Mustang Wild. Stacey Kayne

of words must have given her the wrong idea. Not that he was against the idea of having her soothing hands all over him, but he hadn’t meant to announce it.

      “You shouldn’t go creeping about in shadows,” she said, her features firming. “A man could get shot that way.”

      His gaze dropped to the gun still holstered at her hip.

      Fun was over. Thank God. Much more of her coddling and he would have gotten himself shot for sure. “I wasn’t creeping about in the shadows. I came to tell you supper’s on the table.”

      She stepped back into the stall and latched the gate behind her. “I’m not hungry.” She grabbed a bedroll and released the ties. “Shut the barn door on your way out,” she said as she tossed the heavy blanket across the bed of fresh straw.

      Even as Tucker told himself he should get out while he could, he lingered, knowing she should eat. “Skylar, you need to eat.”

      She flopped onto her stomach, fluffed her jacket under her head, then shut him out completely by covering her face in the folds of her arms.

      What was he supposed to do now? Just walk away?

      Beats standing here like a bleeding idiot, his mind answered. He turned away, careful to miss her pack this time, and left the barn. What did he care if she didn’t eat?

      Reaching the house, he was still pinching his bloody nose as he stepped inside. Garret burst into laughter before Tucker shut the door behind him.

      “I told you to be careful,” he squealed.

      Not feeling up to giving any explanations, Tucker walked past the table and into the bedroom. Silently cursing the muffled laughter following him from the other room, he tossed himself onto the bed.

      “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.