Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne
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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