Free Indigo Moon by Gill McKnight Page B

girl sat bolt upright in a straw-strewn flurry, confounded at seeing Isabelle standing before her.
    “No. Not Ren,” Isabelle said and smiled. The child was perhaps eleven or twelve, not quite in her teens. Her straggly, long brown hair had stalks of straw poking out at all angles, and her face was smudged with dirt. Her clothes, what Isabelle could make of them half buried in the straw, were grimy with dried mud.
    “I’m Isabelle,” she said. “I’m staying at the cabin up the hill.” The girl blinked in surprise and examined Isabelle’s borrowed waxed jacket and ridiculous rolled-up jeans with deep suspicion.
    “Where’s Joey?” she asked suddenly, seemingly satisfied with the introduction.
    “I don’t know who Joey is. Who are you?”
    “Mouse. Joey’s getting me breakfast.”
    “Mouse?” Isabelle smiled at the nickname. Small, brown with dirt, and ferreted away in the straw bales, the moniker fitted her perfectly. “Lucky you, getting breakfast in bed. Do you usually sleep here, Mouse?”
    “I don’t like the bunkhouse. Noah and Patrick snore.”
    More new names. Isabelle had already met the unwelcoming Patrick, but she didn’t know anything about a Joey or Noah. How many others were living at Ren’s place? Did they work here? Where were Mouse’s parents? Did they live here, too?
    “Hey. Is there a Mouse in the house?” The barn door creaked as someone shuffled in to join them. Isabelle turned toward the smell of cooked food, her stomach growling as if it hadn’t been fed in years. A young man on a crutch hopped precariously across the barn floor, balancing a tray with his free hand. He had dark blond hair cut in a shaggy surfer style and looked like he pumped iron all day long. He was big, looked to be in his mid to late teens, and seemed extremely cheerful despite his awkwardness with the crutch.
    “It’s you should be getting me breakfast in bed, Mouse,” he said, all attention on the tray. “I got the bad leg. Have you any idea how hard it is not to tip this dang thing over—” He broke off when he saw Isabelle. “Oh.” His guileless blue eyes blinked and his jaw slackened. Her appearance seemed to throw him.
    “Let me help.” She went over and took the tray from him, and brought it back to Mouse. She had crept over to the edge of her nest and now hung over watching them both, refusing to leave its confines but anxious for her breakfast to arrive. Isabelle set the tray down before her. A plate was piled high with bacon, steak, and eggs and swimming in a sea of spilled orange juice. It was more than enough food for a grown man, never mind the diminutive girl before her, but Mouse fell on it with a gusto that made Isabelle jealous.
    “Thanks.” Joey’s uncertainty passed, and he hopped over beside her and eased himself down on a bale. Beside him, Mouse guzzled as if she’d never seen food before, though she still managed to keep a wary eye on both of them.
    Joey shuffled and shifted. It was clear his hip and leg caused him pain. Finally, he propped his crutch on the bale beside him and straightened out his bad leg.
    “Hey.” He turned his attention back to Isabelle, his cheerful smile back in place. “You’re Ren’s—” Mouse made a strange little spitting sound and Joey shut up with a confused look.
    “You’re Ren’s houseguest, yeah?” he said, this time with a sheepish grin. He rubbed his hip and thigh. She wondered what he had been about to say before Mouse had shushed him. She had a good idea, and it made her uncomfortable. What were the preconceptions about her and Ren?
    “Sort of. I’m staying at her cabin for a while. I’m Isabelle, and you’re Joey, right?” Isabelle was just as canny back. She was unsure what she was to Ren, but if she was careful, these two might provide her with some concrete answers. “What happened to your leg, Joey?” She might as well ask since he was constantly drawing attention to it.
    He gave a mirthless barked laugh and