Читать книгу Mustang Wild - Stacey Kayne - Страница 11

S kylar sat atop the fence outside the stable, watching a small beacon of white light blossom in the darkness. The orange sun began to slowly crest the eastern horizon, magically chasing shadows from the land. Pale streamers of light sprayed across the sky, replacing the nighttime stars with the warm glow of early morning, and transforming hidden patches of white into brilliant pink clouds.

Skylar saw no beauty in the colorful sunrise, only deception. Pink clouds were merely an illusion of light, just as her father’s promises had been an illusion to lure her to Wyoming. The bitter reality of her father’s lies crashed through her spirit with devastating force, filling her chest with such pain she hardly had room for breath.

Life seemed to be one big deception after another. Her father had never intended to build them a home. Zachary Daines had caused her plenty of disappointment in the past few years, but to her knowledge, he’d never flat out lied to her. Why did he lie?

To get the only thing that’s ever mattered to Zachary Daines, her mind answered. The chance to see and roam a new stretch of ground. To do that, he’d needed her to tame his horses and look after Garret.

She didn’t want to believe Chance Morgan’s word over her father’s, but when she stared into Chance’s cold green eyes, she knew he was telling her the truth. The deed she’d safely sealed inside the rear facing of her father’s Bible belonged to the Morgans alone, yet she couldn’t let them have it. Not yet.

Drawing a deep breath, she shifted her gaze into the corral at Tucker’s small band of anxious mustangs. She’d spent the last two years turning wild ponies into fine horses many cattle or cavalry outfits had paid top dollar for. Yet here she sat, with nothing to show for all her hard work and a little brother to raise on her own. How on earth was she supposed to take care of Garret without a job or a penny to her name? How could her father do this to them?

She had to get their horses back. She and Garret could at least make a start with the money from those mustangs. If they made good time and followed the trails marked in her father’s journal, they could catch up to Randal in Wyoming. Although even if she recovered her horses, she still had the Morgans to worry about. As Tucker’s wife, they could try to claim her horses without paying her one red cent.

Tugging at her leather gloves, she jumped down into the corral. There didn’t seem to be a man on this earth who could be trusted, and Tucker Morgan had proven to be as deceitful as the rest. She and Garret had overheard every word of Tucker’s plans to gussy her up and marry her off to the first Wyoming man they came across. Fuming, she had served a bowl of stew for herself and Garret, then dumped a handful of salt into the rest. She was here to train horses, not cater to a man who planned to trade her off like livestock.

She shrugged her lariat from her shoulder, catching the coils of rope in her gloved hand. Tucker Morgan had a thing or two to learn about women. By the time they reached Wyoming, he’d be begging her to stay on and work with his horses.

“Okay, ladies, who’s gonna be first?” She scanned the mares, all of whom were stamping and snorting, making it clear they had no desire to tote a rider on their backs. Time they learned life didn’t have a damn thing to do with what anyone wanted. If she was going to beat Wade Randal to Wyoming, they had work to do.

Pulling some slack through the knot at the end of her rope, opening her lasso, she glanced at the saddled brown-and-white mare she’d separated from the herd the night before. She’d spent most of the past evening assessing Tucker’s mares, allowing them to become familiar with her and the sound of her voice. The spirited paint had caught her attention right off as she moved through the corral, pushing the others out of her way. Skylar had seen a few nips and cuts on some of the other mares, and figured the dominating brown and white was responsible for those injuries.

The headstrong mustang had been a handful just to haul into a solitary pen. She’d been a snorting, stamping beast while Skylar slung a saddle onto her back during the early-morning darkness.

I’ll save the best for last, she thought, shifting her gaze back to the other horses.

Tucker stood in the cabin doorway watching Skylar lead a mustang with a light golden coat away from the corral. He wondered what she planned to do with the wild mare. The sun hadn’t been up for a full half hour, yet she had already saddled two of the mares and apparently had plans to take an early-morning ride on one. A pair of fringed chaps clung to her long legs, the fawn leather encasing her shapely backside like a picture window.

He had a notion to tell her she’d be better off mounting an untamed horse inside a corral, but as he watched his wild mustang trot along beside her, showing no signs of protest, he decided to remain a silent spectator. The faint, soothing sound of Skylar’s voice drifted back as she guided the horse farther away from the ranch.

As they walked deeper into the vast expanse of dry dirt, sage and chaparral, Tucker saw Garret riding bareback on his chestnut Arabian, all bright-eyed and ready to assist his sister. Skylar stopped a few yards away from him. Within the space of a breath she was on the mare, sitting tall in the saddle as she waited for the mare’s reaction.

The mare seemed to be as stunned as Tucker by Skylar’s quick jump into the saddle. The buckskin stood perfectly still for a moment, then began to sidestep, steadily working toward an all-out fit. Twisting to the right, the horse bucked its hind legs up off the ground.

After a few more sharp kicks, the horse planted its hind quarters on the ground, trying to dump the extra weight. Skylar stuck to the mare’s back as though her denim pants were sewn to the saddle. She leaned forward and touched her heels to the horse.

The mare shot up and took off across the desert. He could see Skylar was trying to nudge the stubborn horse to the right. When the mare didn’t respond, Skylar’s left arm shot out, and to Tucker’s surprise, a bull whip uncoiled from her hand and pierced the air with a sharp snap.

The horse veered right.

“I’ll be damned.” A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the woman and mare in sheer amazement.

“What the hell!” Chance bumped Tucker away from the door frame as he barged outside with his gun drawn. “I heard—”

“Skylar riding a mare,” Tucker finished for him as he glanced at his brother’s half-shaven face. “You might want to pull your jaw shut. All that sweet lather’s bound to attract flies.”

“She’s riding one of your mares.”

“She is,” Tucker said, shifting his gaze back toward the open desert.

“She’s got a bullwhip,” Chance said as the whip cracked again.

“She certainly does.”

Skylar continued maneuvering the horse in different directions, only cracking the whip when the horse didn’t respond to her nudges. Garret stayed close by, riding a short distance behind her. After a few minutes of zigzagging, the mustang was catching on, taking its cues without being prompted by the crack of the whip.

“That’s the damnedest thing I ever saw,” said Chance as he holstered his gun. “Has she whipped the horse at all?”

“Nope.”

“I told you Daines was known to be one hell of a horse trainer,” Chance said, sounding smug.

Tucker laughed at the jubilant gleam in his brother’s eyes. Seemed they had their horse trainer after all. “Maybe you ought to finish shaving before your lather starts to crack.” Still needing a shave, Tucker followed Chance inside.

When Tucker returned to the yard the buckskin Skylar had ridden was tethered outside the corral, the saddle already pulled from its back. Not seeing any sign of the boss lady, Tucker approached the tethered buckskin.

“Easy, girl,” he murmured, running a hand across her thick, golden coat. He inspected the horse’s flank for any abrasions caused by Skylar’s spurs.

The mare didn’t have a mark on her.

“I didn’t bloody your horse, Morgan.”

Tucker glanced back at the woman standing behind him, her hands firmly planted on her hips, a coil of rope over one shoulder, her bullwhip coiled around the other. Narrowed blue eyes bore into him as he turned to face her.

Daines had either been a desperate man, incredibly brave or just plain stupid. If Daines hadn’t been killed by horse thieves, he surely would have had hell to pay when Skylar reached Wyoming and discovered he’d lied to her. Thanks to Zach Daines, Tucker was left to deal with her wrath.

“I didn’t accuse you of any such thing,” he said in an easy tone. “In fact, I’m impressed as hell by the way you handled this mare.”

“I’m just getting the job done. If you have a preference as to which horses you want gentled, say so now.”

“After watching you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you broke them all before we leave.”

“I don’t break horses, I train them.”

Tucker didn’t miss the sharp edge in her tone. “There’s a difference?” he asked, fully aware that there was and quite certain of her position between the two. Yet he was curious to hear Skylar’s take on the subject. Or maybe he enjoyed the incredulous expression that eased her harsh frown.

Her big blue eyes widened a fraction, her lips parted.

Full, pink lips.

For a shrew, she had the most kissable lips he’d ever seen.

“You say you own a horse ranch?” she asked.

“It’s a new business venture,” he explained, which was true. He’d gentled a few horses in his day, but he was far from being a skilled trainer. His field of expertise was tracking vermin. “Are you going to enlighten me or stand there and silently call me an idiot?”

She took her time in deciding. Then those pretty pink lips shifted into a slight grin, and Tucker felt a true sense of caution.

“A spirited horse with good training,” she said, “knows its job, can execute routine tasks with little to no prompting, and most importantly, has enough sense to know when a useless lump is riding on its back. A real intelligent horse will unload that useless baggage at the soonest opportunity. Pleasant creatures, really.”

Skylar’s tight smile told Tucker he’d been lumped into her useless-baggage category of riders. Although judging by her hostility, men in general occupied that category.

“A horse that’s been broken,” she continued, “has been bullied into doing its master’s bidding. Convinced it’s too stupid to think for itself, it relies on the rider for guidance. Unfortunate, and frequently disastrous. From my own observations, I’d choose horse sense over a cowboy’s any day.”

Tucker didn’t doubt it. “Why didn’t you take the spotted mare out first?”

Her blue eyes narrowed and Tucker had to fight a grin. She didn’t like being questioned. He was suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity, his mind filling with questions he couldn’t wait to have answered by his new horse trainer.

“She’s the strongest, most ill-tempered of the lot. But don’t worry, Morgan, she’ll be gentled. I’ll take her out just as soon as she wears herself out a bit more warming to that saddle. Like I said, if you have a preference with the others, say so now.”

“Miss Skylar, you can go ahead and pick and choose as you see fit.”

“Good.” She turned her back on him and opened the gate. Tucker watched her shrug the rope from her left shoulder and open her lasso as she spotted the mare she wanted. She tossed her rope, snaring the mare with an ease that came from years of practice. The kid hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said his sister knew her business.

“Morgan, are you gonna come take this mare or am I working alone today?”

He tensed at her impatient tone. Lord, my brain must have been floating in whiskey when she walked into Big Jack’s. He wasn’t about to let her walk all over him.

He entered the corral and held his hand out to take the rope. “Is calling me ‘Morgan’ a shortcut so you don’t have to figure out which one of us you’re talking to?”

“No, Tucker.” She turned, leveling her gaze on him. “It’s supposed to keep things formal between us.”

Tucker couldn’t fight his smile, a small part of him liking that she recognized him from Chance, and mostly amused that she felt she needed anything other than her sweet disposition to keep their relationship strictly business. He quickly tied the mare to the fence outside the stall and went to retrieve another.

“So, what’s on the agenda, boss lady?” he asked, certain she had one.

“We’ll separate twelve horses to be gentled. One of you can help Garret rig them with cinches so they can get used to having their barrels strapped before we toss a saddle on them.” She grabbed another rope from a bundle on the fence. “The other can work with me.”

Tough choice. But he’d never been one to take the easy way out. “What are we gonna do?”

Her gaze flickered up, and Tucker swore he saw a smile in her eyes.

Seemed he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a challenge.

“We get to teach your mustangs some manners,” she said.

“And we’ll work with the other eight tomorrow?” he asked.

Taken aback by his question, Skylar wondered just how much this handsome cowboy truly knew of horses. “No. We’ll work with the same twelve tomorrow.”

His pinched expression told her he didn’t like that answer.

“Morgan, you can either have twelve well-mannered horses, or twenty that won’t ride worth a damn. Your choice.”

“I hope you don’t think I’ll be leaving the others behind.”

Skylar hoped he didn’t plan on arriving in Wyoming with all twenty of his mares. They had plenty of wild territory to cross, and his band of horses would slow them down, making it nearly impossible to travel without being detected. Four measly horsemen certainly wouldn’t intimidate a band of thieves or hostile Indians into keeping their distance. Unsure of how Tucker would react to the prospect of such situations, she decided not to mention it. He’d catch on soon enough.

“You won’t have to leave any horses. The others will follow the more dominant of the group, but we need horses we can ride. I won’t put Garret on a wild mare, and I won’t kill our two stallions by pushing them too long and hard. When I’m finished, we’ll each have four horses, including our own mounts.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re planning on doing some hard riding.”

“I plan to head out in two days and keep as fast a pace as possible.”

“Two days?”

“I already went over this with Chance, and he didn’t have a problem with leaving in two days. In fact, he seemed real pleased and said he’d ride out tomorrow to get supplies.”

“You’ll have twelve horses ready in two days?”

“I will.” She waited to hear him say she couldn’t. He surprised her by saying, “Then we bes’ get busy,” before he beamed one of his smiles.

She wished he wouldn’t do that. With his freshly shaven face all bronze and shiny, and the scent of shaving lather strong on his skin, Tucker was already plain delectable.

Skylar turned away from him, her face warming from the ridiculous thoughts fluttering through her mind.

Delectable?

Good Lord. She’d gotten carried away with a single kiss and now she was thinking like a harlot. She’d been working and bunking with men most her life, yet not one of them had ever caused her pulse to stir or mind to spin by simply looking at her. But she didn’t want a repeat of her encounter with Randal. She’d make it perfectly clear she had no such interest in Tucker.

What she needed was to get her hide on a wild mare and focus on work, not the green-eyed cowboy with a fallen-angel smile.

Tension eating at his spine, Tucker sat anxiously in his saddle, watching Skylar in silent fascination. After working with most of the mares they’d separated from the herd, he wasn’t proud to admit he’d eaten far more dirt than she had. In fact, she was presently sitting on the only horse that had managed to toss her from its back. More than once.

The first time he’d watched Skylar’s body slap against the unforgivably hard earth, his initial reaction had been to make sure she was all right. Before he could dismount, she’d jumped to her feet, dusted herself off and marched toward the mustang with a determination Tucker couldn’t help but admire.

Hang on, darlin’, he thought as the spotted mare dipped her head, digging her front hooves into the ground and whipping Skylar to another sharp stop. To Tucker’s surprise, the mare didn’t kick and thrash, but stood stock-still. Skylar appeared relaxed, her eyes narrow with concentration as she dug her boots into the stirrups and tightened her hold on the reins, preparing for another round of bucking.

The woman was amazing. She seemed to be able to predict the horse’s movements. And her voice… Tucker damn near melted off his mount every time she used that soft, sensual voice of hers to calm the mares.

As if cued by his thoughts, Skylar began talking softly to the mare, attempting to reason with a creature that had proven to be as strong-willed as she was.

Tucker’s muscles tensed as her sultry tone grated over his skin and curled around his senses. Needing a distraction, he glanced out at the wide streamers of pink streaking across the western sky, and doubted Skylar had even noticed the blush of sunset, her sole focus being the wild horse.

“Skylar,” Tucker said when she was quiet once more. “You’ve got to be exhausted. What do you say we call it day?”

“I’d like to ride her back to the ranch.” Her frown deepened. “But what I’d like don’t count for spit, or I’d be chin deep in a long tub filled with sudsy, warm water.”

Tucker chuckled. That had been another surprise. Though it was as dry as the desert floor, Skylar had a sense of humor, and she wasn’t as impossible to work with as he’d feared. In fact, they’d worked really smoothly together all day. Of course, the only time she seemed aware of his presence was when they switched mounts, and even then, their verbal exchange was minimal, each knowing what needed to be done without prompting from the other.

“Suppose I should be happy she’s letting me sit up here without trying to get me under her hooves,” she said with a heavy sigh.

She clearly wasn’t happy with the progress she’d made with this particular mare. The horse had only one direction in mind, and that was toward the setting sun. Skylar had managed to work her in circles, but they’d been steadily moving west for the last hour despite Skylar’s efforts to urge the horse in the opposite direction.

Tucker rode slowly toward her. “Put the lead back on her and you can stay in that saddle while I drag her back to the ranch. Perhaps after we walk her through the routine, she’ll catch on.”

Skylar did as he suggested and tossed him the rope.

When they reached the yard, Tucker dismounted and grabbed the mare by her harness. “I’ll take her,” he said as Skylar stepped down from her saddle.

“She’ll be the first to go out in the morning.”

“You got it, boss lady,” Tucker said as he led the horse toward the corral.

A short while later he walked from the stable after finishing with the horses. He spotted Skylar leaning against the small single corral on the opposite side of the stable from the mares, where he was keeping one rowdy white stallion. Tucker had eaten quite a bit of dirt and sand trying to gentle that stud. “I hope you’re not planning to tackle him before supper,” he said, coming up behind her.

Skylar glanced back, surprising him with a slight smile.

“Nope. He’s all yours.”

“Your face is starting to sunburn,” he said, noticing how her relaxed expression enhanced the delicate features of her pretty face.

Skylar blinked, appearing confused by his comment. “What?”

“Your face, it’s sunburned.”

She dropped her gaze, clearly perturbed by the offhanded comment. “I’ll borrow Garret’s hat for a while tomorrow.”

“You don’t have one of your own?”

“I lost it the night we were ambushed.”

“I’ll have Chance pick one up for you when he goes for supplies in the morning.”

“I don’t want any favors from you, Morgan,” she said, eyeing him skeptically. “I only want to get to Wyoming.” She turned away from the fence and started toward the barn.

“Chance,” she said as she passed his brother, who’d been walking toward them.

“Sky,” he greeted in return, touching his fingers to the brim of his hat, but she didn’t pause for pleasantries. She marched her tight little butt right past him and into the barn.

“Your wife sure don’t like you a’tall,” Chance said as he followed Tucker toward the cabin.

“So I keep being reminded. She keeps working miracles with those horses and she can cuss me clear to Wyoming.”

“Amen to that,” Chance agreed.

“Where’s the kid?” Tucker asked, glancing about the yard.

“He headed in a little while ago to check on supper.”

Tucker stopped in his tracks. “Who fixed our supper, you or him?”

“The kid. Stewed meat and potatoes again.”

Tucker groaned. “If he cooks like his sister, we’ll be better off heading to the stable and eating oats with the horses.”

“Don’t worry. I hid the salt. And I thought our cooking was lousy.”

“It is,” Tucker said as they reached the cabin. “But there’s a hell of a difference between lousy and plain inedible.”

While Tucker and Chance washed up, Garret set four places at the small table and began serving stew into the bowls.

“Go get your sister,” Chance said as he sat down at the table. Garret set the pot of stew back on the stove then hurried out to fetch Skylar.

With only two rickety old chairs in the cabin, Tucker grabbed an empty crate from the floor and flipped it up on its side, placing it before an open spot at the table. “How’d things go with you and Garret today?” he asked, taking his makeshift seat.

“The kid talks too damn much. But other than that, he’s just like his sister. He doesn’t have any quit in him. You and Sky seemed to do all right.”

Tucker reached toward a box of matches at the center of the table beside the kerosene lantern. Removing the glass globe, he lit the wick, spilling golden light across the darkening room.

“Only because she was too busy with the horses to hiss and spit at me.”

“Then you bes’ keep her busy, because we need her.”

Tucker agreed, but hadn’t expected Chance to come right out and say so. “Glad to hear your approval. As of this morning, she and Garret are on the payroll. Skylar needs a hat. See that you pick one up for her when you get our supplies.”

“Fair enough. I’ll put it in the ledger. I wish they’d hurry up,” he said with a scowl, glancing at the door. “I’m half-starved.”

Tucker’s stomach grumbled as he looked at the bowl of steaming meat and potatoes in front of him. “You and Garret ate something at noon, didn’t you?”

“Apples and dried beef don’t fill a man’s gut.”

Tucker nodded an agreement, having inhaled the same dinner in between saddling horses.

Both glanced up as the door squeaked open.

“Sky won’t be comin’ in for supper.”

“Why not?” Tucker and Chance asked simultaneously.

Garret’s mouth dropped open, his gaze moving between them as he eased into the chair across from Chance.

“You’ll get used to us,” said Tucker. “Is she so put out by me that she doesn’t want to eat in my company?”

Garret shook his head. “It ain’t that. She’s asleep. I tried to wake her, but I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

“She ain’t dead, but she’s sleeping pretty solid. Can we eat?”

“She worked her butt off today,” Chance said, then nodded toward Garret. “Bow your head, kid,” he instructed as he propped his elbows onto the table and folded his hands. “Lord, we thank you for this food we’re about to eat and for seeing us through another day. Amen.” Chance grabbed a spoon and dug into his bowl of stew. Garret followed his cue, taking two heaping bites before Chance managed one.

Tucker muttered an “Amen” then stood. “Skylar should eat. I’ll go see if I can wake her.”

“Be careful,” Garret called after him. “She can be a pistol when she’s tired. She never opened her eyes when I tried to wake her, but she did try to kick me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shutting the door behind him. With darkness quickly claiming the sky, Tucker walked across the shadowed yard. Stepping lightly into the barn, he spotted Skylar in one of the stalls across from their horses. Not certain if he should wake her, he crept quietly up to the gate.

Lying belly-down, she was stretched out on some fresh straw, her jacket balled up under her head, her face hidden beneath the folds of her arms. He wondered why she hadn’t at least laid out her bedroll.

His gaze swept across the length of her slender body. After the way she exerted herself today, she didn’t need to miss a meal.

He started to enter the stall then paused, noting a fine tremble in her shoulders. He heard a sharp gasp of air from beneath her folded arms and felt an instant tension move across his own shoulders.

Ah, hell. She’s not sleeping, she’s—

Skylar shifted onto her side. Tucker took a quick step backward into the shadowed corner of the barn as she sat up.

Sniffling, she shoved her hair away from her face. Tears twinkled like stars as they slid down her cheeks, capturing gleams of light filtered through the cracks of the barn.

He had to get the hell out of here! Two years of witnessing Winifred’s frequent tearful tirades had given Tucker a healthy fear of fitful women.

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

After a few moments of listening to her even, steady breaths, it occurred to Tucker that not all women may be prone to tearful theatrics. Despite her glistening cheeks, Skylar appeared rather peaceful. And vulnerable.

She’s got one hell of a poker face. Looking at her now, she hardly resembled the woman full of confidence and sass who’d spent the day working his horses. His gaze skimmed across long, golden lashes resting against pink skin that had seen too much sun.

Why am I still standing here?

With her eyes closed, he was wasting his chance to escape. He backed up as quickly and quietly as he could, and bumped hard into something solid. The rafters overhead creaked as he turned toward what should have been a clear path to the open door. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out what he’d hit, until a large canvas sack swung back from the shadows and clocked him right between the eyes.

Pain shot across Tucker’s face as the familiar sound of cast iron pounded stars into his eyes.

“Goddamn it!” he shouted, staggering backward. He clamped a hand over his nose as he slammed against the stall behind him.

Tucker blinked several times to clear his vision, his mind still registering the pain. He eased his hand away from his throbbing face. Crimson droplets of blood dripped steadily into his palm. Son of a bitch! Skylar’s skillet had likely broken his nose!

Remembering she was also in the barn, Tucker suppressed a groan and glanced over his shoulder.

Skyar’s wide, glistening eyes stared into his. Sitting on her knees, her lips parted, she looked as stunned as he felt.

Too late to run now. His gaze focused on tears still bright in her eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, swiping her hands across her cheeks as she stood up.

“Just dandy.” He pinched his nose and tipped his head back to slow the flow of blood drizzling down his chin.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to get a nosebleed,” he quipped. And a black eye. The flesh around his left eye was growing tighter by the second.

A light trickle of laughter danced across his senses, distracting him from the pain. Opening his eyes, he was stunned to find Skylar directly in front of him, her blue eyes bright with amusement. She tugged a handkerchief from her pants pocket. “Let me see,” she said in the sultry voice she used with the horses as she reached toward his face.

Tucker reared, keeping his hand clamped over his nose. “I don’t—”

“Stop fussing and put your hand down.”

Feeling like an idiot, biting back a curse, Tucker did as she said. He was instantly rewarded by the soothing glide of gentle fingers against his aching face. Watching the intent look in Skylar’s eyes, he wasn’t sure which made him dizzier, the blow to his head or the tender slide of her fingers across his nose.

“It’s not broken.”

“No thanks to your pack,” he grumbled, while wondering how hands tough and calloused as his own could feel like velvet against his skin. “How many frying pans do you own, anyhow?”

Her light, musical laughter coiled down his spine, tensing his entire body as she examined the left side of his battered face. “I hung our gear from some old nails to keep it out of the way, but you seem to have struck up a courtship with our skillet.”

Her smile was like her voice. Warm, sultry, alluring.

She must be too tired to be hateful, he thought, knowing her red-rimmed eyes were caused by more than tears. His gaze drifted across her face. Her skin looked as soft and pretty as a rosebud. And those lips… Standing so close, he could feel her breath mingling with his.

Tucker 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.

He suddenly wished she had kept her poker face on and hoped she’d be getting it back soon.

Focus on the pain. Not that he could feel anything beyond the fire pooling in his groin as her fingers tentatively probed his rapidly swelling eye.

“Luckily, you have a thick skull,” she said, wiping a fresh trail of blood from his upper lip with her handkerchief. “Here. You may need this for a while longer.”

Tucker opened his eyes and took the bloodstained cloth from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice so thick it barely scraped past his throat.

“No problem. You can keep it.”

“I meant for the doctoring. You’ve got a healing touch that could make a man want to get hurt just to be petted by you.”

Something flashed in her eyes, something close to fear. Her gaze narrowed, and Tucker realized his choice of words must have given her the wrong idea. Not that he was against the idea of having her soothing hands all over him, but he hadn’t meant to announce it.

“You shouldn’t go creeping about in shadows,” she said, her features firming. “A man could get shot that way.”

His gaze dropped to the gun still holstered at her hip.

Fun was over. Thank God. Much more of her coddling and he would have gotten himself shot for sure. “I wasn’t creeping about in the shadows. I came to tell you supper’s on the table.”

She stepped back into the stall and latched the gate behind her. “I’m not hungry.” She grabbed a bedroll and released the ties. “Shut the barn door on your way out,” she said as she tossed the heavy blanket across the bed of fresh straw.

Even as Tucker told himself he should get out while he could, he lingered, knowing she should eat. “Skylar, you need to eat.”

She flopped onto her stomach, fluffed her jacket under her head, then shut him out completely by covering her face in the folds of her arms.

What was he supposed to do now? Just walk away?

Beats standing here like a bleeding idiot, his mind answered. He turned away, careful to miss her pack this time, and left the barn. What did he care if she didn’t eat?

Reaching the house, he was still pinching his bloody nose as he stepped inside. Garret burst into laughter before Tucker shut the door behind him.

“I told you to be careful,” he squealed.

Not feeling up to giving any explanations, Tucker walked past the table and into the bedroom. Silently cursing the muffled laughter following him from the other room, he tossed himself onto the bed.

“Is it broke?” Standing in the doorway, his evil twin flashed a wide grin.

“No,” Tucker answered, annoyed by what it took to put an upward curve in Chance’s lips.

“What were you doing within arm’s reach of her? You know she’s a spitfire. The kid even warned you.”

Tucker gaped at his brother over the top of the rag pressed against his nose. “She’s a woman, for criminy sake!”

“She’s a cowhand. You better realize she’s used to being treated as such. Commenting on that pretty face of hers will only get you into trouble, and treating her like some delicate piece of frippery…well, it seems that sort of foolishness will get you a busted nose.”

“Skylar didn’t give me the bloody nose.”

“Uh-huh. Am I supposed to believe you walked into the barn door?”

“She hung her pack from one of the nails in the rafters. I didn’t see it until the damn thing hit me in the face.”

Chance’s grin returned. “This woman’s damn hard on your health.”

“Go to hell,” Tucker mumbled.

“I’ll be on your heels the whole way, little brother. Is she coming in?”

“No. She’s…sleeping.”

Chance turned and walked back to the table, telling Garret he could have extra stew.

Tucker stared up at the dark ceiling, knowing Chance was right. Despite her pretty face, sultry voice and shapely body that tied him in knots, Skylar was just another cowhand. He’d be doing himself a favor to think of her as such.

Hell. He’d being doing himself a favor not to think about her at all.