Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne

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      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 brawny handling of livestock. Had she known allowing that smug bastard the liberty of a single kiss would have resulted in bruised lips and countless other bruises, she certainly wouldn’t have stood there in the dark, leaving herself vulnerable to Wade Randal’s sudden advances. Had Garret not come over the rise and shouted her name, Skylar was certain Randal would have attempted much more than the mauling she’d been powerless to fight off.

      Thank God I don’t have to learn the same lesson twice. Not that anything could excuse her gross stupidity.

      She’d never even liked Randal, but having never been the object of any man’s desire, she hadn’t discouraged his attention. She’d let curiosity get the better of her, and she regretted it. She should have seen the black-haired demon for the snake in the grass he truly was. Instead, she’d been caught up in her embarrassment over their scuffle and had done all she could to avoid the man during the following month, as he secretly plotted to betray her father. Had she kept her guard up, her father might still be alive.

      Leaning forward, she dunked her head into the water and ferociously scrubbed the soap from her hair, trying to wash away the shameful memories. As she lifted her head, warm tears mingled with the cool water dripping across her face.

      “You can’t turn into a crybaby now,” she scolded, swiping at the hot trails, fighting off the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had plagued her since she’d watched her father die.

      She had to be strong for Garret. She had to focus. Too much was at stake. Yesterday she’d been exhausted, hungry and wholly unprepared for…what? Tucker’s charming good looks and kissing skills?

      That about summed it up. With a groan, she sank deeper into the soapy water, not wanting to believe what an utter fool she’d made of herself and quite thankful that Tucker had been in such an almighty hurry to undo their hoax of a marriage.

      Brutality and guns she could have handled, but one ludicrous compliment, a dashing smile and Lord have mercy, the way he’d kissed her…it wasn’t any wonder he’d sent her mind into a haze of confusion. He had held her with a gentleness and kissed her with a tenderness she hadn’t believed a man was capable of, especially not a man of Tucker’s size and strength.

      He also muscled you out of the saloon. He certainly hadn’t been flashing any smiles this morning. She’d seen the spark in his eyes before he’d left, and knew he’d been calculating just how fast he could get rid of them. She couldn’t let that happen. It wouldn’t happen, not while she had the deed in her possession.

      The sound of a horse’s heavy hoofbeats coming into the yard jolted Skylar from her thoughts. Tucker must have blazed a trail to town and back, because she’d not expected him to return so soon. They were a good hour’s ride from Black Dog, yet she could swear he’d hardly been gone two full hours. Judging by the hard language carrying through the rotted wood of the cabin, things hadn’t gone well in town, but she didn’t have time to concern herself with Tucker’s mood, her main concern being her state of undress as she sprang from the small washtub.

      The door began to squeak open as she reached for the drying sheet she’d laid on the table. Frantic, she grabbed the clean skillet instead and flung it toward the door.

      “What the—” Tucker’s deep voice dropped off just before the door slammed shut and the skillet banged against it. “Skylar!”

      “Stay out,” she shouted. “I’m not dressed!” Wrapping the linen around herself, she hurried into the bedroom.

      Standing outside, Tucker heard the bedroom door slam shut.

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