Mustang Wild

by Stacey Kayne

  "You weren't gone but five minutes!"

  "Lord, he weighs a ton," she muttered, barely able to lift hisshoulders 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

  It 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 t
he 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?