Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) (10 page)

She lay her head on the sand, her body and
spirits drained. She would never leave this spot.
She would die here, and someone, years from
now, would find her bleached bones. She closed
her eyes, waiting, almost welcoming death to
take her.

But that was not to be. A shadow fell across
her face, and she glanced up to see Tykota
standing over her. Why didn't he just go away
and allow her to die in peace?

Instead of rebuking her, as she expected he
bent down and gathered her into his strong arms.
Limply, she laid her head against his shoulder,
too tired to protest or even care.

The sun was so hot, she could hardly breathe.
She felt she was being consumed by flames. And
she was so weak.

"Do not go to sleep on me, Makinna. There is
water just over that next hill. Look, you can see
it in the distance. You have to stay awake until
we get there."

If she had the strength, she'd defy him and
throw his demands back in his face, she
thought wearily. He could not order her to
stay awake no matter how many times he
demanded it of her. She was only vaguely
aware that he was walking very fast, and she
wondered where he found the energy.

Tykota could barely feel Makinna's breath
against his neck. If he didn't get her to water
soon, she would die. His strength must not fail
him now; he could not lose her. She had
trudged along, uncomplaining; even when she
was weary unto death. He had sensed by her
defense of him at Adobe Springs that she was
an extraordinary woman. Now he knew it to
be true. What was more, she had feared him
then, and she feared him now. But that night
at Adobe Springs, her kindness had been
stronger than her fear. And her courage had
carried her farther than most women could
have managed.

No, he could not let her die.

Makinna thought she must be dreaming when
she felt cool water wash over her. Opening her
eyes, she met Tykota's gaze. The water was real!
Tykota had waded into a spring with her in his
arms.

He gently set her on her feet, supporting her
with one hand while he cupped the other,
filled it with water, then held it up to her
mouth. She dipped her head and drank
thirstily.

"Not too much at first. Take small sips," he
instructed. He dipped his hand into the water
once more and offered her another drink.

In no time Makinna felt revived enough to
duck down and allow the water to wash over her head. Laughing weakly, she came up for air.
"I wish this was deep enough to swim in."

Tykota watched her in fascination as she
shook water from her hair and pushed wet
strands out of her face. "Do you swim?"

"Of course. My brother taught me one
summer." She smiled. "But I could never tell my
mother that he had. Ladies don't swim," she
said, laughing.

"Then a lady could drown."

"Ladies do not do many of the things I have
done since I left New Orleans."

Tykota found himself fascinated by the water
sliding off her soft skin, and he felt an ache
begin deep inside. She was so innocent and
beautiful, and he was becoming too attached to
her. He had to put some distance between
them.

She went under and came up again. "I never
thought anything could feel so good."

He knew other things that could-his lips
touching her neck, then sliding up to her lips.
"You remind me of a child given her first toy."

Her laughter was musical. Her happiness
gladdened his heart. Beads of water clung to her
face, and he wanted to reach out and touch them,
touch her hair, her lips.

"Oh, this is better than any toy. I never
thought water could taste so good," she said
gleefully. "Being raised in a place where there is water in abundance, I have always taken it for
granted."

"There are many things that we do not
treasure, Makinna, until we lose them."

The way he said her name warned her. She
averted her eyes and dipped her hands in the
water, sifting it between her fingers. "Have you
lost something you treasured?" she asked. When
she looked up again, she saw sadness in his eyes.
Then his gaze hardened, and he glanced at the
horizon.

Clearly, he was not going to answer her
question. Already his thoughts were far away,
and she sensed that if she spoke at that
moment, he wouldn't even hear her. She felt an
iron control at work within him, and again she
wondered what it would take to ever make that
control slip. He dipped his hands in the water
and raised them to his lips. He was naked to
the waist, and she had to ball her fists to keep
from reaching out and touching his bronzed
skin.

Makinna turned away, horrified by her
improper thoughts and reactions to Tykota.
She waded slowly toward the shore and found
shelter in the shade of a prickly shrub. But her
gaze went back to Tykota, and she watched
him emerge from the spring. As he moved
toward her, the water became shallower,
revealing more of his body with each step he took. His ebony hair hung thickly past his
shoulders, and his wet trousers molded to his
muscular thighs like a second skin.

She averted her gaze, glancing at the thin
ribbon of greenery growing alongside the spring.
But again her eyes sought out Tykota. He was
such a marvelous-looking man. She blushed and
ducked her head, hoping he wouldn't realize
what she was feeling as she saw the clear outline
of his disturbing masculinity.

Against her will, she watched again as he
removed his boots, pouring the water out of
them. Then she gasped when he began to
remove his trousers. She tensed, fearing he
would have nothing on underneath. But he
wore a skimpy breechcloth that did little to
cover his rippling muscles. Blushing, she
lowered her gaze, again ashamed of her
improper thoughts.

She lay back, closed her eyes, and tried to still
her beating heart. She would not look in his
direction again, she told herself.

Makinna lay still, listening to the wind and
trying to recall happier days in New Orleans.
But suddenly she could only remember the sad
times. Her father being forced to sell their
home and move them to a smaller house near
the docks. She hadn't minded so much, but her
brother and father had. Her father had died a
broken man a year after the move. She remembered her sister moving away. Her mother and brother dying. Makinna couldn't bear to think
about her family-the pain was too deep, the
loneliness too sharp.

She cushioned her head on her folded arms
and tried to sleep.

Makinna awoke to the most delicious aroma
she'd ever smelled-meat roasting over a
campfire. She sat up and stretched her arms over
her head, smiling at Tykota, who was bent over
the spit turning the meat.

"I don't care if that is rattlesnake, I'm
ravenous.

He stood up to his full height, and she was
relieved to see that he had put on his trousers and
boots. "We dine on rabbit tonight."

She rose to join him at the fire, watching the
drippings sizzle on hot stones. "Isn't it
dangerous to have a fire at night? Do you no
longer fear the Apache?"

"The Apache do not know of this place."

"Oh."

She watched the meat with hungry eyes.
"When will it be ready?"

"Now."

She stepped to the spring to wash her hands
and take a deep drink before returning to Tykota.
"I didn't hear you fire your gun. How did you
kill the rabbit?"

"I used my knife."

"Oh. Of course." She could not imagine any one hunting with just a knife. "Is that your usual
hunting method?"

"Sometimes."

Makinna was becoming annoyed with his
vague answers-or no answers at all. "You never
talk unless it's to give me an order, Tykota."

He met her gaze. "I talk when there is
something important to say." He smiled at her.
"While you, Makinna, chatter like a magpie."

She knew it was rather forward to use each
other's given names, but dire circumstances had
taken them past conventional etiquette. "That's
true." She settled on the ground and spread her
tattered gown about her. "I do. So it's your turn.
Tell me more about yourself, Tykota. I know so
little about you."

He sliced off a chunk of meat and handed it to
her. "I told you before. I left my family, to spend
most of my life in England."

She was intrigued. "But why did you leave
your family? Have you got a mother and father,
brothers or sisters?"

"I thought you said you were hungry."

"I am, but-"

"Then eat."

She looked pensive. "Tell me more about the
ranch near the Mexican border."

His strong white teeth tore into the meat. He
said nothing.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"I do not feel so inclined, no."

She took a bite of the meat and lowered
her head. "I'm sorry. I know it's none of my
affair."

He stood up abruptly, and before she could
say anything further, he walked away, swallowed
up by the darkness.

Makinna was becoming accustomed to his
moody silences, his abrupt departures, and his
unwillingness to talk about himself. But she
wanted to know more about him.

She finished eating and went back to the
spring to wash her hands. She tried to work the
tangles out of her hair, but it was useless.
Tomorrow maybe, she would give in and ask
Tykota to cut her hair.

She lay back on the soft grass that grew
beside the spring and closed her eyes. It was so
peaceful there after traveling across the harsh
desert. Weariness overtook her and drew her
into sleep.

When Makinna awoke the next morning, she
found Tykota hollowing out three gourds with
his knife. She pushed her hair out of her face and
watched him. "What are you doing?"

"We can carry extra water with these. It is a
long way until the next water."

Dread settled over her. "If we get out of this
alive, I never want to see the desert again."

He glanced up at her. "You were meant for
the easy life, sitting in parlors gossiping with
the ladies, talking about the latest fashion or
what so-and-so had on at the dance the night
before."

That was the longest speech she'd ever known
him to give, and instead of being angry with his
unflattering suppositions about her character, she
was amused. "You do not know me at all if you
believe that."

"But I have met women like you."

She hid a smile. "Have you? Yet you so often
point out that I am a bit unusual. But do tell me
about these woman you now compare me to."

He glanced at her. "You tell me. You have
lived among society ladies, who wear silly
undergarments and do not swim."

"I refuse to say anything more about myself."
She watched him deftly thread cloth strips
through holes he'd made in the top of a gourd.
"Not until you tell me about yourself."

He dipped the gourds in the water, filled
them, and stood, slipping them over his
shoulder. "After you have eaten, fill the canteen
and bring it with you. We should be leaving
very soon."

She stood up and placed a hand on his arm. He
looked down at her hand and then into her face
questioningly.

"I have a favor to ask, Tykota."

He silently waited for her to go on.

"I have decided to let you cut my hair."

She could tell nothing from his expression,
but he laid the gourds on the ground and
unsheathed his knife. Then he looked from
her hair to the knife and back. To Makinna's
surprise, he begun to prowl back and forth
with the grace of a mountain lion and the
intensity of a man with a heavy decision to
make.

"Why do you worry so? It's my hair, not
yours. And it was your idea to cut it."

At last he stopped in front of her and grasped
her shoulders, turning her back to him.

Makinna squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Tykota lifted some strands of her golden hair
and raised his knife, but when the tendril
curled around his finger, he hesitated. The
texture was like silk. Something within him
resisted the thought of cutting off anything so
beautiful. He raised the strand to his lips and
closed his eyes.

"Do it quickly," she said, her eyes still
squeezed shut.

His hand actually trembled as he sliced
through the curls. Then he sliced another and
another, cutting it to the top of her shoulders.
When the ground about them was littered with
gold, he retrieved one of the curls and slipped it
into his pocket.

Makinna turned slowly to face him. "Do I
look awful?"

Tykota's gaze went from her hair to her
startlingly blue eyes, which held an almost
childlike expression.

"Do I?"

She must know she was beautiful; she did not
need him to tell her. "You will be more
comfortable this way. The tangles can now be
easily worked out with your fingers."

Makinna looked worried, and her bottom lip
trembled a bit. "And in time it will grow back,"
she reassured herself.

Tykota swept away the cut hair to leave no
evidence of their passage. Then he lifted the
water gourds and moved away. "You will want
to eat quickly and make yourself ready for a long
trek. Tomorrow night we cross the worst of the
desert."

She began working the worst tangles out of
her hair. "I wish we could stay here."

He didn't answer.

Makinna bent to gathering the pouch of meat
and the canteen. She sighed heavily. Tykota
was the most complicated man she'd ever
known. It must be because he was an Indian.
They came from different worlds, and she
didn't understand him any more than he
understood her.

But what did it matter? When this was over, if it ever was, their paths would never cross
again.

So why did that thought bring such a pain to
her heart that tears sprang to her eyes? What was
happening to her?