Jake had never heard a wolf howl from up close, and the sound sent a chill washing over him. It seemed to go on forever. Indigo moved closer to the wolf and hugged his massive chest. A ragged sob erupted from her.
“Oh, Lobo, my friend.”
The anguish in her voice made Jake’s throat ache. With a sinking sensation, he realized that the wolf was baying at the moon to herald his own death. Indigo, so attuned to him, had already concluded that and was helping him sit erect. Lobo tipped his head back and howled again. The effort clearly drained him. He slumped against his mistress, no longer able to hold himself up. His third howl was pitifully weak.
Indigo took up the lament, her voice shaky and shrill. Jake listened, unable to identify one of the languages she used. Some of what she sang sounded like Latin, which he recognized from his days at university. The rest, he guessed, was in Comanche. Ein mea-dro. Ein habbe we-ich-ket. A death chant, sung with tearful clarity for Lobo because the wolf no longer had the strength to do it himself.
As if Lobo understood, he leaned his head against her breast. In the moonlight, his golden eyes seemed to glow. Jake had the unnerving feeling the animal was beseeching him to do something, but he had no inkling what.
After a few minutes, Lobo’s strength ebbed, and he sank across his mistress’s knees. Measuring the seconds by the painful thudding of his heart, Jake watched the glow fade from the wolf’s eyes. He knew the exact instant when the last bit of life slipped from Lobo’s body. He said nothing; he couldn’t.
Though she must have felt her pet’s sudden limpness, Indigo never paused in her chanting. She stroked the wolf’s head with gentle fingers and sang ceaselessly, as if the animal could still hear her. In the dim light, she looked like a full-blooded Comanche. Until tonight, Jake hadn’t realized how deeply her father’s ways were ingrained in her. He could almost hear the alien drum-beats of the Comanches thrumming in the night.
Jake had the crazy sensation she was made of moonbeams, and that if he stood and let his shadow fall across her she would disappear. Her chant went on and on. The minutes slid into an hour, the hour into two. She was still singing when the first pink streaks of dawn touched the horizon.
When it turned daylight, Jake deemed it safe to leave Indigo and search for the horses. Just as she had done all night, she was still kneeling and holding Lobo clasped in her arms when he returned. Jake slowly approached her, uncertain what to say.
“Indigo?”
Her lovely eyes didn’t seem to focus on him.
“Indigo, I found the horses and got Buck saddled up. I think we should head back to Wolf’s Landing now.”
Her arms tightened around the wolf, and she whispered, “Nei-na-su-tama-habi, nei-na-su-tama-habi. Kiss, hites.”
Jake hunkered beside her. Dark shadows etched her high cheekbones. He heaved a sigh and skimmed a hand over her hair, wishing to God he knew how to make this easier on her.
“He’s gone, honey. It hurts, but you have to face it.”
She shook her head. “No. He isn’t gone. Never gone.”
She tipped her head as if to listen. The morning wind funneled under the eaves of the shack and made a whining sound. She closed her eyes as if she heard something Jake couldn’t.
“Our sacred brother, the esa, doesn’t die,” she whispered. “He becomes one with the wind, the mountains, the moonlight. His spirit lingers always. If you listen, you can hear his voice.”
Esa. Jake guessed that meant wolf. As irrational as her behavior was, the expression on her small face cut him to the quick. If only she would cry. He wished with all his heart that he could bring the wolf back.
“If he lingers, then you haven’t really lost him.”
When she opened her eyes, the pain he saw reflected there made him ache. “Yes, I’ve lost him. Though he may walk beside me, we will be a world apart.”
Jake touched reverent fingertips to the wolf’s thick fur. “Will you trust me to carry him?”
Her mouth twisted, and she swallowed convulsively. “Let me say my last goodbye to him first.”
Jake rose and left the cabin. The chill morning air licked at his bare back and raised gooseflesh. He gazed at the steadily rising sun and drew comfort from the predictability of it. Creatures were born, they died, but the world went on. In time, Indigo would have only a dim memory of this morning.
Without a sound, she appeared at Jake’s elbow. He gazed down at the telltale moisture that glistened on her thick, dark eyelashes, the only sign that she had shed so much as a tear.
“I’m ready now,” she said simply.
Feeling hollow, Jake returned to the shack for the wolf. She looked away while he strapped the animal across Molly’s rump. When they mounted up, Jake noticed a marked difference in the way she rode, back hunched, shoulders drooped, head bent. The fierce pride that usually held her erect had been snuffed out.
Jake was surprised when she stirred from her listlessness and turned to speak. “I don’t want you to tell my parents that the bullet barely missed me.”
Jake nudged Buck into a trot to ride abreast of her. He glanced over at Lobo’s lifeless body and tightened his grip on the reins. “I can’t promise that, Indigo. I believe they have a right to know, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Jake ducked his head to miss a tree limb. “You know very well what. Say that bullet was meant for you?”
“I told you yesterday, a good marksman seldom misses. People have shot at Lobo before. And I haven’t any enemies. It’s ridiculous to think someone meant to kill me.”
Jake avoided meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry, but I feel I have to tell them.”
“And give them something more to worry about?” Her voice rose an octave. “They’ve enough on their minds as it is.”
“And how would they feel if it had been you instead of Lobo? The mine and all the other worries would pale in comparison.”
She made a frustrated noise and nudged her horse into a trot. Jake held Buck back. There was little point in continuing the conversation. He had to tell her parents, and that was that.
When they rode back into Wolf’s Landing, Jake didn’t expect to see so many people out and about. Nor did he anticipate the excitement his and Indigo’s appearance would stir. As they rode down the hillside, he heard voices heralding their arrival. A moment later, he spied Loretta Wolf as she ran from the jailhouse into the street, her blue skirts lifting in the breeze.
“Indigo!” she cried.
There was no mistaking the tearful relief in her voice. Acutely conscious of his bare chest, Jake pulled Buck up in front of the house and swung from the saddle. The people along both boardwalks had stopped and turned to stare. After the day and night he and Indigo had just spent, the accusing expressions on their faces ignited his temper. Surely they could see the dead wolf across the back of the girl’s horse. If they thought that he and Indigo had been off somewhere fornicating all night, they were narrow-minded idiots.
“Praise the Lord you’re all right,” Loretta cried.
Indigo turned her horse toward the barn. As Loretta drew up in front of Jake, she spied Lobo. Her steps faltered, and the color washed from her face. As quickly as he could, he explained what had happened. Loretta clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.
“Oh, dear God. Poor Indigo.”
Two older women stood near the jailhouse. As they whispered behind their cupped palms, they shot knowing glances at Jake’s bare chest. He ground his teeth.
Loretta followed his gaze. When she looked back at him, her mouth had drawn into a tight line. “Don’t mind them, Mr. Rand.”
They were a little hard to ignore. “You know what they’re thinking.”
Loretta nodded. “Yes, but it can’t be helped. You mustn’t concern yourself with it. I assure you that Hunter and I aren’t the kind of people who’d—” She pushed at her untidy braid. She’d obviously been up all night pacing the floors. “You took care of our daughter. We’ll be ete
rnally grateful to you for that.”
Indigo came from the barn carrying a shovel. Without so much as a glance in their direction, she balanced the handle across Molly’s withers, swung onto her back and rode off into the trees. Loretta stared after her.
“Bless her heart. She loved that wolf so.”
“More, I think, than any of us can understand,” Jake replied in a husky voice. “Will she be all right tending to him alone?”
Still gazing after her daughter, Loretta gnawed her lip. “I pray so. Regardless, it is their way. No one must intrude, at least not for a while.” When she finally returned her attention to Jake, she raised both eyebrows. “Mercy, Mr. Rand, what happened to your shirt?”
“I used it to bandage Lobo.”
“If you don’t take a chill, it’ll be a miracle. Come into the house and get warm. I’ve got fresh coffee made.”
As Jake followed her up the porch steps, he shot one last glance into the trees where Indigo had disappeared. Was it their way to let a girl mourn alone? Maybe Loretta could accept that, but to him it seemed heartless.
Upon entering the house, Loretta went directly to Hunter’s bedside. Jake could hear her relating what had happened. He stepped to the bedroom doorway and peeked in just as she concluded the story and began telling her husband how the people on the street were behaving.
“The old biddies!” she cried. “They make me so angry I could spit. Both of them axe- handle broad with three chins. They’re just jealous, that’s all.”
Jake braced himself for Hunter’s reaction. He knew how he would feel if Indigo were his daughter. Malicious gossip could ruin a girl’s life, and if it got out of hand, there would be only one way to mend the situation. Jake wasn’t certain how he felt about that. Obligated, yes. But resentful, too. He hadn’t asked for this.
Hunter turned a concerned gaze toward the doorway and beckoned for Jake to enter. “It sounds like you had a very bad night, my friend.”
“I’ve had better.” Jake rubbed his shoulder as he strode toward the bed. “Indigo had a tougher time than I, by far.” He saw Hunter’s gaze drop to his chest. Since he hadn’t heard Loretta explain his state of undress, he decided he should himself to avoid any misunderstanding. “I used my shirt for bandages. I did all I could.”
The half-breed closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. When he looked back at Jake, there was no mistaking the sadness in his expression. “And Indigo?”
“She’s taking it pretty hard, I’m afraid.”
Loretta touched her husband’s shoulder. “Mr. Rand says the bullet nearly hit her, Hunter. She moved in the nick of time.”
Hunter caught her small hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Then he turned a questioning gaze to Jake. “You believe someone meant to shoot our daughter?”
Jake didn’t want to alarm them needlessly. “I’m not sure what I believe. All I can say is that she would have been hit if she hadn’t moved. Maybe the man was waiting for a clear shot at the wolf.” He glanced at Loretta and noted how pale she had become. “That’s probably how it was. But since it was such a close call, I felt I had to tell you.”
Hunter seemed to consider that. “What is your feeling?”
Jake sighed. “That’s a tough question. It scared the hell out of me, and right after it happened, I would have sworn—” He licked his lips and swallowed. “Now, looking back on it, I think maybe I overreacted. Indigo assures me she has no enemies. If that’s the case, it’s highly unlikely someone would try to harm her. I understand that Lobo’s been shot at before.”
“Several times,” Loretta inserted. “Wolves don’t inspire much goodwill.”
Jake wondered if she hadn’t responded a little too quickly. Yet he couldn’t blame her for leaping at any explanation. No one wanted to think a loved one was in danger. “That being the case, we’re probably safe in assuming Lobo was the target.”
Hunter released his wife’s hand and motioned for Jake to sit in the rocker. “We are grateful to you for all you’ve done.”
Jake lowered himself into the chair, weary beyond all reason. “I didn’t do much. And from the looks of things, what I did do has—” He broke off. “I’m sorry we didn’t get back before dark. The horses bolted, and I was afraid to leave Indigo alone to go looking for them. Even if I had, she wouldn’t have left. The wolf lingered for several hours.”
“You did what you felt was best,” Loretta murmured. “We don’t hold you responsible.”
Hunter nodded. “You took care of our daughter. If wagging tongues make something dirty of that, we will weather the storm.”
It seemed to Jake that Indigo would be the one to weather the gossip, not the three of them. Did Hunter, being Comanche, fully understand the possible consequences? A glance at Loretta’s face answered that question. The Wolfs understood, but they were too decent to hold him accountable for something he hadn’t been able to prevent.
A wave of guilt washed over Jake. Before it ebbed, he wondered what in hell he had to feel guilty about. It wasn’t his fault some trigger- happy bastard had taken a shot at them and hit the wolf. Nor had he had any choice in staying at the Geunther Place all night.
Still, he couldn’t let it drop. The issue had to be faced, and running had never been his way. He gestured toward the front door. “From the way those women were looking at us, I’d say they’re bent on making things miserable.”
“That is our trouble, not yours.” Hunter looked up at his wife. “Where has she gone, little one?”
“To bury Lobo,” Loretta replied in a tremulous voice.
Hunter shifted restlessly. Jake could see that he yearned to be on his feet so he could go after his daughter.
“If you don’t think she should be alone, I can follow her,” Jake offered.
Hunter closed his eyes and nodded. “In a few minutes, yes? Give her some time to grieve without eyes looking on. It is a private thing, and the way of my people.”
Jake slid his gaze to the sunlit window. The well-scrubbed glass glinted in his eyes. His throat felt scratchy, and the smell of coffee made his mouth water. The sleepless night had left him drained. How much worse must Indigo feel? The warmth from the fires settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He glanced down at his hands. Blood and dirt stained his fingers.
“I’d best wash up and put on a shirt,” he said.
Loretta circled the foot of the bed. “Are you hungry, Mr. Rand? I can fix something in no time.”
Jake pushed up from the rocker. “Aside from a cup of that coffee, a kettle of hot water and a bar of soap will do for now.”
A little over an hour later, Jake left the house and struck off into the trees. Molly’s hoofmarks had left a clear trail to follow, and about a half- mile from the house, he came to a clearing. He drew up when he spotted Indigo huddled by a mound of freshly turned earth. She hugged her knees, head bowed, back bent. Exhaustion was apparent in every line of her body. Molly stood near her, tethered to a large fallen log.
Jake lingered in the trees, reluctant to intrude. Then he noticed the blood glistening on Indigo’s right forearm. Fresh blood. His pulse quickened, and he hurried toward her. At the sound of his approach, she raised her head.
“Indigo, what—” Jake froze midstride and stared at the knife she clutched in her left hand. “What in God’s name have you done?”
He dropped to his knees beside her, scarcely able to believe his eyes. The slash in her flesh appeared to be deep, and the sharp edge of her knife was stained with blood. He looked at the grave and saw dark stains where she had bled onto the dirt.
“Indigo, what the hell—”
He seized her wrist to examine the wound more closely. The bleeding had slowed, but the cut was deep and would require stitches to mend right. Even at that, she would carry a scar. Why? What had possessed her to cut herself?
“It is the way of the People,” she said. “When a loved one leaves us, we make a mark in our flesh to remember them by.”
J
ake’s stomach clenched as he stared at her flawless skin, defiled by a knife blade. A surge of anger swept through him. “Jesus. That’s insane.” Incredulous, he lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s insane, Indigo. You don’t take a knife to yourself, no matter what the reason.”
“It is the way of my father’s people.”
“You aren’t one of your father’s people.”
The moment the words passed his lips, he regretted saying them. Though her blue eyes and sun-touched hair belied it, Comanche blood flowed in her veins. Last night, he had seen evidence of that. He reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief, glad that he’d gotten a clean one from his bags before leaving the house. Giving it a shake to unfold it, he held the edges of her wound together and quickly wrapped her arm.
Sitting back on his heels, he studied her pale face. The calm in her eyes told him she had found some measure of peace in the grieving ritual, barbaric as it seemed to him.
“Are you all right?” It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. “Let’s get you back to the house so your mother can stitch up your arm.”
“No stitches.”
Jake tightened his grip on her wrist. “What do you mean, no stitches? That’s a damned deep cut, young lady. It’ll never mend right without them.”
“That is good.”
Understanding dawned. She didn’t want a thin, barely visible scar. For the rest of her life, she meant to carry Lobo’s mark, and she wanted the whole world to see it. His guts knotted, and he felt as if he might lose the coffee he had drunk.
As if he wasn’t there, she gazed off across the clearing. The wind picked up and played with her hair. Strands of coppery gold draped across her eyes and caught in her long lashes. Jake released her wrist and shoved the strands aside with a fingertip. Then he settled his hand on her shoulder.
When she didn’t look at him, he gave up on convincing her to leave and sat beside her, using one knee as an armrest, his attention centered on the dusty toe of his boot. She wasn’t in any danger of bleeding to death, after all. Maybe her mother could convince her to get the wound stitched when he got her back to the house. He could feel her nearness in every pore of his skin and wondered what she was thinking.