Indigo Blue (34 page)

He straightened and stepped into the kitchen. With a glance at the stove, he said, “Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

Dragging the puppy along, Indigo stepped to the dish board and took a mug from the shelf. Jake chuckled as she worked her way back to the coffeepot, one foot ensnared by tugging teeth. He sat on a straight- backed chair and stretched out his long legs, boots crossed at the ankles. She could feel his gaze trailing slowly over her. Her nerves prickled. Did he have a dark side he was afraid she might see? Her hand trembled as she lifted the coffeepot.

“You’re wearing a skirt. What’s the occasion?”

Indigo turned to give him the filled mug. He leaned forward and crooked his finger through the handle.

“He wet on me,” she murmured.

“He what?”

Embarrassed, she repeated herself. Jake grinned and perused the fringed hem of her knee-length skirt with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Britches and bloomers both?” At her nod, his grin broadened. “Maybe having him around won’t be such a hardship after all. I assumed the only skirt you had was the white doeskin.”

Indigo shook her head. “I have several for everyday. I just don’t wear them much when I’m working.” The puppy jerked harder on her moccasin, and she glanced down. “At least I didn’t. Now I have no choice but to wear skirts until I get my pants cleaned and treated. The process takes a spell.”

“You’ve got only one pair?” he asked mildly.

“No, two. But given his bent for springing leaks, I’ll save the extra pair for just in case.” She glanced up. “You did say I could go back to work as soon as you felt it was safe.”

He nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Indigo relaxed slightly. If he was angry, he was a master at camouflage, and if he had a dark side, he was a consummate actor. The puppy spied a potato peeling she had dropped. Abandoning her moccasin, he scampered across the floor, plumed tail wagging over his back. With a yap and a snarl, he attacked the peel, gave it a shake, and ran with it into the sitting room.

“You ready for your walk?” Jake asked.

She bent over to open the oven and check her biscuits. “I thought I’d skip it for tonight. I’m afraid the pup might wander and not come when I call. By tomorrow, he’ll know us better.”

The heat seared her eyes. She reared back and averted her face, then closed the oven.

“What’re you going to call him?”

Indigo straightened and brushed at a falling strand of hair. “I haven’t decided yet. A name is very important. I’d like it to be something significant.”

He tucked in his chin and looked thoughtful. “How does Sonny strike you? Temporarily, that is.”

“Sonny?” Indigo wrinkled her nose. “It isn’t dignified.”

Jake shrugged. “But significant. He’s Lobo’s son. Besides, he’s a little tyke yet. By the time he grows up, you’ll have thought of a better name.”

She rolled the name across her tongue again and managed to smile. “I’m warming to it. All right, Sonny it is.”

His dark gaze trailed slowly over her and settled on her legs where her moccasins and skirt didn’t meet. His expression sharpened, and he leaned forward. “Honey, are those scratches?”

She bent to look and was surprised to see several red marks on her shins and calves. “He jumps up. Wolves have claws. As cubs, they can be a little treacherous when they play.”

“Jesus.” He curled a hand behind her knee and drew her toward him. “He’s cut you to ribbons.” He arched a look at her. “And you’re afraid of me? That’s amazing.”

“I’m not afra—”

Before she could finish, Jake reached up and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Forget I said that.”

He started to move his hand, and Indigo said, “But I’m—”

He smothered the words again, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Indigo, just don’t say anything. That’s an order.”

When he removed his hand from her mouth again, she nibbled her lip, gazing down at him in bewilderment. He winked at her, then resumed his examination of her legs.

The feel of his warm fingers made her bare skin tingle. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast and drew up her skirt with his other hand to assess the damage. No men but her father and brother had ever seen her bare legs, and that had been years ago. Only her mother had seen or touched her since. Indigo’s face flamed.

Jake didn’t seem aware of the liberty he was taking. She felt his fingertips, featherlight and gentle, seek out each scratch. “Did your aunt Amy keep any salve here?”

“There’s some in the top bureau drawer.” All Indigo wanted was to escape his touch and get her skirt back down. “I’ll wash them and put salve on after dinner.”

“After dinner, hell.” He released her and stood up. “Animal scratches are bad to get infected.”

He left the kitchen and returned moments later carrying the tin of medication. After motioning her to a chair, he drew a linen towel from the drawer, moistened it with water from the jug, and then knelt before her on one knee. Grasping her right foot, he propped it on his raised thigh and pushed her skirt up.

Indigo’s breath caught. She wasn’t wearing bloomers. With one of her legs lifted, he could probably see clear to tomorrow. She tried to tuck her skirt. Jake glanced up, and his white teeth flashed in a lazy smile.

“I
am
your husband,” he reminded her.

Somehow, Indigo didn’t find that very reassuring. “I—I can do it by myself. Really!”

He gave her a look charged with meaning. “I don’t mind.”

She stared at the back of his bent head. When he ran a hand above her knee, she jerked and clamped her thighs together.

He lifted laughing brown eyes to hers. “Indigo, would you relax? All I’m interested in is the scratches.”

She kept her thighs pressed together, but tried to relax otherwise, to no avail. He cast her another questioning glance.

“Don’t you trust me?” His voice was deep and rich. “If I was bent on seeing whatever it is you’re working so hard to hide, don’t you think I would have had a look before now?”

He had a point. He lowered her right foot, lifted the other, and applied himself to cleaning the remaining scratches. When that was done, he applied salve.

When the last scratch was tended, he replaced the lid on the tin container, set it on the table, and flashed her a slow smile. “Still in one piece?” he asked softly.

Indigo gave a jerky nod, her one thought to get both feet back on the floor. He seemed loath to release his grip on her ankle, however. She had difficulty meeting his gaze.

“You’re as pretty a pink as any rose I’ve ever seen,” he informed her huskily. “And you have beautiful legs.”

That brought her eyes up. She stared at him, pulse slamming, her hands curled into tight fists over the edge of the chair seat. “Your biscuits are going to burn,” she said shakily.

“Now
there’s
a tactical maneuver if ever I’ve heard one,” he replied with a chuckle. He lowered her foot to the floor and pushed to his feet.

Sonny reentered the kitchen, still playing with the potato peeling. Jake returned to his chair and took a leisurely sip of coffee while he watched his wife. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought some of the shadows had eased from her eyes.

When she joined him at the table for dinner and ate a hearty portion of stew, his spirits soared. It was the first enthusiasm he had seen her show for food since Lobo’s death. With every few bites, she picked out a bit of venison and gave it to Sonny. Her feeding the dog at the table didn’t meet with Jake’s approval, but he said nothing. Hell, as far as he was concerned, she could put a bib on the pup and sit him on a chair. What made her happy made him happy. That was the long and short of it.

He fished a piece of meat from his bowl and leaned down with it extended on his palm. The wolf cub fastened gleaming golden eyes on the meat and slowly approached to take it. Jake wiped his hand clean on his napkin and met Indigo’s shimmering gaze.

“Thank you for bringing him to me,” she whispered in a tremulous voice. “He’s the nicest gift I’ve ever received.”

Jake straightened his shoulders. For a man who had just thrown away three hundred dollars on a dog he didn’t want, he felt absurdly proud of himself.

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, JAKE LEARNED the true meaning of frustration. He wanted Indigo as he never had another woman, so much so that he thought of little else. Living in the same house with her, sleeping in the same bed with her, and knowing she was his made it damned hard to keep himself in line. Only concern for her feelings forestalled him from carrying her to the bedroom and making love to her.

Since their conversation by Lobo’s grave, Jake suspected that Indigo harbored more than one misconception about him. If he demanded that she perform her wifely duties, he was afraid he would be living up to some of her worst expectations. She needed time and gentle wooing. He was determined to give her both.

That decision made, Jake had only to convince his body of the wisdom of it. In addition to his long days at the mine and his afternoon walks with Indigo, he felled and chopped eight cords of firewood in the space of four days. When the amount of wood in the Wolfs’ backyard began to reach embarrassing proportions, he tackled the dry rot in their front porch, working long after dark by lantern light. At night when he collapsed on the bed, every part of his body screamed with exhaustion.

Every part but one. . . .

On the sixth night, Jake fashioned some crutches for Hunter, then helped the older man to take his first faltering steps after so many weeks of being bedridden. Loretta fixed a lovely dinner to celebrate the joyous occasion. Afterward, Jake walked Indigo home and then took a freezing swim in the creek, which served to numb every part of his exhausted body.

Every part, that was, but one . . .

By the seventh day, Jake decided new tactics were called for. If he didn’t woo his wife into his arms soon, one of three things was bound to happen; he would work himself to death, die of pneumonia, or lose control and forcefully make love to her. Given his age, Jake didn’t relish the thought of going to an early grave, and because he loved Indigo, the alternative didn’t have much appeal, either. The last thing he wanted was to lose ground with her, which he most certainly would if he resorted to strength of arm.

Since he knew his young wife was as nervous about making love as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers, he decided to use a subtle approach, which would require a smattering of acting ability, a slow, very light hand, and limitless patience. He had high hopes it would work well on Indigo, his aim being to arouse her before she quite realized what he was up to.

Things started off well. During their afternoon walks and long evenings together, he took advantage of every opportunity to touch her, tracing light circles on her neck, feathering his fingertips over her lips, and caressing the centers of her palms and the bends of her arms. Jake measured his success by watching her eyes. When she became aroused, they turned a slumberous, stormy gray. Over the course of the third evening, he was happy to note that her eyes were gray more than not.

By the fourth afternoon, he was mentally rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Tonight would be the night. With that goal in mind, he took her for her walk. As had become his habit, he draped an arm over her shoulders. Only this time, instead of curling his fingers around her arm, he let his hand dangle limply over her right breast. Given the nature of walking, especially on uneven ground, it was natural that her body movements should jostle his arm, and since his dangling hand was attached, it also followed that his loosely curled fingers brushed her nipple.

At the first “accidental touch” Indigo started and threw him a suspicious glance, which Jake deflected with a bland expression of no interest. She finally relaxed. He bided his time, then aimed at his target again. It was all he could do not to smile when he felt how hard and erect her areola had become. On the third pass, her nipple thrust against the soft leather of her blouse, eagerly peaked and straining for attention—attention Jake would be more than happy to provide.

He found a grassy spot beneath an oak. A little thing like damp ground wasn’t going to discourage him. He sat with his back against the tree and drew Indigo down beside him. Looping his arm around her, he set his fingertips to work on her collarbone, tracing its shape and talking nonstop about Sonny’s antics, pretending to be absorbed with the pup so the touch of his hand would seem innocent. Every once in a while, he let his fingers stray from her collarbone to feather across her upper chest.

A downward glance told Jake that success was nearly within his grasp. Her nipples were as erect as little cadets at muster. He turned toward her and bent to kiss her cheek. Placing a hand on her rib cage, he began a subtle ascent until his fingers curled around her right breast. She gasped and went rigid when he captured the peak of her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“It’s all right,” he assured her in a husky whisper. He trailed his lips toward her mouth. “Trust me. Just relax.”

Naturally, Jake hoped she would do just that and let him continue. But he didn’t expect total limpness. He claimed her lips in a passionate kiss, running his tongue past her parted teeth to taste the sweet moistness. When he did, she went as starchless as drenched silk. For a horrible moment, he thought she had fainted. His hand froze on her breast, and he slowly drew back. Her eyes had a blank, distant look.

“Indigo?”

She blinked and focused, looking slightly irritated. “Yes?”

Jake searched her gaze. Panic, he could deal with. He wouldn’t have been surprised by stiffness. Or even a little resistance. She was quick-witted and had to know what was on his mind. But limpness? It was a far cry from quivering surrender, and it left such a nasty taste in his mouth he lost enthusiasm.