Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Read Online Free Page B

representative, and it's our usual policy that
Indians ride topside if they are allowed to board
the Butterfield Line at all."
    The stranger's gaze and voice hardened.
"Your agent took my gold, and I will ride here."
    "Well, uh, you seem civilized, so I'm sure
there's no harm in your riding here as far as the
way station," Mr. Rumford blustered in
irritation.
    The Indian turned to look out the window.
    Makinna studied his profile. She had seen
handsome men before, but none as handsome as
this one. His cheekbones were high and pro nounced, his jaw square and strong, and
altogether his face was as beautiful as any
chiseled in stone. She was ashamed of her own
comments and of the way Mr. Rumford and Mr.
Carruthers had treated him. She wondered what
he must be thinking about his fellow travelers.
There was a guarded tension in him, and she
sensed something powerful and dangerous about
him. Once again, she was grateful for her veil so
the Indian would not know that she was studying
him so intently.

    Then, as if he sensed her gaze on him, the
Indian turned his head to look at her, and she had
the sensation that he could see right through the
veil. Her heart began to beat so fast that she
could hardly breathe. Her hand instinctively
went to the door handle and she gripped it
tightly. For a fleeting moment, she thought she
detected something haunted in his expression,
but it was quickly replaced by a look of sardonic
amusement. Finally he looked away and turned
his gaze out the window.
    The rest of the afternoon was spent in
uncomfortable silence, even Mr. Rumford
having ceased trying to make conversation.
    Makinna was relieved when the coach
ultimately came to a rocking halt. They had
arrived at Adobe Springs. Mr. Rumford helped
her from the stage, and when she entered the
station house, she was greeted by a thin pinched-looking woman who introduced herself
as Mrs. Browning. The woman instantly began
to chat, but Makinna pleaded weariness and
asked to be shown directly to her room.

    Mrs. Browning looked disappointed as she led
the way. "We hardly ever get any female
travelers out here. I'd be pleased to sit and talk a
spell with you."
    "I beg you to forgive me, but I am tired, and I
have a headache. I want no more than to lie
down for a while."
    Mrs. Browning's mouth tightened. "Well, if
that's the way you want it. I'll have my husband
bring in your grip."
    "Thank you." After the tense hours with the
Indian on the stage, she didn't want to talk to
anyone; she just wanted to be left alone.
    When Mrs. Browning departed, Makinna
looked about the small chamber off the back of
the main room. It was cramped, the only
furniture a narrow cot and a washstand with a
pitcher of water. She sat on the lumpy mattress
and leaned back against the adobe wall. The
bedding was surprisingly clean, smelling of lye
soap.
    But the room was so hot that her hair was
plastered to her forehead. With a sigh,
Makinna stood to remove her veil. Stepping to
the open window, she hoped for a breath of
fresh air. But a dry wind parched her throat,
and suddenly tears blurred her vision.

    Life as she'd known it was over. She was left
with only sorrow and an uncertain future. She
tried to push her troubled thoughts aside and
instead study the landscape. But this stark
country appeared to have no color-it looked
lifeless, empty. The adobe way station and its
outbuildings were the same dull tone as the
ground and the distant hills. The only growing
things seemed to be an occasional cactus and
scraggly stalks of straw-colored grass poking
through the hard, cracked ground.
    In that moment, Makinna longed for the
lushness of New Orleans. Could any place this
side of hell be as hot and dry and miserable as
Adobe Springs? She thought of green Louisiana
fields, where horses frolicked, and the
Mississippi, where paddlewheel boats floated
lazily along the current.
    A shadow fell across her view, and she