The Renegade's Woman by Nikita Black

blankets on the ground where both Indians and wagoneers had plied their goods. By now, most of the exchanges had taken place, and everyone was happily looking over their new treasures. The wagoneers had acquired baskets of dried fruit, jerky, furs, and the finest cured hides she'd ever seen. The Indians had gotten flour and sugar, dried beans and an assortment of tools, furniture, clothing and personal items, which had proved impractical for the travelers to carry any further west. If Sally weren't so nervous, she would have found the whole thing fascinating. As it was, she had eyes for only one piece of work.
     
    She spotted Standing Bear immediately, sitting astride his horse at the edge of the clearing, in the middle of a rank of a dozen mounted braves, all wearing sweetgrass ropes coiled over their chests. Badger Men. Lookouts, no doubt. Keeping watch over the proceedings to make sure everything remained peaceful. On the opposite side of the meadow stood a matching group of men from the wagon train, unmounted, but no less vigilant for that. Everyone was armed to the teeth.
     
    Shaking off a tingling of foreboding, she followed Alyssa to the long, rough plank table the men had put together for the pot luck. After depositing her pies, she joined Mrs. Tompkins and picked up a ladle to help serve the line of hungry traders that had already formed.
     
    She could feel Standing Bear's eyes on her unrelentingly, but she refused to meet his gaze. He could sit there and stew until doomsday as far as she was concerned. A woman had her pride.
     
    She made a point of smiling and chatting merrily with everyone who came through the line, but inside she was dying. She couldn't help but steal short glances at the man she'd had the supreme misfortune to fall in love with.
     
    He looked magnificent. Broad-shouldered and straight of bearing, he personified rugged masculinity. Her heart simply melted at the sight of him. The ends of his long, raven hair fluttered in the breeze along with the feathers that adorned it and the ceremonial club he held in one hand. Bright sunshine gleamed off the trimmings of his pipe-bead vest and the fringes of his leggings, the butter-colored buckskin contrasting handsomely with the deep copper of his skin. The ruthlessly male angles of his face looked sharp enough to cut herself on.
     
    It was a total package that never failed to reduce her limbs to the consistency of the mashed potatoes Mrs. Tompkins was heaping onto tin plates.
     
    "Oh, what lovely pies, " said a voice, interrupting Sally's reverie. She looked up, surprised to see a beautiful older white woman, dressed as an Arapaho. Her honey-blonde hair hung in a thick braid down her back, and she wore an ankle-length, fringed dress made from soft, supple deerskin. The woman smiled, indicating the pies. "One of the few things I've missed. May I?"
     
    "Of course, " Sally said, snapping herself out of her shock. "Which would you like? Apple or cherry?"
     
    "Oh!" The woman's warm brown eyes lighted on the pies in reverence. "Apple and cherry?"
     
    Sally chuckled and cut two generous pieces, one of each flavor. "I insist that you sample both. "
     
    "You are too kind, " the woman said, her smile broadening. "And what a happy coincidence. My nephew was just asking yesterday what pie tasted like. " She gestured toward the line of mounted warriors and tipped her head at Sally. "I can't imagine where he heard about pies. He was also talking about some mysterious potion he'd heard of, made from arsenic beans. What a strange idea!"
     
    Sally blanched. Arsenic beans? Her nephew? Involuntarily, her eyes darted to Standing Bear.
     
    "Um, I sure he must have meant coffee beans. "
     
    "Coffee! Why, of course, that's what he must have been talking about. "
     
    "There's some brewing just over there you might try. "
     
    "I think I will. " The woman paused. "I wonder if I could ask a favor? Can you take my nephew a slice of pie? He refuses to leave his post to