by Stacey Kayne
The finality in her quick response reminded Tucker of something he'd understood right off about Skylar. She didn't trust men. After what he'd learned about her father, he couldn't say he blamed her. But he sure as hell didn't appreciate being compared to a man who'd manipulated her and lied to her. He'd done neither.
Before he could say so, Skylar leaped onto the spotted mare and raced over the hillside without looking back.
Skylar didn't slow her pace until she neared their camp. She needed to calm down, to dry her eyes before facing their brothers. She veered toward the tree-lined stream. Dismounting, she approached a gently flowing river.
Her heart still racing, her skin clammy with sweat, she dropped to her knees at the water's edge and shrugged off her coat, tossing it onto the grass beside her. Her eyes burned as her lungs pulled painfully for a calming breath. She leaned forward and dunked her hands into a shallow pool of calm water, splashing the cold liquid across her face. She sat back and closed her eyes, allowing the light breeze to cool her damp skin. Slowly, the tension tearing at her body began to ease.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at gently swaying limbs of tall birch trees. Light gray clouds were scattered across the pink sky. She was wasting her time and energy by brooding over a man she couldn't change. Things were what they were. He wanted her, but he didn't love her. He deserved the pain she'd seen in his eyes before she turned and fled. The truth hurt.
It hurts like burning hell.
She lowered her gaze to the water. The still pool had settled, creating a smooth mirrored surface. She frowned at her reflection. She needed to focus on what really mattered. Garret.
The mustang beside her whinnied. The grass rustled.
Damn but Tucker was light on his feet. His reflection moved across the water as he stepped behind her. Skylar gasped at the unfamiliar face reflected there. She reached for her revolver just as something cracked against the back of her head.
In a flash of pain, her world went dark.
* * *
As the distant sound of murmuring voices grew louder Skylar slowly became aware of the hard ground beneath her cheek. Her head throbbed. Pain radiated from her shoulders.
She shifted slightly and realized her hands were bound behind her back. Wherever she was, she hadn't been taken there gently. Her ribs ached, she imagined from being tossed over a horse.
"I said fetch the boy if you found their camp, not the woman!"
Skylar's eyes flew open. Her body crowded with fear. She'd have to be dead not to recognize Wade Randal's rage-filled voice.
"She looked like the kid from behind," said an unfamiliar voice. "By the time we noticed it was the girl, it was too late. She'd seen us."
"Where's the Arabian?"
"She wasn't riding one."
"I want those horses!"
With some effort, Skylar lifted her head. She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she gazed up at the three blurred figures standing a few feet away.
"How many men did Morgan have with him?"
"Didn't see no sign of Morgan. We saw the woman before we found the camp."
Skylar pinched her eyes shut, trying to summon her strength as Randal's curses echoed in her throbbing skull. Suppressing a groan, she forced herself onto her knees and again opened her eyes.
She swallowed a gasp as her gaze collided with Wade Randal. His large shadow loomed over her. The lantern hanging from the center of the canvas tent shone brightly on his raven-black hair, the long straight strands reaching the faded black shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Her eyes widened as she focused on the damage she'd done to the chiseled features of his face. An angry red scar began at his right temple and ran clear across the corner of his lips to the deep cleft in his chin. Crusted scabs clung to the thick red seam, some areas festering with infection. He'd obviously not troubled himself to keep the wound clean.
His cold dark gaze snapped toward her, and Skylar's breath lodged in her lungs. Fear shivered through her. He took a step forward then crouched down, resting his long arm on a raised knee.
"Take a good long look at your fancy work, princess."
The eerie endearment hissed through his crooked teeth. He had called her princess once before, right after he'd murdered her father.
It's time for a shift in the hierarchy of this outfit, princess.
His unblinking eyes held her gaze as he waved his hand toward the two men standing behind him. "Get out! Now that she's here, I'd like some time alone with my woman."
Her eyes flared. His woman? Surely he didn't still hold an interest in her after she'd refused him by lashing her whip across his face.
The measuring gaze sweeping down her body and his rippling grin contradicted that thought.
Skylar lunged to her feet, ignoring the biting pain in her ribs. She tugged against the rope binding her hands as she backed away from him.
A sharp smile sliced across his face as he stood, blatantly enjoying her startled response. "Going somewhere?"
Hatred welled up inside her. "Murdering bastard!" she shouted, yanking at her restraints.
"Now that's no way to greet a man who spared your life. Twice. If anyone has the right to be hateful, it's me."
"You murdered my father!"
"I did you a favor," he snarled, his eyes growing dark with anger. "Your old man was a fool, too blind to see the fortune within his grasp. You've got twice the skill he ever had. He and that kid never did nothin' but hold you back. I had the guts to take what should have been yours and was willing to share it with you! And just look what my thoughtfulness got me," he shouted, thrusting his chin forward and slanting his head.
Bright light spilled over his face, giving her a clear view of the puckered pink skin and rotting flesh. "Guess that goes to show it don't pay to be kindhearted."
Skylar could hardly fathom the insanity of his words. Kindhearted?
Randal's hand lashed out and grabbed her by the front of her shirt, hauling her toward him until her face was inches from his. She cringed as his breath washed across her face. His other hand snatched a fistful of hair at the back of her head, his fingers twisting the stands until they began pulling from her scalp, preventing her from moving away.
"You're more trouble than you're worth, you know that? I should have saved myself some grief by shooting you in Arizona."
Skylar struggled to tamp down her fear as she held his steely gaze. Don't panic.
"But something about you makes me go against my better judgment," he said, his hold on her hair easing. "You're not like other women. You're good with horses, a hard worker, and damn nice to look at. Even nicer to touch."
His hand slid around her waist as he hauled her flush against his body. Panic sparked at her nerves. Bile rose in her throat as she felt the evidence of his arousal, as well as the sheer strength of his body.
Oh, God, Tucker. Please hurry.
She couldn't stop Randal. She knew it.
"You play your cards right and I might even give you a chance to reconsider."
"Never." The refusal exploded from her mouth.
Randal eased back. His dark brows furrowed. "Never? You were nearly mine in Arizona. Surely you haven't forgotten about our little tumble in the grass."
Her naivete of men had been severe. She hadn't had the first clue as to his intentions when he'd followed her out of camp that evening, nor had she asked for or enjoyed the liberties he had taken with her. No doubt Randal would have raped her if Garret hadn't come looking for her.
"Hell, you didn't even know how to kiss a man, much less please one. I can't say I'll be patient with you. I've wanted you for too damn long."
"Raping me won't make me yours," she said, amazed her fear hadn't closed her throat.
"Rape you?" he said with a bark of laughter. "Warming a man's bed is a wife's duty."
Wife? "You can't marry me."
"When I want something, I take it. You might be mustang wild," he said in a low growl, his hips shifting against he
r, "but I can break you. A bit of kicking and gnashing will only make it interesting."
"You can rot in hell," she forced through clenched teeth. "I'm married to Tucker Morgan."
Randal's arms dropped away from her so fast she stumbled sideways. His dark eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"We were married in New Mexico."
His chilling smile sickened her stomach. "Then you're married to a dead man. By this time tomorrow you'll be a widow, free for the taking, not that I intend to wait."
Skylar made a dash for the opening of the tent. Randal's hand bit into her arm. A shriek escaped her throat as he swung her against the wall of his body.
"Don't start acting like a little girl." His other hand fisted the front of her shirt, yanking it from her waistband. He tugged at the closure of her pants, and Skylar panicked.
With a fierce twist of her body, she rammed her knee into his groin. Randal yelped, stumbling back as he bent forward. Skylar kicked her leg up, her boot catching his chin, rattling his jaw.
Finding his balance, Randal dragged the back of his filthy arm across his split lip. "You bitch!"
His fist cracked against her left cheek with such speed she didn't see it coming. The heavy blow knocked her off her feet
and through the opening of the tent. A scream ripped from her lungs as she slammed against the hard ground, landing on her back and bound hands.
Her shoulders burning with pain, Skylar rolled to her side, then onto her knees as she tried to catch her breath. She saw a group of men clamor up from beside a campfire a few yards away. Striving to pull a gulp of air into her aching lungs, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her folded legs, her mind still registering the pain in her face.
"Wade, what the hell are you doing?" one of the men shouted.
"Stake her out on the west side of camp," Randal said from behind her.
When no one spoke or moved to take her, Skylar lifted her head. Five gaping sets of eyes moved between her and Randal.
"How'd she bust yer lip while she's tied up?" one of them asked.
"Same way I'm gonna bust yours if you don't do what I said," Randal shouted.
Skylar screamed as he yanked her bound hands up from behind her. Forcing her to her feet, he grabbed her hair and tugged her head back. "My gentling tactics are a tad more aggressive than yours," he whispered against her ear. "But effective just the same."
Keeping a firm hold, he guided her through the camp. He yanked her to a stop then tripped her, knocking her to her knees.
"Stake her," he instructed.
"You sure you want her here?" asked whoever was driving the stake into the ground behind her and securing it to her roped hands. "It's bound to rain shortly."
"Good." Randal turned and started walking back to his tent. "A night out in the rain ought to take the fight out of her. By tomorrow she'll have learned to be a little more grateful."
I've proven to be a slow learner.
Her father's death should have taught her not to allow her focus to be muddled by men, yet she'd repeated the same fatal mistake. She'd let her affair with Tucker distract her from what was important. Keeping Garret safe. And now her foolishness was going to cost them all.
"Sky?"
The sound of Duce's voice sparked a glimmer of hope.
"I told you she'd make it to Morgan," said Mitch's gruff voice, another of her mustanging companions.
"Sky?" Duce whispered again. "Are you all right?"
"Is she all right?" said another man. "Hell, we're all as good as dead now."
"Shut up, Lance," Duce snarled. "You've been sniveling since Arizona."
"These ropes have been cutting into my wrists since Arizona! Once Randal gets those Arabians, he won't need us to herd the mustangs."
"I swear," said Mitch, "if someone would give me a gun, I'd shoot you myself."
Pain radiated through her body. Groaning, Skylar lifted her head. Duce sat with three others just six feet away under a small shelter of canvas. All four looked worse for wear with their hands bound in front of them. Each was filthy, having shaggy full beards. Duce's burnt-orange hair set him apart from the others.
Feeling cold drops of water against her face, Skylar looked up at the round patch of dark sky revealed through the clearing of tall evergreens. Cold raindrops began soothing the ache in her cheek.
"At least get her out of the rain," Duce shouted to his captors.
"Pipe down, Duce, unless you want to go hungry tonight. Wade says she stays put."
"Don't," Skylar said, imploring her friend not to cause trouble for himself.
"At least give her a damn coat!"
"If you're so worried about her, give her yours."
Duce rose to his feet and began walking toward the other group of men. He stopped beside the fire and held out his bound hands. "You'll need to remove the rope so I can get it off."
Taking his time, the other man stood, drew his revolver and pulled the hammer back. "You better hold real still," he said as another man began untying the rope around Duce's wrists. "You so much as twitch and you're a dead man."
Once his hands were free, Duce shrugged off his coat then allowed the man to replace the restraints, his eyes flinching as he knotted the rope. When the gun was lowered, Duce knelt down, picked up his coat and started toward her.
"Wish I could say I was glad to see you," he said as he knelt down, dropping his coat over her shoulders.
"Thanks. Me, too."
He reached for the side of the coat with his bound hands and pulled one side over her shoulder, then the other. "Garret okay?"
Skylar cringed at the sight of the deep rope burns and raw skin of his wrists. "He is for now."
"Morgan with you?"
"Both of them. Brothers," she said, seeing the question in Duce's eyes.
"How many others?"
"Just Garret," she said with reluctance.
"Damn. Do you think they'll come after you?"
"You've done your good deed, Duce," called a harsh voice. "Get back where you belong."
Skylar nodded as Duce stood, not doubting for a moment that Tucker would come for her.
Chapter 24
Tucker watched a streamer of clouds float across the glowing face of the moon. A sigh broke from his lungs, sending a swirling mist of white vapors into the cold air. It was well past midnight, yet he hadn't left his post, content to freeze as he sulked and watched over their camp and the horses. He hadn't gone back to camp for supper, his gut too full of self-contempt to have room for any sort of appetite.
He couldn't get the image of Skylar's cold gaze out of his mind. Their conversation played over and over, amplified by the nighttime silence.
He'd had plenty of time to realize he'd messed up.
Messed up big.
I can't hide from her forever, he thought as he turned his horse away from the quiet herd and began riding the short distance toward camp.
When Tucker ducked under the tarpaulin sheltering their campfire, the scent of coffee washed through his senses. Chance sat before the small fire, pouring a steaming trail of the black liquid into a cup.
"Morning." He held up the tin cup.
"Thanks."
"It's nearly two in the morning. Any particular reason why you didn't wake me?"
Sipping at the strong brew, Tucker sat beside him. "Guess I wasn't paying attention to the time." He flickered a glance at Skylar's shelter only a few yards away.
Why couldn't he just admit he wanted to be with her? The thought of not having Skylar in his life sent an instant lash of denial ripping through him, yet the realization of being legally bound to any woman had once put ice in his veins.
What am I so afraid of?
He wasn't his father and Skylar sure as hell wasn't Winifred. If there was ever a woman who contradicted everything he despised in his lazy, whining stepmother, Skylar was that woman. Skylar put her responsibilities and those she loved above her own wants, and even her basic needs, without a w
ord of protest. Hell, even he and Chance had made their share of complaints in the past few weeks about the cold, the heat or being plain exhausted. But he couldn't recall Skylar voicing a single one.
He could, however, remember his father's complaints about all the travesties of marriage. During the seven months he and Chance had stayed with him in the rebel camps he'd filled their heads full of damning words on marriage. He had warned them about beguiling women who baited men with coy smiles and silken gowns, only to make their lives a living hell once they slipped a wedding ring onto their pretty little fingers.
Winifred Morgan didn't give them any reason to doubt their father's words. Having no memories of their own mother, they'd begun to worry that she had been no different from Winifred. Their father never spoke of his first wife, nor had Tucker ever seen a portrait of her. One evening, he and Chance had mustered up enough courage to ask if their birth mother had trapped him with smiles and fancy dresses.
A chill washed over Tucker's skin as he recalled his father's shaken response. He'd pulled a thin chain from beneath his shirt which held a slender band of gold. Their mother's wedding ring.
Don't ever compare your mama to Winifred, he had said in a stern tone. Your mama wasn't an ordinary woman. She was an angel. Once the Good Lord realized she was too good to grace this earth, He snatched her right back up to heaven. You boys have her golden hair. Too bad you didn't get her blue eyes.
His father's green eyes had grown misty as he'd looked at each of them. Pure as sapphires, he'd said. They touched a man's soul in a way that made him want to be better than he knew how to be.
His father had died in battle the next day. Tucker had taken solace in the fact that he'd gone to heaven to be with the angel he loved.
His lungs ached from the breath trapped inside as his mind flooded with the first image he'd ever had of his mother.
A blue-eyed angel with gilded hair.
My God. No wonder Skylar had blindsided him.
Yet, what he felt for Skylar went beyond any fascination for an image in his mind or simple physical attraction. Just as his father had said, something in Skylar made him want to be better than he knew how to be. He'd never cared about pleasing anyone beyond himself until he'd met her. He'd never allowed himself to love anyone beyond his brother, until Skylar.
