Byrd's Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

The site was secluded, she thought, and even if he’d been on adjacent property, she doubted he had a view.  He laughed. “I was flying over.”   She gaped at him.  One second passed, then another, and a third. “Oh,” she said. “You’re a pilot?” Celia recalled the airplane she’d seen right before the sky clouded over.  She’d flown a few times and remembered the excellent view possible from the air.  Although she hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the pilot from the air, Celia knew it had to be this man.  Nothing else had flown over except the big dark bird.  At the time, caught up in the moment, she’d thought it might be the Thunderbird.  Now her notion seemed silly, although she hesitated for one moment.  He said his name is Byrd.  That’s strange, and he’s dark, sleek, and beautiful, just like the bird I saw.   A cold shiver ran down her spine and the idea made her uneasy.  Then she caught herself.  How dumb , she thought.  There’s no Thunderbird, just a big ass bird heading home ahead of the storm .
    “I fly,” Byrd said simply. “You’re beautiful.”  His direct flattery embarrassed her a little , but after the kiss they’d shared, her unease didn’t last long. “Thank you,” Celia said. “I was just fixin’ to eat some shrimp étouffé.  Would you like to join me?”
    He grinned. “I’d love it.  I wondered what smelled so good.”  “Then c’mon,” Celia told him and led him into the kitchen.  She dished up two bowls with rice on the bottom and topped it with the spicy Cajun food.  For a moment she wondered if they should dine in the kitchen but after brief consideration, Celia decided they could eat at the dining room table.  She fished two spoons out of a drawer and tossed her head to indicate he should follow her.  Byrd did and they sat across from one another.  Without asking a blessing or saying anything more, he dipped his spoon into the étouffé and tasted it.   “It’s good,” he said after a moment of consideration, head cocked to one side. “It’s been some time since I’ve eaten anything so delicious.”
    “Merci beaucoup.” His compliment pleased her all the way into bayou French. “One of the things I do best is cook, at least when I’m in the mood, mon cher.”
    Byrd ate more and said, “What else do you do best, winuhca?”
    “I might show you after awhile, sugar,” she said in her laziest Louisiana accent. “But what’s that you just called me?”  He raised his head and his dark eyes, bright and intent, met hers. “Woman, more or less,” he said. “But more, too.  It’s Lakota.”
    “Are you Lakota?” She remembered Lakota was one band of the Sioux tribe. Byrd shrugged his shoulders. “I’m many things,” he said. “I visit many peoples and speak a lot of languages.  I live in Lakota country when I’m home, though, and I have some ties to them so yes, if you like.”
    There wasn’t anything about this man she didn’t like. “I do,” Celia told him with straightforward honesty.  Although she’d looked forward to eating the étouffé, she doubted she’d have noticed if she’d eaten plain bread and butter.  Her focus remained riveted to Byrd.  “I’m Cajun myself.”
    “Mais oui,” Byrd said. “I could tell.” She stared, then asked, “How?” He grinned. “It was a combination of your last name, your looks, your accent, and the way you drop a little French into your conversation along with the food.  Simple.”
    Celia supposed it was easy to tell, when he put it like that. “You’ve figured me out,” she said. “But you’re a little bit more difficult, it seems.” Byrd tilted his head, a gesture she’d begun to find appealing. “How’s that?” Answering his question could be tricky so she stalled with another bite of the delicious seafood dish.
    “Well,” she said after a little bit. “You’ve pegged me right down to my ethnic background and all I know about you is that you