Читать книгу: «Mustang Wild»

Tucker took a quick step backward into the shadowed corner of the barn as she sat up.

Skylar drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, releasing a stream of silent tears.

Looking at her now, she hardly resembled the woman full of confidence and sass who’d spent the day working his horses. Her wide, glistening eyes now stared into his.

“How long have you been standing there?” Her voice was warm, sultry, alluring.

Tucker’s gaze drifted across her face. Her skin looked as soft and pretty as a rosebud. And those lips…

He pinched his eyes shut. It would be wrong to make a pass at his new horse trainer; the woman he intended to unwed.

A woman who’s after my ranch.

Mustang Wild
Stacey Kayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated to

My grandmothers—women of strength and courage

who’ve influenced my life.

Special thanks to

Lyn Randal, my dear friend, contest rival, star sister and guardian angel.

My English teacher, Mr. Perez, whose praise of my writing fueled my courage to write a book.

My mom—I couldn’t have achieved this dream without your love, faith and support!

My mother-in-law, for being my friend, cheerleader and very first proofreader.

Evan Fogelman, for believing in my work, giving me confidence and keeping my spirits up.

My critique partners, Sheila Rae Z. Mohs, Renee Luke and Carla Hughes—who put up with my dyslexic jargle and help me find those missing words, while adding fun and friendship to my life.

My angel boys, for being the best kids ever—and for letting their mom hog the computer!

Last but not least, my hero, my husband, the man who has suffered through countless dinners out of a box and the untold amount of housework that is always on my to-do list. He never counted on his wife being a writer, but has adjusted well. You have to admire a man who can proudly announce, “My wife writes killer romance novels.” Love you!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Chapter 1

New Mexico Territory, 1880

S kylar Daines reined her Arabian stallion beside her younger brother and surveyed the ragged, canvas-topped structures wavering in the desert heat like an ugly mirage. As long as Chance Morgan was in the area, she didn’t care if the town of Black Dog was a row of outhouses.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear far off from being just that.

Fear spiraled up from the pit of her stomach, sending a wave of shivers across her skin as she scanned the parallel cluster of makeshift buildings surrounded by miles of dry dirt, sand and sage. For such a small watering hole, a fair number of horses stood along the short strip of dirt, with more staked and hobbled on open ground.

“Sis, you sure that’s Black Dog? It don’t look like no place to find someone trustworthy.”

Straining for an encouraging smile, she met Garret’s gaze. “This is it,” she said in a steady tone, suddenly wishing her father’s maps weren’t so accurate. “Let’s see if anyone has heard of Chance Morgan.”

Garret’s hazel eyes narrowed, his features hardened, reminding Skylar of all the violence he’d been exposed to in his tender thirteen years.

“I don’t like it, Sky.” He shook his head, making no move to urge his horse forward.

She didn’t blame him. But they hadn’t come this far to fail. Her father’s last words had been to take Garret and the deed for their land in Wyoming to Black Dog and find Chance Morgan, her father’s business partner. They’d just spent a month traveling across a land as unforgiving as life itself. There’d been no time to ponder the grief weighing on her soul. Her guilt, on the other hand, hung around her neck like an iron yoke.

She wouldn’t fail Garret. She would get him safely to Wyoming. They’d reclaim their mustangs and have the home their father had promised them.

Fighting the tremble in her hands and an exhaustion she felt to the center of her bones, she reached over and tugged on the brim of Garret’s tan hat. “There’s no going back, little brother, and nothin’ to go back to. Pa said to find Morgan and that’s what we’re gonna do. We can’t make it clear to Wyoming without provisions. Pull out your rifle if it’ll make you feel better.”

Garret nodded and draped his long gun across his lap.

Praying there wouldn’t be any call for gunfire, she urged her black stallion forward, conscious of the sun beginning to sag in the western sky.

As she rode down the center strip of Black Dog, lively piano music carried into the street from a building occupying nearly the whole right side of town. The name Big Jack’s Saloon was whitewashed across its wood front. With not a soul in sight and every other establishment appearing deserted, she imagined Big Jack wasn’t low on customers.

Skylar dismounted and led her horse toward a hitching rail outside the saloon. A handsome red mare with light spots on its hindquarters was tethered a few feet away. Shifting her gaze from the large Appaloosa, she glanced at a set of double swinging doors. She’d never been inside such an establishment.

“Appaloosa,” said Garret. “Pretty one, too. At least we know Morgan has an eye for fine horseflesh.”

Skylar glanced up at her little brother as he reined his chestnut Arabian in beside her. “Why do you say that?”

“His name’s on his saddle,” answered Garret, still admiring the well-groomed mare.

Her eyes darted toward the horse’s tack. Bold as daylight, the letters M-O-R-G-A-N were pressed into the leather. “Well, knock me over with a feather.”

“If you’re as beat as I am, I probably could,” Garret retorted.

“Wait here. I won’t be but a few minutes.”

Clutching his gun in one hand, Garret jumped from his saddle and grabbed her by the arm as she turned toward the saloon. “Sky, you can’t go in there. Yer wearin’ a dress! I’ll go in and get Morgan.”

She shook his hand away from her elbow. Garret and her father had been reluctant to accept the fact, but at nineteen, there was no hiding that she was a woman, no matter what she wore. At the moment, she imagined her appearance was nothing short of obscene. The threadbare dress she’d found in her father’s saddlebags was made for a woman half her size. She’d never realized her mother had been such a dainty woman. The buttons strained between Skylar’s breasts were dangerously close to popping off. The blue calico skirt barely reached the top rim of her boots.

Her only shirt and pair of denims were so filthy, she hadn’t had much choice but to wear the dress. Her dusty, windblown hair hung just above her shoulders like dried grass.

“You’re staying here,” she said to Garret. “Mount up.”

“I’m going in with you.”

“The Arabians are all we have left. You’re going to watch them while I talk to Morgan.”

“I’m not about to let you—”

“Garret, you’d get tossed out of that saloon before you stepped two feet past the door. Now do as I said.”

Garret’s frown deepened. His anger-filled gaze bore into her for a lingering moment. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled as he turned and mounted his horse. He tugged his hat low on his brow then rested the barrel of his gun in the crook of his arm. “Shout if you need me.”

Skylar started toward the music and clamor, wishing for once that Garret could have been her big brother. You can do this, she soothed, reminding herself of how far they’d already come. No smelly herd of liquored-up cowboys was going to keep her from fulfilling her father’s promise.

Stepping through the double swinging doors, she was greeted by the familiar stench of tobacco, whiskey and horse. The scent of cowpunchers. The scent of home for the past eight years. She frowned at the thought.

That’s all about to change. She glanced around the crowded, smoke-filled room. Seemed half the population of New Mexico Territory was in Big Jack’s. The place was packed with cowboys and fancy women in colorful silken gowns. She’d never seen so many vibrant colors.

She walked deeper into the crowd of festive men and women, scanning the faces of men seated at the many round tables, and others as they moved between them. Chance Morgan had worked her father’s cattle drives for a couple years, but she hadn’t seen him for over three years. She imagined he’d still look the same. Tall, blond and handsome, with chilling green eyes.

Hearing an uproar of voices and the name “Morgan” shouted amongst them, Skylar peered through a cluster of men and saw the tall, blond and handsome man responsible for the ruckus.

Morgan sat at the back table. His laughter filled the air as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the pile of money at the center of the table. She followed the crowd of folks gathering around him.

“You gonna use it, Tuck?” someone shouted as Skylar squeezed between two large bodies.

“Fifty dollars says he won’t,” said the slender man sitting opposite Morgan. He reached across the table and pulled a paper from Morgan’s pile of coins.

“Hell, yes, I’ll use it,” Morgan answered as he snatched the paper from his hand and tossed it onto his winnings. “Just as soon as a blue-eyed angel floats down from heaven and calls my name.”

Skylar stepped beside his chair as gruff laughter roared around her. “Mr. Morgan?”

The man glanced over his shoulder. His emerald-green eyes grew wide. “Merciful heaven. Hello, angel,” he said in a low, velvety voice. “You are a beauty.”

This was Morgan all right, and he’d obviously been drinking. Her appearance was anything but pleasant. “Mr. Morgan—”

Morgan rose to stand directly in front of her. Her body tensed as he scanned her from head to toe before his gaze slowly traveled back up. Hypnotic eyes held her gaze as the corner of his mouth kicked up in a cocky grin.

Dear God, why couldn’t she breathe?

His eyes were the same brilliant shade of green as Chance Morgan’s, his hair the same pale blond, and damn if he didn’t have Chance Morgan’s handsome face. But every tingling cell in Skylar’s body told her this man was not Chance Morgan. One of the men had called him by another name. Perhaps Chance had a twin.

“Tuck Morgan?”

“A deal’s a deal,” he murmured. His lips stretched into a full smile, revealing strong white teeth and enough charm to sweet-talk the spines off a prickly cactus. His arm shot out and hauled her against his side as he shouted, “Boys, my angel just arrived!”

He’s drunk, all right. “Mr. Morgan, I—”

“Hang on, angel,” said the green-eyed stranger, his muscular arm easily suppressing her struggle to move away from his side as he turned back toward the table of men. “I believe the bet’s fifty dollars. Ante up, gentlemen!”

Three men seated at the table fumbled hastily through their vest and trouser pockets. A few more men standing behind them tossed their money into the center of the round table.

“By God, he’s gonna do it,” one shouted.

“I don’t believe it,” said another.

An older man dressed all in black stood up from the table. “You gotta sign the document, Tuck,” he said, flattening out the paper. “It ain’t no good unless you sign it.”

Tucker reached over and signed his name. The older man beamed a smile at Skylar, then laved his tongue across the palm of his hand and swiped it across the top of his head, slicking back a few strands of dark hair. He straightened his posture, tugging on the sides of his black coat. “Now the lady,” he instructed.

“Mr. Morgan,” Skylar said again, looking away from the odd man dressed in black. “I really need to speak with you. I believe we’re traveling with you to Wyoming and—”

“That’s the plan, angel girl,” he said, giving her a wink as he placed the pen in her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “It’s all arranged. Just sign your angelic name onto that paper and we’ll be set. Angels do have names, don’t they?”

He beamed another smile, and Skylar felt a tad dizzy. His arm clamped around her shoulders was all that kept her from swaying. “Sign the paper?” she asked in confusion. She glanced down at the table. “W-why do I—”

“No time for questions, angel. Are we goin’ to Wyoming or not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then sign the document, sweetheart.”

“The contract?” she asked as he guided her hand toward the bottom of the paper. She and her father had discussed the contract for driving the horses in exchange for provisions. She no longer had her mustangs, but she had to get to Wyoming if she intended to reclaim them. She blinked and tried to focus her tired eyes on the words. Morgan’s breath rustled her hair as his hand slipped from her shoulder and slid across the flat of her stomach. A burst of tingling shivers raced across her skin.

“Uh-huh.” His voice vibrated against her ear. The hard length of his body pressed against her backside.

Damnation. Her bones were turning to jelly! Desperate to escape the situation, Skylar quickly scribed her name beside the name Tucker Morgan then took a step away from him.

“Hang on, angel. Don’t fly away just yet.” His hand slid back around her waist. Sparkling green eyes locked with hers as he pulled her into his arms. His slow smile did the most horrifying things to her insides. The noise and clatter of the room turned to a steady hum as she stared up at Tucker Morgan’s sharp features; his warm gaze and charming smile paralyzed her mind.

“I do,” he said, although Skylar didn’t know what he meant by the odd comment. Before she could contrive a rational thought, he leaned toward her. “Say yes,” he said, his lips mere inches from hers.

“Yes? But I—”

He tipped his head forward and kissed her, the touch of his soft lips cutting off the rest of her words. Skylar gasped as he stroked her lips, teasing them apart, filling her mouth with the hot taste of whiskey and flooding her body with a rush of fiery sensation.

A voice deep in her mind told her to pull away, yet every gentle, intoxicating touch of Tucker Morgan’s mouth offered her something she’d craved for so long.

Tenderness.

His kiss was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His mouth moved over hers in the most alluring, undemanding way, subtly seducing her mouth into submission until she was returning his kiss.

Hoots and hollers filtered through the electrifying hum of her body. Skylar tensed, and he lifted his lips from hers. Heat rushed to her face. She was shocked to find her arms banded around his neck, her fingers twisted into the blond tufts of hair touching his collar. With her body pressed flush against his, she could feel his heartbeat hammering as erratically as her own.

“Dear God,” he breathed, his eyes looking deep into hers.

“Guess I don’t have to tell you to kiss your bride,” said the jubilant voice of the man standing beside them.

Bride? Skylar jerked away from Tucker’s embrace. She stumbled backward, but was instantly shoved back into his arms by whoever stood behind her.

“Drinks are on me,” Tucker Morgan shouted, clamping her back against his broad chest, then in one swift motion, he lifted Skylar into his arms. “It’s you and me, angel girl,” he said as he carried her through a crowd of well-wishers.

“Wait!” she screamed, while silently assuring herself she had not just married this man.

He pushed through the swinging doors. Skylar twisted in his grip, managing to kick her legs free when they reached the road. She shoved away from him and saw her horse from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said with a rueful laugh, his arm coiling around her waist.

A shriek escaped her throat as one of his hands closed over her backside. Seeing his soft, intoxicating lips aiming for hers, she turned away, struggling to free herself from his grasp.

“Get your damn…would you…” No matter which way she twisted, she couldn’t evade his hands and lips. His strong arms clamped her against his firm chest.

“Come on now, angel. I know you—” He stiffened as a loud donk echoed from behind him. His brilliant eyes popped wide, before he crumpled to the ground, falling at her feet as though his bones had turned to dust.

Garret sat before her, backward in his saddle, with a skillet in his hands. “Did I kill ’im?” he called over the ringing of the cast iron.

Dear God! She wasn’t sure.

Skylar dropped to her knees beside Tucker. She lifted one of his eyelids, but the green eyes that had held her captive moments ago were rolled up in his possibly fractured skull. She pressed her cheek to his chest.

“He’s breathing.” She quickly ran her fingers through his thick blond hair, checking for injuries. One heck of a goose egg was rising from the crown of his head, but all seemed to be intact. Thank goodness.

“Dag blast it!” Garret cried out as he knelt beside her. “He smells like he’s been steeped in whiskey!”

“Why’d you hit him?” she demanded, grabbing the iron skillet from Garret’s hand.

“The man was attacking you! If I’d a had a clear shot, I’da blown a hole through his chest. I told you not to go into that saloon. You shoulda let me go in to get Morgan.”

“Well, would you look at that,” called a gruff voice.

Skylar glanced up at a pair of drunken cowboys staggering toward them. Her gaze dropped to the skillet in her hand.

Oh, Lord. She was going to get arrested!

“Tuck’s bride already showed him what-for with a fryin’ pan,” one said, flashing a broad, toothless grin.

The other cackled with wild laughter. “Give ’im hell, honey,” he called out. “He deserves every blow.”

The men shuffled past, chuckling and intermittently bumping into one another, apparently unconcerned about their friend’s state of unconsciousness as they searched for their horses.

“Skylar?”

She cringed at the sound of Garret’s harsh tone. With slow reluctance, she met her brother’s wide-eyed gaze.

“What in the hell were those men talkin’ about?”

“Watch your mouth.” She shot Garret a stern glance as she stood, brushing the dust from her skirt.

Garret surged to his feet. “Tell me you didn’t marry this flea-bitten drunk!”

“I’m not really certain,” she replied, keeping her gaze on her unconscious groom. “Everything happened so fast. If I did, I’m sure it wasn’t legal.” She hooked her arms under Tucker’s broad shoulders.

“You weren’t gone but five minutes!”

“Lord, he weighs a ton,” she muttered, barely able to lift his shoulders off the ground. Already pushed to their limits, her tired muscles complained as she tried to drag him toward her horse. Lucky to be standing, she couldn’t move him an inch.

What a fine mess. “How are we going to get him over a horse?”

“Over a horse?” shrieked Garret. “The man was attacking you! Let the coyotes and cougars have ’im!”

“I can’t.”

“What the hell went on in there, and where’s Chance Morgan?”

Skylar gave up her struggle to move the drunken clod and lifted her gaze toward her brother, who was brimming over with anger. “This is Morgan. But his name is Tucker, not Chance. Help me lift him.”

“What?” Garret looked closer at the man lying in the dirt.

“I said his name is Tucker, not—”

“I don’t care what his name is. He’s not goin’ anywhere near our horses! What happened inside that saloon?” Her brother stood rigid as a statue, his hands planted on his narrow hips.

“Calm down, Garret. I’m sure it was a simple mistake. He obviously thought I was someone else and before I could correct him, his friend—”

“Uh, Mrs. Morgan?”

Startled by the deep voice directly behind her, Skylar spun around. A man the size of a giant with more shaggy brown hair than a grizzly stood before her. He pulled off his battered hat and held it to his chest. A broad grin parted the thick fur on his face.

“Name’s Hal. Just wanted to congratulate ya on the weddin’. Never thought I’d see Tuck marry.” He lowered his gaze to the man sprawled out on the ground between them. “Need a hand with your husband?”

The entire town was daft.

Skylar forced a smile, seeing as the man was being quite cordial. “Yes. If you could toss him over my saddle, I’d be much obliged.”

“Not a problem.” Hal gave a slight grunt as he lifted Morgan, who was none too small, and hoisted him onto her horse, belly-down. “His animal is that perty roan.” Hal motioned toward the Appaloosa.

“Thank you, Mr. Hal,” she said with the same plastered-on smile. “That marriage bit, it wasn’t legal…was it?” Skylar held her breath, praying he’d give her reassurance that a prank had been played on her.

“It was legal, all right. Henderson’s a bonafide preacher and you both signed the marriage document. You’re married right and proper.”

“You signed a marriage document?” Garret shouted.

I signed a marriage document? Skylar’s spirits plummeted. She knew better than to sign a paper before reading it! But Tucker Morgan had…he had…she wasn’t sure what he’d done.

“He tricked me,” she said, glaring at the unconscious culprit, wishing she had lodged her boot in his ribs while he was lying on the ground.

“That’s Tuck,” Hal said with a coarse laugh. “Slippery as a wet otter and crafty as the devil himself. Bein’ at his weddin’ was well worth losin’ fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars, huh?” murmured Garret.

Hal touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and bid her a good evening before he turned and swaggered back to the saloon. Skylar shifted her gaze toward her horse and found Garret with his hand stuffed deep into Tucker Morgan’s breast pocket. His face brightened with a smile as his hand emerged with a wad of greenbacks.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m hungry! I’m gonna find me a mercantile.”

“That’s stealing, Garret.”

“The hell it is. He’s your husband.” He turned his back to her and started down the road.

Skylar released a long sigh. Her little brother was developing a flippant tongue, although, at the moment, she had far more pressing worries. “See if the merchant knows how to get to Morgan’s place,” she called after him.

She glanced back at Tucker Morgan’s limp body. What was she supposed to do now? Hopefully Garret hadn’t caused any permanent damage, or at least not enough to prevent the handsome cowboy from helping them get to Wyoming.

Chapter 2

I t wasn’t all that uncommon for Tucker Morgan to wake up in bed with a strange woman and a pounding headache, but he wasn’t suffering from an ordinary hangover. The fierce throbbing in his skull wasn’t the only thing out of sorts this morning. He lifted a wet cloth from his forehead and glanced again at the woman sleeping beside him.

Hell. Plenty about this morning was out of sorts. The fact that he and the woman next to him were fully clothed being the most troubling. They even had their boots on!

Her boots weren’t the laced or buttoned-up version most women wore, but the same leather tug-on boots he was wearing. Her uncommonly short hair couldn’t reach past her shoulders. Lying on her side, the golden strands swirled across her face. But her body, now that was all in proper order, with all the right curves in all the right places, and encased in a hideous blue dress that might have fit her once upon a time. The fabric of her bodice molded to the round swell of her breasts like a second skin.

Tucker closed his eyes, the pounding in his head increasing. His headache wouldn’t even let him enjoy the view. He needed coffee and a shot of whiskey. Hell, with this headache, he needed a pint of whiskey.

Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and glance around his bedroom. How had they ended up here? He’d never brought a woman back to this run-down cabin.

Trying to jar his memory, he stood and slowly shuffled toward the kitchen.

“’Morning.”

Tucker jumped at the sound of the unexpected greeting. A young boy with pure white hair sat at the little table that occupied the left half of his cabin. He gave the cotton-topped kid a quick once-over before muttering, “Who the hell are you?”

“Your bride’s brother.”

“My what?” Tucker countered, his headache suddenly forgotten.

The kid’s white eyebrows pinched inward as his eyes narrowed. “Your wife’s brother. I…am…Skylar’s…brother.” He dragged out each word as though he were talking to the town idiot.

Stunned, Tucker glanced toward the bedroom.

I married a saloon girl?

He knew all the girls at Big Jack’s. Skylar wasn’t a name he’d heard before, and he would have remembered that short, golden mane. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, trying to recall the events from the previous night. Surely this was some kind of misunderstanding between the woman and the boy.

“Skylar?” he said aloud, the name sounding no more familiar than the kid looked sitting before him.

“Yes?” called a feminine voice, just before the slender woman appeared in the doorway. Deep blue eyes held his gaze. Sunlight streaking in from the bedroom window glimmered in the tangled golden hair wisped around her oval face. A vision from the saloon flashed in his mind.

He’d just won a hand of poker when he’d heard a woman say his name—then there she was, an angel with gilded hair and the purest sapphire eyes gazing straight into his soul. He’d jumped to his feet and…

Dear God, I married an angel!

Not a true angel, his sober mind reasoned. He’d met her in Big Jack’s, after all. Despite her threadbare clothes and bedraggled hair, she was a pretty thing. Damn pretty.

“Are you new at Big Jack’s?” he ventured.

Hearing the metallic click of a gun hammer, Tucker shifted his gaze toward the kid. The boy sat at the table, calm as you please, holding a rifle aimed straight at Tucker’s chest.

“Mister, I believe you just called my sister a whore.”

“Garret!” called the woman. “I’m sure that’s not what he meant. Is it, Mr. Morgan?”

Of course that was what he’d meant. Why else would she have been in a place like Big Jack’s? Tucker met the kid’s hard gaze. His hazel eyes revealed a boy well beyond his young age. This was a kid who’d seen his share of hardship, but, hell, who hadn’t?

“I need some coffee,” he groaned, his head again pounding, the pain increasing by the second as the prior evening’s events came flooding back into his mind.

Tucker turned his back on the boy and his rifle. He was surprised to find a pot of coffee already steaming on the stove. He filled a cup and took a few sips of the strong brew. What could have possessed him to actually marry the woman standing behind him? A man could find plenty of other ways to torture himself besides taking a wife.

“I’m sure it was a farce,” he said, mostly assuring himself as he stared into the steaming, dark depth of his coffee.

“Not what I was told,” she answered in a stiff tone. “You tricked me into signing an actual marriage document and I’m pretty sure your preacher friend muttered some vows.”

Tucker bit out a curse, feeling the disgust he heard in her voice. He had laughed as hard as everyone else when Henderson threw that marriage document into the pot, but it seemed the joke was on him.

He took another gulp of coffee then turned back toward the mess waiting behind him. Seeing the kid with his rifle still trained on him, he smiled.

“Boy, you better put that away before you hurt yourself.”

“Garret, lower your gun.”

“Who are you?” Tucker asked, his gaze again taking in the woman’s short, tangled hair and strange attire.

“A full name would be nice,” he added, his voice clipped. “You said my name when you entered the saloon last night, so you knew who I was.”

“Not exactly. I was looking for Chance Morgan. My father never mentioned any Morgan by the name of Tucker.”

“You knew I wasn’t my brother. You called me Tuck.”

“I heard a man call you by that name and when you stood up, I knew you weren’t Chance.”

“How?” he challenged. He didn’t know a single living soul who could recognize him from his twin.

“You look…different.”

“The hell I do!”

“He’s got a point, Sky,” the kid put in. “He sure looks like Chance to me.”

“Only Chance isn’t a drunk,” she said in a harsh tone. “Chance worked with my father for two years when we drove stock in Texas and I never once saw him in such a state.”

Hearing her harp on Chance’s choirboy character only increased Tucker’s anger. His twin truly was his other half. His boring half. Just because Chance couldn’t stomach the taste of whiskey didn’t make him a saint. No more than blowing off a bit of steam before heading out on a long drive made Tucker a drunk. “And your father would be?”

“Zachary Daines.”

Ah, hell. I’m in trouble. If Chance returned this afternoon and found him married to Daines’s daughter, he’d have a holy fit. Chance had assured him Zach Daines was one of the best horse trainers around, which was why Tucker had agreed to purchase Daines’s mustangs and hire him on as foreman for their new horse ranch in Wyoming. He’d also heard that Daines was a sizable man and hard as stone, which made Tucker wonder why Daines wasn’t doing his best to beat the life out of him right at this moment.

“Where’s your father?”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Where’s Chance Morgan?”

Tucker didn’t like the direction of their conversation. If Zach Daines were alive and kicking, he’d be standing inside this shack, keeping his belligerent daughter in line. Now that he thought about it, he wondered what she was doing here at all.

He’d been told that Daines was bringing his two sons, along with a crew of men and a few dozen horses, none of which he heard milling about outside the cabin. Tucker’s gaze moved between Skylar and her brother. “What happened to your father?”

“He was kill’t,” the boy informed him baldly. “Four weeks back in Arizona. Randal, one of our own men, turned on us. His buddies rode into our camp with their guns blazing. I heard gunfire and came runnin’ to see what all the ruckus was about. Sky grabbed me and said Randal kill’t our pa and was after the deed. She threw me on a horse and…here we are.”

Damn it! He had told Chance it was a fool idea to send their deed off with Daines. “Who has the deed?”

“I do.”

Tucker shifted his gaze to Skylar Daines’s cold blue eyes. “I’d like to see it.”

“I’d like to see Chance Morgan.”

Tucker took a step forward, glaring at the woman who stood only a few inches shorter than himself. “You’re looking at him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Sky,” the boy interrupted. “He does look just like Chance.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she insisted.

The close view of her sapphire eyes brought another image to Tucker’s mind. He seemed to recall those big blue eyes up close, right before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him wildly.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, which broadened when he saw a tinge of red rising into Skylar’s cheeks before she dropped her gaze and took a step back. He wasn’t the only one remembering that kiss.

What the hell am I smiling about? I’m married to this woman!

I’ll fix one mess at a time. He turned toward the door. First he’d make sure Henderson didn’t validate his legal tie to this woman, then he’d get his deed back and send her and her kid brother on their merry way. Without their father and his horses, they had no reason to ride all the way to Wyoming. Chance wouldn’t be back from Santa Fe until late this afternoon. He wouldn’t even have to know about the accidental marriage.

“Where are you going?” Skylar called as he yanked the door open.

“To find the wolf in shepherd’s clothing who got me into this mess!”

The door slammed shut, rattling everything inside the small cabin, including Skylar’s nerves.

“Sky, why didn’t you just show him the deed?”

Skylar looked away from the rotted door and glanced at her brother. “I don’t trust him.”

“He’s Chance’s brother. Pa trusted Chance, didn’t he?”

Her father had also put his trust in the man who shot him in the back and stole their stock. She bit back those words, saying, “Did you see the glint in Morgan’s eyes when you told him our pa was dead? Did he spare a breath to offer us any condolences? He’s no better than Randal, all too eager to leave us to choke on his trail dust while he steals us blind. Tucker Morgan won’t lay a finger on that deed until our feet are on our Wyoming soil.”

Garret’s eyes clouded with fear. “You really think he’s like Randal?”

Skylar released a deep sigh, trying to ease the tension Tucker’s intense gaze had caused. His six-foot-plus frame certainly wasn’t lacking in brawn, but she didn’t truly believe he posed a physical threat. Despite his anger, he’d been quick to smile, the softness in his eyes revealing a sort of lightheartedness she wasn’t used to seeing in men.

“No,” she admitted. “He’s not like Randal.” Wade Randal was evil to the core. A chill shivered down her spine as she recalled the man’s dark, unflinching eyes when he’d turned on her after shooting her father, giving her an ultimatum that was as unexpected as it was appalling—certain death or a life of sin at the right hand of the devil.

Choosing neither, she’d lashed her bullwhip across the chiseled features of his smug face, parting bronze flesh with a thick trail of blood. He had reared and howled with pain, giving her the opportunity to sprint toward Garret and the saddled Arabians.

“Don’t fret,” she soothed, seeing Garret’s face still creased with concern. “Chance is bound to show up shortly and we’ll straighten this whole thing out. Go on out and check on our horses. Make sure they get some oats and I’ll cook us some breakfast.”

“You think they’ll let us ride with them to Wyoming?”

“They don’t have a choice.”

Garret beamed a smile as he stood to go do as she asked, his confidence seeming fully restored.

Her little brother’s faith helped to ease her frazzled nerves. She wished she could share his confidence, but Tucker Morgan’s reaction to the news of her father’s death told her their battle was just beginning. If he thought they could be brushed aside, he was in for an awakening.

Skylar’s tense muscles began to relax for the first time in weeks as she eased into the small wooden tub of fresh, warm water. She had already washed her filthy clothes and the dishes she’d used during breakfast. Now it was her turn to be scrubbed clean.

She quickly ran the soapy cloth over her arms as she drew in a deep breath and held it in her lungs. Lord, she loved the smell of soap. If she had a home, she’d take a warm bath twice a day. She’d have one of those long porcelain tubs she could stretch her legs out in and lie in warm, sweet-scented water until her skin shriveled up.

But I don’t have a home, she silently reminded herself. During the last eight years she’d bunked in only a few wooden structures, for a couple months at a time. The dark sky or tattered tarpaulin tents were her common source of shelter at night. Her far-too-infrequent baths were taken in cold streams. Imagining her life any other way had been a waste of time and energy. During the last few years, she’d wasted a good deal of time daydreaming about having a real home…and a husband.

Her brief experience two months back had forced her to reconsider those naive dreams. She’d been a fool to think the intimate touch of a man would be any different from their brawny handling of livestock. Had she known allowing that smug bastard the liberty of a single kiss would have resulted in bruised lips and countless other bruises, she certainly wouldn’t have stood there in the dark, leaving herself vulnerable to Wade Randal’s sudden advances. Had Garret not come over the rise and shouted her name, Skylar was certain Randal would have attempted much more than the mauling she’d been powerless to fight off.

Thank God I don’t have to learn the same lesson twice. Not that anything could excuse her gross stupidity.

She’d never even liked Randal, but having never been the object of any man’s desire, she hadn’t discouraged his attention. She’d let curiosity get the better of her, and she regretted it. She should have seen the black-haired demon for the snake in the grass he truly was. Instead, she’d been caught up in her embarrassment over their scuffle and had done all she could to avoid the man during the following month, as he secretly plotted to betray her father. Had she kept her guard up, her father might still be alive.

Leaning forward, she dunked her head into the water and ferociously scrubbed the soap from her hair, trying to wash away the shameful memories. As she lifted her head, warm tears mingled with the cool water dripping across her face.

“You can’t turn into a crybaby now,” she scolded, swiping at the hot trails, fighting off the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had plagued her since she’d watched her father die.

She had to be strong for Garret. She had to focus. Too much was at stake. Yesterday she’d been exhausted, hungry and wholly unprepared for…what? Tucker’s charming good looks and kissing skills?

That about summed it up. With a groan, she sank deeper into the soapy water, not wanting to believe what an utter fool she’d made of herself and quite thankful that Tucker had been in such an almighty hurry to undo their hoax of a marriage.

Brutality and guns she could have handled, but one ludicrous compliment, a dashing smile and Lord have mercy, the way he’d kissed her…it wasn’t any wonder he’d sent her mind into a haze of confusion. He had held her with a gentleness and kissed her with a tenderness she hadn’t believed a man was capable of, especially not a man of Tucker’s size and strength.

He also muscled you out of the saloon. He certainly hadn’t been flashing any smiles this morning. She’d seen the spark in his eyes before he’d left, and knew he’d been calculating just how fast he could get rid of them. She couldn’t let that happen. It wouldn’t happen, not while she had the deed in her possession.

The sound of a horse’s heavy hoofbeats coming into the yard jolted Skylar from her thoughts. Tucker must have blazed a trail to town and back, because she’d not expected him to return so soon. They were a good hour’s ride from Black Dog, yet she could swear he’d hardly been gone two full hours. Judging by the hard language carrying through the rotted wood of the cabin, things hadn’t gone well in town, but she didn’t have time to concern herself with Tucker’s mood, her main concern being her state of undress as she sprang from the small washtub.

The door began to squeak open as she reached for the drying sheet she’d laid on the table. Frantic, she grabbed the clean skillet instead and flung it toward the door.

“What the—” Tucker’s deep voice dropped off just before the door slammed shut and the skillet banged against it. “Skylar!”

“Stay out,” she shouted. “I’m not dressed!” Wrapping the linen around herself, she hurried into the bedroom.

Standing outside, Tucker heard the bedroom door slam shut.

These Daines kids were a menace to society, and obviously hell-bent on busting his head open! After being laughed out of Big Jack’s, he was in no mood to dodge frying pans. He didn’t find one damn bit of humor in the news of his bride’s assault against him, but the whole town of Black Dog sure did.

He waited a moment then carefully peeked into the cabin. The strong scent of soap hung in the air as Tucker scanned the perimeter for danger of flying kitchenware. Seeing that all was clear, he stepped inside.

“Is an iron skillet your weapon of choice?” he called toward the bedroom as he picked it up and dropped it onto the table. He didn’t have a hangover, he had a concussion.

“You could have knocked first,” Skylar called from behind the bedroom door.

“It’s my cabin!” Although, it sure as hell didn’t look like it. She’d taken over the place. Damp clothes hung from a rope she’d secured across the corner where the stove stood. More were draped over the two chairs she’d placed in front of the stove. She’d also been cooking. He didn’t see any trace of bread or biscuits, but he detected the faint scent of baked goods amidst the scent of soap. Some fresh biscuits or maybe a couple of flapjacks could certainly help to ease his headache.

“Did you take care of the marriage?” she asked from the bedroom.

“Not exactly,” Tucker bit out. He picked up a rag from the table and dropped it on a puddle of water beside the small, water-filled washtub. His gaze followed Skylar’s wet footprints across the dingy wood floor to the door of his bedroom.

This woman is trouble. The sooner he unloaded her, the better. He turned his attention back toward the stove.

“Seems we’ll have to ride up into Santa Fe to have it annulled,” he said, scouting around for possible leftover baked goods. “Being a railroad town, they have a telegraph office. You can contact a family member from there. Since you’re a friend of my brother’s, I’d be happy to pay for your fare to wherever you need to go.”

The bedroom door banged open as Skylar’s sharp tone shot through the cabin, echoing in Tucker’s throbbing skull. “So you can conveniently steal our land?”

Tucker spun around. “Your land?” he countered, just before his eyes made contact with a sight that nearly brought him to his knees in a hard rush of unexpected desire.

The woman was half-naked! Standing there in nothing but one of his blue button-up shirts. Dear God—she had legs for a mile.

His eyes slowly worked back up those long, ivory limbs, then stopped on the hard piece of metal aimed at his chest. Where the hell did she get a revolver? Her thumb slipped over the hammer and pulled it back. Her steady hand and hard gaze told him she might know how to use the blasted thing.

“The only place we need to go is Wyoming, Mr. Morgan. Now, I suggest you wait outside until my clothes have dried. We can discuss our business arrangement then.”

The Daines family certainly had a fetish for firearms and frying pans. But then, he had been gaping at her. What the hell did she expect with what she had on? “Don’t worry, Miss Daines, I am a gentleman.”

Her slender, arching eyebrows called him a liar, and Tucker felt downright insulted. “As soon as your clothes are dry, we’ll ride into Santa Fe and get that annulment.”

“No.”

“No?” Tucker repeated, certain she hadn’t comprehended his meaning.

Skylar drew a deep, calming breath as she felt the tables beginning to tip in her favor. Her weak-minded mistake suddenly began to glow with appeal. Morgan couldn’t cast her and Garret aside while she was married to him. “No. I won’t consent to an annulment,” she said, the cold grip of fear easing as she watched his face contort with surprise. “I believe I’m starting to like the sound of Skylar Morgan.”

“Lady, what are you trying to pull? You don’t want to be married any more than I do!”

True. But she knew leverage when she was married to it. “You can have your annulment the moment my feet are on my Wyoming soil.”

“Damn it, woman! You don’t seem to understand the situation. Chance only has one partner, and you’re lookin’ at him. The only reason your father had that deed is because he asked for it. He gave my brother some cockamamy story about needing proof that we intended to buy his horses and Chance trusted him enough to hold on to our deed.”

He was lying! He had to be lying. Her father had plainly stated he and Chance were partners.

“It’s going to take us weeks to get to Wyoming,” said Tucker. “And besides the dangers from the land itself, there’s plenty of bushwhackers and hostile territory between here and there. We’ll have our hands full enough with my horses, without having to worry about a woman and a kid.”

“My name is Skylar,” she said, taking a step toward him, keeping her revolver aimed at his chest and damn near mad enough to shoot him. What kind of a fool did he take her for?

Tucker’s eyes drew wide as he stepped back.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” she continued, struggling to keep a steady tone. “I know more about long drives and horses than you could ever hope to. I don’t need to be looked out for by you or any other man. Garret is my responsibility. I look out for him, which means no green-eyed, gambling drunk is going to swindle us out of a partnership. Good day, Mr. Morgan.”

Until the door slammed in his face, Tucker hadn’t realized she’d chased him outside.

“Partnership?” What kind of deal did Chance make with Zach Daines? Either Daines had lied to his quick-draw daughter or Chance had lied to him, and that wasn’t likely. Chance wouldn’t have taken on another partner without telling him. So what the blazes was she talking about?

Tucker turned, gathered his horse by the reins and stomped across the yard toward the barn and corrals. Until he talked to Chance, he wasn’t about to start the war promised in Skylar’s bone-chilling glare. On the other hand, he had half a mind to march back into that shack and remind Mrs. Skylar Daines-Morgan whose cabin she was washing her laundry in, and whose shirt was draped over her long, shapely body.

Problem was, he was pretty sure which half of his brain was giving him those ideas. He’d never been so blessed mad, and fully aroused. She’d pulled a gun on him, insulted his honor and integrity, and still he found her sexy as hell.

He had to get a grip. “Knock it off!” he ordered, glaring down at his traitorous body.

“Tucker?”

Tucker’s eyes snapped up and met the twisted expression of the boy standing on the other side of the fence.

“Who you talking to?” he asked as he hopped up and flopped a long leg over the rough wood.

Tucker felt heat rising up from under his collar as the boy straddled on the fence gazed down at him. “What are you doing in that corral?”

“Sky said to check out the stock, so I’s doin’ just that.”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

“Yep,” the kid replied, not the least bit intimidated by Tucker’s hostility. Damn but that annoyed him! Where did these Daines kids get their grit?

“We’re gonna be drivin’ them together, so we need to be familiar with them.”

“We haven’t settled on—”

“Mr. Morgan, don’t think you’ll be able to brush us aside ’cause our pa got kill’t. It’ll take a whole lot more than yourself to keep my sister from claimin’ what’s ours.”

The boy sure held a whole lot of confidence in his bossy sister, Tucker thought as the kid paused, shifting the brim of his hat and regarding him through squinted eyes.

“She’s washin’ our clothes, so you ought to steer clear of the cabin for a time.”

“Last I checked, it was still my cabin.”

The boy grinned. “She already kicked you out, huh?”

“She didn’t kick me nowhere.” Tucker scowled, still mad as hell that he’d been tossed out of his own house. “I don’t take orders from overrighteous females.”

“If you got a problem with girls givin’ orders, you bes’ get over it. Sky knows her business about horses. She won’t be buffaloed by no man.”

“So I was told,” Tucker quipped. And he had more than a problem with girls giving orders. He’d watched his stepmother lead his father around by his nose for too many years to let some parasite of a woman sink her hooks into him. Winifred Morgan had damn near sucked the life right out his father. Tucker had been twelve years old when his father joined the rebel army ranks, despite his wife’s adamant protest. He and Chance didn’t stick around to watch Winifred rave and pout; they’d set out after their father.

Something just isn’t right when a man seems happier on a battlefield than he does in his own home.

“If them old mules is all you have, you ain’t got shit for horses,” the boy said, glancing into the corral at Tucker’s packhorses.

“I have a nice harem of mustangs and a fine stallion grazing a couple miles out.”

The kid flashed a grin. His eyes sparkled with interest. “Catch ’em yourself?”

“Sure did.”

“They wild or green broke?”

“Wild as your sister,” Tucker said with a wry smile. “They can be bridled, but I wouldn’t put my hide on one unless I wanted my brisket cracked open.”

The boy lost his smile. “You’re right lucky I didn’t have a clear shot yesterday, or I’da kill’t you for handling my sister the way you did.”

“Sorry about that,” Tucker said, trying to suppress another smile. Garret glared at him, true anger burning in his eyes. Tucker held no doubt the boy would have shot him to protect his sister. “I was drunk,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“Yeah, we noticed. I still don’t see how you managed to marry Sky without her deckin’ you.”

Tucker knew how. He’d shocked the hell out of her, then he’d kissed her until neither one of them could see straight. Seemed getting unmarried was going to be the real trick. “You want to go take a look at those horses or not?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy exclaimed, hopping down from the fence.

“Call me Tuck.”

The kid’s lips stretched into a wide grin, and Tucker’s mood began to brighten. Seemed he’d won over one of his adversaries.

Tucker and Garret rode back into the yard a couple hours later. He spotted Skylar leading her saddled Arabian from the barn. The horse she held by the reins was one of the finest stallions Tucker had ever seen. His sleek black coat gleamed in the sunlight as she led him farther into the yard. Like Garret’s chestnut-colored mount, the black Arabian had a look of speed and strength about him that would draw the interest of any horse rancher, yet Tucker’s attention quickly strayed to the woman.

“Garret,” Skylar said as they reined beside her. “We’re in need of firewood if we plan to have a warm supper. Can you take care of it?”

“You bet, Sky,” Garret replied without hesitation.

Tucker and Garret continued past her, dismounting in front of the cabin. Tucker glanced back at the slender woman adjusting her saddle, the revolver she’d pulled on him strapped to her hip. A shapely hip, presently bound in faded denim, as was her sweetly shaped backside. She has no right to look so good in denim britches, he thought, annoyed by the instant stir of his body.

Her golden hair glimmered as her gaze whipped toward him. The straight, clean strands hung just below her chin, encasing her pretty face. Realizing she was glaring at him, Tucker smiled and gave her a wink as he touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. Her gazed snapped back to her horse.

For all her fine physical features, Tucker imagined there was more fun to be had in a pocketful of rattlesnakes than any time spent with Skylar Daines-Morgan. “She always so damn bossy?” he asked, pulling his gaze away from her.

“Yeah,” said Garret, his expression glum. “But it ain’t her fault. There’s no room for a soft trail boss in a cattle outfit.”

Tucker felt his face twist with shock. The kid was serious. “She’s a woman.”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t start till a few years ago. My pa sure wasn’t happy about it.”

“He wasn’t happy about what?”

“Sky bein’ a girl and all.”

Tucker was amazed at his comment as he followed Garret toward the woodpile beside the cabin. “Kid, I can pretty much guarantee you, she’s always been a girl.”

“Yeah, but she ain’t always looked like one. A couple years back, her and my pa got into a big fight. Sky said she couldn’t help how she looked and that she wusn’t gonna cut her hair no more. That’s why we stopped drivin’ cattle and started rounding up mustangs on our own.”

Again Tucker glanced across the yard as Skylar lifted a pointed boot to a stirrup. She mounted her horse with a grace that echoed pure femininity, the swell of her breasts clearly visible beneath her ivory shirt and leather vest.

Boots and britches sure as hell wouldn’t keep him from seeing that she was one shapely woman. A woman who had a profound and discomforting effect on his pulse.

“She told Pa she wanted to wear dresses and things of the like,” Garret continued as Tucker watched Skylar guide her horse across the open ground. “She said she was sick of herding cattle and sleeping in pastures and she wanted a real house where suitors could come to call on her.”