Read Online Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) by Constance O'Banyon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Constance O'Banyon
Tags: Fiction, adventure, Romance, Historical, Adult, Action, Western, Native Americans, 19th century, multicultural, destiny, Travelers, legend, teacher, rescue, wilderness, Indian, American West, savage, White Man, Paleface, Tribal Chieftain, Stagecoach, Apaches, His Woman, TYKOTA'S WOMAN
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fear in her blue eyes.
"They will not come back here," he said,
extending a hand to her. "But they have not
given up their search."
"What do we do?" she asked wearily.
"We outthink them," he answered, turning
away.
She flipped a tangled curl from her face and
said softly, "I am so tired. And I feel sure that I
could drink a river dry."
"If we can make our water last through this
day and tomorrow, you can have all the water
you want by tomorrow night."
She brushed gravel from her hands and
noticed that her palms were bleeding. "I can do
it," she replied with staunch determination.
Makinna did not see the softness in Tykota's
dark eyes or his hand reach out to her, then drop
to his side. "You must get out of this sun.
Already your face is burned."
She glanced about. "I see no shade."
"Remove your petticoat and give it to me."
She was shocked by his suggestion. Taking a
hasty step backward, she exclaimed, "I will do
no such thing!"
"Remove it, or I will do it for you, Miss
Hillyard."
She saw the look in his eyes and knew he
meant what he said. She moved away from him a
few paces. "Turn your back."
He did as she asked, a small smile on his lips.
How could she worry about modesty when she
faced death from hunger, thirst, and the Apache?
But that was Makinna.
She blushed as she stepped out of her petticoat
and held it out to him. "You can turn around
now."
Tykota took it and ripped out a seam. "I
wonder who decided that a white woman should
wear so many undergarments."
She watched as he erected a shelter by
stretching the petticoat across two branches that
he'd buried in the sand, securing the other end
with stones.
"Now I advise you to get out of the sun."
"What about you?"
He reached out and touched her face that was
still smudged with faint traces of mud. "I told
you, I do not burn."
She was transfixed by his gentle touch and
the expression in his dark eyes. In that
moment, something primitive called to her
that this was the man she had been waiting for all her life. Something about him kept pulling at
her, and she wanted to give in to the feeling. She
wanted to be in his arms, to feel him hold her
close, to never let her go. And that frightened her
more than anything else.
Tykota abruptly looked away and dropped his
hand, ending the moment of closeness.
Makinna scrambled beneath the shelter,
wondering why her heart was drumming against
her ribs and why she felt as if she might faint at
any moment. Probably the heat, she convinced
herself. Hadn't Mr. Carruthers implied that the
desert sun could play tricks with a person's
mind? Yes, that was probably it.
She watched Tykota walk away and disappear
over the rise. She wanted to know where they
were going. She would demand an answer from
him as soon as the moment presented itself. She
had to get away from him, because something
was happening to her that she didn't understand.
Something powerful and unexpected and
frightening.
She closed her eyes and could almost feel his
fingers on her face.
"No," she cried, burying her face in her
hands. Oh, if only she had remained in New
Orleans. If only she had never started out on
this ill-fated journey.
Makinna jerked awake, disoriented, her eyes
wide with fear, her heart pounding. As she got
her bearings, she crawled from beneath the
shelter Tykota had cunningly erected to protect
her from the punishing sun, then stood,
stretching her cramped muscles. It was almost
sundown, and there was no sign of Tykota.
Again, she feared he'd left her there to die.
She turned in every direction, searching for any
sign of him. But he had not left even a footprint
for her to follow.
"It is time for us to leave."
At the sound of his voice Makinna whirled
around to find him standing right behind her. Her
stomach tightened in a knot of fear.
Beneath the dying sun, Tykota gazed into Makinna's eyes and saw more than he wanted
to see. He saw pain, uncertainty, and
"They will not come back here," he said,
extending a hand to her. "But they have not
given up their search."
"What do we do?" she asked wearily.
"We outthink them," he answered, turning
away.
She flipped a tangled curl from her face and
said softly, "I am so tired. And I feel sure that I
could drink a river dry."
"If we can make our water last through this
day and tomorrow, you can have all the water
you want by tomorrow night."
She brushed gravel from her hands and
noticed that her palms were bleeding. "I can do
it," she replied with staunch determination.
Makinna did not see the softness in Tykota's
dark eyes or his hand reach out to her, then drop
to his side. "You must get out of this sun.
Already your face is burned."
She glanced about. "I see no shade."
"Remove your petticoat and give it to me."
She was shocked by his suggestion. Taking a
hasty step backward, she exclaimed, "I will do
no such thing!"
"Remove it, or I will do it for you, Miss
Hillyard."
She saw the look in his eyes and knew he
meant what he said. She moved away from him a
few paces. "Turn your back."
He did as she asked, a small smile on his lips.
How could she worry about modesty when she
faced death from hunger, thirst, and the Apache?
But that was Makinna.
She blushed as she stepped out of her petticoat
and held it out to him. "You can turn around
now."
Tykota took it and ripped out a seam. "I
wonder who decided that a white woman should
wear so many undergarments."
She watched as he erected a shelter by
stretching the petticoat across two branches that
he'd buried in the sand, securing the other end
with stones.
"Now I advise you to get out of the sun."
"What about you?"
He reached out and touched her face that was
still smudged with faint traces of mud. "I told
you, I do not burn."
She was transfixed by his gentle touch and
the expression in his dark eyes. In that
moment, something primitive called to her
that this was the man she had been waiting for all her life. Something about him kept pulling at
her, and she wanted to give in to the feeling. She
wanted to be in his arms, to feel him hold her
close, to never let her go. And that frightened her
more than anything else.
Tykota abruptly looked away and dropped his
hand, ending the moment of closeness.
Makinna scrambled beneath the shelter,
wondering why her heart was drumming against
her ribs and why she felt as if she might faint at
any moment. Probably the heat, she convinced
herself. Hadn't Mr. Carruthers implied that the
desert sun could play tricks with a person's
mind? Yes, that was probably it.
She watched Tykota walk away and disappear
over the rise. She wanted to know where they
were going. She would demand an answer from
him as soon as the moment presented itself. She
had to get away from him, because something
was happening to her that she didn't understand.
Something powerful and unexpected and
frightening.
She closed her eyes and could almost feel his
fingers on her face.
"No," she cried, burying her face in her
hands. Oh, if only she had remained in New
Orleans. If only she had never started out on
this ill-fated journey.
Makinna jerked awake, disoriented, her eyes
wide with fear, her heart pounding. As she got
her bearings, she crawled from beneath the
shelter Tykota had cunningly erected to protect
her from the punishing sun, then stood,
stretching her cramped muscles. It was almost
sundown, and there was no sign of Tykota.
Again, she feared he'd left her there to die.
She turned in every direction, searching for any
sign of him. But he had not left even a footprint
for her to follow.
"It is time for us to leave."
At the sound of his voice Makinna whirled
around to find him standing right behind her. Her
stomach tightened in a knot of fear.
Beneath the dying sun, Tykota gazed into Makinna's eyes and saw more than he wanted
to see. He saw pain, uncertainty, and