Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne
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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