Indigo Blue (6 page)

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.

“I’m used to the rain.”

As Indigo watched, his lips slanted into a boyish smile that deepened the lines bracketing his mouth and transformed his face. His intent brown eyes delved into hers. An unnameable something arced between them. It reminded her of how the air had felt during the storm, a charged sensation eddying around her.

Suddenly, the thought of spending hours alone with him, miles from town, didn’t seem such a grand idea. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, or the way she felt when he did. She couldn’t name the feeling. She just knew it frightened her.

Apparently her father trusted him. There was an innocence about Hunter Wolf, though. Duplicity was beyond his comprehension. It wasn’t beyond hers. A friendly smile could hide a black heart. No one knew that better than she.

Remembering the strong grip of Jake Rand’s fingers, she dropped her gaze to his hands where they rested on his hips. How could a man eke his existence from a hole in the ground and not have calluses?

She glanced at the mountain. A mist wreathed its forested slopes. In three hours it would be dark. She doubted Ma would understand if she said she couldn’t go with Jake Rand because he made her legs feel weak. Her parents would think she was making excuses because she wanted to run the mine herself.

She squared her shoulders. “Well, if a little wet doesn’t bother you, we may as well go.”

“I don’t mind waiting for you to change into something dry.” Especially a shirt, he added silently. “No point in getting chilled. I’ll lend you my slicker if you don’t have one.”

“Wet leather is surprisingly warm. It acts like a second skin.”

Jake had noticed that, yes.

She plucked at the shirt. “Usually I keep everything waterproofed, but here lately, things have been so crazy I haven’t had time.”

He gestured at his horse. “If you could show me the barn, I’d like to get Buck settled. After the train ride to Roseburg and the long ride here, he deserves a dry place to rest. The traveling accommodations for stock aren’t as comfortable as for people.”

“Where did you travel from?”

Jake hesitated to mention Portland. “From up north.”

She struck off down the steps. Not about to wear a slicker if she wasn’t, Jake left the coat on the railing and fell in behind her, hunching his shoulders against the rain. After untethering Buck, she led him toward a looming gray building adjacent to the house.

Halfway there, Jake gave up trying to keep dry. Instead, he watched the jaunty swing of Indigo Wolf’s hips. Her stride was long and graceful, her body a harmony of movement. He tried to picture her in one of Mary Beth’s fancy dresses and grinned. If a bustle were perched on that fanny of hers, the resultant swing would be enough to make a man go cross-eyed.

Once inside the barn, she became a whirlwind of efficiency. Momentarily distracted by the excited oinking of three white pigs confined in a pen under the loft, Jake stood just inside the door and breathed in the long-forgotten smells. The stables at home were kept clean enough to serve high tea on the floors. Not so here. From the odor, Jake guessed the stalls were badly in need of mucking, yet another sign of Wolf’s inability to keep up.

Suddenly, the enormity of the situation hit him. Two small women couldn’t possibly handle all this work.

“Why don’t I finish up with Buck while you wait on the porch?” Jake said.

“You don’t know where everything is.”

Indigo uncinched Buck’s belly strap. Jake caught her arm before she lifted the saddle. “I’ll get that.”

She stepped aside. Jake draped the rain- soaked riding gear over a rail and grabbed a nearby rag to rub it down. Intending to do the same to Buck before putting him in a stall, he turned just in time to see Indigo wrestling with a bale of hay.

“Whoa.” He dropped the rag and hurried over. “A half-pint like you’ll get hurt hefting that.” Getting handholds on the wire, he swung the bale off the stack. “Where do you want it?”

She stood back and studied him. In the shadows of the barn, Jake couldn’t be sure, but he thought she looked perplexed. She pointed toward an empty enclosure with remnants of hay on the floor. “There’ll do fine. Once you cut the wire, we’ll fork him some hay into that end stall and give him some grain.”

As he hauled the bale across the barn, Jake inquired, “Where’s the pitchfork?”

Slowly coming to realize Jake Rand had no intention of letting her help him, Indigo directed his gaze to the pitchfork that stood in one corner. His calling her a half-pint hit a sore spot. Her brother, Chase, called her that, and she absolutely hated it.

“I’m stronger than I look, Mr. Rand, and I’m used to doing the lifting out here.”

“I’m sure you are. Your father tells me you’re quite the little worker.”

Quite the little worker? And a half-pint. Indigo ground her teeth. “I’m full-grown, nineteen years old this month.”

“All of that?” He forked hay over the dividing walls, hitting his mark in the end stall with amazing accuracy. Through the gloom, he flashed her a grin. “You don’t look that old.”

Without being obvious, Indigo tried to stand a mite taller. “Well, I am.”

He paused midswing, a forkful of hay poised over his broad shoulder. She couldn’t read his expression. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He finished the throw and forked another mound of hay. “A tiny frame like yours is attractive on a woman. Until I saw you and your mother, I thought my sister Mary Beth was small. Alongside you, she’s an Amazon.”

“I’m medium, not tiny.”

This time he stopped, rammed the fork tines against the planks, and leaned on the handle to study her. After a long moment, he grinned and said, “Okay, medium. I have the feeling I have offended you. If so, I’m sorry.”

The apology made her feel childish. He’d learn soon enough that she didn’t let her size hinder her. “While you finish that, I’ll get Buck some grain and water.”

She felt his gaze follow her to the feed room. The fifty-pound sack of grain was nearly empty. Indigo jumped up onto the stack to get another. She had just gotten her arms under each end of a bag when she felt large hands settle lightly on her waist. The unexpected touch startled her. She glanced over her shoulder, directly into Jake Rand’s dark eyes. She could feel the steamy warmth of his breath stirring the hair at her temple. The expanse of his chest filled her vision, and she was suddenly conscious of how large a man he was. She could feel the untapped strength in his fingertips.

“I can get that,” he said in a low, vibrant voice.

With a twist of her hips, Indigo escaped his grasp and lifted the bag, determined to show him how hardy she was. “I handle these sacks all the time, Mr. Rand.”

He stole the burden before she could turn. “And you handle them very well.”

At her elevated position, she stood as tall as he, her face a scant few inches from his. From up close, she could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and the weathered texture of his skin. She felt oddly breathless and jumped off the sacks to put some distance between them. As he watched her back away, his firm lips twisted in a lazy grin that flashed gleaming white teeth, and his eyes filled with what looked like amusement.

He leaned the sack in a corner, pulled his knife from its scabbard, and slashed the burlap. She noticed that he handled the knife with the same practiced ease that she did hers. With each movement he made, muscle bunched across his back, drawing his wet shirt tight. Indigo stepped around him and darted out the door while he removed the measuring tin from the empty bag.

Unnerved and uncertain why, she waited for him at the front entrance, conscious of his movements behind her as he got Buck settled in. She wished she could postpone their trip to the mine. Tomorrow, the other miners would be there. If they went this afternoon, they’d be the only two people on the mountain.

Though she could detect nothing sinister in Jake Rand’s compelling dark eyes, something about him frightened her.

THE WALK TO THE MINE PROVED TO BE THE longest in Indigo’s memory. In some places, the way grew quite steep and the rain made it slick, which precluded conversation. While Jake Rand seemed comfortable with the long stretches of silence, she wasn’t. It seemed to her that the air crackled with tension. By necessity, she led the way, and more times than not, she imagined she could feel his gaze on her person. Becoming increasingly self-conscious, she also grew awkward, which was silly. If she had walked this trail once, she had a thousand times.

Having already put in a grueling day’s work, Indigo began to grow weary on the last stretch of incline. Her soaked buckskins had grown so heavy it took an effort just to move. She noticed that Jake Rand still breathed easily, so she trudged ahead, afraid to admit her legs were giving out.

He already had referred to her as a half-pint. If his manner in the barn was an indication, he didn’t think women should turn their hands to much of anything. If she lost steam climbing a hill, it might reinforce that opinion. What would she do if he forbade her to work at the mine?

A stitch started in her side. She clamped a hand over the spot and focused on the crest of the mountain. She could make it if she placed one foot in front of the other and didn’t think about how tired she was. She
could.

“I need to rest,” he said suddenly.

Short of breath and trying to conceal it, Indigo glanced back at him. The rise and fall of his broad chest was even, unlabored. To escape the rain, he ducked under the boughs of an evergreen and sat with his back braced against the tree, one arm draped over his bent knee. She eyed the semidry bed of pine needles and longed to join him there. He patted the ground beside him.