Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 sure. “I wasn’t creeping about in the shadows. I came to tell you supper’s on the table.”

      She stepped back into the stall and latched the gate behind her. “I’m not hungry.” She grabbed a bedroll and released the ties. “Shut the barn door on your way out,” she said as she tossed the heavy blanket across the bed of fresh straw.

      Even as Tucker told himself he should get out while he could, he lingered, knowing she should eat. “Skylar, you need to eat.”

      She flopped onto her stomach, fluffed her jacket under her head, then shut him out completely by covering her face in the folds of her arms.

      What was he supposed to do now? Just walk away?

      Beats standing here like a bleeding idiot, his mind answered. He turned away, careful to miss her pack this time, and left the barn. What did he care if she didn’t eat?

      Reaching the house, he was still pinching his bloody nose as he stepped inside. Garret burst into laughter before Tucker shut the door behind him.

      “I told you to be careful,” he squealed.

      Not feeling up to giving any explanations, Tucker walked past the table and into the bedroom. Silently cursing the muffled laughter following him from the other room, he tossed himself onto the bed.

      “Is it broke?” Standing in the doorway, his evil twin flashed a wide grin.

      “No,” Tucker answered, annoyed by what it took to put an upward curve in Chance’s lips.

      “What were you doing within arm’s reach of her? You know she’s a spitfire. The kid even warned you.”

      Tucker gaped at his brother over the top of the rag pressed against his nose. “She’s a woman, for criminy sake!”

      “She’s a cowhand. You better realize she’s used to being treated as such. Commenting on that pretty face of hers will only get you into trouble, and treating her like some delicate piece of frippery…well, it seems that sort of foolishness will get you a busted nose.”

      “Skylar didn’t give me the bloody nose.”

      “Uh-huh. Am I supposed to believe you walked into the barn door?”

      “She hung her pack from one of the nails in the rafters. I didn’t see it until the damn thing hit me in the face.”

      Chance’s grin returned. СКАЧАТЬ