Indigo Blue (21 page)

Loretta overheard and came to finish the cake. “Don’t be long, Indigo. Father O’Grady will want to hear your confession.”

Jake assured Loretta they would return shortly, then guided Indigo out the front door. Once on the porch, he led her to the railing and, before she guessed his intent, lifted her to sit on it. Bracing a hand on either side of her, he leaned forward until their faces were scant inches apart.

“I think we need to talk.”

She leaned away from him and nearly lost her balance. Jake snaked an arm around her waist and caught her from falling. She gasped and planted her hands on his shoulders.

“Indigo,” he began. “About tonight.”

That was as far as he got. Father O’Grady opened the door and said, “Now, now, there’ll be plenty of time for that later, Jake, me man. ’Tis time for confessions and the nuptials.”

“Just one minute, Father,” Jake came back.

“I haven’t a minute.” The priest waved impatiently. “’Tis not a wonder to me ye’ve ruined the colleen’s reputation. Look at ye now, making eyes on the porch, for all eyes to see. Young men were more clever in me day.”

Jake swallowed his irritation. “I’d like to have a word with her. Then she’s all yours.”

“Ye’ll have yer word after, lad.” The priest gave them an exaggerated wink.

Defeated, Jake stepped aside. Indigo jumped down and hurried into the house.

 

From that moment on, Indigo felt as if everything happened with dizzying speed. Father O’Grady heard her confession. Afterward, he stood with her and Jake at the foot of her father’s bed and performed the ceremony. Before she quite knew how it happened, the priest pronounced them man and wife.

“Now she’s all yers,” Father O’Grady said with a broad grin. “Ye may kiss yer bride and make eyes on the porch all ye like.”

Indigo looked up at her husband. When he bent his dark head, she held her breath, recalling Brandon’s kisses that fateful day when she bit him. Jake surprised her by taking her face very gently between his hands and scarcely brushing her mouth with his. As he straightened, she blinked. Surely, that wasn’t all there was to it.

As if he guessed her thoughts, he smiled, took her hand and chafed it between his. “You’re like ice.”

She was clammy as well. She tried to pull her hand free, but he held fast and drew her to the bedside table to sign the documents in the presence of her parents. The pen dripped ink and made a splotch as she pressed the tip to the paper. She began to shake as the magnitude of what she was doing sank home. For a moment, she couldn’t remember how to spell her name.

Jake settled a hand on her back. For some reason, his touch bolstered her. She slashed her signature along the line, then handed him the pen. Their eyes met, his warm and strangely reassuring, hers frightened. He bent to sign his name.

Father O’Grady rubbed his palms together. “ ’Tis official. Ye’re wedded, in the eyes of God and state. Now we can partake of that delicious meal ye ladies have prepared.” When he turned toward Loretta and saw the tears welling in her eyes, he cried, “Be joyous, child. Ye haven’t lost a daughter, but gained a son. A fine one, too, aside from one wee little flaw, that being he’s a—but enough of that. I’ll not be accused of driving the point into the ground.”

Jake laid down the pen and rested a hand on Indigo’s shoulder, his long fingers curling warmly and applying the slightest pressure. It was done. She belonged to him.

A searing sensation rose up the back of her throat. She had become that which she most abhorred, a white man’s squaw. If he chose, he could govern her every breath.

As if he sensed her terror, Jake, still gripping her shoulder, bent his head to hers. “It’ll be all right,” he said huskily. “Leave the worrying to me. Just enjoy the evening.”

Enjoy the evening? It was easier said than done. With Jake’s muscular frame looming beside her, she had one thing on her mind, the end of the evening.

THE AIR FELT DAMP AND COLD WHEN THEY stepped out into the night. Slinging his saddlebags over his right shoulder, Jake took Indigo’s arm, positioning himself between her and the street as they walked toward the north end of town to her aunt Amy’s house. The warmth of his hand penetrated the soft leather of her sleeve, the grip of his fingers gentle but hinting at latent strength.

When she glanced up at him, she felt breathless. To her frightened mind, he seemed to loom taller than he had before, a solid wall of power that could at any moment unleash itself on her. The decisive and crisp tap of his boots on the boardwalk seemed indicative of his mood, as though he had set himself to a task and intended to get it accomplished with little delay.

Indigo looked up at the Lucky Nugget. It might be wise to practice Franny’s art of conjuring before the moment of reckoning was upon her. Using all her strength of will, she tried to block out Jake Rand’s presence and concentrate. Daisies refused to come clear in her mind. Instead, she immersed herself in memories of Lobo when they ran free together in the mountains.

Lobo. She had been so wrapped up in her own concerns this evening that she had scarcely thought of him. A lump welled in her throat, and she lost her train of thought. If not for Jake striding beside her, she would have wept for all she had lost, especially her freedom. Her days of roaming the mountains might well be finished now. That would be up to her husband.

Jake sighed and repositioned the saddlebags on his shoulder. For an instant, his thoughts drifted to Emily. He should write to her at the first opportunity. The trouble would be in finding a private moment to do it. He couldn’t risk Indigo spying the letter and discovering who he was. And wasn’t that a fine kettle of fish? He didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from her.

For the moment, though, he had more immediate concerns. The distant look in her eyes worried him. Beneath his hand, she felt brittle with tension. As they drew near the house they would temporarily call home, he tried to think of something he might say to ease her mind. Nothing came to him.

If only they knew each other a little better, he might have had a clearer understanding of what she was thinking. What did a young woman feel on her wedding night? Would she like to talk for a while? Should he take her hand, kiss her? Or would that make matters worse? Judging by her expression, she looked forward to the consummation of their marriage with about as much enthusiasm as she might have the extraction of a tooth.

For an instant, he considered giving her a little more time to adjust before he exercised his conjugal rights. Just as quickly, he shoved the thought away. At best, he would be willing to wait no more than a few days, and her attitude wasn’t likely to undergo a significant change in so short a time. Since he had no intention of living like a monk, there was little if any point in postponing the inevitable.

He had already bitten off a large enough chunk of trouble by marrying her. He didn’t need sexual frustration added to the list. As Father O’Grady so wisely said, a couple needed common ground. What better place than the marital bed to find some?

Glancing down at Indigo, he recalled that first night when he had held her in his arms, how incredibly right she had felt, as if her body had been shaped especially for his. He sensed there were fires to tap within her. His only problem would be in getting her to relax long enough for him to arouse her. At the thought, a burning knot of longing centered low in his guts.

As they stepped onto the porch, he fancied he could hear her heart pounding. What in God’s name did she think he intended to do to her? Before he opened the door, he turned to look down at her. The sharp scent of pine touched the damp night air.

“Try to relax, Indigo. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Her small face glowed like a white oval in the dim moonlight. She lifted wide, frightened eyes to his. Jake paused to study her a moment, not quite able to shake the feeling that something about her had gone way off plumb. Was this the same young woman who had tried to foreman a crew of grown men? The same girl who had stepped into her father’s shoes and done a credible job of carrying out his many duties?

He pushed the door open and moved aside for her to enter. She stepped to the threshold and froze, peering ahead into the blackness. He nudged her inside and closed the door behind them. Acutely aware of her rigid body inches away from his, Jake waited for his eyes to adjust, then made his way toward a round table where a lantern perched. He set his bags on the floor and groped for the box of matches. In moments, the lamp hissed and light flared, throwing their shadows upon the walls.

Chafing his hands, he glanced around to familiarize himself with his surroundings and said, “It’s chilly in here.”

“I laid a fire,” she replied in a shaky voice.

Jake turned toward the hearth. “So you did.” He carried the matches with him and crouched to light the kindling. Flames leaped and rose toward the chimney. He grabbed the poker and repositioned the logs.

“Well, that’s done.” He knew he was stating the obvious. Conversation never had been his strong point. Pushing to his feet, he turned toward her. “It’ll warm up in here in a minute.”

Lifting the lantern, he left her to stand alone in the flame-touched shadows while he took a quick tour of the tiny house. It was a far cry from his home in Portland. When he returned to the sitting room, he placed the lantern back on the table and gravitated toward the fire.

Indigo didn’t know if it was the firelight, the shadows cast by the lantern, or a combination of both, but he seemed more ominous by the moment. Flickering amber played upon his face and gave his sharply carved features a sinister look. His wind-tossed hair glistened like polished ebony.

When he caught her staring at him, a slow smile touched his mouth. “Come over here, Indigo.”

She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin.

His smile deepened. “Come on. It’s warmer over here.”

Her feet felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds. She moved toward him, afraid to do otherwise. As she drew up by the hearth, he leaned a shoulder against the mantle and gazed thoughtfully at her. He was making her feel like a troublesome arithmetic problem that he was determined to figure out. The air suddenly seemed too close, and she found it difficult to breathe.

“Closer. You still can’t get warm there.”

She took two more steps. There was no mistaking what that gleam in his eye meant. Whether she wished it or not, he planned to have her. From the first instant she saw him, she had read him as a man filled with purpose, who accomplished what he set out to do. Now bedding her was his goal. It went without saying what the outcome of that would be. She couldn’t help but remember how easily he had dealt with Brandon.

Brandon.

A film of cold perspiration broke out on her body. Images sprang at her from the past, of that never-forgotten afternoon when Brandon and his friends had jumped her. Because she had so little Indian blood and was tawny-haired with blue eyes, they had considered her a prize.

Looking up at Jake Rand’s dark countenance, she couldn’t help but wonder if he might not have an equally dark side to his nature. Under all his layers of polish, did he harbor wicked yearnings that he had never dared to reveal? She found that difficult to believe, but she knew some men could disguise the blackest of intentions with gentle words and charming demeanors.

“Are you getting any of the warmth?” he asked. “You can come a little closer if you like. I don’t bite all that hard.”

Dignity. Her father had made it sound so easy, but it wasn’t. “I—I’m really not cold.”

His voice laced with amused tolerance, he said, “Really. Then why are you shivering?”

“Am I?” She clasped her hands behind her and dug her fingernails into her flesh. The pain gave her something to focus on. “Perhaps I am a little chilly.”

His eyes, warm and twinkling in the firelight, delved deeply into hers. Indigo tried to see into him, but it was as if he had drawn curtains so she couldn’t look too deeply. Why would he do that if he had nothing to hide? Her trepidation mounted.

After a long, torturous moment, he lifted a hand to her hair. His touch felt weightless and unbelievably gentle. He plunged his long fingers into the strands and gripped the back of her neck to draw her toward him.

“Indigo, are you frightened?”

“Of w-what?”

Jake nearly chuckled at that. She was obviously frightened. It was also obvious that her pride would never allow her to admit it. Though her fears were groundless, he could see they didn’t seem so to her, and he had to admire her pluck. No maidenly tears to gain a reprieve. No pleading. She stood before him, clearly determined to accept her fate. Rather like a Joan of Arc, he mused, which made him feel a little exasperated. He wasn’t her executioner, after all.

Her show of bravado had the perverse effect of emphasizing her lack of stature. He had never known anyone so determined to lead with her chin when she had so little bulk as backup. Why did she stand there, head lifted in proud defiance, refusing to let her gaze waver from his?

The compassion he felt for her in no way dampened his desire. From the first instant he set eyes on her, he had wanted her. Now she was his. It was a heady feeling. All he had to do was lift her in his arms and carry her to bed. As unenthusiastic as she clearly was, he didn’t think she would struggle, which was all to the good. With a little gentleness and patience, he could coax her to relax, and once she did . . .

His pulse quickened as he pictured himself peeling away her clothing like the skin from a delectable piece of fruit. Indigo—a curious combination of innocence and sensuality, trepidation and dauntless courage.

Not wishing to prolong her agony, he tightened his hold on the back of her neck and leaned toward her. Her scent, a blend of rose hips and fresh-scrubbed skin, intoxicated him. He bent his head and feathered his lips against her hair. Such perfection, and all of it his. Had he truly been reluctant when he offered to marry her?