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Mustang Wild
Stacey Kayne
No smooth-talking man is going to outwit her!With the deed to her land and a kid brother to protect, mustanger Skylar Daines shouldn't have tangled with the likes of Tucker Morgan. But his stolen kiss scatters her senses and, quicker than a whirling dust devil, they're wed!To her relief, Tucker's keen to fix the marital slipup–and then he tells her the deed she holds belongs to him, and him alone. Maybe she shouldn't rush to have their marriage annulled. No man, no matter how good-looking, is going to swindle Skylar out of the one thing she yearns for most–a home.



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 (http://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.”
The boy let out a long whistle, drawing Tucker’s attention away from Skylar. Garret’s white eyebrows shot up as he shook his head. “I ain’t never seen my pa so steamed. He wouldn’t have it. They hadn’t got along too well these last couple years. When Pa said we were goin’ to Wyoming, she told him he could herd his horses straight to hell for all she cared. She was done with long drives. She refused to come with us until Pa showed her the deed and promised we’d have a home when we reached our land.”
Was the kid trying to make him feel guilty? Hell, he wasn’t responsible for the lies their father had told them. But the boy wouldn’t let up. When they’d ridden out to check on the mustangs, Tucker had tried not to notice the tears in Garret’s eyes or the tremble in his voice as he filled him in on the night his father had been killed.
All this sentimental rubbish made him…nervous. Not that he didn’t feel for the kid. He and Chance had been twelve years old and standing right beside their father when he’d gotten shot in the chest during the War Between the States.
“How old is your sister?” Tucker asked, suddenly curious.
“Nineteen,” Garret said as he picked up a log and set it on the chopping stump. “That dress she wore yesterday is the first one I’ve seen her in since our ma died.” He shifted the ax in his hands as he met Tucker’s gaze. “I used to feel bad for Sky, our pa not lettin’ her wear dresses and all. But after what happened yesterday, I can see he had reason for doin’ what he did.”
“Let’s get this wood chopped,” Tucker said, avoiding Garret’s hard look. “I sure wouldn’t want to get on Skylar’s bad side.”

Chapter 3
T he woman didn’t have a bad side, Tucker decided upon close observation. She was damn beautiful from every angle.
He stood just beyond the cabin, where he’d been stock-still for the past ten minutes as he gazed across the yard, his eyes continuing to move over Skylar, watching her stretch, reach and bend as she groomed her horse inside the stable.
“I was gonna harass you for staring, but damn if I can pull my eyes away from her.”
Tucker jumped at the sound of his brother’s voice then glared at his own reflection. “By God, it’s about time!”
“Who the hell is that?” Chance asked as he stepped beside Tucker. His eyes never wavered from Skylar, watching her work the brush over the stallion’s shiny black coat.
“I should be asking you,” Tucker replied, certain this entire mess was all his brother’s fault. “According to the information you gave me, that would be Zach Daines’s oldest son.”
“You must need spectacles. That shapely creature is no boy.”
“Didn’t you know your buddy Zach had a daughter?”
Chance glanced over at Tucker. “Hell, no! I only knew his two sons, Sky and Garret.”
“Sky is short for Skylar, and as you said, she’s no boy.”
Chance’s gaze whipped back to Skylar. “If that’s Sky, she’s had one hell of a growth spurt. I can’t believe she’s the same skinny kid I knew three years ago.” He glanced back at Tucker. “I don’t see why you’re in such a snit. They’re Zach’s kids, let him worry about them. Or is it Zach’s wrath you’re worried about, if he catches you eyeing up his daughter?”
“I can’t fear a man who’s six foot under.”
Surprise lit Chance’s features. “What?”
“Skylar and Garret said they were hit last month by rustlers—killed their pa and stole their stock. They arrived with themselves and two Arabian studs, or didn’t you notice all those empty corrals?”
A heavy sigh broke from Chance’s chest as he pulled off his brown Stetson and shoved a hand through his hair. “Hell.”
“My sentiment exactly.” Tucker nearly smiled as panic replaced the amusement that had lit his brother’s eyes.
“So now we’re supposed to look after his kids?”
“Hell if I know. He was your friend. I never even met the man. I got sick of chasing the south end of longhorns at the age of eighteen.”
“We’re going to have our hands full with your mustangs, not to mention every horse thief between here and Wyoming.”
“Don’t I know it,” Tucker said, nodding his head in full agreement.
Alarm tightened Chance’s features. “Who has the deed?”
“She does.” Tucker smiled, knowing the relief in his brother’s eyes would be short-lived. He’d have an easier time getting their deed from the belly of a live grizzly than he would from Zach Daines’s daughter.
“So, why didn’t you just give your condolences, ask for the deed and send them on their way?”
“I tried, but she won’t consent to an annulment.”
Chance arched an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“You heard me.”
“You married her?”
“By accident.”
“By what?”
“Are you hard of hearin’ all ’a sudden? I said I married her by accident.”
“No, Tucker. You break a window by accident. You step in horseshit by accident, but no one gets married by accident!”
“Well, I did! I was over at Big Jack’s—”
“Drunker than a skunk in a barrel of whiskey,” Chance cut in, shaking his head.
“—and the reverend threw a marriage document into the pot.”
“Gambling with a man of the church, no less.”
“I had just won the hand when this angel appears outta nowhere.”
“An angel? Damn it, Tuck, I told you bounty hunting was no way to make a living! Your conscience is affecting your brain.”
“My conscience is just fine! I’ve never killed anybody in cold blood, and we both know I shot more men at the age of fourteen than I have in the last twelve years.”
A glittering glance from Chance revealed memories neither one cared to discuss. Memories of a childhood spent spying for military camps during the War Between the States after the death of their father. With a loyalty to no one but each other, they had moved with ease through military camps on both sides of the enemy line, relaying information and documents. But it didn’t matter what color coat you wore in hell. Caught with incriminating documents, they’d been tossed into a place that made hand-to-hand combat on the battlefields seem inviting.
“She caught me off guard is all,” Tucker said after a moment of heavy silence. “I’ll admit I’d had a few shots of whiskey and Henderson stirred things up with that marriage document, and then this pretty blonde showed up beside me—”
“And you accidentally married her,” Chance finished for him.
Tucker frowned at Chance’s disapproving gaze. “Would you shut up and let me finish? Why do you always have to put a downward spin on everything?”
“The only one creating a downward spin is you, little brother. By the rate you’re spinning, the heels of your boots must be gettin’ close to the fires of hell. You better cut that angel loose before you drag her down with you.”
“I tried! I rode into Black Dog, but Henderson had already caught the first stage out of town. So now we’ve got to have the damn thing annulled, but Skylar refused. She said she won’t agree to an annulment until we reach Wyoming, claiming our ranch is half hers. I explained the dangers of traveling through wild country, but the woman’s stubborn as granite rock.”
“And cunning as a fox,” Chance ground out, shifting his hard gaze toward Skylar. “I’ve worked too damn hard these past ten years to give away half our land to a pretty lady.” He paused, shifting his gaze to the Arabian. “That sure is one handsome stud she’s grooming.”
Tucker wasn’t surprised by Chance’s distraction with the horse. “The chestnut Garret’s riding is just as impressive.”
“Where did Zach find such rare horses in the States?”
“How the hell should I know?” Tucker scowled as he slumped back, leaning his shoulders against the rough wood of the cabin. “You said you worked with Zach and his boys down in Texas. How could you think his daughter was his son?”
“That was three years ago. I’m sure none of the other men suspected Sky to be anything other than what she appeared to be. A fine kid who could rope and ride with the best of us. Her hair was short and her shape was, ah…I guess you could say, undeveloped. Zach worked Sky as hard as the rest of his men.”
“Her father had her driving stock?” Tucker still struggled to believe that fact. “Where was her mother?”
“From what I recall, Zach’s wife took sick and died seven or eight years ago. Being the stock-drive foreman, Zach’s kids came along. Garret rode on the chuck wagon, but Sky collected pay like the rest of us and he, or rather, she, earned it. Where’s Garret?”
Tucker flashed a slight smile. “He insisted on rounding up the mares alone. I figured I’d give him a good hour to wear them out a bit before I go help him.”
“Don’t look like he needs much help to me.”
Tucker followed his brother’s gaze across the mesa. Garret was riding the chestnut stallion toward the cabin and holding three leads, each attached to a mare. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“Don’t I know it. But it’s your own fault. Marrying angels by accident,” Chance muttered in disgust, shaking his head. “Seems we’ve been spotted by your angelic wife,” he said, waving to Skylar as she walked toward them.
Tucker pushed away from the cabin wall and leaned close to his brother. “One more thing, Chance, before you rush off to greet her. Remember when I said it was a fool idea to send our deed off with Daines? Seems he told his daughter you and him were partners. Married or not, as I said just now, she believes half our land is hers.”
Chance’s eyes widened as Skylar approached them. His surprise confirmed it. Zach Daines had lied to his daughter.
“Chance,” Skylar said, stopping in front of them.
Chance was quick to recover. “Sky.” He extended his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” she replied, shaking his hand, her lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “I never knew you had a twin brother.”
“I never knew Zach had a daughter.”
Her frown deepened. She gave a slight shrug. “Minor family details, I suppose.”
“Tuck mentioned you were hit by rustlers, lost your father and your stock. You have my condolences, Sky. Your father was a good man.”
The instant shadow of sadness in Skylar’s blue eyes surprised Tucker, and he realized he hadn’t offered her any such sentiment in regards to her father’s death. Another area where he hadn’t handled himself very well. Damn.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her thick tone pricked at Tucker’s skin. She cleared her throat, visibly fighting moisture from her eyes. The show of emotion didn’t last but a second.
“We need to discuss the agreement you had with my father,” she said in a firm tone.
Any sentiment she felt over her father’s death didn’t compare to her determination to claim what she believed to be hers. Since Chance was the one who had hired Daines, he’d damn well better find a way to set her straight.
“I believe Garret could use my help,” Tucker announced, and quickly started across the yard, leaving Skylar and Chance to hash things out.

A half hour later, he and Garret had the horses corralled. Chance and Skylar had gone into the cabin. Concerned, Garret headed inside, but Tucker opted to keep out of rifle range. He’d had his round with Skylar, and lost. He mounted his horse, preparing to round up his white stallion and the last of his mares when the cabin door slammed.
Tucker couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter at the sight of Chance’s rage-reddened face. He had to give Skylar credit. It took a stubborn soul to get a rise out of his twin. By the murderous look on Chance’s face, he was mighty ticked off.
“I don’t see a damn thing funny about this, Tuck!” Chance shouted as he stomped toward him. “I’ve never met a man with more determination than that woman. You do know what she’s determined to get, don’t you? Our land!”
“I know. Did you tell her about your contract with her father for the horses and employment?”
Chance stopped beside him and planted his hands on his hips. “I sure did.”
“And?”
“She demanded to see the contract.”
“Did you show it to her?”
“It’s on our ranch, in Wyoming!” he shouted, sounding frantic. “She said she’d take a look at it when we get there, but until then, she’d take her father’s word over mine. I swear, if Zach wasn’t dead, I’d kill him! I trusted that man!”
“Skylar seems to share your good faith in him.”
“And to compound our problems, you had to marry her. What the hell were you drinking? I thought Winifred had cured us both of ever seeking any prospects of marriage.”
“She did,” Tucker insisted. An instant tension seized his spine as the memory of his stepmother’s yipping voice calling their father’s name echoed in his ears, along with the unpleasant recollection of his father’s simpering replies. Sorry, Winifred. Right away, Winifred. It was enough to make a grown man sick.
“Could have fooled me,” Chance retorted.
Tucker imagined his twin felt slightly betrayed by his marital slipup. Not only had he broken their pact by getting himself hitched, he’d managed to marry a woman with a stubborn streak as wide and wild as the Rio Colorado.
“What are we supposed to do now, Tuck?”
He followed Chance toward the cabin where his horse was tethered. “She wants proof, we’ll give her proof. Once we get to Wyoming she’ll see she’s wrong and we’ll have the marriage annulled. If we gussy her up a bit she could land the first Wyoming man we meet for a husband. Problems solved.”
Chance’s scathing glare told Tucker he wasn’t the least bit convinced. “It’s a long way to Wyoming, little brother.”

Chance hadn’t calmed down one bit when Tucker finally led Rosie into the stable. Sick to death of his brother’s obsessive complaining, Tucker felt his jaw clench with tension. Straining to control his temper, he focused his attention on the sunlight streaming through wide cracks in the west side of the barn. The bars of light flickered across his Appaloosa’s spotted coat.
The old barn wasn’t much in the way of shelter, having cracks just as wide in the rotted wood overhead, but he’d paid next to nothing to occupy this abandoned farm. He’d spent a week reinforcing the fragile shell of the barn just to be sure the whole shooting match wouldn’t collapse on his horses when the wind kicked up.
“You’ve really done it this time, little brother,” Chance continued as he led his horse into a stall.
“Would you stop calling me that,” Tucker said with a scowl. He led Rosie into the neighboring stall. “You don’t know which of us was born first. It wouldn’t matter even if you did,” he said as he started to remove his saddle. “We’ve been mixed up so often, neither one of us knew what name to answer to until we were old enough to decide for ourselves.”
“It was me,” Chance said with infuriating finality. “Did you know Zach was ransacked by one of his own men?”
“Yeah. Garret mentioned that. Backshot him, too.”
“Sky seems to think Randal is still headed for Wyoming and plans to squat on our land. She says he knew we were waiting on Zach for the return of the deed and is hoping she got lost in the Arizona desert along with the document. He has big plans to keep those horses and our ranch. Maybe we ought to sell off your mustangs or set them free so we can get back to the ranch as quickly as possible. We’re short over a half-dozen men, we don’t have—”
“I’m keeping my horses,” Tucker cut in.
“—Daines to break your mustangs or the manpower to drive them.”
Tucker lifted his saddle from Rosie’s back and tossed it onto the railing before he looked back at his brother. “I’m keeping my horses. I didn’t just ride out one sunny afternoon and pick them at random, Chance.”
“They’re vicious and wild as hell!”
“You were the one who suggested we wait for Daines to gentle them!”
“That spotted mare nearly whipped you clean out of your saddle when you lassoed her,” Chance continued, obviously trying to take the focus off the fact that this whole mess was all his fault.
Despite his irritation, Tucker smiled as he began to brush his horse. “That skewbald is a spirited one, and the best of the herd. She’ll gentle.”
A short, rueful laugh broke from Chance’s chest as he tossed his saddle blanket and sheepskin over the wood railing. “By the time you gentle that mare, snow will be filling the Colorado passes. Your white stallion’s no better. In the two weeks you’ve been working with him, he’s given you more lumps and bruises than you’ve given him manners.”
“He’s coming around just fine. We’ll get started with the mares first thing in the morning.”
“We need to get back to our ranch, Tuck,” Chance shouted. “We need to leave within the week!”
Tucker straightened, meeting his brother’s hostile gaze. “I don’t know why you’re shouting at me. You’re the one who hired Daines, then sent our deed off with him.”
“At the time, it seemed the safest option. I was headed into the badlands to help you with that band of outlaws, remember? Zach had a whole crew of men for protection and I knew he’d get the deed back to us. He signed the contract. I never once doubted he’d be keeping the deed for anything other than collateral for our buying his horses. You’re the one who married his daughter. Hell, Tuck, you married her!”
“Do you have to keep saying that?”
“I can’t turn my back for ten minutes without you pulling some reckless stunt that lands us in a heap of trouble!”
Tucker glared over his horse at his brother. “We haven’t been together a full two weeks and I’m already sick to death of your mothering. Well guess what, Mother Chance, me and my recklessness raked in the pile of money that started the horse ranch we’ve been dreaming about having since we were twelve.”
“True, but there’s more to running a ranch than playing with horses. You couldn’t hold on to that place for a full year if I didn’t do all the tasks that require sitting still for more than five minutes. When I arrived in Wyoming, you were nearly flat broke and didn’t even know how many men you had working for us, or any documented financial records.”
Yeah. And his system had been a hell of a lot more fun before Chance showed up with all his business protocol and bookkeeping journals. But, truth be told, Tucker wasn’t keen on long-term responsibilities. He could read, write and tally numbers just fine, he just didn’t like doing that sort of stuff, and he’d never been too good at making himself do things he didn’t enjoy. Life was too damn short.
“Things will work out,” he said.
“Things will work out?” Chance parroted in a dull tone.
Tucker sensed another fire-and-brimstone lecture coming on. Lord, his brother had surely missed his calling to be a preacher. He turned his back to Chance and focused on grooming his horse.
“I’d feel more at ease if I thought you were the least bit concerned about our situation, or haven’t you noticed that all our planning has been shot to hell?”
“Would you stop being such a damn wake-chaser. So we’ve had a few shifts in our plans,” Tucker said with a shrug. “Life doesn’t always play out like those long, boring cattle drives you’re so fond of, and a bunch of fussing and fretting isn’t going to solve our problems.”
“I have plenty of cause to be fretting, Tuck. You don’t seem to be in a hurry to get back to Wyoming. A few months ago you couldn’t wait to get off our place. Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if you’ll be able to handle being tied down to one place for more than a season.”
Tucker’s gut tightened in a painful knot as he continued to run the brush over Rosie’s smooth coat. He’d been asking himself that very question, and he knew Chance sensed his restlessness. After spending the fall building a bunkhouse, stables and fences, he’d developed a serious case of cabin fever over winter. By the end of spring, he was all too happy to spend his summer hunting the band of horses he’d spotted while traveling through New Mexico the year prior, leaving Chance to run their newly constructed ranch for a few months.
But he was committed to his brother, to the pact they’d made to each other. He’d find a way to make it work. Leaving Rosie fed and dry, Tucker went to stand before his brother’s stall.
“We may drive each other insane, but we’re in this together. I’ll do what I can with the horses and we’ll start for Wyoming within the week. We’ll need supplies for the four of us. You want to take care of that?”
Chance gave a sharp nod and resumed grooming his horse.
“You better send word to the ranch when you go for supplies and let Zeke know Randal may be on his way. Trouble’s a tad easier to spot when you know it’s coming.”
“Will do.”
Tucker glanced through the open doors to the cabin across the yard. Cold, hard dread settled in his chest. “Chance, is she really as impossible as she seems?”
Chance met his stare. “As a ramrod no one questioned Sky’s authority or skill, though none of us knew we were taking orders from a girl.”
“Hell.”
“Hey, Tuck?” shouted a voice from outside.
“In here, Garret,” he called back.
Garret came through the wide double doors with a bedroll tucked under each arm. He stopped as he stepped into the shadows of the barn, his eyes widening as his gaze moved between Tucker and Chance. “Wow. That’s plain spooky. One of you should grow a beard or somethin’.”
Tucker glanced back at his twin standing inside the stall and realized he, too, had a day’s worth of stubble on his chin. “We tried that, but neither one of us could stand having a furry face. What’s with the bedrolls?”
Garret shrugged. “Figured I’d find a spot in here for us to bed down tonight.”
“You can sleep in the cabin.”
He tossed the bedrolls into an empty stall. “Nope. Sky said we’re sleeping out here. She also said you two can come in and have supper.”
Tucker whipped his gaze toward his brother. His lips stretched into a tight smile. “You hear that Chance? Skylar says we can go eat in our own cabin.”
Garret snickered as he walked from the stable.
“What the hell are we gonna do, Tuck?”
“About the only thing we can do. Go eat supper with Skylar Daines-Morgan, our new trail boss.”

Chapter 4
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.

Chapter 5
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.

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