Indigo Blue Page 4

  When Jake saw that his host seemed to be searching for the correct word, he quickly supplied, “Engineered?”

  A cool smile touched Wolf’s mouth; then he nodded and grew pensive. “I’ve made no grief behind me. If someone wants to cause trouble for me, my blood is the only reason.” He met Jake’s gaze. “Many people have come to these hills. Some have brought bad feelings. If you stand beside me, you will be hated as well. I almost died in the last cave-in.” A question entered his eyes. “Knowing that, most men would not take this job.”

  “I’m not one to shy from trouble.” Jake knew no one could possibly connect him to Ore-Cal. The Rands did all their business using the company name. But that knowledge didn’t reassure him much. Wolf’s gaze peeled off a man’s layers and made him feel transparent. Jake couldn’t risk having his true reason for being here revealed—not yet. “I’m desperate for temporary work, and you need a foreman. It seems like a perfect solution for both of us.”

  Wolf seemed to consider that. “After all that has happened, I am looking always behind me. Your eyes speak to me of friendship, though. And you have an honest face.”

  “Is that why you considered selling out? Because there’s no one you can trust and because of the danger?”

  “Not because of danger to myself. If it was just me, I would hold on until I healed, then reopen the mine. But I have mouths to feed.”

  It had been a long while since Jake had worried about providing the basic necessities for loved ones, but he still remembered how that responsibility had preyed upon his mind.

  “My daughter, Indigo, has been trying to supervise my men and get repairs under way,” Wolf went on. “I believe she could do a very good job, but after so many accidents, I worry. Her mother worries even more, and with me unable to work, her burdens are already great.” He lifted his uninjured hand in a helpless gesture of defeat. “The doctor says it will be a long time before I walk. Sometimes, a man must put his pride behind him. He must say suvate, it is finished, and look at the horizon.”

  Loretta Wolf was a little slip of a woman. Jake couldn’t blame her husband for feeling protective of her. He hadn’t as yet seen Indigo, but imagining a girl inside a mine that had already suffered several cave- ins made his guts knot. He’d be insane with worry if that girl happened to be his daughter.

  “Well . . .” Jake’s voice trailed off and he gazed sightlessly at the floor. He couldn’t bear the thought that his father might be responsible for this family’s misfortune and could only pray Wolf was right, that the cave-ins were the work of locals who had it in for Indians. “I’m just glad I happened through Jacksonville before you sold out.”

  “I am glad with you.”

  The simple honesty of that response touched Jake. It was indicative of a man who dealt in truth, even if it humbled him. What would happen to this family when Jake had to leave? While making his plans to come here, he hadn’t thought of the people at Wolf’s Landing as being real, nor had he considered that he might like them so much.

  “If something should happen—if it ends up that I can’t stay until you’re completely recovered, isn’t there anyone—a friend or a relative—who could help you out?”

  Wolf closed his eyes for a moment. “Many friends, yes, but they must feed their own families. My son would come home, but if I ask that of him, he will lose all he has worked for in the woods. My brother- in-law, Swift, works in the timber as well, and he is needed there to help Chase fill the orders. I cannot ask others to lose everything in order to help me.”

  Clearly, Hunter hadn’t quite managed to put his pride behind him. “Sometimes, we have no choice but to call on family.”

  “Not to save a mine that could play out next week or next month. Timber is my son’s future. It may end up being mine.”

  No one knew better than Jake how insecure a mining venture could be. He sighed and nodded. “Well, for as long as I’m here, maybe your son’s help won’t be needed.”

  Wolf’s eyes warmed again. “My woman believes her God sent you to us. If that is so, then He will see that you stay until our need is finished, yes?”

  He could have said anything but that. Feeling horribly guilty, Jake stared out the window for a moment at the slanting rain. He was tempted to tell Wolf the truth about who he was and why he had come, but if he did that, the half-breed would send him packing. And, under the circumstances, who would blame him?

  “Well . . .” Since beginning this conversation, well had become his favorite word, Jake decided. A deep subject with a hollow ending, a word that said everything and nothing. Anxious to escape his new employer’s penetrating gaze, Jake rose from Mrs. Wolf’s rocker and retrieved his rain slicker from the floor. He felt angry, impotently angry. All this man wanted was to make a modest living for his family. It didn’t seem fair that some people had so much while others far more deserving lost what little they had. “I hope you’ll be happy with my performance.” Jake meant that from the bottom of his heart. “For as long as I can stay, I’ll give you my best.”

  Wolf’s eyelashes fluttered. For an instant, Jake thought he might drift off to sleep before their conversation was completely finished. The laudanum sitting on his bedside table seemed to be doing its job.

  With what was apparently a great effort, he focused. “The work has piled up—at the mine and here. Since my son and brother- in-law left, I’ve been shorthanded. I got the roof patched this fall, but there are other things—”

  “Don’t worry about the work,” Jake interrupted. “I’m pretty handy. If I see something that needs fixing, I’ll work it in.”

  “Indigo—she tries. But it is a heavy burden for a girl.”

  “I’m here now, Mr. Wolf. You just concentrate on mending yourself. I’ll worry about everything else.”

  Because his right arm was in a sling, Wolf extended his left to shake hands. Though weak and a little shaky, the Indian’s fingers closed around Jake’s in a firm grip.

  “To my friends, I am called Hunter.”

  The last thing Jake wanted was to forge a new friendship. His mission here would be difficult enough without his loyalties being divided. “I go by Jake.”

  Wolf smiled. “It is good.” His grip on Jake’s hand relaxed, and his arm dropped heavily to his side. “I will rest easy now, eh? Because you have been sent to us.”

  The half-breed’s eyes closed, and his features fell into repose. Jake stood over him, feeling like a condemned man who had just heard the cell door clang shut behind him.

  A movement drew Jake’s attention. Loretta Wolf glided into the room. Though she wore simple clothing and no jewelry, she was radiant in her quiet way, the kind of woman who made a man feel like smiling. Jake could see why Wolf’s eyes warmed when he spoke of her. So fragile of build a strong wind might blow her away, she was no match for the rugged man lying on the bed. Yet Jake had the feeling she probably ruled the roost. It’d take a hardhearted man to say no to those blue eyes of hers.

  “Our daughter, Indigo, has agreed to show you around, Mr. Rand. She’s far more familiar with goings-on at the mine than I. She’ll be able to answer any questions you might have.”

  Jake cast a glance at the window. “It’s pretty nasty weather for a young lady to be out and about.”

  A mischievous twinkle brightened her eyes. “Indigo doesn’t let bad weather slow her down. She’s waiting for you out front.”

  Jake immediately snapped to, imagining someone very like Mrs. Wolf shivering on the porch. “I’ll be on my way then.”

  “You’ll be joining us for meals, of course, since you’ll be using our son Chase’s bedroom for the duration of your stay. We have our supper promptly at six.”

  Jake disliked the thought of further depleting their stores of food. He knew without being told that the Wolf family was hard put right now. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Wolf, but I already made arrangements to stay at the hotel.”

  “Nonsense,” she retorted. “The moment you get back from your tour of
the mine, you go over and tell Mr. Bronson you’ve had a change in plans. Mike’s rates are more than fair, but they’re far too steep for a workingman who needs lodging.”

  Jake was no workingman, and he already liked the Wolf family far more than he felt he should. If he stayed in their home and took meals with them, it could only complicate matters. “That’s very kind but—”

  She held up a hand. “I’ll not hear another word. You’re staying with us, and that’s final.” With that, she swept past him to lean over her sleeping husband. After pressing the inside of her wrist against his forehead, she glanced up and flashed a beatific smile. “I haven’t seen him so at peace since the accident.”

  Jake didn’t like being cast into the role of savior. He backed out of the bedroom and softly closed the door.

  Chapter 3

  WHEN INDIGO HEARD THE FRONT DOOR open, she forced a smile, determined to be pleasant to Jake Rand if it killed her. Though his arrival had usurped what she considered to be her rightful place, she knew it wasn’t truly his fault. The moment she settled her gaze on him, however, her good intentions scattered like dandelion fluff on the wind. He was nothing like she expected.

  Miners came in all types, colors, and sizes, of course, but most weren’t so handsome. None in her memory had been taller than her father, and those with enough experience to supervise a dig were usually older. She stared up at his sun-burnished face, taking in the squared line of his jaw, the tiny creases at the corners of his coffee-brown eyes, the jut of his straight nose. The clean, sharply chiseled planes of his features reminded her of a seasoned wood carving. Not a trace of gray showed in his ebony hair. She guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

  Though his red-plaid wool shirt and faded jeans weren’t new, they were spanking clean. A miner’s clothes, even freshly washed, usually bore earth stains. After shutting the door behind him, he took two long strides and stopped, so tall that the porch overhang barely cleared his head. After giving her a brief nod in greeting, he darted his dark gaze left and right, then frowned and stared through the sheeting rain toward town.

  She thought it rather rude the way he ignored her. She didn’t think it was proper for a lady to address a gentleman first. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have fussed about something so trivial, but folks from outside Wolf’s Landing put a lot of stock in manners. She began to wish she had gone inside and muddied up her mother’s floors so she wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma. The last thing she wanted was to make a bad first impression.

  Still looking up the street, he pursed his firm lips and whistled a little “Yankee Doodle.” She took advantage of the moment to study him. The wind whipped his wavy black hair across his forehead. The faded denim of his pants rode low on his lean hips and stretched taut over the powerful contours of his thighs. Tucked neatly at the waist, his shirt hugged his broad chest and shoulders. His stance one of energy and purpose, he stood with his long legs braced apart, arms akimbo, his slicker hooked over one wrist.

  A sudden feeling of dread swept through Indigo. She couldn’t say why, but somehow she knew nothing would ever be quite the same again now that he had come.

  When he continued to remain silent, she decided to speak first, even if it wasn’t proper. “Hello.”

  She would have said more, but he inclined his head in her direction—sort of in her direction, anyway—and started whistling again. Ending the tune with a sour note, he sighed with resignation. Then he raked a hand through his hair and draped his canvas slicker over the porch rail to fuss with the sleeves of his shirt, straightening the folded cuffs so each rode his corded forearms at just the right spot. When he started to whistle again without speaking, she began to grow angry.

  Out of the blue, he said, “Nasty out there, isn’t it?”

  His deep voice, coming so suddenly when she wasn’t expecting it, made her jump.

  “That’s February for you,” he added. “You’re soaking up sun one minute and diving for cover the next. Looks like the cloudburst caught you off guard.”

  Before she could think of a response, he shifted his attention to the broken pick handle leaning against the porch rail. After studying the cracked oak a moment, he heaved his weight onto one foot to test the weak plank under his boot. Next he grabbed a rafter of the porch overhang and gave it a shake. She surmised he was checking it for sturdiness. He clearly thought the place needed work. Indigo hadn’t been raised proud, so his appraisal didn’t bother her. A little dry rot was nothing to be ashamed of, after all. But she didn’t think it was very nice of him to find fault with her home right in front of her.

  He slid a hand into his pants pocket and quickly checked his timepiece. “How long have you been sitting out here?” he asked.

  “Not that long.”

  She wondered if he meant to put her to work. Her ma said some men were born to be chiefs and others Indians. Jake Rand was definitely the authoritative type. An aura of power surrounded him, evident in the decisive way he paced, in the way his dark eyes skimmed over the inconsequential and settled with burning intensity on what drew his interest. She had the feeling he was accustomed to running things and that few people dared to buck him.

  His gaze touched briefly on her muddy pants, then flicked to her moccasins. “I don’t suppose you were already here when Miss Wolf left, were you, son?”

  He thought she was a boy? Momentarily taken aback, Indigo stared up at him.

  Clearly taking her silence as a negative response, he scanned the street again. “Damn, I wonder where she went.” As he contemplated the rain, his mouth, bracketed by deep crevices, drew down at the corners. “It’s pouring buckets out there.”

  She pushed up from the step and joined him on the porch, confident he’d realize his mistake once he saw her standing. “You’re Jake Rand, I assume?”

  Jake glanced down. The boy wore a wet leather hat pulled down low around his ears. All he could clearly see of his face was a small but stubborn chin. With surprising maturity, the slightly built youth extended a hand.

  Still worried about the missing Indigo catching her death, Jake reached to shake and lowered his gaze. A soaked doeskin shirt clung to the boy like a second skin, delineating scrawny shoulders and what were unmistakably two of the most exquisitely formed breasts he had ever seen. Nipples, erect from the chill, thrust proudly against the pliant leather. For several endless seconds, he stared like a mindless idiot.

  “Mr. Rand?”

  Jake gave himself a hard mental shake and forced his gaze upward to peer at the shadowed little face beneath the hat brim. He knew he should speak, but nothing came to mind except that this particular he had turned out to be a she, a very charmingly shaped she who gave a whole new meaning to the word drenched.

  “I’m sorry. When you called me son, I realized you didn’t know who I was. I’m Indigo Wolf.”

  Jake swallowed and said, “I see that.” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean—” Just what, exactly, did he mean? “Of course you’re Miss Wolf. I realized the moment”—he felt heat rising up his neck—“the moment we shook hands.”

  With one slender finger, she nudged the sopping brim of her hat back, giving him his first good look at her face. Her eyes were large like her mother’s, an incredibly light color that put him in mind of milk glass tinted with the barest touch of blue. Outlined by silken, dark lashes, they struck a delightful contrast to her dark complexion. She had fragile but striking features, a feminine version of her father’s regal, high-bridged nose and sculptured cheekbones, a deliciously full mouth, and her mother’s delicate jaw—not a combination one would term beautiful, but appealing, just the same. He found himself wanting to jerk off the god-awful hat so he could see her hair. Was it dark, blond, or a shade in between?

  She tugged to get her hand free. With a start, Jake realized he still held her slender fingers in his grip. He immediately released his hold. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—Well, you took me by surprise. I thought—”


  “I suppose where you’re from, women don’t wear buckskins.”

  “No,” he admitted. Nor were they streaked with mud and dripping wet. Jake stared down at her, fascinated without quite knowing why. Feature by feature, she wasn’t the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. But there was something, perhaps the odd contrast she struck, a china doll in buckskins. Mostly, he thought it was her eyes. They shone up at him, large and candid, revealing far more than she probably realized. She wouldn’t last three hands in a game of poker. “Now that I think on it, I don’t know why I expected a dress. That wouldn’t be too practical for a mining dig. It’s just that you’re—” Jake caught himself and broke off before he pointed out how dirty her clothing was.

  As if she sensed what he had nearly said, she brushed at her britches. “I worked the sluices today. Aside from the rocker boxes, they’re all we still have up and running, and we need all the yield we can get.”

  Wind gusted under the porch eaves, bringing with it a spray of rain. She clamped a hand over her hat. The wind funneled when it hit the house and backlashed, drawing the front of her wet shirt taut.

  Jake’s mouth went dry as powder. He felt disgusted with himself for even noticing. She clearly had no idea how revealing the wet leather had become.

  “Ma says you want to tour the mine. If you’d rather not get wet, it might let up out there if we wait a bit.” She wrinkled her nose and regarded the sheeting rain. “That’s one nice thing about Oregon. If you don’t like the weather—”

  “Just wait and it’ll change,” he finished for her. “I’m not worried about getting wet. I’ve got the slicker. But I am worried about you taking a chill.” Before he thought, he glanced down again and had difficulty looking away. “You’re soaked.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. Odd that. Only a few seconds ago, he’d looked at that shoulder and thought it scrawny. Now it seemed just right. Except for her ample bust, she was built like her mother, slight with fragile bone structure. He doubted she’d tip the scales at a hundred pounds even in the wet buckskins.