Indigo Blue

  “I don’t want you to think,” he informed her in a husky voice and lowered his head again.

  Before he found his mark, she protected it with a cupped hand and wailed, “But—Jake, that’s—I can’t—how can I think about daisies when you do stuff like that?”

  He pushed up on an arm and gazed into her eyes. “Daisies?”

  Too late, Indigo realized what she had said. Taking a huge gulp of air, she clamped a hand over her other breast.

  “What daisies?” he demanded.

  From the expression on his face, she didn’t think he was going to like her answer.

  “Indigo,” he persisted. “What daisies?”

  “Franny’s daisies,” she blurted. “It’s nothing, really. Just a way for me to bear up.”

  She could see that had been the wrong thing to say. He drew away and arched a black eyebrow. “Bear up?”

  Indigo searched frantically for a way to explain. “While you’re—you know—so it won’t be so awful.”

  A curious glint crept into his umber eyes. He studied her for a moment. “Awful? Indigo, start at the beginning. Who the hell is Franny, and what daisies are you talking about?”

  With more than a little reluctance, Indigo told him about her fears of making love, her consequent visit with Franny, and the advice she had been given. Jake rolled off her and draped a muscular arm over his brow.

  “That day under the oak tree—you were thinking about daisies, then, too. Weren’t you?”

  Indigo averted her gaze and plucked nervously at the chenille. “No, about Lobo. Franny’s daisies didn’t work.”

  “Franny, the little blonde?” With a low laugh, he said, “You went to a—” He groaned. “Indigo, why in God’s name did you ask Franny, of all people, for advice?”

  She jerked the bedspread over herself and put some distance between them. “She’s an expert?” she ventured.

  “She’s that, I guess. Has anyone else given you any advice I should know about?”

  Indigo felt pretty certain he was angry with her for discussing something so personal with her friend. “No one else would talk to me,” she admitted. “Ma just says never mind.”

  He lowered his arm a bit to peer out at her with a dangerously narrowed eye. “Did you ever consider coming to me?”

  She sputtered at that. “I couldn’t talk to you about it!”

  “Why not? We’re talking about it now.” He sighed. “Honey, if you’re worried about something like that, you should come to me. At least that way I know what your concerns are. How can I deal with something if you hide it from me?”

  Indigo didn’t want to be dealt with. Especially not by him. She stared at the bulging muscle in his chest, the rippling tracks across his belly, the dark swath of hair that ran in a dark triangle to the waistband of his jeans. Dealt with?

  “I—you—it’s not something you talk about. It’s—” She wished with all her heart he would stop looking at her. He made her feel like a bug in a jar. “It’s not ladylike.”

  “You aren’t supposed to be a lady with me,” he replied gently. “I’m your husband, and there’s nothing you should feel uncomfortable telling me. What if something goes wrong inside you and you need to see the doctor? Franny can’t take you.”

  Heat flooded Indigo’s face. “I reckon I’d just go.”

  “And pay for the visit with what?” The slashes at the corners of his mouth deepened. “You’re going to have to be open with me. And I think right now is a good time to start.”

  She thought next week would be better, maybe next month.

  He rolled onto his side, and propped his head on the heel of his hand. She jerked when he grasped the bedspread, then felt foolish when all he did was tuck the edges around her.

  “I wish you had told me how frightened you were at the first. As it is, you’ve worried needlessly all this time. I could have told you what to expect and eased your mind.”

  “I’m not frightened exactly,” she inserted in a quavery voice. “It’d be more correct to say I’m unenthusiastic. It’s sort of like tapioca—some people are wild about it, and others gag at the thought.”

  He brushed a knuckle over her chin, his eyes crinkling at the corners with what looked like amusement. “I’m going to tell you what to expect now, okay?”

  That was the last thing she wanted. “I already know.”

  His mouth twitched. “I see. And what font of wisdom do I have to thank for that? Franny again?”

  “No, of course not.” She stared at a point just below his larynx. “Once I saw two cougars do it.”

  “Marvelous,” he said beneath his breath. “If they go at it like house cats do, no wonder you’re trembling. Honey—”

  Before he could launch into a description, she inserted, “And Useless! I’ve seen him with the sows lots of times. And one time my uncle Swift put his stallion in with Molly. He sent me to the house, but I heard enough to know she didn’t like it.”

  “What if I were to promise you that you will like it?”

  She lowered her lashes and tried to think of a delicate way to answer. “I’d think maybe—” She licked her lips. “Not that you’d stretch the truth or anything, but—”

  He laughed under his breath. “Indigo, what purpose would it serve if I fibbed? In a few minutes, you’ll find out for yourself. Then what?”

  “It wouldn’t matter then. I’d have already let you.”

  “Once,” he amended. “What about after?”

  Indigo sincerely hoped once would do it.

  He toyed with her hair, his touch sending shivers down her neck. “I promise you’re going to love it. Does that ease your mind any?” He feathered a fingertip across her lips. The ticklish sensation made her want to scratch with her teeth. “The first time, there’ll be some discomfort. There’s a fragile barrier inside you”—he dipped his fingertip to touch the moist inside of her bottom lip—“that will tear when I enter you. The pain will only last a few seconds, and then you’ll feel nothing but pleasure. There’ll be a tiny bit of blood—from the torn membrane—so don’t be alarmed when you see it.”

  At the mention of blood, Indigo bolted to a sitting position, clutching frantically at the bedspread. “I don’t think—I’m dying for a drink of water suddenly. Aren’t you?”

  “We just crawled out of a whole creek full of water,” he reminded her in a warm voice.

  “Nonetheless, I feel parched.”

  He trailed a fingertip up her bare arm. “As soon as we’re finished, I’ll bring you a dipper and a whole bucket of water.”

  She jerked the spread over her shoulder so her arm was covered. When he touched her, her skin prickled everywhere. “There’s no need. I’ll grab a drink on the way to the privy.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’ll be hungry next?”

  That was a thought. “You know, I—” She broke off when she saw the knowing twinkle in his eyes. “It’s easy for you to laugh,” she accused. “It won’t be awful for you.”

  Somehow he had worked a hand under the bedspread. He ran a fingertip down her calf, then traced her instep. She found it difficult to breathe. She fastened pleading eyes on his.

  “It won’t be awful for you, either,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  In a low voice, he started describing exactly what he was going to do to her. Indigo wasn’t surprised to hear her worst fears confirmed. “Are you absolutely bent on it?” she asked.

  His hand slid to the back of her knee, then along her thigh. The heat of his touch made panic well within her. She tried to swallow it down as his fingertips climbed higher.

  “Honey, let me start, okay? If we get to a part that’s awful, you just tell me, hm?”

  His hand came dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. Black memories flashed in her mind—things she tried never to think about—of cruel hands grabbing at her, of digging, brutal fingers. Sweat beaded on her scalp and forehead. Her heart started to slam, and she felt as if she might get sick.
br />   Before she could stop the words, she cried, “It’ll be too late then.” A sob knifed through her chest, bringing a sharp pain like when she swallowed air. Only it wasn’t air; she couldn’t breathe. “You won’t stop! I know what you’ll do.”

  His hand stilled and curled warmly around her thigh. “What will I do?”

  “You’ll just keep on. Even when it hurts. You—” She stared down at him. “You won’t care how it feels for me. And since you’re bigger, I won’t be able to make you quit.”

  A question crept into his eyes. “Indigo, think rationally about this. Think of all the thousands—millions—of women who make love. A blind person can see how your ma adores your father. Would she love him if he did awful things to her?”

  In a high-pitched voice, she cried, “They’ve only got me and Chase. Maybe they only did it twice.”

  “That’s nonsense,” he said firmly.

  She shoved at his hand. “You can’t compare me to Ma. She isn’t a squaw, and she isn’t married to a—” She broke off and stared down at him, the words dying in her throat. The unfinished sentence hung between them, stark and resounding.

  Jake winced as if she had struck him, and a glitter crept into his eyes. He pulled his arm from under the spread and sat up. “She isn’t married to a white man? Is that it?”

  The hard, bitter edge to his voice frightened her. She cast a wild glance around the room, not quite sure why she had said such a thing. It was as if a black ugliness had boiled up from a hidden place inside her. She longed to call the words back so she wouldn’t see that awful look in his eyes. “I—that’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” His face drew into harsh, dark lines that made him look like a stranger. “I think it’s exactly what you meant.” With a curse, he forked a hand through his hair and said, “You know, Indigo, I’m sick to death of being compared to Brandon.”

  “I—I don’t compare you to—”

  “Like hell you don’t.” He pushed off the bed and stood up, turning to glare down at her. “There aren’t two people in this marriage, but three. You know what the saddest part is? I don’t know if you realize it. You’re packing around so much garbage inside your head because of what that bastard did to you that you don’t know which way’s up.”

  She reared back, her eyes as large as saucers. Jake realized he was yelling and took a deep breath, trying to cap the unreasoning anger that was trying to erupt from within him. The weeks of frustration had taken a toll. He was overreacting. In the back of his mind, he knew it. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  He paced across the room, trying to calm down, then turned to fix smoldering dark eyes on hers. “What do you want from me?” he asked softly.

  The question hung between them, an unanswerable wedge.

  “N-nothing,” she finally managed.

  With a low laugh, he said, “Sweetheart, don’t tell me nothing.” He walked back toward her. “What more can I do to prove myself to you? Name it, and it’s yours. Anything.”

  As he swung his arm to indicate her options were limitless, she flinched away, as if to dodge a blow. For Jake, that was the last draw. “Dammit, Indigo, don’t cower from me.”

  “I—I’m sorry!”

  “You’re sorry? And you think that fixes it? Do you have any idea how it feels to have you duck like you think I might strike you?”

  He felt the anger taking hold of him again. He tried to shake it off. This wasn’t the time or place for the words that were roiling within him. But reason eluded him.

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, then snapped it closed.

  He moved closer, so furious he wanted to shake her. “Do you think I might hit you when I’m angry? Is that it? Another little memento left behind by good old Brandon?” He pressed his face close to hers. “Look at me, dammit. Take a long, hard look! I’m not Brandon Marshall.”

  Indigo looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. Pain that she had inflicted. Instead of frightening her, his sudden flare of temper was such a startling change from his usual patience and gentleness that she felt a wave of guilt. Was it any wonder he was furious? “Oh, Jake, I—I know you’re not.”

  “Really?” He gave a harsh laugh. “You could fool me. I’ve bent over backward trying to prove to you that I’m nothing like him.” He jerked up the end of the mattress and swept the rock out onto the floor. “Name me another man who sleeps on boulders, goddammit, and I’ll put in with you. Have I complained? Even once? Hell, no. And that’s just for starters.”

  Indigo flicked a horrified gaze to the rock teetering on the rug, then looked back at him.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked again. “Being good to you hasn’t helped.” When she said nothing, he snapped his fingers. “Maybe I could marry you and go three weeks without touching you.” He moaned and threw up his hands in mock defeat. “But I’ve already done that, haven’t I?”

  An electrical silence fell between them. Indigo thought of all the nights when he had held her so tenderly in his arms, and tears filled her eyes. Indeed, what did she want from him? The answer was nothing; he had already given everything any man could possibly give, and then some. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to breathe around the ache in her chest. The smell of vanilla filled her nostrils.

  “Maybe I could stop by the general store every evening and buy you peppermint. Better yet, maybe I could go without my dinner and take you walking every night so you can be in your woods? Now there’s an idea. A little hunger after working my ass off all day wouldn’t hurt me, not if it’d make you happy. Or maybe I could promise never to make you leave Wolf’s Landing.” He laughed under his breath. “But I’ve already done all that.”

  Seeing her behavior through his eyes made Indigo feel so ashamed she wanted to die. “Oh, Jake, please, that’s enough.”

  “I haven’t even started,” he came back. He began to pace the room again. In the dimness, she could see that he was shaking. At the bureau, he turned. “You know, I don’t blame you. I’ve committed the unforgivable crime.”

  When he left that comment hanging, she couldn’t resist asking, “Wh-what was that?”

  His eyes glittered across the room at her. “I was born white.” He lifted his hands and glanced down at himself. “Guilty as charged. I’m a no-good white bastard, always have been, always will be. There’s no changing it. And you know what that means. You don’t dare trust me. The minute you do, I might turn on you. Just like Brandon did.”

  Indigo strained to speak, but there were no words. She pressed a hand over her eyes and finally managed, “Oh, Jake, it isn’t like that. It isn’t like that at all!”

  “It’s exactly like that. I didn’t stand a chance in hell from day one. You never gave me one.” His voice throbbed. “Do you know how it felt that day by Lobo’s grave when you thought the surprise I had waiting for you here was a beating? Have you any idea how it hurt, knowing you thought I was capable of that? Not because of anything I did, but because I’m white?”

  The raw pain in his voice lingered in the air long after he stopped speaking.

  “Do you think I can’t bleed, Indigo? Well, let me tell you something. It hurts me just as badly as it hurts you to be judged and condemned because of my skin.” His voice raked over her. “And while we’re on the subject of race, there’s another little truth you need to face. You aren’t proud of your Indian blood. A near miss, that’s what you are, damned near white, but not quite. A squaw who’ll never measure up.”

  The words cut into her like a lash. Even as she shook her head and cried, “No,” she recognized the truth in them.

  “Take a long hard look inside yourself, sweetheart. A journey within, isn’t that what you called it? You make yours with your eyes closed. Maybe I’m the no-good bastard you think I am, but at least I see my ugly side. You’ve dressed yours all up with brittle pride, thumbing your nose at the world, pitting yourself against men, hiding behind squaw clothes so you’ll never again make the mistake of f
orgetting what you are. Brandon showed you what could happen if you stepped out of your place.”

  Indigo clamped her hands over her ears. True or not, she didn’t want to hear this, couldn’t bear it. “Stop it!”

  “No, by God, I won’t stop it. If I have to rub your nose in the truth to make this marriage work, I’ll do it every damned hour of every day until you open your eyes and face it.”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re in a hell of a spot, aren’t you? You can’t decide who you hate worse, me or yourself.”

  “No, please, no . . .”

  His voice vibrant with disgust, he said, “How can I possibly have any regard for you? You? A nothing squaw? You’ve been walking on thin ice from the second you married me. Correction! Not walking, groveling. So I won’t slap you into line. Your mother argues with your father. She may obey him in the end, but she’s not afraid to stand up for herself. But do you dare? Hell, no, you’re married to a white man.”

  Indigo clutched at the bedspread and hugged it around herself, feeling as if it was all that held her together. The only sounds that broke the silence were her broken sobs and Jake’s uneven breathing. She flinched when he spoke again.

  “Where’s your knife, Indigo? Since the day you married me, you stopped wearing it. Your parents say you used to practice with it every day.”

  She sucked in a whine of air. “I—I didn’t think you’d like for m-me to.”

  He gave a shaky laugh. “True enough. Your being that handy with a knife makes you all the more Indian, doesn’t it? And talking to animals? What white woman can do that?” He motioned toward the window. “And we can’t forget Lobo. The truth is that you leave the window open for him because you believe his spirit is out there, that it’ll always be, and you want him to know you haven’t closed your heart to him. When I asked, you alluded to that, but you couldn’t come right out and say it, could you? It’s an Indian belief. It makes you something less. Isn’t that right?”

  His eyes demanded an answer. When she said nothing, he went on. “You were afraid to be open about any of those things, for fear I’d wake up and see you for what you really are. A squaw. Three-quarters white, but still a nothing.”