“He nearly died for me once,” she whispered. “I stumbled across a big black bear and her cubs, and she came after me. Lobo got his belly ripped open trying to keep her away from me.” Her breath caught. “Ma sewed him up. His fur was so thick, the scar didn’t show. But I never forgot.”
Jake swallowed. The sound made a hollow plunk in his chest. The wool of his shirt cut in at one armpit, and he shrugged his shoulder. “You’ll miss him, I know.”
“Even after he and Gretel had pups, he spent most of his time with me. When I fell asleep at night, I knew he’d be there to watch over me. When I woke up in the morning, he was always beside me. He loved my pillow. I had to fight for my half.”
Jake remembered the night he had crawled into the loft and how fiercely protective Lobo had been. He could easily picture the wolf taking punishment from a bear to save his mistress. His gaze shifted to the grave. He wished he knew what to say.
The minutes ticked by. He sensed that she resented his intrusion, but since she still held the knife, he wasn’t about to leave her. He remembered the slash on Hunter’s cheek. A mourning scar? The thought appalled him. How could the man have raised this beautiful girl to believe in self-mutilation? And over a wolf, for God’s sake. Jake understood that she had loved her pet in a way most people couldn’t comprehend, probably in a way that even he didn’t comprehend, but cutting herself was carrying things too far. He wanted to wrest the knife from her and throw it in the brush.
As if she read his thoughts, she sheathed the blade and pushed to her feet. He guessed that she was leaving sooner than she wished because he had come.
“Indigo.”
Whatever he intended to say fled his mind. Dry-eyed and expressionless, she met his gaze, then circled him and went for her horse. He expected her to mount and ride off. Instead, she led Molly from the clearing. He rose, grabbed the shovel, and fell in with her, shortening his stride to match hers.
From the corner of her eye, Indigo watched Jake’s boots as they touched the ground. He walked with a sure step, heel to toe, like all white men. The muscles in his thighs bunched and stretched the denim of his pants taut every time he moved. She glanced at his dark face and saw the brooding frown that pleated his forehead. He clearly disapproved of her father’s beliefs.
Indigo set her jaw and quickened her pace. She could sense his shock and revulsion. He had no right to follow her and then pass judgment. All she wanted was to be left alone.
He seemed to loom over her, an unshakable and unwelcome presence. She hadn’t missed the way he looked at her knife. He had considered taking it from her. From the scowl he wore, perhaps he still toyed with the idea. If he tried, she doubted she could stop him. He stood a head and shoulder taller than she. A glance at his broad chest reminded her of how it had felt to be trapped within the circle of his arms, surrounded by ironlike muscle. She had no doubt he could take anything he wanted from her.
A claustrophobic breathlessness came over her. Anger followed in its wake. He had no right to interfere in anything she did. No right at all.
So why did he frighten her?
As she pondered that question, the airless sensation in her lungs returned. She knew the answer. Even numb with grief, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her destiny had come calling. A warning whispered in her mind like a chant. Be careful. Don’t trust him. Her father would say the spirits whispered to her. Indigo wasn’t certain if it was spirits or her imagination, but the words still bedeviled her. Jake Rand was dangerous, and the sooner he left Wolf’s Landing, the happier she would be.
Jake expected Loretta to have a fit when she saw the cut on Indigo’s arm. Instead, she doused the wound with whiskey and didn’t scold. Indigo bore the pain without a sound.
“You should wrap it before you go to the mine in the morning,” Loretta said softly.
“My sleeve will protect it.” Indigo looked up at Jake. “Mr. Rand thinks I’m crazy.”
Loretta patted her daughter’s head and went to put the whiskey away. “I don’t imagine he’s far wrong. But it’s a good kind of crazy.” She closed the cupboard and flashed Jake a smile. “I’ll bet you’re starved. I’ve got some johnnycakes warming in the oven and some blackberries cooked up.”
Jake’s stomach lurched. “Maybe later.”
“Some coffee then?”
“No, thanks.”
Indigo rose from the table and disappeared up the loft ladder. Jake gazed after her, his mouth as dry as dust. After a moment, he realized Loretta was watching him with a puzzled expression. Suddenly, he felt the need for fresh air. Someone ought to check on the mine, and the thought of a brisk walk appealed to him. He had to get out of here—away from the insanity. There was no other word for it. A young woman shouldn’t slash herself, no matter what the reason, and no mother in her right mind should accept that she had.
Chapter 7
HOURS LATER, INDIGO LAY AWAKE IN HER loft bedroom and listened to the rich timber of Jake Rand’s voice as he visited with her mother in front of the fire downstairs. He had a nice laugh, warm and deep. But when she heard it, she felt trapped, the sensation very like the one she had experienced while ensnared in his embrace, helpless, with no avenue of escape. She rolled onto her side, filled with dread she couldn’t explain. It was silly—ridiculous. Aside from his temporary position as foreman at the mine, he had no control over her, and there was absolutely no reason for her to fear him.
Lobo’s scent clung to her pillow, and tears burned behind her eyelids. She buried her face to stifle a sob and made fists in the ticking. Cool air from the open window touched her back. Lobo would never leap over the sill and into her bed again.
Memories crowded into her mind, poignantly sweet, of Lobo bounding across the grass to her, looking up at her with his solemn golden eyes. She would never hug his neck or feel the rasp of his tongue on her cheek again. He was gone. Forever.
It was all Jake Rand’s fault. Since his arrival, nothing had gone right. And things weren’t likely to get better until he left. If he hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have stopped yesterday at the Geunther Place, and Lobo would still be alive. If not for him, her reputation wouldn’t be in shreds. Ma had already told her the next few days were liable to be difficult, with people staring and whispering, some downright obnoxious.
She wished she didn’t have to go with him to the mine tomorrow. She wished she never had to set eyes on him again.
The first person Indigo set eyes on the next morning was Jake Rand. So much for wishes coming true. She had just doffed her nightgown and tugged her chemise over her head when he came creeping around the partition, boots in hand. In the nick of time, Indigo jerked the muslin over her breasts. He spied her sitting on the edge of the bed and turned toward her.
Black hair tousled from sleep, shirt open to reveal a broad expanse of bronzed, furry chest, he stood there a moment and stared at her as if his senses had fled. Caught by surprise, she couldn’t move. His bleary brown gaze dropped to the pink drawstring ribbon that edged the neckline of her undergarment. Stung into motion, she grabbed the quilt and drew it over her chest.
A slow smile tipped up one corner of his mouth, and his white teeth flashed. “Good morning.”
Judging by the gleam of warm appreciation she saw in his heavy- lidded eyes, she suspected he had glimpsed more than just her ribbons. “Couldn’t you thump or something so a body knows you’re up?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were awake, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She curled her toes into a crack between the floor planks and wished with all her heart he’d leave. A lot of good wishes did her. His gaze dropped again.
“How’s the arm?”
He wouldn’t stand there and ask after a white woman’s health when she wasn’t dressed. Indigo averted her face. She could hear her mother downstairs, starting breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to the loft. She wanted him to go away . . . far, far away. Maybe then the
breathless feeling in her chest would leave. With a voice gone strangely shaky, she responded to his question. “It’s fine.”
“You should probably put some salve on it.”
It was her arm. She didn’t need him to tell her how to care for it. She made an inarticulate noise and watched as he headed down the ladder, his back to the rungs. In stocking feet, that was risky. Her brother Chase’s heel had slipped once, and he’d bounced all the way down on his rump. Jake Rand didn’t slip, of course, but imagining him doing so brightened her mood considerably. She heard him bid her mother good morning. Then the back door slammed. She guessed he had gone to the privy.
Shivering in the chill air, she dragged on her buckskins and doeskin blouse. When she went downstairs, her first thought was of Lobo. Of a morning, he had always gone out the window and circled to the front door, scratching to be let in before she got down the ladder. Now, only silence awaited her. An ache sliced through her chest. She stood there a moment and listened, longing for his death to be a bad dream.
“It’ll get easier as time passes,” her mother said in a gentle voice. Turning from the dish board with a large bowl of batter cradled in one arm, she smiled understandingly. “Try to push it from your mind. It’s harder if you dwell on it.”
Indigo took a deep breath. The problem, as she saw it, was that Lobo had been so much a part of her life that awareness of him hadn’t taken thought. He had been like an arm or a leg, always there when she needed him. Her protector, a friend to talk to. And, like an amputated limb, his presence was going to be missed, no matter how hard she tried not to think of him.
Her parents’ bedroom door stood open, and she could see her father sitting up against the pillows. She went in to say good morning. In the past, he had always been able to soothe her, and she hoped he could now.
He smiled and took her hand as she approached the bed. The warmth of his strong fingers curled around hers. She perched on the mattress and sighed wearily. To her surprise, her father didn’t speak. Instead, he closed his eyes, as though he absorbed her presence and tasted the feelings roiling within her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She longed to burrow against him and weep, but that was not the way of the People.
They sat in silence. The urge to cry grew stronger, and she blinked. In the back of her mind, she heard the normal sounds of morning and resented the fact that things went on, as though nothing had happened.
As if he read her thoughts, he said, “That is the way of it, little one. The sun rises, and it sets. Mother Moon smiles upon us. Grief can make it seem that the ground becomes the sky, the sky the ground. But when Father Sun rises and warms you, you see it isn’t so. It is a good thing, the sameness.”
Indigo supposed it was. She turned her gaze toward the window.
In the same gentle voice, he added, “Tears are also a good thing.”
She jerked her gaze back to his, unable to believe she had heard correctly. Always, he had spoken against weakness. “Only the faint of heart wallow in tears, my father.”
His eyes remained closed. “When the flesh is wounded, we cleanse it so it can heal. The wounded places in our hearts cannot be reached, so the Great Ones gave us tears.”
She stared at his strong face, chiseled and dark, the mourning scar on his cheek lost in the weathered lines of life. She couldn’t picture her father weeping. “But when I was small, you scolded me for crying.”
“Ah, yes. A leaf fell from a tree, and you wept. The wind changed directions, and you wept. I scolded you because to weep over nothing is not good. Tears must be saved for big hurts.”
“When have you shed tears?”
His lashes lifted. The dark blue of his eyes settled on hers. “Long ago, before your mother held you and your brother to her breast, she held me. I wept for those I had loved and lost.”
“You weren’t ashamed to weep?”
He freed his hand from hers to smooth her tousled hair. “Not when the pain was great. There is no shame in loving, Indigo. The only shame is when our hearts are so hard we no longer feel. I have taught you a great lie if you believe it is wrong to spill tears. Perhaps it is because the Great Ones have blessed us, eh? We have had no grief within these wooden walls. When grief comes, I will show you how to weep.” He patted her arm, then settled back against the pillows. “I do it very good.”
Indigo felt a smile tugging at her mouth. “I think I could do it very good, too.”
“Go now and face the day. The hurting is like a storm. It will lay you low, but in time it will pass.”
Indigo pushed up from the bed. The ache of loss still centered in her chest, but in a strange way, she felt comforted. Others had walked this path before her, and they had survived. Just as she would. “Thank you, Father.”
Hunter waved her away. “Truth is not a gift, Indigo. No thanks are needed.”
As she left the bedroom, Indigo’s thoughts contradicted him. Truth was the most blessed of gifts, and no one could share it in quite the same way that her father did.
When she entered the kitchen, Jake was just coming in the back door. Moisture beaded his hair, and his face had a ruddy, just-scrubbed look. She guessed he had found the pump at the spring and doused himself awake. His blue wool shirt, which enhanced the breadth of his shoulders, was buttoned and tucked, and he wore his boots.
“There’s a four-point buck out there,” Jake said with a laugh. “I thought he was going to run over me.”
“That’s normal around here,” Loretta told him. “We get mighty popular at breakfast time.”
Indigo circled him and headed for the back door. Her mother called after her. “You’d best step fancy, Indigo. Breakfast will be done here in a few minutes. On the way back in, can you grab me three more eggs out of the henhouse?”
Indigo pulled the back door open, uncomfortably aware of Jake Rand’s eyes on her. She bounded down the steps. The cool morning air slapped her cheeks as she hurried across the yard.
When she returned to the house, a stack of flapjacks sat in the center of the table. She hurried to the sink and worked the pump to wash the eggs she had gathered. Motioning for Jake to sit down, her mother placed a plate of eggs before him. Indigo sat across from him, her eyes still sticky from sleep, her mouth dry. She noticed that Jake had grabbed a quick shave.
When her mother returned and slid a plate under her nose, Indigo’s crossed herself and bent her head to whisper the blessing. As she finished praying, she made another sign of the cross and picked up her fork.
“You’re Catholic?” He regarded her with amused curiosity. “I thought you embraced your father’s beliefs.”
Though she had no appetite, Indigo swallowed a bite of egg and tried to ignore the tingling sensation on her skin wherever his gaze touched. “My father’s Great Ones and my mother’s God walk well together.”
He reached for the warmed honey and poured a generous amount over his buttered flapjacks. “Seems like the church would feel mighty crowded.”
Bristling with resentment, she commandeered the honey as soon as he finished with it. It seemed to her that he questioned her convictions at every turn. “Don’t you believe in the Blessed Trinity?”
“Most Christians do, in one fashion or another.”
“My mother believes in one God with three faces who reigns supreme over heaven and earth. My father worships many Gods who band together into one mystic force of nature. One God with many faces, or many Gods with one face—is there truly a difference?”
He seemed to consider that. “No, I guess there isn’t.”
Indigo forced a smile, not quite sure why she bothered to explain. Jake Rand’s opinion didn’t matter a whit to her. “I have been raised to recognize God everywhere, inside my mother’s church and outdoors in my father’s cathedral. I don’t feel confused, Mr. Rand, but blessed.”
Jake looked into her eyes. There was no mistaking the pain reflected there. Yet she spoke in a steady voice as if her heart wasn’t breaking. What a contradiction she was, this
girl who crossed herself with the same arm that had been slashed only yesterday in a primitive grieving ritual. One God with many faces. She embodied two different cultures, somehow in harmony with both. One minute, she seemed as white as he. The next, she seemed pure Indian. The mixture fascinated him. In her simple way, she had just sliced through complexities that had baffled theologians for centuries. He recalled the long night they had spent at the Geunther cabin, the feeling of mysticism that had surrounded him. No other woman had ever managed to touch him as this wisp of a girl did.
Though she went through the motions, Jake noticed that she ate very little of her breakfast. When she rose from the table to scrape her plate, her mother handed her a dish of pork rinds.
“I thought it might cure Toothless of the hairballs.”
Jake searched his mind and couldn’t recall which animal was called Toothless. He watched as Indigo scraped her uneaten eggs onto the saucer. A sad expression crossed her face. “I reckon I won’t have to hunt as much now.”
“No, I reckon not,” Loretta replied gently.
Jake waited until Indigo left by the back door; then he asked, “Who’s Toothless?”
Loretta cast him a surprised look. “You didn’t see him out back?” Laughter warmed her blue eyes. “You’d better take care, Mr. Rand. You won’t see a snake until it bites you.”
“Toothless is a snake?”
She chuckled. “Lands, no. Although there is a bull-snake that comes up now and again to sun on the stoop. If you’re still around this spring and come across him out there, just step around him. Because of Indigo, he thinks he has squatting rights. Toothless is a cougar.”
“A cougar.” Jake slid an incredulous glance to the rear windows. “The mountain lion she feeds?”