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.
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