Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne

get used to us,” said Tucker. “Is she so put out by me that she doesn’t want to eat in my company?”

      Garret shook his head. “It ain’t that. She’s asleep. I tried to wake her, but I couldn’t.”

      “Couldn’t?”

      “She ain’t dead, but she’s sleeping pretty solid. Can we eat?”

      “She worked her butt off today,” Chance said, then nodded toward Garret. “Bow your head, kid,” he instructed as he propped his elbows onto the table and folded his hands. “Lord, we thank you for this food we’re about to eat and for seeing us through another day. Amen.” Chance grabbed a spoon and dug into his bowl of stew. Garret followed his cue, taking two heaping bites before Chance managed one.

      Tucker muttered an “Amen” then stood. “Skylar should eat. I’ll go see if I can wake her.”

      “Be careful,” Garret called after him. “She can be a pistol when she’s tired. She never opened her eyes when I tried to wake her, but she did try to kick me.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shutting the door behind him. With darkness quickly claiming the sky, Tucker walked across the shadowed yard. Stepping lightly into the barn, he spotted Skylar in one of the stalls across from their horses. Not certain if he should wake her, he crept quietly up to the gate.

      Lying belly-down, she was stretched out on some fresh straw, her jacket balled up under her head, her face hidden beneath the folds of her arms. He wondered why she hadn’t at least laid out her bedroll.

      His gaze swept across the length of her slender body. After the way she exerted herself today, she didn’t need to miss a meal.

      He started to enter the stall then paused, noting a fine tremble in her shoulders. He heard a sharp gasp of air from beneath her folded arms and felt an instant tension move across his own shoulders.

      Ah, hell. She’s not sleeping, she’s—

      Skylar shifted onto her side. Tucker took a quick step backward into the shadowed corner of the barn as she sat up.

      Sniffling, she shoved her hair away from her face. Tears twinkled like stars as they slid down her cheeks, capturing gleams of light filtered through the cracks of the barn.

      He had to get the hell out of here! Two years of witnessing Winifred’s frequent tearful tirades had given Tucker a healthy fear of fitful women.

      Skylar drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, releasing a stream of silent tears.

      After a few moments of listening to her even, steady breaths, it occurred to Tucker that not all women may be prone to tearful theatrics. Despite her glistening cheeks, Skylar appeared rather peaceful. And vulnerable.

      She’s got one hell of a poker face. Looking at her now, she hardly resembled the woman full of confidence and sass who’d spent the day working his horses. His gaze skimmed across long, golden lashes resting against pink skin that had seen too much sun.

      Why am I still standing here?

      With her eyes closed, he was wasting his chance to escape. He backed up as quickly and quietly as he could, and bumped hard into something solid. The rafters overhead creaked as he turned toward what should have been a clear path to the open door. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out what he’d hit, until a large canvas sack swung back from the shadows and clocked him right between the eyes.

      Pain shot across Tucker’s face as the familiar sound of cast iron pounded stars into his eyes.

      “Goddamn it!” he shouted, staggering backward. He clamped a hand over his nose as he slammed against the stall behind him.

      Tucker blinked several times to clear his vision, his mind still registering the pain. He eased his hand away from his throbbing face. Crimson droplets of blood dripped steadily into his palm. Son of a bitch! Skylar’s skillet had likely broken his nose!

      Remembering she was also in the barn, Tucker suppressed a groan and glanced over his shoulder.

      Skyar’s wide, glistening eyes stared into his. Sitting on her knees, her lips parted, she looked as stunned as he felt.

      Too late to run now. His gaze focused on tears still bright in her eyes.

      “You okay?” she asked, swiping her hands across her cheeks as she stood up.

      “Just dandy.” He pinched his nose and tipped his head back to slow the flow of blood drizzling down his chin.

      “How long have you been standing there?”

      “Long enough to get a nosebleed,” he quipped. And a black eye. The flesh around his left eye was growing tighter by the second.

      A light trickle of laughter danced across his senses, distracting him from the pain. Opening his eyes, he was stunned to find Skylar directly in front of him, her blue eyes bright with amusement. She tugged a handkerchief from her pants pocket. “Let me see,” she said in the sultry voice she used with the horses as she reached toward his face.

      Tucker reared, keeping his hand clamped over his nose. “I don’t—”

      “Stop fussing and put your hand down.”

      Feeling like an idiot, biting back a curse, Tucker did as she said. He was instantly rewarded by the soothing glide of gentle fingers against his aching face. Watching the intent look in Skylar’s eyes, he wasn’t sure which made him dizzier, the blow to his head or the tender slide of her fingers across his nose.

      “It’s not broken.”

      “No thanks to your pack,” he grumbled, while wondering how hands tough and calloused as his own could feel like velvet against his skin. “How many frying pans do you own, anyhow?”

      Her light, musical laughter coiled down his spine, tensing his entire body as she examined the left side of his battered face. “I hung our gear from some old nails to keep it out of the way, but you seem to have struck up a courtship with our skillet.”

      Her smile was like her voice. Warm, sultry, alluring.

      She must be too tired to be hateful, he thought, knowing her red-rimmed eyes were caused by more than tears. His gaze drifted across her face. Her skin looked as soft and pretty as a rosebud. And those lips… Standing so close, he could feel her breath mingling with his.

      Tucker pinched his eyes shut. It would be wrong to make a pass at his new horse trainer, the woman he intended to unwed.

      A woman who’s after my ranch.

      He suddenly wished she had kept her poker face on and hoped she’d be getting it back soon.

      Focus on the pain. Not that he could feel anything beyond the fire pooling in his groin as her fingers tentatively probed his rapidly swelling eye.

      “Luckily, you have a thick skull,” she said, wiping a fresh trail of blood from his upper lip with her handkerchief. “Here. You may need this for a while longer.”

      Tucker opened his eyes and took the bloodstained cloth from her hand. “Thanks,” he said, his voice so thick it barely scraped past his throat.

      “No problem. You can keep it.”

      “I meant for the doctoring. You’ve got a healing touch that could make a man want to get hurt just to be petted by you.”

      Something flashed in her eyes, something close to fear. Her gaze narrowed, and Tucker realized his choice of words must have given her the wrong idea. Not that he was against the idea of having her soothing hands all over him, but he hadn’t meant to announce it.

      “You shouldn’t go creeping about in shadows,” she said, her features firming. “A man could get shot that way.”

      His gaze dropped to the gun still holstered at her hip.

      Fun was over. Thank God. Much more of her coddling and he would have gotten himself shot for