Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne
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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 bossy sister, 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?”