don’t believe it,” said another.
An older man dressed all in black stood up from the table. “You gotta sign the document, Tuck,” he said, flattening out the paper. “It ain’t no good unless you sign it.”
Tucker reached over and signed his name. The older man beamed a smile at Skylar, then laved his tongue across the palm of his hand and swiped it across the top of his head, slicking back a few strands of dark hair. He straightened his posture, tugging on the sides of his black coat. “Now the lady,” he instructed.
“Mr. Morgan,” Skylar said again, looking away from the odd man dressed in black. “I really need to speak with you. I believe we’re traveling with you to Wyoming and—”
“That’s the plan, angel girl,” he said, giving her a wink as he placed the pen in her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “It’s all arranged. Just sign your angelic name onto that paper and we’ll be set. Angels do have names, don’t they?”
He beamed another smile, and Skylar felt a tad dizzy. His arm clamped around her shoulders was all that kept her from swaying. “Sign the paper?” she asked in confusion. She glanced down at the table. “W-why do I—”
“No time for questions, angel. Are we goin’ to Wyoming or not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then sign the document, sweetheart.”
“The contract?” she asked as he guided her hand toward the bottom of the paper. She and her father had discussed the contract for driving the horses in exchange for provisions. She no longer had her mustangs, but she had to get to Wyoming if she intended to reclaim them. She blinked and tried to focus her tired eyes on the words. Morgan’s breath rustled her hair as his hand slipped from her shoulder and slid across the flat of her stomach. A burst of tingling shivers raced across her skin.
“Uh-huh.” His voice vibrated against her ear. The hard length of his body pressed against her backside.
Damnation. Her bones were turning to jelly! Desperate to escape the situation, Skylar quickly scribed her name beside the name Tucker Morgan then took a step away from him.
“Hang on, angel. Don’t fly away just yet.” His hand slid back around her waist. Sparkling green eyes locked with hers as he pulled her into his arms. His slow smile did the most horrifying things to her insides. The noise and clatter of the room turned to a steady hum as she stared up at Tucker Morgan’s sharp features; his warm gaze and charming smile paralyzed her mind.
“I do,” he said, although Skylar didn’t know what he meant by the odd comment. Before she could contrive a rational thought, he leaned toward her. “Say yes,” he said, his lips mere inches from hers.
“Yes? But I—”
He tipped his head forward and kissed her, the touch of his soft lips cutting off the rest of her words. Skylar gasped as he stroked her lips, teasing them apart, filling her mouth with the hot taste of whiskey and flooding her body with a rush of fiery sensation.
A voice deep in her mind told her to pull away, yet every gentle, intoxicating touch of Tucker Morgan’s mouth offered her something she’d craved for so long.
Tenderness.
His kiss was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His mouth moved over hers in the most alluring, undemanding way, subtly seducing her mouth into submission until she was returning his kiss.
Hoots and hollers filtered through the electrifying hum of her body. Skylar tensed, and he lifted his lips from hers. Heat rushed to her face. She was shocked to find her arms banded around his neck, her fingers twisted into the blond tufts of hair touching his collar. With her body pressed flush against his, she could feel his heartbeat hammering as erratically as her own.
“Dear God,” he breathed, his eyes looking deep into hers.
“Guess I don’t have to tell you to kiss your bride,” said the jubilant voice of the man standing beside them.
Bride? Skylar jerked away from Tucker’s embrace. She stumbled backward, but was instantly shoved back into his arms by whoever stood behind her.
“Drinks are on me,” Tucker Morgan shouted, clamping her back against his broad chest, then in one swift motion, he lifted Skylar into his arms. “It’s you and me, angel girl,” he said as he carried her through a crowd of well-wishers.
“Wait!” she screamed, while silently assuring herself she had not just married this man.
He pushed through the swinging doors. Skylar twisted in his grip, managing to kick her legs free when they reached the road. She shoved away from him and saw her horse from the corner of her eye.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said with a rueful laugh, his arm coiling around her waist.
A shriek escaped her throat as one of his hands closed over her backside. Seeing his soft, intoxicating lips aiming for hers, she turned away, struggling to free herself from his grasp.
“Get your damn…would you…” No matter which way she twisted, she couldn’t evade his hands and lips. His strong arms clamped her against his firm chest.
“Come on now, angel. I know you—” He stiffened as a loud donk echoed from behind him. His brilliant eyes popped wide, before he crumpled to the ground, falling at her feet as though his bones had turned to dust.
Garret sat before her, backward in his saddle, with a skillet in his hands. “Did I kill ’im?” he called over the ringing of the cast iron.
Dear God! She wasn’t sure.
Skylar dropped to her knees beside Tucker. She lifted one of his eyelids, but the green eyes that had held her captive moments ago were rolled up in his possibly fractured skull. She pressed her cheek to his chest.
“He’s breathing.” She quickly ran her fingers through his thick blond hair, checking for injuries. One heck of a goose egg was rising from the crown of his head, but all seemed to be intact. Thank goodness.
“Dag blast it!” Garret cried out as he knelt beside her. “He smells like he’s been steeped in whiskey!”
“Why’d you hit him?” she demanded, grabbing the iron skillet from Garret’s hand.
“The man was attacking you! If I’d a had a clear shot, I’da blown a hole through his chest. I told you not to go into that saloon. You shoulda let me go in to get Morgan.”
“Well, would you look at that,” called a gruff voice.
Skylar glanced up at a pair of drunken cowboys staggering toward them. Her gaze dropped to the skillet in her hand.
Oh, Lord. She was going to get arrested!
“Tuck’s bride already showed him what-for with a fryin’ pan,” one said, flashing a broad, toothless grin.
The other cackled with wild laughter. “Give ’im hell, honey,” he called out. “He deserves every blow.”
The men shuffled past, chuckling and intermittently bumping into one another, apparently unconcerned
