Stacey Kayne – Mustang Wild (страница 13)

“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. “This woman’s damn hard on your health.”

“Go to hell,” Tucker mumbled.

“I’ll be on your heels the whole way, little brother. Is she coming in?”

“No. She’s…sleeping.”

Chance turned and walked back to the table, telling Garret he could have extra stew.

Tucker stared up at the dark ceiling, knowing Chance was right. Despite her pretty face, sultry voice and shapely body that tied him in knots, Skylar was just another cowhand. He’d be doing himself a favor to think of her as such.

Hell. He’d being doing himself a favor not to think about her at all.

Chapter 5

H uddled over the tiny kitchen table with Tucker and Chance as they went over her father’s journal, Skylar continually found her gaze drifting from the sketches of terrain to the sharp lines and intriguing planes of Tucker’s face.

The swollen tissue across the bridge of his nose was hardly noticeable anymore, leaving only a dark streak beneath his left eye; a constant reminder of her humiliating display of weakness. It was bad enough he’d caught her crying; then she had to go begging for more trouble by constantly looking at him. She’d been chastised enough over the last few years by her father to know better.

You go flashin’ smiles to the men and you’re gonna find yourself under some rutting bastard and your belly swollen with child.

Her run-in with Randal had proved his point.

Randal had been full of crocodile smiles and smoldering stares. She hadn’t thought she’d behaved in a promiscuous fashion toward Randal, but she hadn’t blatantly discouraged his attention, either. During the few minutes he’d wrestled her to the ground, she hadn’t liked his hard kisses or groping hands one single bit. She shuddered at the recollection as self-contempt churned at her insides.

She couldn’t allow any such confusion between herself and Tucker. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked at her in such a way since the night before last or mentioned the incident. For some reason, Garret and Chance seemed to think she’d been the one who’d bruised up his handsome face. They had harassed him all of yesterday, none of which seemed to bother Tucker. He made light of the incident, flinching dramatically whenever she was within three feet of him. But then, Tucker seemed to make light of life in general. She’d never known anyone who was so quick to smile.

She needed to get out of here. She found it impossible not to stare at him when they were in the same room, intrigued by his similarities to Chance, as well as their differences, which was why she tried to avoid being in the small cabin at all.

“Have you found a problem with my suggestion?” she asked.

Tucker turned the page and pored over the next two maps with the same intensity he had the others. “Not exactly.”

“This is some journal,” said Chance.

The slight upward tilt of Chance’s lips caught Skylar’s attention. Chance’s personality was such a contrast to Tucker’s. If they had any physical differences, she hadn’t been able to pinpoint them. It amazed her that two men could be physically identical, yet so very different at the same time.

“What are we waitin’ on?” Garret called as he barreled in through the open door. “The gear’s all packed. Hey, that’s my pa’s journal.” He stepped beside Tucker and dropped his elbows onto the table as he leaned toward the center.

“Kid, your head makes a better door than a window,” Chance said in a dull tone.

Garret eased back and Tucker gave him a firm shove, knocking Garret off balance. Garret quickly found his footing and retaliated by slamming his body against Tucker, nearly knocking him off the crate.

Tucker laughed as he straightened and looked back at the journal.

Another difference, thought Skylar. Tucker was particularly kind to Garret, and playful. He didn’t show the impatience she saw in Chance’s expression when Garret hounded them with questions or rattled on the way Garret was prone to do. Tucker was—

Blast!

Realizing she was staring at him again, she shifted her gaze toward the open doorway. “We’re burning daylight,” she said with impatience. “Are we settled on heading northeast or not? We can bicker about specific passes on the way.”

“You’re sure these drawings are accurate?” asked Tucker. “I’ve spent a good deal of time picking my way across Colorado territory, yet this map is littered with passes I’ve never seen or heard of.”

“My grandfather was a surveyor by trade and my father did some scouting for the military before he married my mother.”

Tucker’s sharp green eyes flickered up, making brief contact with Skylar’s before he glanced back down at the journal.

Skylar felt as though she’d been physically touched. Something in the way the man looked at her sent a charge through her body that affected her mind. Like a steer on loco weed. She hadn’t forgotten how intoxicating those green eyes could be, or how incredibly soft and gentle his lips had felt against hers. As hard as she tried over the past two days, she couldn’t get the recollection out of her mind.

“Sky?”

“Yeah?” Skylar blinked, and simultaneously realized Tucker was staring at her and Chance had been talking to her. She dropped her gaze away from Tucker. “Yeah, that’s the pass,” she said, noticing Chance’s finger on the narrow channel through the San Juan Mountains, hoping that was what he’d been commenting on while her mind had been off chasing rainbows.

Dear God, how long had Tucker been watching her stare at his lips? “If we take that pass, I estimate we could cut a good four days of travel,” she said, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks.

“I’m willing to give it a shot,” Tucker replied. “What do you say, Chance?”

Chance muttered an agreement. Skylar closed her journal and glanced up. Tucker’s eyes lingered on hers long enough to cause a series of flutters in her stomach, which spiraled up through her body and straight to her head when he flashed those pearly white teeth of his.

In a burst of motion, Skylar grabbed her journal and straightened away from the table. “Let’s get to Wyoming.” She started for the door, silently cursing the tingling surge she felt clear to the soles of her feet. Did he realize how incredibly charming he was?

Skylar groaned inwardly, disgusted by her thoughts. “Lord, I must be touched in the head.”

He’s not charming. He’s arrogant, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. The man was a flirt, plain and simple. He was the sort who flirted with anything female. She’d make it known she didn’t care to be a part of any such behavior.

She stopped beside the spotted mare tethered outside the corral. The mustang snorted and flattened her ears. “That’s the idea,” she said, smiling at the hostile signals coming from the ornery mare. She’d keep it clear that she wasn’t interested in Tucker’s fallen-angel smiles.

“You’re going to ride that paint?”

Skylar jumped at the sound of Tucker’s rich voice then spun to face him. Damn the man! She shouldn’t be feeling the strange sensations that swirled inside her whenever she caught his gaze. “Do you have a problem with my riding this mare?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, raising his hands and backing away from her as though she’d drawn her gun on him. “You go ahead and lead the way.”

Listening to his low laugh as he walked toward his horse, Skylar wondered what she was so worried about.

In the past three days they’d covered far more desert ground than Tucker could have imagined possible. Finished roping off the mares, Tucker followed Chance toward their saddled horses staked near one the few patches of sand not littered with cacti and scrub. In the distance, white dunes rose up against an opaque sky, making it impossible to tell where earth ended and sky began.

“Who’s taking care of supper tonight?” Chance asked as they began removing their saddles. “You or me?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Tucker said, figuring Chance could use the break after handling the chore for the past two nights. Skylar had made it clear that her job pertained strictly to the horses.

“Garret, wait!”

Tucker’s gaze whipped around at the sharp sound of Skylar’s voice. She ran toward the packhorses. Fifteen yards away, Garret stood beside a mule, releasing the ropes over a sack of supplies that more than doubled his weight. Skylar reached over the boy’s head, grabbing a heavy pack before it took the kid to the ground. Together they eased the large canvas sack down.