Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne

Pale streamers of light sprayed across the sky, replacing the nighttime stars with the warm glow of early morning, and transforming hidden patches of white into brilliant pink clouds.

      Skylar saw no beauty in the colorful sunrise, only deception. Pink clouds were merely an illusion of light, just as her father’s promises had been an illusion to lure her to Wyoming. The bitter reality of her father’s lies crashed through her spirit with devastating force, filling her chest with such pain she hardly had room for breath.

      Life seemed to be one big deception after another. Her father had never intended to build them a home. Zachary Daines had caused her plenty of disappointment in the past few years, but to her knowledge, he’d never flat out lied to her. Why did he lie?

      To get the only thing that’s ever mattered to Zachary Daines, her mind answered. The chance to see and roam a new stretch of ground. To do that, he’d needed her to tame his horses and look after Garret.

      She didn’t want to believe Chance Morgan’s word over her father’s, but when she stared into Chance’s cold green eyes, she knew he was telling her the truth. The deed she’d safely sealed inside the rear facing of her father’s Bible belonged to the Morgans alone, yet she couldn’t let them have it. Not yet.

      Drawing a deep breath, she shifted her gaze into the corral at Tucker’s small band of anxious mustangs. She’d spent the last two years turning wild ponies into fine horses many cattle or cavalry outfits had paid top dollar for. Yet here she sat, with nothing to show for all her hard work and a little brother to raise on her own. How on earth was she supposed to take care of Garret without a job or a penny to her name? How could her father do this to them?

      She had to get their horses back. She and Garret could at least make a start with the money from those mustangs. If they made good time and followed the trails marked in her father’s journal, they could catch up to Randal in Wyoming. Although even if she recovered her horses, she still had the Morgans to worry about. As Tucker’s wife, they could try to claim her horses without paying her one red cent.

      Tugging at her leather gloves, she jumped down into the corral. There didn’t seem to be a man on this earth who could be trusted, and Tucker Morgan had proven to be as deceitful as the rest. She and Garret had overheard every word of Tucker’s plans to gussy her up and marry her off to the first Wyoming man they came across. Fuming, she had served a bowl of stew for herself and Garret, then dumped a handful of salt into the rest. She was here to train horses, not cater to a man who planned to trade her off like livestock.

      She shrugged her lariat from her shoulder, catching the coils of rope in her gloved hand. Tucker Morgan had a thing or two to learn about women. By the time they reached Wyoming, he’d be begging her to stay on and work with his horses.

      “Okay, ladies, who’s gonna be first?” She scanned the mares, all of whom were stamping and snorting, making it clear they had no desire to tote a rider on their backs. Time they learned life didn’t have a damn thing to do with what anyone wanted. If she was going to beat Wade Randal to Wyoming, they had work to do.

      Pulling some slack through the knot at the end of her rope, opening her lasso, she glanced at the saddled brown-and-white mare she’d separated from the herd the night before. She’d spent most of the past evening assessing Tucker’s mares, allowing them to become familiar with her and the sound of her voice. The spirited paint had caught her attention right off as she moved through the corral, pushing the others out of her way. Skylar had seen a few nips and cuts on some of the other mares, and figured the dominating brown and white was responsible for those injuries.

      The headstrong mustang had been a handful just to haul into a solitary pen. She’d been a snorting, stamping beast while Skylar slung a saddle onto her back during the early-morning darkness.

      I’ll save the best for last, she thought, shifting her gaze back to the other horses.

      Tucker stood in the cabin doorway watching Skylar lead a mustang with a light golden coat away from the corral. He wondered what she planned to do with the wild mare. The sun hadn’t been up for a full half hour, yet she had already saddled two of the mares and apparently had plans to take an early-morning ride on one. A pair of fringed chaps clung to her long legs, the fawn leather encasing her shapely backside like a picture window.

      He had a notion to tell her she’d be better off mounting an untamed horse inside a corral, but as he watched his wild mustang trot along beside her, showing no signs of protest, he decided to remain a silent spectator. The faint, soothing sound of Skylar’s voice drifted back as she guided the horse farther away from the ranch.

      As they walked deeper into the vast expanse of dry dirt, sage and chaparral, Tucker saw Garret riding bareback on his chestnut Arabian, all bright-eyed and ready to assist his sister. Skylar stopped a few yards away from him. Within the space of a breath she was on the mare, sitting tall in the saddle as she waited for the mare’s reaction.

      The mare seemed to be as stunned as Tucker by Skylar’s quick jump into the saddle. The buckskin stood perfectly still for a moment, then began to sidestep, steadily working toward an all-out fit. Twisting to the right, the horse bucked its hind legs up off the ground.

      After a few more sharp kicks, the horse planted its hind quarters on the ground, trying to dump the extra weight. Skylar stuck to the mare’s back as though her denim pants were sewn to the saddle. She leaned forward and touched her heels to the horse.

      The mare shot up and took off across the desert. He could see Skylar was trying to nudge the stubborn horse to the right. When the mare didn’t respond, Skylar’s left arm shot out, and to Tucker’s surprise, a bull whip uncoiled from her hand and pierced the air with a sharp snap.

      The horse veered right.

      “I’ll be damned.” A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the woman and mare in sheer amazement.

      “What the hell!” Chance bumped Tucker away from the door frame as he barged outside with his gun drawn. “I heard—”

      “Skylar riding a mare,” Tucker finished for him as he glanced at his brother’s half-shaven face. “You might want to pull your jaw shut. All that sweet lather’s bound to attract flies.”

      “She’s riding one of your mares.”

      “She is,” Tucker said, shifting his gaze back toward the open desert.

      “She’s got a bullwhip,” Chance said as the whip cracked again.

      “She certainly does.”

      Skylar continued maneuvering the horse in different directions, only cracking the whip when the horse didn’t respond to her nudges. Garret stayed close by, riding a short distance behind her. After a few minutes of zigzagging, the mustang was catching on, taking its cues without being prompted by the crack of the whip.

      “That’s the damnedest thing I ever saw,” said Chance as he holstered his gun. “Has she whipped the horse at all?”

      “Nope.”

      “I told you Daines was known to be one hell of a horse trainer,” Chance said, sounding smug.

      Tucker laughed at the jubilant gleam in his brother’s eyes. Seemed they had their horse trainer after all. “Maybe you ought to finish shaving before your lather starts to crack.” Still needing a shave, Tucker followed Chance inside.

      When Tucker returned to the yard the buckskin Skylar had ridden was tethered outside the corral, the saddle already pulled from its back. Not seeing any sign of the boss lady, Tucker approached the tethered buckskin.

      “Easy, girl,” he murmured, running a hand across her thick, golden coat. He inspected the horse’s flank for any abrasions caused by Skylar’s spurs.

      The mare didn’t have a mark on her.

      “I didn’t bloody your horse, Morgan.”

      Tucker glanced back at the woman standing behind him, her hands firmly planted on her hips, a coil of rope over one shoulder, her bullwhip coiled around the other.