Sunflower (32 page)

Analisa rode uncomfortably, her jaw set in a stubborn line, Kase riding behind her, clinging to her waist. She sat the horse as if someone had rammed a pole down her spine, and try as she might, she could not seem to stop struggling against the hard leather saddle.

She glanced across at Zach Elliot and watched him spit a stream of brown tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing a flattened round of buffalo dung.

“How far is it?” Analisa managed to ask between bounces.

“Not far. ‘Bout two mile.”

“Why didn’t they just build the agency next to the fort?”

“It don’t do anybody good to have a whole passle of yellow legs camped out next to a corral full of Sioux.”

“Yellow legs?”

“That’s what the Injuns call the cavalry, ‘cause of the yellow stripe down their pants.”

“Do you know the agent, Mr. Hardy?”

He deliberated a moment too long before he answered. “Some.”

After the curt reply, Analisa turned her concentration to the rutted road they were following. The prairie seemed flat, but as they traveled on, she realized the earth was deceptive. It rolled expansively, slowly rising upward from the river valley. Lavender blooms sprinkled the hills in the distance. She longed to get closer to them and see exactly what type of plant they might be, but it was all she could do to hang on to her horse for the last few yards until they reached the agency. She saw the entrance looming ahead and suddenly wondered why she was going against Caleb’s wishes, interfering with his job.

She would just meet this man, Hardy, and then leave, she resolved. At least that way she’d know what Caleb was up against. Not that it would matter. He would never give up until Hardy had been dismissed from the post; she knew Caleb well enough to know that much.

Zach slowed up and waited until her horse was alongside his. He rode through the gate beside Analisa and, with a nod, directed her toward a large two-story house on her right. The house seemed sorely out of place, especially as it stood next to a low, ramshackle building made of cottonwood logs and odd-size pieces of lumber. Indian women of every conceivable size and age stood two deep in a serpentine line that disappeared around the corner of the low building. They whispered in small groups or stared blankly ahead while they waited in the sun, beaten by the briskly blowing wind.

“What are they doing? There must be over a hundred of them.” Analisa hoped her hushed voice would carry to Zach over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

“They’re waitin’ to be issued their monthly ration. Each of ‘em gets thirty pounds of flour and a handful of salt.”

She watched Zach’s eye squint along the line of women from beneath the lazy brim of his hat. “Is that all?”

“Sometimes they get tobacco or sugar.”

It was nearly impossible for Analisa to tear her eyes away from the women standing so patiently, shuffling their moccasin-clad feet forward as the line inched along. She was too far away to study their clothing closely, but saw that it was made of softened hide decorated with colorful trim. Long swaying fringe decorated skirt hems and sleeves. The designs and materials intrigued her, and Analisa wished she could get close enough to see how the clothing was sewn together.

“Miz de la Vega?”

Analisa jumped in response to Zach’s voice and turned toward him.

“I’ll stay with the horses while you go callin’ on Hardy. Want to leave the boy with me?”

Zach dismounted and stood beside her horse, waiting to lift Kase down. Was it her imagination or did his tone hold a warning?

“He’ll be fine with me,” Zach said.

She waited in the saddle until Kase was lifted down, then stood in the stirrups and tried to unbundle her gathered skirts enough to swing her own leg over the saddle. Zach steadied her, his hands at her waist until she was on the ground.

Analisa felt her legs trembling with fatigue after the unaccustomed ride. The ground swayed beneath her like the deck of a rolling ship.

“It’ll be right in a minute,” Zach said quietly behind her.

She looked up at the massive flank of the horse and watched the muscles contract beneath the hide as the animal flicked away a pesky fly. The sound of booted footsteps rang out on the wooden porch of the house, alerting them both. Analisa turned toward the sound and found herself staring at the approaching figure.

Analisa was immediately reminded of a fine fat goose when she looked at the man who could only be Buff Hardy. She tried to take in the picture of him all at once, found it too overwhelming, and studied him inch by inch.

His hair was silver white, swept back away from his forehead and slicked down with pomade. A bulbous red-veined nose called attention away from the man’s narrow eyes. His thin lips were pursed into a bow, underlined by hanging jowls that sported muttonchop whiskers. An ivory satin vest, embroidered with ivory roses, was stretched to its limit, the buttons clinging desperately to the strained buttonholes. A long gold chain trailed after a pocket watch stuffed into his vest pocket.

His legs looked like short, thick sausages encased in white linen pants; the outfit he wore was completed by an oversize white jacket of the same rumpled material. His meaty right fist was wrapped about the handle of a tapered, slim-tipped cane, the glint of its gold handle shining between his fingers. He straightened, as if trying to pull himself up to a greater height, but Analisa could see that he was shorter than she by at least half a foot. His snakelike eyes glittered in her direction, and she felt uncomfortable staring so blatantly.

“Well, well. And to what do I owe this unexpected visit by so charming a guest?” He walked with a noticeable limp to the edge of the porch and waited as if expecting her to approach him. “Come up to the veranda, my dear, and let me see what the fates have sent my way.”

The words were spoken in a smooth, drawling accent that forced Analisa to pay strict attention. His words dripped with a honey coating that sent a chill of apprehension along her spine. Chastising herself for cowardice and bolstering her courage with thoughts of Caleb in the renegade camp, Analisa stepped forward, a smile on her lips, her legs somewhat steadier now.

“I would like to introduce myself, sir. I am Analisa de la Vega. I assume you are Mr. Hardy?”

“Why, yes, I am, my dear. I am indeed.”

He reached down to assist her as she stepped up on the wide, shady porch. She stretched out her hand and suppressed a shiver when his cold flesh met hers. On level ground with him her estimation proved true: She stood nearly a head taller than he. Hardy seemed not to notice, and was actually preening beneath her stare.

She felt compelled to explain her unexpected descent upon the agency. “My husband is here from the East to study the plant life of the frontier. While we are living at Fort Sully, Major Williamson has suggested that I might enjoy seeing your agency. Perhaps you can think of a way I can be of help.”

Buff Hardy stood silent for a moment as if gauging her sincerity. He looked around to where Zach stood watching from beside the horses. Kase was hidden behind the scout.

“Come, come ... Mrs. de la Vega, is it? Let’s go into the house and have a cup of coffee. You must be quite exhausted after your ride.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hardy.” Hesitantly, she turned in Zach’s direction and tried to avoid his dour expression. “Kase? Come with me.”

Kase appeared from behind Zach and ran up the steps of the porch. He looked up at Hardy and tried out one of his new salutes.

“What’s this?” the agent said.

Analisa noted the immediate change in Hardy’s demeanor. His voice sounded cold and demanding as he stared down at her son.

“Where’d this brat come from? He slip outta here and get as far as the fort? These little devils are almost worse than the big ones. Thank you for bringing him back, ma’am, but I won’t pay for the fancy clothes you outfitted him with.”

She felt as if the man had slapped her with his thick hand. Analisa reached out and protectively laid her hand on Kase’s shoulder, quickly glancing at Zach to see if he’d witnessed the outrageous display of bigotry. Her face was flaming with anger. Zach had obviously heard the crass man’s words, for he’d taken a step toward the porch but waited near the horses’ heads, fooling with a bit of rawhide.

“This, Mr. Hardy, is my son. His father is Don Ricardo Corona de la Vega.”

She was seething. Analisa wondered how she could ever force down the bitter taste of bile in her mouth and still deal with this man. And how dare he speak of a child with such menace in his voice?

The man recovered himself, glancing toward Zach, who stood silent, having turned his back on the scene on the porch. Hardy looked at Kase once again, and Analisa felt he was forcing himself to do so. His lips puckered once more, just as they had when she’d first seen him. It was an unconscious habit, she surmised, one he used whenever he was forced to think.

“Why, yes.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. de la Vega. I can see now that the boy does have those blue eyes of yours. Please accept my apologies.” Hardy shifted uncomfortably and pulled at the pointed tails of his vest straining the buttons even more.

Unable to force herself to speak to him, she merely nodded and then looked down at Kase. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Stay with Zach.”

She refused to have her son insulted, even to help Caleb. She would face Hardy alone. What harm could befall her over a cup of coffee? She glanced up at the formidable structure and then stood aside to allow Hardy to lead her to the door. A final glance in his direction told her that Kase was safe; he and Zach were walking toward the well near the trading post.

“You seem hesitant, Mrs. de la Vega.” Hardy’s tone was as smooth as his satin vest. “Let me assure you that I have two servants who will be in attendance. I’ll have one of them stay in the room with us if it will make you feel more comfortable.”

Why should he have to assure her that she would be safe? Perhaps he was testing her to see if she was willing to do more than have coffee with him. Analisa mentally scolded herself for having forgotten that propriety dictated she refuse a man’s invitation without first inquiring about proper chaperons. Caleb was right. She was naive. And foolish. And afraid. The last admission only served to raise her temper and force her to face Hardy straight on. She could handle this situation, and him, she told herself. Besides, she decided as they entered the spacious entry hall, there was no law against finishing a cup of coffee in a minute or two.

“I was just about to ask if you lived here alone, Mr. Hardy.”

“A cook and a maid work for me, Mrs. de la Vega. I’ll ask one of them to attend us, if you wish.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

Ushered into a parlor that fronted the right side of the house, Analisa was left alone while Hardy went to find the maid and order coffee from the cook. Wandering about the room, she made note of everything she saw as she threaded her way through the maze of furnishings. Chairs were lined up side by side, most of them upholstered in garish brocade. Four settees were crowded into the room, two at opposite sides of the fireplace and two others sandwiched amid the chairs. Gilt-framed paintings of pastoral scenes hung from picture rails on all four walls, adding to the confusion.

Overwhelmed by the room, Analisa sat down on a brocade settee and thought about Hardy’s belongings. The pieces, she realized, were beautiful in themselves, but their elegance was lost amid the color and clutter. She continued to inspect the room, but remained seated so as not to appear to be assessing it too obviously. Three Chinese vases nearly as tall as Kase were displayed on massive, heavy-legged tables. One of the vases contained a bouquet of emerald peacock feathers. A piano stood in one corner draped with an ebony-fringed shawl and topped by a crystal bowl filled with the purple wildflowers she had seen on the distant hills.

Attracted by the colorful flowers, Analisa could not resist the urge to enjoy them at close range. She longed for flowers of her own again, now that winter was past. As she moved across the room, her footsteps were hushed by the thick Oriental carpets that overlapped one another to cover the entire floor. When she stood next to the piano, she reached out tentatively to touch the delicate blooms that appeared to have been thrust into the bowl with no attempt at arrangement. Analisa rubbed a petal gently between her thumb and forefinger, smiling down at the happy, open-faced blooms.

“So, you are attracted to the pasqueflowers?”

Hardy’s voice startled her, and she whirled around to face him. He stood just inside the double doors that opened onto the parlor. Behind him waited an Indian woman holding a silver tray laden with a coffee service. Analisa was struck by the servant’s beauty as she stood poised behind Hardy, silent and patient, waiting for the man to move his bulky figure so that she could move into the room with the heavy tray. Analisa was so taken by the exotic beauty of the almond-eyed woman in her demure black silk gown that she nearly forgot to answer Hardy’s question.

“Why ... yes. The flowers are quite beautiful. I noticed them on the way here and wondered what they were called. The purple is such a soft, unusual color.” She watched as he moved toward the fireplace and the servant followed with the tray. “Pasqueflowers, did you say?”