Mustang Wild

by Stacey Kayne

  Wide blue eyes locked with his. Her eyes grew even wider as he pressed her back against the cliff until their bodies were meshed together, her cheek pressed against the bend of his neck. Skylar's startled expression flooded his mind with the memory of the kiss they'd shared all those days back, the taste of her sweet mouth, the feel of her hot little tongue moving over his.

  Holy hell.

  Tucker heard the catch in her breath, felt her body shudder, and knew she'd felt the rapid stir of flesh he was powerless to hide.

  "Sky—"

  "Shut up, Morgan," she breathed against his neck. "Just...don't talk."

  Tucker decided to follow her advice and hoped she'd do the same. But the feel of her breath against his skin wasn't doing a damn thing to discourage his aroused response.

  To Skylar's relief, Tucker remained motionless and silent. The pain in her shoulder was a welcome distraction from the startling feel of Tucker's masculine body. Her breath stilled in her lungs as she heard voices coming from directly above them.

  "Shh " Tucker whispered, obviously feeling her tension. Skylar closed her eyes, listening to the low mumble of voices, feeling Ticker's steady heartbeat against her chest and hoping that the pain in her shoulder wouldn't get any worse. But as minutes continued to drag by, her hopes dwindled, the voices faded, and not even Tucker's bulky presence could distract her from the pain that seemed to increase by the second.

  When Tucker finally took a step back, she had no idea how long they'd been huddled against the mountain. She stumbled forward into the sunlight and would have fallen had Tucker not reached out to steady her.

  "Stay here," he whispered, easing her back against the cliff.

  Skylar nodded in agreement, content to watch as Tucker ventured back to scan the top of the ridge for spectators. She flipped up her vest and peered at the hole in her shirt. Her shoulder felt as though a hot poker was buried inside it, but at least it wasn't bleeding. She shifted her vest, letting the leather conceal her wound.

  "Looks clear," Tucker said after a moment. "I don't want to chance it, though. We'll follow the ravine until we catch up to Chance and Garret."

  Skylar groaned as she pushed away from the hillside.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she said with a shallow breath, walking past him.

  Tucker stepped in front of her. His hand slid under her chin and tilted her face so he could see into her eyes. "You're hurting," he said plainly.

  "I'm fine."

  "You're white as a bedsheet." His narrowed eyes locked on her lips.

  "I said I'm fine." She slapped his hand away from her face and stomped past him. "Let's get out of here before we're stuck in that damn crack all night."

  Tucker caught up to her in a few long strides.

  After following muddy horse tracks for a good mile down the narrow riverbed, Skylar felt a shudder of relief when they spotted Tucker's white stallion lined to a lone tree growing from the side of the deep gorge. Trudging through the thick mud had sapped her energy.

  Tucker mounted his horse then pulled his left foot out of the stirrup, preparing to assist Skylar onto the back of his saddle. Skylar knew there was no way she could mount his horse from the left side. She could barely move her left arm, which was a good thing. The slightest movement sent stabbing pains through her shoulder.

  "Climb up, darlin'. Where'd you go?" Tucker asked, twisting in his saddle.

  "I'm right here," Skylar said, stepping up to the right of his saddle.

  Tucker gave her a questioning glance before he reached an arm out and kicked his right foot from his stirrup.

  Skylar grabbed his forearm with her right hand, lifted her boot to the stirrup and swung up behind his saddle. "Don't call me darlin'," she said, shifting into place.

  Tucker whipped around. Shaded by the brim of his hat, his sharp green eyes gleamed with annoyance. "Must have slipped. All those soft curves can confuse a man. I almost thought you were a woman."

  His words stung in a way that took Skylar by surprise.

  "Hold on if you don't want to fall off."

  His stallion lunged forward.

  Skylar gripped Tucker's lean waist, the jolt of pain in her left shoulder taking her focus off her wounded pride. She leaned against his sturdy back and did her best not to pass out.

  They'd traveled for what seemed like forever before Tucker guided his horse out of the ravine and into a patch of thick woods. Neither spoke a word as they rode through the tall aspen.

  "Get off," Tucker said a while later as he reined his horse to a stop.

  Skylar eased away from his back. To her right, Chance was crouched beside a fire, his eyes locked on his brother. Garret sat near a boulder a few feet from the fire with a plate on his lap.

  Chance stood up and started toward them. "We roped the horses off in a clearing of aspen about fifty yards farther north. We're short three mares."

  "A fair exchange for keeping our skins. I suggest we move out at first light if we don't want to be visited by curious locals."

  Skylar folded her knee tight against her chest and turned away from Tucker to dismount.

  "There's a creek farther down where you can wash up," Chance informed them.

  "I'll do that," Tucker answered in the same stiff tone and started riding away the moment Skylar had her feet on the ground.

  "Supper's in the skillet," said Chance. He left camp, taking brisk strides to catch up with Tucker.

  Hurting and exhausted, Skylar continued past the fire, toward Garret.

  "Everything okay, Skylar?" he asked.

  "Yeah. How about yourself? You took a hard fall."

  "I'm all right. Just hungry," he said, dropping his gaze back to his plate as he picked at what appeared to be some type of charred rodent. Garret glanced up with imploring eyes as she approached him. "Sky, couldn't you make supper? Just once?"

  "You've eaten worse."

  "Not by much," he muttered.

  Too tired to think about food, she slumped back against the boulder her brother was leaning against and slid down until her bottom hit the ground. The slight bump sent a shaft of pain straight through her shoulder, causing her to suck in a swift hiss of air.

  She saw the white flash of Garret's hair as his gaze whipped toward her. "Skylar, you sure you're feelin' all right?"

  She nodded, the sharp pain temporarily stealing her breath. The pain seemed to worsen with each one she took.

  "Honest?"

  The last thing she wanted was her little brother fussing and fretting over her. As long as her wound wasn't bleeding, it wouldn't attract anyone's attention. She'd known a few men who'd harbored a bullet and recovered just fine. "I'm okay," she said, just as she felt a warm gush of blood spill from her shoulder.

  Oh, no.

  The bullet must have shifted. She wished Chance would have stayed in camp. She didn't want to spook her brother.

  "I'm going to bed," she muttered. By the time she got to her feet, a warm trail was oozing down her chest. A bit of pressure would stop the bleeding. She'd get a compress and find a nice, flat piece of ground to lie down on until the Morgans returned.

  "Sky, if you're—"

  "Finish your supper, Garret. I've told you. I'm fine."

  She pulled her bedroll from the pile of supplies. With the slight shift of her body, a sharp stab of pain radiated to every point. A cry ripped from her lungs as she slumped to her knees and gripped the wound.

  "Skylar!" Garret was at her side in a flash. "What's wrong?"

  She drew blood-covered hands away from her shoulder. The bullet had definitely shifted. "Go get Tucker."

  Garret's only answer was the sound of his boots beating a hard, fast path in the direction of the Morgans.

  Suddenly light-headed, Skylar clamped her jaw against the pain and opened her bedroll, spreading it out across the rocky ground where she'd dropped it. Grabbing another blanket, she pressed it to her shoulder and lay down.

  Pressure.

  She
needed pressure to stop the bleeding. Curling up on her left side seemed to ease some of the pain as she held the blanket in place.

  By the time she heard Garret calling her name, she opened her eyes to a darkening night sky. She drew in a ragged breath and wondered how many minutes had passed—it had felt like an eternity.

  "Sky?" Garret said again.

  In the next moment she was blinded by the light of a lantern. "Skylar, what's hurting?" Tucker asked as he knelt behind her.

  "Her left shoulder was bleeding," Garret said before she could respond.

  She felt Tucker's hands moving over her forehead and hair. "You're damp with sweat and cold as a wet fish. Hell!" he cried, leaning over her. "Your bedroll's soaking up all your blood!"

  Skylar opened her eyes and was startled by the amount of blood soaked into the gray wool.

  "Lie on your back," Tucker ordered.

  The thought of shifting the slightest bit sent a shudder through Skylar. It hurt too much just lying still, but Tucker didn't wait. His large hands clamped onto her and twisted her onto her back. She sucked in a hard breath as pain seared her entire body.

  He began unfastening the row of buttons on her shirt. She winced as he peeled her shirt back, disturbing the handkerchief still embedded in her wound.

  "God." His whispered word came out in a rush of air.

  "Is it bad?" Garret asked in a trembling voice.

  "No," Skylar groaned, her eyes pinched tight as pain consumed her.

  "Yes!" Tucker contradicted. "You've got a hole in your shoulder big enough to hold your whole handkerchief, yet that rag's not doing anything to stop the bleeding. Skylar, why didn't you say something?"

  "Can you get the bullet out?" Chance asked from somewhere behind them.

  Horrified by the idea of Tucker digging in her shoulder, Skylar's eyes flew open. The panic she saw in Tucker's expression increased her fear.

  "Hell, I'm no doctor. If I tug that rag from her shoulder, she's liable to bleed to death on the spot." He closed her shirt. "I'm taking her into town."

  Having someone else carving on her didn't sound any better. "With pressure—"

  "Honey, it's no good. That bullet's got to come out and the wound closed."

  "I'll saddle your horse," Chance said, taking the lantern light with him as he walked away.

  "This is gonna hurt," Tucker said as he began to ease the blanket under her shoulder. "I have to tie it tight to keep pressure on the wound." He wrapped an end over the top of her shoulder and pulled it toward the end coming from under her arm.

  Skylar's breath grew choppy as she felt him entwine the two ends. He tugged. She screamed. Pain pierced her body in a blinding flash as he pulled the knot tight.

  "Sorry, angel," he said, lifting her into his arms.

  "I'm comin' with you," Garret said, hurrying after them as Tucker carried her toward his horse.

  "No" said Tucker. "Chance will need your help with the horses."

  Skylar was shifted from one set of brawny arms to another. She heard the creak of Tucker's saddle.

  "Hand her here." Again she was wrapped in his arms. He positioned her on his lap with her feet dangling to one side. "I figure we can't be much more than an hour's ride from Glenwood."

  "In the light of day," said Chance. "It's liable to take you two hours in the dark."

  Tucker's arm jostled her shoulder. Skylar bit her lip to keep from crying out, but a sharp squeak escaped her throat.

  "Skylar?" he said, unmoving. "You all right?"

  She nodded, pressing her face against his shirt.

  "Hold on, honey," he said as he spurred his horse into motion. "We'll get you patched up."

  Shards of pain cut through her shoulder with each hard stride of Tucker's horse. The constant, heavy thrusts of motion were too much to bear. "Tucker," she said in a gasp, clutching his shirt. "Slow down. I can't—" Her voice ended in a wince.

  Every fiber in Tucker's body urged him to ride like hell, but he instantly slowed his horse's pace, not wanting to increase her pain. The heart thundering in his chest had practically stopped beating when he saw Skylar's blood-soaked bedroll.

  "Skylar, how long has that wound been bleeding like that?"

  "Not long," she said in a shallow breath.

  "Are you lying to me?"

  "Maybe."

  Despite his concern, Tucker smiled. "Honey, we've got to teach you how to complain once in a while. You should have said something."

  She drew a ragged breath. "Tucker?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm scared."

  Her admission intensified Tucker's fear. He figured it was rare that Skylar admitted to any type of weakness. "Don't be scared. You'll be all right."

  "Garret—"

  "Will be driving you crazy with his constant chatter by tomorrow morning, just like he does the rest of us."

  "He's got nobody."

  "He's got you, and you're gonna be just fine." He'd make sure of it.

  The next hour felt like an eternity. Where the hell was a full moon when he needed one? The partial moon and starlit sky gave just enough light for Rosie to keep a steady pace without running into trees and mountainsides.

  By the time Tucker made it to town, Skylar was shivering and growing lethargic. He shouted down the first man he spotted on the street, asking where he could find the town doctor.

  Reining in in front of the large white house at the end of the main strip, he leaped from his saddle and raced up the front steps with Skylar in his arms. Praying Doc Perkins was home, he thumped his boot against the door then tried the handle. Finding the door barred, he gave a few more kicks, rattling the tall windows of each side of the wide door.

  "Coming," someone shouted, just before the door jerked open. A short, gray-haired man held up a globe of light and shifted his spectacles. A woman stepped beside him clutching her white robe together at the throat.

  "My wife " Tucker said in a rush, "she's been shot."

  Chapter 8

  Tucker paced the parlor like a caged cougar, nearly insane with worry. He had no sooner set Skylar on the doctoring table when he'd been grabbed by the arm and rushed out of the room by the doctor's wife. She assured him they would take good care of "Mrs. Morgan," then shut the door in his face and stayed inside to assist her husband.

  That had been nearly an hour ago, a half hour since the last time he'd heard Skylar cry out in pain.

  If she died, it would be all his fault. He should have checked her for injuries. He knew the numbing power of adrenaline—had seen men come back from battle during the war thinking they'd only been nicked, some never realizing they'd been shot. Most were dead by sunrise. He'd seen pain in her expression, but he'd let her harsh attitude bruise his ego and he had let it go.

  Damn her stubbornness! She should have told him she'd been shot! But it seemed she'd have rather died than ask him for help. And if someone didn't poke a head out of that room soon and let him know what was going on, he was going to claw the damn door down! The door behind him squeaked open and Tucker spun around. Doc Perkins flashed a slight smile as he peered up at him through spectacles on the tip of his nose. Tucker thought that to be a good sign, until his gaze locked on the blood smeared across the front of the doctor's white smock.

  "Mr. Morgan—"

  "Is she all right?" Tucker interrupted.

  "She's had a rough go of it, but I did manage to remove the lead—"

  "But she's okay?" Tucker asked, wishing the old man would answer the damn question!

  "We finally convinced her to take some laudanum, which helped with the pain while I finished closing the wound. I believe the worst is past, but the shock of it all seems to have triggered an emotional release."

  Emotional release?

  Hearing a sob coming from the other room, Tucker shifted his gaze toward the closed door.

  Skylar was crying. He heard the soft, consoling voice of the doctor's wife. The muffled sounds seemed to be moving farther away.

 
; "I've never seen a woman become so agitated about shedding some tears," the doc said in a tone of bewilderment. "She's certainly entitled, after all she's endured. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Sure," Tucker said, dragging his gaze back to the doctor. "So, she's gonna be all right?"

  "Your wife has lost all the blood she can spare. A bit of rest and she should be back to her normal self in no time. Jane is moving Mrs. Morgan to one of our extra rooms where she can rest comfortably for the night. I'm sure she'd like to see you."

  Tucker was sure she wouldn't, but as the doctor walked back into his surgical room, he followed, needing to see for himself that Skylar was okay. The repugnant scent of burned flesh stung his nose. The sight of the doc's scalpel and other surgical instruments spread across a silver tray beside a bundle of bloodied linens tightened the knots in Tucker's gut.

  They walked through a door on the opposite side of the room and continued down a dimly lit hallway. A door at the end of the hall opened and the doctor's wife slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  "The poor dear," she said as he and Doc Perkins reached the end of the hall. "She's terribly upset. She mentioned her father recently passed away."

  "Yes, ma'am," Tucker said, twisting his hat in his hands, and feeling lower than dirt. He hadn't thought much about the grief she might be feeling over the death of her father. "He was murdered by horse thieves a little over a month ago."

  "Good heavens," Mrs. Perkins exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. "I'm so sorry. And then to be shot herself by ruffians, my goodness." The woman made a tsking sound as she shook her head. "She'll soon be resting peacefully. I'll leave you with your wife."

  "Thank you, ma'am, and Doc Perkins. I appreciate all you've done."

  Long after the generous couple had said their good-nights and left him alone in the hall, Tucker stood there, staring at the closed door, listening to the sniffling sounds on the other side, not knowing what to do. Skylar was hard enough to handle when she was cold and vicious. He hadn't forgotten the sight of her tear-streaked face in the barn. The thought of facing those tears, her vulnerable blue eyes...it scared the hell out of him.