Читать книгу Mustang Wild - Stacey Kayne - Страница 11

H uddled over the tiny kitchen table with Tucker and Chance as they went over her father’s journal, Skylar continually found her gaze drifting from the sketches of terrain to the sharp lines and intriguing planes of Tucker’s face.

The swollen tissue across the bridge of his nose was hardly noticeable anymore, leaving only a dark streak beneath his left eye; a constant reminder of her humiliating display of weakness. It was bad enough he’d caught her crying; then she had to go begging for more trouble by constantly looking at him. She’d been chastised enough over the last few years by her father to know better.

You go flashin’ smiles to the men and you’re gonna find yourself under some rutting bastard and your belly swollen with child.

Her run-in with Randal had proved his point.

Randal had been full of crocodile smiles and smoldering stares. She hadn’t thought she’d behaved in a promiscuous fashion toward Randal, but she hadn’t blatantly discouraged his attention, either. During the few minutes he’d wrestled her to the ground, she hadn’t liked his hard kisses or groping hands one single bit. She shuddered at the recollection as self-contempt churned at her insides.

She couldn’t allow any such confusion between herself and Tucker. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked at her in such a way since the night before last or mentioned the incident. For some reason, Garret and Chance seemed to think she’d been the one who’d bruised up his handsome face. They had harassed him all of yesterday, none of which seemed to bother Tucker. He made light of the incident, flinching dramatically whenever she was within three feet of him. But then, Tucker seemed to make light of life in general. She’d never known anyone who was so quick to smile.

She needed to get out of here. She found it impossible not to stare at him when they were in the same room, intrigued by his similarities to Chance, as well as their differences, which was why she tried to avoid being in the small cabin at all.

“Have you found a problem with my suggestion?” she asked.

Tucker turned the page and pored over the next two maps with the same intensity he had the others. “Not exactly.”

“This is some journal,” said Chance.

The slight upward tilt of Chance’s lips caught Skylar’s attention. Chance’s personality was such a contrast to Tucker’s. If they had any physical differences, she hadn’t been able to pinpoint them. It amazed her that two men could be physically identical, yet so very different at the same time.

“What are we waitin’ on?” Garret called as he barreled in through the open door. “The gear’s all packed. Hey, that’s my pa’s journal.” He stepped beside Tucker and dropped his elbows onto the table as he leaned toward the center.

“Kid, your head makes a better door than a window,” Chance said in a dull tone.

Garret eased back and Tucker gave him a firm shove, knocking Garret off balance. Garret quickly found his footing and retaliated by slamming his body against Tucker, nearly knocking him off the crate.

Tucker laughed as he straightened and looked back at the journal.

Another difference, thought Skylar. Tucker was particularly kind to Garret, and playful. He didn’t show the impatience she saw in Chance’s expression when Garret hounded them with questions or rattled on the way Garret was prone to do. Tucker was—

Blast!

Realizing she was staring at him again, she shifted her gaze toward the open doorway. “We’re burning daylight,” she said with impatience. “Are we settled on heading northeast or not? We can bicker about specific passes on the way.”

“You’re sure these drawings are accurate?” asked Tucker. “I’ve spent a good deal of time picking my way across Colorado territory, yet this map is littered with passes I’ve never seen or heard of.”

“My grandfather was a surveyor by trade and my father did some scouting for the military before he married my mother.”

Tucker’s sharp green eyes flickered up, making brief contact with Skylar’s before he glanced back down at the journal.

Skylar felt as though she’d been physically touched. Something in the way the man looked at her sent a charge through her body that affected her mind. Like a steer on loco weed. She hadn’t forgotten how intoxicating those green eyes could be, or how incredibly soft and gentle his lips had felt against hers. As hard as she tried over the past two days, she couldn’t get the recollection out of her mind.

“Sky?”

“Yeah?” Skylar blinked, and simultaneously realized Tucker was staring at her and Chance had been talking to her. She dropped her gaze away from Tucker. “Yeah, that’s the pass,” she said, noticing Chance’s finger on the narrow channel through the San Juan Mountains, hoping that was what he’d been commenting on while her mind had been off chasing rainbows.

Dear God, how long had Tucker been watching her stare at his lips? “If we take that pass, I estimate we could cut a good four days of travel,” she said, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks.

“I’m willing to give it a shot,” Tucker replied. “What do you say, Chance?”

Chance muttered an agreement. Skylar closed her journal and glanced up. Tucker’s eyes lingered on hers long enough to cause a series of flutters in her stomach, which spiraled up through her body and straight to her head when he flashed those pearly white teeth of his.

In a burst of motion, Skylar grabbed her journal and straightened away from the table. “Let’s get to Wyoming.” She started for the door, silently cursing the tingling surge she felt clear to the soles of her feet. Did he realize how incredibly charming he was?

Skylar groaned inwardly, disgusted by her thoughts. “Lord, I must be touched in the head.”

He’s not charming. He’s arrogant, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The man was a flirt, plain and simple. He was the sort who flirted with anything female. She’d make it known she didn’t care to be a part of any such behavior.

She stopped beside the spotted mare tethered outside the corral. The mustang snorted and flattened her ears. “That’s the idea,” she said, smiling at the hostile signals coming from the ornery mare. She’d keep it clear that she wasn’t interested in Tucker’s fallen-angel smiles.

“You’re going to ride that paint?”

Skylar jumped at the sound of Tucker’s rich voice then spun to face him. Damn the man! She shouldn’t be feeling the strange sensations that swirled inside her whenever she caught his gaze. “Do you have a problem with my riding this mare?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, raising his hands and backing away from her as though she’d drawn her gun on him. “You go ahead and lead the way.”

Listening to his low laugh as he walked toward his horse, Skylar wondered what she was so worried about.

In the past three days they’d covered far more desert ground than Tucker could have imagined possible. Finished roping off the mares, Tucker followed Chance toward their saddled horses staked near one the few patches of sand not littered with cacti and scrub. In the distance, white dunes rose up against an opaque sky, making it impossible to tell where earth ended and sky began.

“Who’s taking care of supper tonight?” Chance asked as they began removing their saddles. “You or me?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Tucker said, figuring Chance could use the break after handling the chore for the past two nights. Skylar had made it clear that her job pertained strictly to the horses.

“Garret, wait!”

Tucker’s gaze whipped around at the sharp sound of Skylar’s voice. She ran toward the packhorses. Fifteen yards away, Garret stood beside a mule, releasing the ropes over a sack of supplies that more than doubled his weight. Skylar reached over the boy’s head, grabbing a heavy pack before it took the kid to the ground. Together they eased the large canvas sack down.

Garret flashed a sheepish grin as his sister gave him a light scolding. The kid’s smile brightened as she reached out and ruffled his white hair, saying something Tucker couldn’t make out. Garret gave a sharp nod before running off to do whatever she’d asked of him.

Tucker grinned and turned back to his horse. He’d never seen a kid idolize his sister the way Garret did. But then, he’d never known a woman like Skylar. A born taskmaster, she didn’t have a speck of trouble maintaining his herd and distributing orders, all while riding circles around them and keeping a constant eye on Garret.

Two nights back she’d surprised Tucker again by relieving him of his night watch just after midnight. He and Chance had been splitting the late-night and early-morning shifts, but Skylar didn’t cut herself any slack.

“I’ll get a fire started,” Chance said as he walked away with his saddle slung over his shoulder.

As Tucker finished with his horse, Skylar approached the saddled Arabian staked beside him. She drew a long breath as she stroked her hand across the horse’s black mane.

Tucker figured three days of grueling riding and little sleep had to be catching up with her. As her hand drifted away from the stallion, her horse stepped back and nudged her arm with its muzzle, clearly wanting more of her touch.

“Spoiled rotten,” she murmured, and stretched her arms around his big head, giving him a petting embrace she seemed to enjoy as much as the stallion. Her gentle smile didn’t hide the exhaustion Tucker could see in her eyes.

The horse gave a snort of protest when she withdrew her caressing hands and stepped toward her saddle. “Chores first, you big hound,” she said, tugging at the cinch.

“Can I give you a hand?” Tucker asked, moving beside her.

The second she met his gaze, her soft expression soured right up. “No. Why would I need help removing my saddle?”

“I just thought—” Tucker snapped his mouth shut, realizing he’d thought wrong. “Never mind.”

Just another cowhand, he silently repeated. Normally, he wasn’t so slow.

She turned her back to him. “Garret and I can handle the horses. You should probably get started on camp.”

“Right.” After three days of the same routine, he was beginning to catch on. He’d clearly blown any chance they’d had at being friendly that night in the barn. If she wasn’t giving him orders, he was all but invisible.

Too bad she wasn’t.

By sundown, Chance had set up camp and Tucker had charred a couple of batches of biscuits and scorched a few jackrabbits. He certainly hadn’t done anyone any favors by volunteering to cook.

Serving what was left of the food onto two plates, he covered the second with a tin and left it by the fire for Skylar. He took his plate and sat beside Chance. Garret sat on the other side of the fire, reclined against an embankment of sand, his face fixed with a frown as he tapped his fork against a piece of overcooked rabbit.

“It’s meat, kid,” said Chance.

“You sure?”

“Fairly,” Chance answered, in the midst of some extensive chewing.

Garret took a bite and grimaced.

Tucker didn’t see how the kid could complain when their ramrod couldn’t do any better. Hearing the sound of Skylar’s approaching footsteps, he glanced through the darkness. Despite his efforts not to, Tucker watched as she walked into the warm firelight, not paying them any notice as she tossed her hat and gloves onto her pack and began removing her chaps.