Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, there's Injuns in the yard!"
Loretta catapulted upward and landed on all fours in the middle of the bed. Peeking out over the windowsill, she looked at the yard and saw--just that: the yard. Not an Indian in sight. Amy reared back, her eyes the size of cow pies. Loretta skewered her with a murderous glare.
"Well, it might've worked."
Relief made Loretta giddy. She flopped down on the mattress and hugged her pillow. Her heart felt as though it might pound its way up her throat. When Amy had said Indians were outside, Loretta had pictured him as he had looked yesterday, high atop his horse with a hundred warriors behind him, his broad chest and corded arms rippling in the sunlight. She had never seen such fierce, burning eyes.
"I--Loretta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you that bad a turn, honest. I was just funnin' you."
Loretta clenched her teeth and burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. She wanted to throttle Amy for her foolishness.
"Loretta, please, don't be mad. I never thought you'd believe me. Where's your sense of humor? You don't really think that ol' Injun will come back? What would an Injun want with a skinny runt like you? They like fat, brown girls who smear bear grease all over themselves. You're probably downright ugly to his way of thinkin', the drabbest-lookin' female he ever saw. No gee-gaws. Stinky, too, with that lavender smell on you. And no creepy-crawlies in your hair."
Loretta kept her face buried, determined not to laugh.
"And sayin' he liked you? There ain't no such thing as a polite Comanche. He wouldn't you! He'd just steal you. He came to look at you, that's all. Maybe he thought he had a hankerin' for ya and decided different once he got here."
Turning her head, Loretta cracked an eye, smothering a grin.
"Come to think of it, you do look sort of pitiful," Amy teased. "That's probably why he rode off. He took one look and got such a fright, he still ain't stopped runnin'.
Loretta catapulted upward and landed on all fours in the middle of the bed. Peeking out over the windowsill, she looked at the yard and saw--just that: the yard. Not an Indian in sight. Amy reared back, her eyes the size of cow pies. Loretta skewered her with a murderous glare.
"Well, it might've worked."
Relief made Loretta giddy. She flopped down on the mattress and hugged her pillow. Her heart felt as though it might pound its way up her throat. When Amy had said Indians were outside, Loretta had pictured him as he had looked yesterday, high atop his horse with a hundred warriors behind him, his broad chest and corded arms rippling in the sunlight. She had never seen such fierce, burning eyes.
"I--Loretta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you that bad a turn, honest. I was just funnin' you."
Loretta clenched her teeth and burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. She wanted to throttle Amy for her foolishness.
"Loretta, please, don't be mad. I never thought you'd believe me. Where's your sense of humor? You don't really think that ol' Injun will come back? What would an Injun want with a skinny runt like you? They like fat, brown girls who smear bear grease all over themselves. You're probably downright ugly to his way of thinkin', the drabbest-lookin' female he ever saw. No gee-gaws. Stinky, too, with that lavender smell on you. And no creepy-crawlies in your hair."
Loretta kept her face buried, determined not to laugh.
"And sayin' he liked you? There ain't no such thing as a polite Comanche. He wouldn't you! He'd just steal you. He came to look at you, that's all. Maybe he thought he had a hankerin' for ya and decided different once he got here."
Turning her head, Loretta cracked an eye, smothering a grin.
"Come to think of it, you do look sort of pitiful," Amy teased. "That's probably why he rode off. He took one look and got such a fright, he still ain't stopped runnin'.
( Catherine Anderson )
[ Comanche Moon ]
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