had three windows: one over her bed on the south wall, the other two on the front and back walls. There was no window on the north wall because of the fireplace. The windows were closed but not shuttered. She lay on her side, her gaze bouncing between the east and west windows. She didn’t know what she was on the alert for; perhaps it was the complete lack of human noise that irritated her senses. In the warehouse where she’d lived with Theo in Denver during the last year, the streets were alive well into the wee hours of morning, and then again throughout the day. It was an industrial section of town, but a night never passed when there wasn’t a fight or drunken brawl of some type, or even just the noise of people passing by.  
    She missed Theo. She’d been so frightened when he brought her from the orphanage. He’d shown her around his expansive Georgetown art studio where he lived in Washington, D.C., then told her he expected her to see to the cooking and cleaning for the two of them. She was only twelve, but she’d helped in the kitchen at the orphanage since she’d arrived four years earlier. He’d chosen her because of her domestic skills, he’d informed her.  
    Aggie sighed, closing her mind to the memories that would not aid her now. She’d become expert at adapting to major life shifts. She’d done it when her parents had died and she’d gone to the orphanage. She’d done again it when Theo brought her to his home. This was yet another new beginning. Each had led to something better. This would, too.  
    The moonlight dimmed briefly, darkening her room. She sat up in bed, wondering if she’d imagined a shadow moving outside. She blinked and