by Stacey Kayne
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 bossysister, 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' h
er 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
The 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?"