by Stacey Kayne
"Well...she's about so high," he said, holding his hand at eye level. "I'd say a little over a hundred pounds. Thin, but not scrawny."
"Goodness. That does narrow the selection down a bit."
"How so?" Tucker asked, not sure if he should take offense to the surprise in Miss Kelley's large brown eyes.
"She's rather tall."
At well over six feet, Tucker hadn't thought of Skylar as overly tall, but gauging by Miss Kelley's petite body, he supposed Skylar could be perceived as such by a woman's point of view. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Heavens no. I have a few un-hemmed gowns. I'm certain we can find a dress that will enhance her beauty."
"I believe it's the other way around, Miss Kelley. Her soft beauty is what makes the clothes look good."
Did I just say that?
The moon-eyed look on Miss Kelley's face suggested he had.
Well, hell. A few innocent kisses and she had him talking like some dolt-headed sap.
"I do believe that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard a man say about his wife."
"Yeah, well," Tucker said, rubbing a hand across the tense muscles at the back of his neck. "She's a right special woman."
Good God. Chance would split his side laughing if he caught wind of him spouting such sentimental banter.
More likely he'd beat the tar out him, Tucker decided upon second thought. He was pretty sure he'd broken his word to Chance last night, but it hadn't been a full betrayal. He'd promised to keep his hands off Skylar, and he hadn't bedded her, although Tucker was well aware that that wasn't Chance's real concern, their land was.
What had he been thinking, to promise Skylar a home?
Perhaps she wouldn't remember his late-night proclamation.
Unfortunately, he did.
"I believe this skirt will be more to your liking," Miss Kelley said as she held up a skirt. She fluffed the long folds of gray wool. "With her petticoats layered underneath, this skirt will be quite lovely."
Petticoats?
Hell. Skylar didn't have a damn thing to wear under any dress. That thought didn't help to prevent the heat presently rising up from beneath his collar. But if he was going to outfit the woman, he was going to do it proper.
His gaze was drawn back to the fancy pink gown with all the trimmings. Although practicality wouldn't permit it, that was the dress he'd truly like to see on Skylar. Course, the sight of Skylar all bound up in satin and lace would probably knock his eyes clean out the back of his head. Not that it would matter much, he silently commented, reminding himself he was standing inside a ladies dress shop. She'd already knocked him clean off his rocker.
Tucker reached out and took the wool skirt from Miss Kelley's hands and held it near his waist to judge the length. 'This is perfect. I'll take it. And I'll be needing all the under-stuff to go with it."
"You wish to purchase undergarments?" asked Miss Kelley, looking as though she'd swallowed a toad.
"Yes, ma'am. Everything it takes to cover a woman from her chin to her toes. Bein' that you're such a fine example of feminine propriety," he said with a wink, "I'll trust your judgment in choosing what's appropriate "
That seemed to put the wind back in her sails. She lifted her pointed little chin as her lips quirked up in a smile.
"If we're in agreement," Tucker continued, "I'll take myself down to the bathhouse and stop back in here in an hour or so."
"I'll have everything ready," she assured him, her shoulders squared like such a good little soldier, Tucker half expected her to give a salute.
Chapter 10
Skylar woke to the sound of a woman's voice, the scent of oranges and a mouthwatering aroma that sent her stomach into fits. Forcing the heavy lids of her eyes to open, she spied the wooden tray sitting on the table beside the bed and a tall glass of orange juice. Her stomach growled as her eyes slowly focused on the plate piled with a mound of fried potatoes, thick ham and two slices of fluffy, white bread.
"You're awake."
Having forgotten she'd been roused by Mrs. Perkins's cheerful voice, Skylar sat up in a flutter of bed linens. Pain pierced her shoulder, reminding her of where she was and why. The room spun, and she closed her eyes. She leaned back against the wall and tried to breathe through the shaft of pain burning in her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, dear," said Mrs. Perkins. "I didn't mean to startle you. I do hope you're hungry."
"I'm starving," Skylar said, opening her eyes, meeting the warm, friendly gaze she recalled from the night before. Mrs. Perkins wore a crisp white apron over her light blue dress. The long auburn braid flecked with tiny bits of gray that Skylar had admired the night before was now pinned in a tight coil at the crown of the woman's head."That's good to hear, dear." She lifted the tray and placed it on the bedclothes covering Skylar's outstretched legs. "You were sleeping so soundly before breakfast I didn't want to wake you, but my husband said not to allow you to sleep through dinner, insisting you need to eat."
"I slept past breakfast?" Skylar glanced around the room, stunned by the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window on the far side of the bed.
"With good reason, dear. A body needs rest after sustaining such injuries. Your husband had a few more errands to run but should return shortly."
Her husband? My husband.
Tucker had been in this room. In this bed, her mind shouted. With her!
The fork she'd been lifting toward her mouth slipped from her fingers and clanked against the plate as she remembered just how close she and Tucker had been. She couldn't seem to recall their specific conversation, but she certainly remembered having her tongue inside his mouth, and not wanting to stop kissing him, even when he pulled away from her.
Oh my God!
"Mrs. Morgan? What's the matter, dear?"
Everything! She had thrown herself at Tucker! How could she face him?
Seeing Mrs. Perkins starting to move toward her, Skylar flashed a quick smile. "I'm just a little groggy," she said, lifting the fork from her plate.
The older woman eyed her skeptically for a moment. "If your shoulder is hurting terribly, I can give you something to ease the pain."
"No!" That was how she'd gotten herself into trouble. "I'm fine. Really." She could take the ache in her shoulder. It was the ache in her pride she was worried about.
"You'll feel better after a warm bath. Mr. Morgan asked to bring the tub into the room. It's in the corner. I'm still warming the water, but it should be ready by the time you've finished eating."
Spotting the long tin tub sitting in the far right corner of the room, her aches and pride were all but forgotten. A real bathtub, long enough to stretch her legs out in and then some. It was beautiful, all silver and shiny.
Thirty minutes later warm water was steaming in the tub and Mrs. Perkins was helping Skylar ease her left arm out of her sleeve.
"I'm sorry about your gown," Skylar said, noticing the red splotch of blood that had seeped from her bandages. She winced as she freed her arm.
"Think nothing of it, dear. A bit of baking soda and that little spot should come right out. I'll be right back. I nearly forgot the soap Mr. Morgan bought for you this morning."
Skylar blinked from surprise as she scurried out of the room. Tucker had bought her soap? Shifting her gaze toward the tub, the white vapors rising from the warm bath quickly stole her attention from fretting over Tucker. Taking advantage of her moment of privacy, she whipped the nightdress over her head, tossed it aside, and stepped into the tub.
Hissing air through her teeth, she eased down into the bathtub, the heated water stinging her cold skin. Skylar leaned back against the warmed metal, her tense muscles melting like butter as her skin adjusted to the temperature of the water.
Sweet heaven. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good.
She smiled, wiggling her toes, way down at the end of her private pool of warm water. She'd bathed in plenty of hot springs, but there was something so domestic about bathing ind
oors, and in a real tub meant for bathing. She'd be sure to thank Tucker for providing the experience.
"Careful, dear," Mrs. Perkins called out, shattering Skylar's tranquility as she entered the bedroom. "You don't want to get those sutures wet."
Skylar eased up, glancing down at the water steaming above her breasts, close to the cotton bandages wrapped
around her shoulder and the top of her chest. Mrs. Perkins handed her a small white towel as she knelt on the floor behind her. "Press that against your shoulder, dear, and tilt your head back."
Realizing the woman intended to wash her hair, Skylar leaned forward. "You don't need to—"
"Piddle Posh," Mrs. Perkins interrupted before she could finish her protest. "We want to have you looking fresh before your husband returns," she said as she dipped a tin cup into the water and tilted Skylar's head back as she wetted her hair. "He was in such a panic when he brought you in last night, and hovered over you so, John could hardly get close enough to look at your wound. He is quite protective of you, dear, coming in here to check on you every hour or so. He's quite particular about your care. All the way down to this soap," she said her hands began to massage her scalp. "It warms my heart to see a man so devoted to his wife."
Skylar's mind reeled as she listened to Mrs. Perkins and breathed in the strong floral scent of the soap she was scrubbing into her hair. Both dizzied her mind. Tucker had bought her special soap? Had she been such a pathetic sight last night that he felt sorry for her? She cringed from the thought.
Mrs. Perkins continued chatting away as she washed and rinsed her hair, talking about her two sons, a lawyer and a rancher, and her seven grandchildren.
"All finished," she said in her cheerful tone as Skylar felt a towel being wrapped around her head. "Take your time, dear. The damp bandage across your back won't harm anything, but be sure to keep that shoulder dry." She scuttled backward through the door and pulled it to.
Skylar's teeth closed over her lower lip as she reclined back against the tub, her stomach fluttering something awful as she tried to remember all that transpired between herself and Tucker the night before.
She didn't recall much of their ride into town or even entering the Perkins' home. Her first recollection was the searing pain in her shoulder and opening her eyes to see Doc Perkins standing over her.
It was what happened afterward in this room that troubled her. She recalled babbling something about her father, but she couldn't recall Tucker's words. His warmth, however, was quite vivid in her hazy mind. Curling against him had taken the chill right out of her. Or had kissing him warmed her?
Both, she decided. He had kissed her back, but she distinctly recalled him pulling away.
Surely Tucker realized the elixir she'd been given had caused such promiscuous behavior. After the way their marriage had come about, he couldn't begrudge her that. She'd made it perfectly clear in the past couple of weeks that she couldn't stand him. She could only pray he'd not bring up her deplorable behavior when he returned.
An hour later, she sat on the side of the bed, the skin of her fingers and toes shriveled up from her long bath, and her mouth again hanging open as her wide eyes moved over the clothes Mrs. Perkins had just announced belonged to her.
"Mine?" Skylar asked, certain the woman was mistaken.
"Yes, dear. Mr. Morgan bought them this morning from Miss Kelley. She's an excellent seamstress." Mrs. Perkins carefully laid the light blue waist and gray wool skirt on the end of the bed.
Tucker had bought her a new dress? Why?
She grimaced, recalling the blood-soaked clothes Mrs. Perkins had helped her out of the night before. But why had he bought a dress? Not that she didn't like the gray skirt and blue waist. Her skin prickled at the thought of wearing such feminine clothing.
Mrs. Perkins grabbed another garment from the end of the bed and smiled brightly as she held up a white camisole with shiny pink ribbons to be tied at the neck and waistline.
Skylar's heart stopped beating as heat flashed across her face. Tucker had bought her more than a skirt and waist.
Mrs. Perkins draped a pair of drawers over her arm with a matching satin ribbon threaded through the waistband. Apparently getting dressed was another task the motherly woman planned to assist her with.
Once Skylar got past her initial embarrassment and had donned the camisole and drawers, she decided she was grateful for Mrs. Perkins's help. She'd forgotten what a chore simply getting dressed could be, and would never have known which of the five petticoats to pull on first or last.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to pin up your hair?" asked Mrs. Perkins as Skylar sat on the bed drinking the last of the tea she'd brought her.
Skylar appreciated her offer, but the dress was more than enough change for one day. The heavy feel of so much fabric bunched around her legs was going to take some getting used to. She hadn't taken more than a few steps around the room, but with every step she felt like a staggering drunk, the weight of the skirts swaying to and fro with each stride.
"I'm sure," she said, handing Mrs. Perkins the empty teacup.
Mrs. Perkins nodded, smiling gently. "You should rest, dear. I'll go and see if your husband has returned," she said as she walked from the room.
Skylar hoped not. She wasn't ready to face Tucker. The bath and all this gussying up had taken a lot out of her.
The thought spurred the memory of something Tucker had said back in New Mexico.
Gussy her up a bit and she could land the first Wyoming man we come across.
Her eyes stung as she dropped her gaze back down to the long gray skirt, her mind registering exactly why Tucker had bought her a dress instead of the denims she needed.
"What has gotten into me?" she whispered, closing her eyes against the burn of tears. She knew the score. Tucker had his agenda, and she had hers. There was no reason to cloud up, and all the more reason to stay focused. Her injury had been a setback, costing her a full day of travel. She couldn't afford to lose any more time.
Reminding herself that hers and Garret's future depended on getting their mustangs back, she opened her eyes. Her breath caught at the sight of sharp green eyes looking back at her.
How long had Tucker been standing in the doorway?
"Hey," he said, his lips twisting into a slight smile. "How are you feeling?"
The rich sound of his words caused a swirling rush of sensation in her belly. "Fine," she said in a thick voice that seemed trapped inside her throat.
He'd also bathed, and had recently shaved. He seemed pleased with the clothes he'd chosen. She knew the clothes were a ploy to unload her at his first opportunity, but that didn't extinguish the fact that he'd spent a good sum of money on them. She didn't like being indebted to him.
"Thank you for the clothes. I'll pay you back."
"Do you like them?"
Did she like them? She hadn't worn such feminine garments since she was a young girl. She loved them.
He stepped into the room, his eyes moving over her with such intensity, Skylar found it hard to breathe. She nervously crossed her arms as his gaze lingered on her midsection as though trying to penetrate the fabric to see if she'd donned the underclothes he'd bought for her.
"Yes," she managed to squeeze past the lump forming in her throat. "They're real nice."
"Consider them a gift."
"I don't accept gifts," she countered quickly, while thinking they needed to get out of this tiny room. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight with him being so close.
"When's the last time you were given a gift?"
Stunned by the unexpected question, Skylar drew a blank. She honestly couldn't recall.
"That's what I thought," Tucker retorted in a sour tone. "Don't worry, I picked up a few things for Chance and Garret, too."
"You did?"
"Yep. And if you're still having trouble with that, chalk it up to necessary supplies. You needed new duds. If you don't mind me sayin' so, they look real nice on y
ou."
Skylar prayed her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "This skirt wasn't exactly practical," she said, nervously swatting at the layered mass of cotton, crinoline and wool.
"Yeah, but wearing that skirt and all them petticoats might slow you down for a while. The doc says you're to rest for a few days, and I plan to make sure you do just that. But don't worry. I bought practical stuff, too."
"You did?"
Tucker laughed at her expression of surprise. Seeing her delight in the dress alone was enough to make the shopping worthwhile. "I did. But I could sure get used to seeing you in a dress. You look beautiful, Skylar."
Her eyes widened. Her scarlet blush deepened.
"You smell pretty, too."
"I should thank you for that."
She flashed a quick smile, and suddenly the sweet-scented air felt thick in his lungs.
What the hell did he have to feel nervous about? You spent the night holding this woman, and her kiss damn near burned you alive! And though she hadn't yet accused him of doing so, he had taken advantage of her hindered state of mind by allowing things to go as far as they had. Hell, that was enough to make any man nervous.
The caution in Skylar's eyes told Tucker she wasn't planning on discussing any of those subjects. Being none too proud about his lack of self-restraint, that suited him just fine. "Are you feeling up to heading out or should we stay put for a while?"
"We can leave," Skylar answered, seeming more than eager to be on her way.
"If you're tired or sore, I don't mind waiting."
"I've cost us enough time already. The sooner we get out of here the better."
Good enough. Tucker took a step forward and lifted her into his arms.
'Tucker!"
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, making sure it was her right shoulder he'd pressed against his chest.
"No. But I'm—"
"My wife" Tucker finished for her. "You damn near bled to death last night. I'm carrying you to the wagon."
"Wagon?"
Tucker stared at her with a measure of disbelief, watching her expression go from embarrassment to surprise. She barely had the energy to stand, yet she actually expected him to put her on a horse. Had her father treated her with such neglect?
