Indigo Blue Page 8

  Jake lay perfectly still on the revolving floor. The wolf continued to snarl. Finally, Jake dared to lift his head. Anemic moonlight shafted in through the window, spilling across Indigo’s bed. The wolf stood at the bed’s foot, swathed in shadow, approximately three feet from Jake’s throat. Jake sobered up, fast.

  “It’s okay, boy,” he whispered. “I’m just taking a breather here for a second.”

  Lobo was having none of that. Jake didn’t suppose the wolf had ever seen a man slithering around on the floor of his mistress’s bedroom. It had to be a strange sight. Jake blinked and tried to rise to his knees. The wolf’s snarl remained constant, no louder, no less threatening. So far so good.

  Standing up proved to be a problem, but with such encouragement to get his ass out of there, Jake decided not to be fussy and crawled toward his side of the partition. If he woke Indigo, how would he explain the state he was in?

  The wolf stopped snarling and followed on Jake’s heels to stand sentinel at the foot of the other bed, watching while Jake tried to mount the damned thing as he would a horse. Well, not exactly. He had never slid back off a horse. Determined, Jake threw a leg over the mattress and tried again. Of course, the ground never moved when he was climbing into a saddle, so it really wasn’t a fair comparison.

  When he failed on the third try, Jake dropped his head to the mattress and peered through the shadows at Lobo. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll shoot you. Understand? Bam, one dead wolf.”

  Lobo snarled once and sat back on his haunches. He obviously didn’t intend to leave until Jake got into bed where he belonged. Jake had trouble focusing and sighted in along the bridge of his nose. “You did know what I was thinking earlier. Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” Working one hand loose from between his chest and the bed, Jake leveled a finger. “Understand something, you dumb mongrel. What I think and what I do are two different things.”

  Lobo licked his chops and snarled again. Jake made another attempt to climb on the bed and thumped back onto the floor. He groaned and laid his head on the mattress.

  “I can’t do it,” he whispered.

  Lobo growled.

  Nausea rolled through Jake’s stomach. He groaned again. “Go ahead. Kill me. Right now, it’d be a mercy.”

  Another low snarl was Lobo’s response to that.

  Jake closed his eyes. “Look at it this way, old chap. If I can’t climb in my own bed, I can’t climb in hers.” A sick grin spread across his mouth. “And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t rise to the occasion.”

  Typical of Oregon’s unpredictable weather, the following afternoon turned warm and sunny. The air smelled steamy and sweet, a preview of spring that appealed to Indigo’s senses and lifted her spirits after such a long, wet winter. After showing Jake Rand their second mine, which her father called Number Two, Wahat in Comanche, she led the way toward Shallows Creek, feeling more lighthearted and carefree than she had since her father’s accident. Mounted bareback on Molly, her mare, she picked her way through the tall grasses and tree-studded slopes, guided toward the old Geunther Place by an inborn sense of direction. Jake Rand followed on Buck, speaking to her infrequently.

  After spending yesterday and most of today in his company, Indigo was coming to realize that Jake Rand wasn’t a talker. In fact, this morning he’d been almost surly. That suited her fine, for she wasn’t given to chatter, either. She enjoyed conversation, of course, but she loved silence as well, especially while in the woods. The sounds of the wild animals and birds played upon her ears like music. The whisper of the wind carried her imagination to faraway places and distant times.

  Sometimes, while in the woods alone, she pretended she was full-blooded Comanche, a respected woman of the tribe, riding a powerful horse across the Texas plains her father had described to her. She always felt a little foolish when her daydreams ended and she was forced to face reality. Molly was a far cry from a sleek stallion, and the gullies and hillsides hemmed a person in. But what did dreaming hurt? She didn’t quite fit in this world, and it made her feel less lonely to pretend, if only for a while, that she lived with the People, that the color of her skin didn’t matter, that no one would ever look down on her.

  Today, with Jake Rand riding behind her, she was a little too nervous to indulge in daydreams. Instead, she took pleasure in the glimpses of spring and watched Lobo romp through the woods. The fair weather had him behaving like a pup.

  Turning slightly on Molly’s back, she called, “I thought we’d stop and eat at the old Geunther Place. Since it’s so sunny, we can even sit outdoors.”

  Jake figured the ground would be wet, but he could survive that. After living through this morning, he figured he could survive damned near anything. “Sounds good to me. I’ve worked up an appetite. Is it far?”

  “Just over that next hill. Tomorrow, you’d better try Ma’s flapjacks. She’s a wonderful cook, you know.”

  Since his head no longer felt like a bucket someone was thumping with a spoon, Jake could smile at that. “For some reason, I wasn’t hungry this morning.”

  “You’ll get over that. We put in long days here. You load up at breakfast to keep meat on your bones.”

  She had plenty on hers—in all the places that counted. Riding along behind her, Jake found it difficult to keep his eyes off her well-rounded bottom. She sat a horse as if she and the animal were one entity, lending a grace to horseback riding he’d never seen. Her slender, well-toned legs hugged the mare’s belly, displaying a subtle strength.

  Watching her, he found it easy to imagine her living in a primitive world, wild and free. It was also unnervingly easy to imagine himself making love to her, immersing himself in that wildness, tasting her sweetness. A grin settled on his mouth. There were some itches a man just couldn’t scratch with a jug of whiskey.

  When Jake saw the Geunther Place, he thanked the Lord it was sunny. The place was a shack, and he didn’t relish the thought of eating in there. Indigo dismounted beneath a laurel tree, then looped Molly’s long reins so the horse could graze. Jake swung down from Buck with far more grace than he had managed the mattress last night, unsaddled him, and followed Indigo’s example by looping his reins.

  The rushing sound of the creek sang in Jake’s ears. Fern fronds and blackberry shoots lined the bank. Jake spread his feet on the velvety grass, took a deep breath of the air and closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste. It had been years since he’d been out like this, riding for the sheer joy of it, surrounded by mile upon mile of wilderness. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He focused on Indigo, who knelt on the grass, unpacking the saddlebag that held their lunch. She hadn’t worn the hat today, and the sunlight ignited her loose hair to a blaze of copper-touched gold, nearly blinding him. He blinked and smiled. “The air smells so good, it makes me feel like yelling.”

  The words popped out before he considered how silly they sounded. She didn’t appear to think him strange, though. Instead, she looked beyond him at the hillside they’d just descended, a distant expression in her beautiful eyes. After a moment she flashed him an impish grin. “Then perhaps you should yell, Mr. Rand.”

  He laughed at that, then jumped a foot when she let out a shrill, yodeling cry. He’d never heard any sound quite like it. “What in God’s name was that?”

  “A Comanche war cry. It’s really not difficult, once you get the feel of it. Go ahead, give it a try. It’s invigorating. There’s only me and Lobo to hear.”

  With a chuckle, Jake narrowed an eye and sat beside her, pleased that she was beginning to relax. All morning, she had been reserved and wary. Not that he’d encouraged conversation.

  “Maybe later. First, I want to eat.”

  Loretta had packed them each two sandwiches, chunks of cheese, a piece of chocolate cake, dried apple slices, and a small vinegar jug filled with juice. After Indigo laid out the food on a towel, he dug in and savored each bite. The j
uice, he discovered, was blackberry and tasted finer than any expensive wine.

  He was beginning to realize that the Wolfs’ lifestyle, simple though it seemed, was, in its way, far more pleasurable than his own. Jake figured he probably could buy a thousand mountain clearings but would never have time to enjoy them. Even if he made time, he doubted he’d find a picnic companion among Portland’s elite. Emily wouldn’t dream of sitting on damp ground to eat a sandwich. Emily. He couldn’t envision her face.

  The realization made him feel a twinge of melancholy. Until coming here, he thought he had everything. Now he felt a vague dissatisfaction. There was more to life than paperwork. The years had cheated him, and the realization made him feel frustrated. How could a man with his wealth be made to feel poor by a girl who drank blackberry juice from a chipped vinegar jug?

  When Lobo joined them, Indigo peeled the newspaper wrapping from his lunch, a generous portion of raw meat, which Jake assumed was venison. The wolf devoured it.

  “With your father bedridden, shouldn’t you take care with the meat stores?” Jake asked. “How can you feed Lobo and a toothless cougar without running short?”

  “There’s always more where this came from.” She wiped her fingertips on the towel and picked up her sandwich again. “I bring home most of the meat, so my folks don’t mind my being generous with Lobo and the cougar.”

  His gaze dropped to her slender shoulders. “You shoot a rifle? I’d think the kick would set you on—” He broke off.

  “Sometimes a rifle. I prefer to use a bow.”

  Jake considered that. She killed animals, which meant she probably gutted and skinned them as well. How in hell did she tote a deer? Because she no longer seemed as tense as she had earlier and because he wanted to keep her talking, he asked.

  “I quarter it, carry a section home and go back for the rest on Molly. I don’t go far. These hills are filled with game.”

  What a puzzle she was, a girl who befriended a wolf, who fed the wild creatures, and then had the heart to slay them. Jake studied her small face, trying to understand her and failing. What bewildered him most of all was that she seemed so nervous around him. Maybe Jeremy was right and he glowered too much. Or maybe she sensed how she affected him.

  “Does it bother you? Killing animals, I mean.”

  Her mouth firmed and drew down at the corners. “My family must eat. The animals, they are tao-yo-cha, children, of Mother Earth. Sometimes, they must die so we may live.”

  She truly did love the animals; he could see that in her expression. “It hurts you to kill them, doesn’t it?”

  “It makes me feel sad, but only for a while. As my father says, ‘That’s the way of it.’ We can’t question nature’s ladder. If I were a deer, I would probably be eaten.” Her gaze dropped to his hand. “Your sandwich is made of venison.”

  Jake chuckled again. “Point taken. It’s just that one doesn’t envision a young lady like yourself going hunting. That’s usually a man’s job.”

  “I’m a little different from most young ladies,” she admitted, “as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I gave up trying to be something I’m not years ago. I walk my own way.”

  Jake thought it would be a shame if she changed. Indigo Wolf was an original. One day soon, a young man would come along, take one look, and snatch her up. The thought made him stop chewing. If only he were ten years younger, he might have been in the running. There was something about her that appealed to him in a way other women didn’t, in a way Emily didn’t.

  But he wasn’t younger. And it was probably a blessing. A girl like her would be an outcast in his world, and the social restrictions would make her miserable. She belonged here beneath a laurel tree, with the breeze playing in her hair.

  He took another bite of his sandwich and relished the taste. “Tao-yo . . . ?”

  “Tao-yo-cha. Comanche flows nicely from your tongue.” She regarded him a moment. “You aren’t, by any chance, part Indian.”

  “I’m not sure. The Rands are so mixed, it’s hard to keep track. My mother—she was Black Dutch. That’s where I got my hair and eyes. My father is—God only knows. I believe the name Rand is an abbreviation of something foreign—Russian or Italian or something. My father told me once, but it was such a mouthful, I promptly forgot. And who really cares?”

  “Black Dutch?”

  “A darker strain.” He searched her troubled gaze and smiled. “Heritage is extremely important to you, isn’t it? You can’t imagine my not knowing what I am or caring.”

  She averted her gaze. “Some must wear their heritage.”

  Beneath the stiff pride, he heard a world of hurt in her voice. He regarded her creamy skin. “You’re beautiful, Indigo.”

  He wasn’t sure where the words came from or why he had said them. But they were out. The moment he spoke, the fragile comaraderie that had begun to develop between them was shattered. She fastened those huge blue eyes on his—vulnerable eyes that belied her impish smile. He saw pain in those eyes, pain she tried desperately to hide. And fear. Of what, he didn’t know.

  The tension between them became almost palpable. Jake wanted to kick himself. He was afraid to move or say anything more. The breeze picked up and rustled in the tall pines. The sound seemed lonely.

  Following her example, he applied himself to his meal, wondering what it was about him that unnerved her so. Even if she sensed that he found her attractive, she could surely see he wasn’t the type to act on it. Or could she? Last night on the mountain, his behavior had been less than exemplary. Perhaps his size intimidated her. They were miles from town. Maybe she was afraid he’d make an improper advance and try to press the issue.

  He had never used his strength against a woman. But she couldn’t know that. Short of telling her, he couldn’t think of a single thing he could do to ease her fears. He never had been good with words. If he so much as alluded to rape, she was sure to think he’d been entertaining the notion.

  “Indigo, am I imagining it, or do I frighten you?”

  She stiffened at the question. “Why would I be frightened?”

  That was a good question. “You just seem nervous, that’s all. If I’ve done something—”

  “You haven’t.”

  His mouth felt suddenly dry. “I hope not.” Aiming for a lighter note, he said, “I’m harmless, really. Ask anyone.”

  He didn’t look harmless to Indigo. Right at the moment, he seemed a yard wide at the shoulders. His denim-sheathed legs appeared endlessly long. The sleeves of his green wool shirt were folded back to reveal the tendons that roped his bronzed forearms. He sat a mere two feet away, close enough to snake out a hand and grab her when she wasn’t expecting it. She hadn’t missed the gleam in his eyes, and she knew what put it there. Once, a lifetime ago, another white man had looked at her that way.

  “I’m not afraid of you or anyone else,” she told him.

  It was a lie, one of the few she had ever told. Everything about Jake Rand frightened her. She couldn’t shake the feeling—a premonition, perhaps?—that he was somehow going to gain control over her life. The moment she first saw him, she had sensed it—an inexplicable something, a strange feeling of recognition—as if her destiny had finally come calling.

  He wasn’t a man to be taken lightly. Every pore of his skin radiated strength; every movement he made was ruggedly masculine. Oh, yes, he frightened her. She had seen women over at the general store looking at a new bolt of cloth in the same way that he looked at her. Tempted, but telling themselves no. Nine times out of ten, those women returned, again and again, and finally bought the cloth. A week later, they wore new dresses, patterned just the way they wanted them. Indigo didn’t want her world torn apart, then reassembled to suit Jake Rand.

  Recalling the steely power she had felt in his body last night, she nearly shivered. His collar hung open to reveal the burnished column of his sturdy neck. When he moved, the green wool of his shirt pulled tight, showing the delineation of bunched muscle in
his shoulders and arms. She tried to imagine his strength being targeted at her and decided she’d have a better chance pitting herself against a stone wall.

  “You’re not afraid of anyone at all?” He studied her as if he found her response highly amusing. “I’m impressed. I thought just about everyone was afraid of someone.”

  The question jerked her back to the present. She gathered her composure and finally managed to reply. “Oh? And who do you fear, Mr. Rand?”

  The question left Jake drawing a blank. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Jake.”

  “You’re my elder. It wouldn’t be respectful.”

  He winced. “I’m not exactly a Methuselah.”

  Having her refer to him as her elder rankled. He shoved an entire piece of cheese in his mouth. Thirty wasn’t that old. He’d only been—he did a quick calculation—eleven when she was born. He knew men who were married to women twenty and thirty years their junior, for Christ’s sake.

  Following the cheese with a slice of dried apple, Jake regarded her once more and strove to recover his sense of humor. “Do I creak when I walk?” he asked with mock concern. “I rub my joints daily with axle grease. The doctor promised that’d cure the problem.”

  Her eyes were still wary, but he glimpsed a smile flirting at the corners of her mouth.

  “I have it.” He held out his hand and made it tremble. “You noticed the palsy, didn’t you? Embarrassing that, but unavoidable for a fellow of my advanced years.”

  The smile finally broke loose and spread across her mouth.

  Warming to the game, Jake lifted his gaze skyward and groaned. “Oh, no. It was all that rain yesterday, wasn’t it? It washed the shoe blacking out of my hair. Admit it. You saw black streams running down my neck, didn’t you?”

  She rewarded him with a musical giggle, which she immediately stifled by biting her lower lip. The sound tantalized him. Lord, but she was sweet. He was happy to note that the wariness no longer lurked in her eyes.