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Maverick Wild
Stacey Kayne
Haunted by a promise he couldn’t keep – and a past he couldn’t forgetChance Morgan had locked away his heart. Until Cora Mae Tindale crossed half the country to find him. The beguiling creature who insisted on turning his serviceable ranch into a home was hiding something – and Chance was hell-bent on finding out her secrets! Cora Mae only wanted a place to hide, but her youthful protector had grown into a war-hardened rancher with looks that could tempt a saint.Yet his dark glances were filled with distrust…and unmistakable desire. Cora Mae’s childhood crush was rapidly becoming a much more adult craving!


Praise for Stacey Kayne
MUSTANG WILD
‘Fast-paced and well written, MUSTANG WILD was a delight to devour… Highly romantic, with just the right touch of humour, MUSTANG WILD is one for the keeper shelf. Stacey Kayne has penned a treasure.’
—Cataromance
‘This strong debut is a tale of one woman’s struggle to overcome a father’s deceit before she can find peace, forgiveness and passion with the man meant for her. Each character carries his or her own weight, adding depth and humour to this honestly written story.’
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Chance,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.”
Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”
She gave an excited shriek. “Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him. “Ydou’re so tall,” she said, squeezing him tighter still. “And handsome! I’ve missed you so much. And Tucker. How is Tucker? You can’t imagine.…”
Chance didn’t know what made him dizzier. The woman’s rapid-fire sentences or the soft, supple curves pressed flush against him. The discomforting stir of his body answered his quandary.
“Cora Mae,” he blurted out, when she finally paused for breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She flinched at his hard-spoken words. Her smile dimmed.
Damn. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just…can’t imagine what would bring you all this way.”
“I tired of waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to make good on your promise,” she said.
“My promise?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”
Stacey Kayne has always been a daydreamer. If the comments on her elementary school report cards are any indication, it’s a craft she mastered early on. Having a passion for history and a flair for storytelling, she strives to weave fact and fiction into a wild ride that can capture the heart. Stacey lives on a ranch near the Sierra Nevada, with her high-school sweetheart turned husband of eighteen years and their two sons. Visit her website at www.staceykayne.com
A recent novel by the same author:
MUSTANG WILD

MAVERICK WILD
Stacey Kayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Special thanks to:
Kimberly Duffy for her ‘Wild’ title inspiration.
Carla, Kathy, Marlene and Sheila for their tireless critiquing and for believing in this story.
My family for their wonderful support.
My readers. I’ve been truly touched by all the letters and emails—thank you for the wonderful welcome into a genre I love.

Prologue
Virginia, 1862
“If we don’t ride out, she’ll have us whipped to the bone before the old man comes back.”
Chance didn’t spare the breath or energy to agree with his brother, the urge to ride fast and hard burning stronger in his gut than the welts flaming across his back. Their father’s short visit meant his camp was close, freedom was within reach.
The darkness in the stable didn’t impede his deft movements as he tossed his saddle over the blanket and reached for the cinch. They couldn’t risk lighting a lantern.
“How could he leave us here to deal with his raving-mad wife?” Tucker ranted in a low whisper. “She ran him off like she always does with her screaming and bawling. Did you see how he rode out this evening and didn’t even look back?”
“I saw.”
“I don’t know why he doesn’t ever stand up to her. If she were my wife—”
“We won’t be fool enough to marry,” Chance cut in.
“Amen.”
“Before the old man rode out, I told him we’d be on his heels in a day.”
His twin spun around, his pale-yellow hair flashing in streaks of moonlight seeping through the barn windows. “What’d he say?”
“That a rebel camp ain’t no place for young boys.”
“Can’t be worse than living with Winifred. We’ll be thirteen come the spring—nearly grown men!”
Chance gave a nod of agreement as he secured his bedroll behind his saddle.
“He should’a taken us with him,” said Tucker. “We’re old enough to fight for our home.”
The way Chance saw it they’d lost that battle two years ago when their father had taken a wife. Seemed like foolish business to him and Tucker. They’d gotten on just fine for ten years without a woman in their lives, but they hadn’t had any say in the matter. The old man had come home from a business trip up north hollering loud enough to raise the dead about the underhanded shenanigans of starched-up fancy women. The next thing Chance knew, he and Tucker were standing beside their father in their Sunday trousers and stiff collars as he married Winifred Tindale.
A slender woman with a mess of blond curls tumbling about her head, a blushing smile and fluttering blue eyes, she’d seemed harmless enough. But it hadn’t taken much to crumble that gentle mask. At their slightest fidget, all that pretty contorted into a glare fierce enough to scare bark off a tree. He’d known right there in the church that their days of doing as they pleased were over. True enough, she’d made the past two years a living hell.
While their father had been off at Virginia state meetings, his witch of a wife had turned their house upside down, changing everything from the wallpaper to the staff. She’d fired the people who’d raised him and Tuck, taking away everything familiar to them. She’d brought in her own staff, strangers who didn’t give two wits if their mistress gave an order to whip the dog or her stepsons.
Chance shoved his winter coat into his saddlebag, knowing there’d be no coming back. He took Star by the reins and led the black mare toward the moonlight streaming through the open doors. A chilling breeze helped to soothe his aching shoulders. His breath uncurled like a cloud into the crisp fall air.
Across the yard shaded by a giant hickory tree, the moon lit up the white two-story house he’d grown up in, a home he no longer recognized. His gaze locked on the center second-story window. Their stepsister hadn’t escaped the witch’s tirade unscathed. Winifred didn’t have her daughter dragged outside for public floggings, but on occasion Chance had spotted bruises hidden by ruffles and lace, and too often watched Cora Mae flinch at her mother’s callous words.
His fingers fisted around the reins in his hand as hatred welled up inside him. He and Tuck used to feel cheated, their own mama having died the day they were born. He’d since realized they’d been the lucky ones. The first day he’d met Cora Mae, she’d brought an ache into his chest he’d never felt before.
After returning from the chapel, the old man had been shocked to discover a seven-year-old daughter among his new wife’s possessions. Chance had never seen anything like her, not a single orange ringlet out of place and skin so white it glowed.
Perched on a settee amid stacks of trunks and other parcels in the grand foyer, she’d reminded him of the fancy porcelain dolls on the high shelves at the general store. All frilly and fragile—something he wasn’t allowed to play with. Just like those delicate dolls, Cora Mae’s pink lips didn’t smile or frown, just stayed frozen in place as though painted on. He and Tuck had fixed that.
Despite his stepmother’s efforts to keep her daughter locked away from the world, that ol’ hickory got more use than the staircase during their frequent moonlight rides and walks to the creek. He’d become real partial to Cora Mae’s smiles and wild giggles. If he’d had his way, she’d be riding out with them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tucker said from beside him.
“Doesn’t feel right, leaving her here,” Chance admitted.
“Nine years old is too young. And she’s a girl. We’ll be lucky if they don’t chase us off.”
Star tugged at his hold on the reins, anxious for the ride her saddle promised.
“Besides,” said Tucker, “she belongs to Winifred.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” a soft voice whispered from the shadows. Cora Mae stepped into the moonlight, her orange hair flaring up in the pale light like a wick touched by a flame. Two thick braids draped over a pair of their old denim overalls—her usual sneak-out attire. Her dark eyes went from Tucker, to him, to their horses and back again.
“Where are you going?”
Chance couldn’t seem to find his voice.
“We’re meeting up with our father’s unit,” Tucker informed her.
Her wide gaze locked with his. “Chance?”
He liked how she did that, recognized him from his brother with nothing but a glance. His own father couldn’t tell him from his twin and was never home long enough to have reason to. He was going to miss her something awful. Knowing there’d be no one to check on her after one of her mother’s temper tantrums felt like a kick in the gut.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I was until now,” she said, her voice escalating. “You can’t leave me!”
“Shhh!” he and Tuck said together.
“Do you want us to get whooped again?” Tucker ground out. “We’re already torn up.”
Cora Mae clamped her lips tight, but that didn’t keep her lower lip from trembling. “You can’t go without me.”
Chance stared in horror as fat tears rolled from her eyes and leaked down her pale cheeks. He’d never seen Cora Mae cry—though she often had reason. He dropped his gaze to his boots, not wanting to see it now.
“Damnation,” Tucker muttered. “I can’t handle no more crying females. You’re the one who’s always yammering on with her through all hours of the night.” He nudged Chance’s arm. “You explain it to her.” He mounted his horse and started toward the woods.
It was just like Tucker to stick him with the hard stuff!
“Chance.” Cora Mae took a step toward him. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”
“If we were going anywhere else, I’d—”
“I’m not afraid to go.”
He knew she wasn’t. When she was away from her mother, Cora Mae had a fearlessness to be marveled at. They hadn’t accepted having a girl along for their late-night adventures without putting her through her paces. Cora Mae didn’t back down from a dare and had tackled every challenge he and Tuck had put before her. She’d turned out to be more fun to have around than a new puppy. But this was different. They were going to war.
“We’re not taking a ride down to the creek, Cora Mae. The soldiers would never let you stay.”
Sniffling, she wiped at her damp cheeks. “What am I to do without you?”
He hated this. What was he supposed to tell her? That it would be all right? He wouldn’t wish her mother on a Yank! He wanted to do more, to be able to protect her. But he couldn’t. Leastways, not yet. “We’ll come for you,” he said at last. “When the fighting’s over.”
Sullen brown eyes held his gaze. She tilted her head, the way she did when she was trying to make up her mind. “Promise?”
“Soon as we can,” he said with a nod.
Tucker whistled softly, and Chance took a step back.
“I got to go.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his sleeve as he lifted his boot to the stirrup. “Take this.” She pulled a ribbon from one of her braids, setting free a mass of orange ripples. Shoving the wide strip of satin through a buttonhole on his shirt pocket, she began working it into a pink bow that would have Tucker laughing clear to the next county.
“Cora Mae, I can’t—”
“So you won’t forget,” she said, the catch in her voice stopping his protest.
Heck, even if she weren’t his stepsister, he couldn’t forget a girl with bright orange hair and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “That’s not likely.”
She stepped back and drew a jagged breath. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears he could tell she was trying hard to hold back. “Be careful.”
“You, too.” He swung into the saddle and started toward the thicket of trees before she had him covered in ribbons.
Not about to let Tucker catch him with a pink bow on his chest, Chance tugged the thing from his shirt. He rubbed the silken fabric between his fingers then shoved it deep into his pant pocket. Feeling Cora Mae’s gaze on him as surely as the cold breeze whispering across the back of his neck, he spurred Star into a gallop.
No wonder his father never looked back—he didn’t have to.
As Chance rode into the darkness of the woods, all he could see was the image of Cora Mae standing in moonlight, her somber brown eyes silently pleading for him to take her with him.
Chapter One
Wyoming Territory, 1883
One hand clutching her valise, the other flattened atop her ivory bonnet to prevent the biting wind from snatching it away, Cora Mae Tindale charged through the dusty, pitted road of Slippery Gulch. Horses and wagons clamored through the small strip separating the parallel rows of buildings. She leaped onto the crowded boardwalk. Folks swarmed like bees as the stagecoach driver continued to toss parcels and crates down from the stagecoach that had brought her this far.
Only twenty more miles.
Cora drew her carpetbag of dusty traveling clothes against her aching ribs and forged her way through. Her corset pinched beneath the straining fabric of the yellow gown her mother had starved her into just one agonizing month ago. Lord, what she’d give for a full breath. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s petite build, but the raving woman wouldn’t relent.
There was nothing to be done for it now. This was the nicest dress she’d managed to stuff into her trunk. She couldn’t arrive at the Morgan Ranch appearing a vagabond in need of charity.
Keeping her gaze on the livery just a few shops down, she quickened her pace. Beyond the noise and bustle of the crowded strip, tiny canvas-topped homes spotted the uneven grasses. Miles of rolling hills rippled into the distance like great green waves. Farther out, snowcapped mountains spiked up into the clear blue.
Cora’s heart constricted painfully. The imposing view made it all too clear that this settlement was nothing but a tiny speck in a vast expanse of hills and sky. She’d heard Wyoming Territory was largely unsettled, but hadn’t imagined Tucker and Chance would have built their ranch so far out into sheer wilderness.
She wouldn’t be discouraged. She’d waited so long to see them again, though these were not the circumstances she had envisioned.
An instant burn of tears stung her eyes at the thought. The eight years she had spent at the textile mill had truly been a kindness. She’d been such a fool to believe her mother had summoned her home because she had missed her. Had she even suspected—
“Miss Tindale?”
Alarmed by the foul scent of bourbon on the breath so close to her ear, Cora swung around.
A tall cowboy shifted his hat over curly black hair. “Name’s Wyatt McNealy. I hear you’re headed to the Morgan Ranch and are, uh, in need of my services.”
Cora took one look at Wyatt McNealy’s smug grin and winking eye and knew she’d crawl the twenty miles to the Morgan Ranch before she’d travel in the company of a man carrying the stench of alcohol.
“You are mistaken, Mr. McNealy. I am not in need of any services.”
“Spud tells me you’re headed out to the Morgan place. I happen to be traveling in that direction. No sense in you having to struggle with a cart across such rugged ground.”
Cora squared her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite capable of handling a horse and cart. After traveling for weeks without altercation, I’m sure I can manage another twenty miles.” She attempted to move past him. “Good day.”
He sidestepped, blocking her way.
Fear nettled beneath her skin. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her carpetbag, preparing to knock him out of her way. Her other hand curled into a fist, just as her stepbrothers had taught her.
“You kin to the Morgans?”
“We’re a kin of sorts,” she said, hoping Chance and Tucker still thought of her as such.
“Well then.” His fingers closed around her elbow. “I know they’d want me to make sure you reached their homestead safe and sound.”
Cora wrenched her arm from his grasp.
“Wyatt!” boomed a voice from behind them. “You black-hearted son of a bitch!” The cracking of knuckles against Wyatt’s jawbone punctuated the hard-spoken words. Wyatt dropped to the boardwalk. The crowd around them dispersed like a clutch of spooked chickens. Cora swallowed a shriek and backed against the building as Wyatt’s attacker brushed past her.
The dark figure seemed a giant, well over six feet and covered in dried mud. He turned toward his companion standing in the road. Wyatt started to rise. The giant tossed something at him, knocking him back down with a loud clunk.
A dead foal caked in mud pinned him to the boardwalk. Cora clamped her hand over her gaping mouth.
Wyatt groaned and shoved against the weight.
“I’ll be sending you a bill for that foal and any others should they die from the stress you put them through. You better pray they make it, Wyatt.”
Wyatt shifted. Cora saw his hand going for the hilt of his gun. Before she could shout a warning, a younger man stepped forward and pointed his rifle at Wyatt’s head.
“The kid’s known to have an itchy trigger finger,” said the muddy rogue. “I’d hold real still if I were you.”
Her pulse thundering in her ears, Cora glanced beyond the giant pillar of dirt and his young accomplice, toward the spectators gathered at a safe distance. Most watched with mild interest, while others continued on about their business.
Where was the sheriff?
The beastly rogue moved closer. Cora pressed her back against the rough wood of the building, holding her breath as his filthy trousers brushed across her yellow skirt.
He knelt beside Wyatt. “You got anything to say for what you did?”
“I didn’t do—” Wyatt’s whimpered words ended in a squeal as the man grabbed his boot and wrenched it up.
“Sure looks like the dainty boot prints we saw in that riverbed, don’t it, Garret? A notch in the left heel.”
The younger man spared a glance, his hazel eyes taking in the notched heel. “Sure does. Matches perfectly.”
“You so much as kick a pebble into that river to divert water from my land again, and I’ll be gunning for you, Wyatt. That’s a promise.”
“You’re the one bent on using that devil wire!”
“Got tired of waiting for you boys on the Lazy J to learn your alphabet. Our brands are distinctly different. I’ve been patient with your boss, but if you don’t catch on, I’ll have no choice but to believe you’re rustlers. Stupidity’s forgivable, Wyatt. Stealing isn’t.” He lifted Wyatt’s gun from its holster and tucked it into his own grimy waistband. “Just a precaution to keep you from filling my back with lead.” He straightened and turned away, stepping out into the street.
Cora released a hard sigh of relief but found herself stuck between the building and Wyatt’s sprawled legs, the rest of him still struggling with the muddy carcass.
“We didn’t mean to startle you so,” the younger man said, his gun now lowered at his side. “Let’s get you out of harm’s way.” He flashed a gentle smile and offered his arm.
Cora nodded and allowed him to lead her around Wyatt.
“I sure hate that you were caught in the midst of our quarrel.” Reaching the road, the young man stepped away from her and removed his hat, revealing short cotton-white hair. The dirt on his trousers didn’t go past his knees. “I hope you’ll accept my apologies.”
“Of course,” she said, forcing a tight smile.
“Garret!”
Cora jumped at the harsh shout and spotted the other man standing on the boardwalk across the road.
“I’s just apologizing to the lady for scaring her half to death,” Garret shouted back.
The beastly man tugged off his hat. His matted hair was just as dirt-filled as the rest of him. He batted the hat against his thigh, scattering dust and chunks of dried mud. “If she’s looking for formal socials and tea parties, she bes’ get back on the stage. There’s nothing but backstabbers and mudskippers around these parts.”
He was obviously a mudskipper, Cora thought, watching him shove his hat back onto his crusted hair. His sharp green eyes burned with irritation before he turned and walked into the general store.
“Don’t mind him,” said Garret. “He’s just havin’ a real bad day. You be careful, now.” He tipped his hat to Cora, then turned and darted across the busy road.
Cora didn’t waste a moment. She hurried to the livery at the end of the road. Rounding the corner, she was pleased to find a large bay mare hitched to a cart just outside the open double doors. Her trunk had been secured to the back. She tossed her bag onto the seat, then stepped into the shadows of the large stable.
“Mr. Spud?” she called out.
“Miss Tindale.” Mr. Spud stepped from a stall. His stringy gray hair poked out in all directions from beneath his battered brown hat. A grin pushed high into his whiskery face. “Don’t you look pretty as a spring daisy,” he said, brushing his hands across the front of his striped shirt as he walked toward her.
“You’re too kind,” she said, certain the old man’s eyesight must be failing. “May I assume my cart is ready?”
Mr. Spud’s bushy gray eyebrows pinched. “Didn’t Wyatt find you?”
“Yes. He’s been detained. As I said earlier, I’m quite capable of handling a cart.”
“I can’t send you out into those hills by your lonesome. The Morgans won’t—”
“You’ve given me explicit directions. I can assure you—”
“Hey, Spud! You in there?”
Cora tensed, recognizing that strident voice. Not again.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Mr. Spud said as he peered toward the open double doors, “and he’s bound to surface.”
Coated with dirt, the man did look as though he’d crawled up out of the earth. Garret walked in behind him. When he spotted her his young face beamed with a smile.
“What in thunder happened to you?” asked Mr. Spud.
“Had to pull a few colts from a muddy riverbed. I was told you’ve got the feed stocked up in here. I paid for six bags.”
“Sure do. Right inside the door there. Help yourself. Now that you’re here, I won’t have to worry about finding the lady an escort.”
“That’s quite all right,” Cora quickly cut in. “I don’t need an escort.”
Cold green eyes raked across the length of her. “If you’re headed in our direction—”
“No. Thank you. I really do not require an escort.”
His broad shoulders shifted, creating tiny avalanches of dust and dirt. “Your choice.”
“But that don’t make no sense,” said Mr. Spud. “Not when—”
“I can manage,” Cora insisted. “Thank you, Mr. Spud. I’ll be on my way.”
“You heard the lady. Let’s get these loaded, kid.” He turned away and hoisted four large sacks of feed.
“Nice seeing you again,” Garret said, smiling brightly as he backed toward the open doors carrying the other two bags. “See you next month, Spud.”
“Uh, Miss Tindale?” Mr. Spud poked his fingers under his hat and scratched at his hair as he squinted at her. “Ain’t you headed to the Morgan place?”
“I am,” she said, walking toward the cart.
“Then you ought to change your mind about the escort, seein’ as that there’s one of the Morgans.”
Cora’s gaze whipped toward the hitching rails outside the stable. “No.” She looked from the nice young man who couldn’t be more than sixteen to his broad-shouldered companion securing bags of feed to the back of a horse. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s either the married one or he ain’t. ’Bout the only time I can tell ’em apart is when Tuck brings his wife along.”
She thought of the man’s piercing green eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.
Oh, my goodness. Struck between horror and disbelief, she slowly made her way outside.
Garret laughed as the Morgan man dunked his head into a trough. He whipped back, spraying water across the sky and revealing golden blond hair. Drops of water trickled down handsome features to his sharp jaw. His head tilted back as he raked his fingers through his hair, and she spotted a tiny scar hidden beneath his chin. A scar she’d given him accidentally.
Chance.
Smoothing her hands across the front of her skirt, she continued toward him. She had so wanted to make a good first impression. She stopped a few feet away. Tears stung her eyes, constricting her throat when she would have offered a greeting. She had waited so long.
“You’re gonna get mighty cold by the time we reach the ranch,” Garret said through his laughter.
Chance Morgan welcomed a chill, but he doubted it would help. “Trust me, kid, I won’t be cold.”
“She caught your eye, too, huh?”
“My eye didn’t catch anything,” he countered, still irritated that he’d been attracted to a pile of fluff and lace. Not his style. It was just as well Her Highness had opted to decline their escort.
“All that mud must be clogging your vision,” said Garret.
Not likely. He’d made out all those curvy features with crystal clarity. He had enough trouble without adding fancy women into the mix. Five minutes in the general store and mothers were nudging their frightened daughters toward him. What was wrong with townfolk? Why would anyone assume that because he had a ranch, he’d be suitable marriage material? Or that he wanted a wife?
“Mud wouldn’t have kept me from noticing that little lady was prettier than a buttercup,” said Garret. “A buttercup bloomin’ in the, uh…um…”
Pressing his hat over his wet hair, Chance glanced at Garret’s beet-red face. He followed the kid’s wide-eyed gaze to the “buttercup” standing a foot to his right, and grinned. That’ll teach the kid to go spouting off at the mouth.
“You again?” He allowed his gaze to slide across her alluring figure. “Did you change your mind about the escort?”
She stared up at him through watery eyes and appeared to be choking.
“Miss, are you okay?”
“Chance,” she said, sounding breathless.
Shock rippled through him. Being one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen, he knew damn well he’d never laid eyes on her until today. But she sure as hell seemed to know him.
“Have we met?”
“Oh, yes,” she said in a rush. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.” Her pink lips formed a bright smile. A smile that sparkled in eyes the shade of cinnamon.
His gaze honed in on the light dusting of freckles across her small nose. Spotting a spiral of bright-auburn hair poking out from beneath her wide fancy hat, Chance was hit by the flashing memory of big doe eyes, long orange braids and the mischievous grin of a little girl he hadn’t seen since he was twelve. He looked deeper into brown eyes flecked with bits of gold and amber.
Holy hell.
Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”
She gave an excited shriek. Her body seemed to vibrate before she leaped at him, her arms banding around his waist.
“Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him.
Chance patted her back as she smiled up at him, hoping the light touch would release him from her tight embrace.
“You’re so tall,” she said, squeezing him tighter still. “And handsome! I’ve missed you so much. And Tucker. How is Tucker? You can’t imagine…”
As she continued to jiggle and talk, Chance didn’t know what made him dizzier. The woman’s rapid-fire sentences or the soft, supple curves pressed flush against him. The discomforting stir of his body answered his quandary, while bringing about a stark realization.
He may have lived under the same roof as a red-headed tomboy during two years of his childhood, but he didn’t know this shapely woman from Eve. Certainly not well enough to have her rubbing herself all over him, her pretty face gazing up at him as though the sun rose and set in his eyes.
“You’ve heard of Lowell’s Textile?”
Chance nodded and gently pried her arms from his waist and set her away from him. The abrupt shift didn’t slow her excited chatter.
“—but I was so certain I’d find you. And here you are. My goodness gracious, so strong and tall.”
He smiled, her jubilation seeming somewhat contagious as he tried to keep up with her rapid-fire sentences.
“—ornery dickens that you were as a boy, and twice as cunning. Mother was sure you’d perished in the war, but…”
Her rush of words shattered into meaningless fragments at the mention of a name that never failed to put ice in his veins.
Mother.
Her mother, to be precise. The pristine witch who’d made life a living hell before he and Tucker had left home to follow their father into war. He and Tuck hadn’t been the only ones anxious to get away from their vicious stepmother. Their father couldn’t have beaten a trail off that ranch fast enough and had spent countless hours around a Rebel campfire warning the boys about the guiles of fancy women.
“Cora Mae,” he blurted out when she finally paused for breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She flinched at his hard-spoken words. Her smile dimmed.
Damn. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just…can’t imagine what would bring you all this way.”
“I tired of waiting.”
He’d never been one to guess at the mysteries of a woman’s mind. “Waiting for what?”
“For what?” she repeated, planting her fists against sweetly rounded hips. She sure hadn’t turned out anything like her starchy, whip-thin mother. He couldn’t keep his gaze from roving the tight yellow bodice hugging full breasts. The gentle dip at her waist and prominent flare of her hips left no doubt that a man would find a soft, warm landing in her arms.
Lord, have mercy. He was sure he shouldn’t be noticing such things about a woman who used to be his stepsister, once upon a time.
“For you to make good on your promise,” she said, bringing his attention back to where it belonged: on her pretty face.
“My promise?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”
Old guilt rushed across his conscience, along with a wave of unwanted memories. He recalled Cora Mae’s big brown eyes filled with tears, her frantic plea for him not to leave her behind. He had promised to go back for her. And at the time, he’d meant it. He’d also been twelve years old and hadn’t known war from a Sunday picnic. It was a guilt he’d gotten over a long time ago.
“You promised to go back for her and never did?” Garret asked, sounding outraged.
Chance’s gaze snapped toward the kid. He’d plain forgotten Garret was standing beside him. “I was twelve!”
“I waited,” Cora Mae said, her sad eyes twisting the pain in his gut.
“We couldn’t go back.” He shook his head, trying to shrug off the meaningless memories he’d spent too many years trying to forget. “You might recall there was a war going on. Tucker and I happened to be in the middle of it. Until we managed to get ourselves thrown into a Yankee prison camp.”
“Oh, Chance.” The warmth of her hand closed over his forearm, the light touch burning into his flesh like a fiery brand.
“It was a long time ago,” he said, brushing her hand from his skin. “We survived.” Barely.
Lily-white hands pressed against her full bosom. “I never imagined.”
Of course she hadn’t. She’d been busy with art classes and piano lessons. “You never answered my question,” he said, wondering again what Cora Mae Tindale was doing in Slippery Gulch, fawning all over him.
“What question was that?” she asked, smiling so sweetly, it set his gut on fire.
“What are you doing here?”
“Once I heard of your ranch, I had to come. Surely you’re aware that your ranch is broadly known?”
Damn right it was. He and Tuck had worked their asses off to make their ranch a success. The last thing they needed was Winifred sending her daughter in to sniff things out.
“Hearing that twin brothers by the name of Morgan were the owners, I had to find out if it was really you and Tucker.”
“You could have sent a letter.”
Her eyes widened, hurt registering in those rich brown depths.
“Chance,” Garret said, stepping in between them, “what’s gotten into you? She just finished telling us how she traveled all the way from Massachusetts to see you.”
But Chance hadn’t heard much beyond the roar of his blood as he stared down at the woman resurrecting demons from the past he’d long since put to rest. If Winifred thought she’d worm her way into their business by sending her daughter, she’d be disappointed. He was no longer a little boy who could be hauled out to the woodshed and whipped for the sheer delight of hearing him scream.
“That’s quite all right.” Cora Mae’s jaw stiffened in a way Chance remembered it could. “I know there’s no blood shared between us. If I’m not welcome—”
“Of course you’re welcome,” Garret insisted. “Isn’t she, Chance?”
Chance regarded her for a long moment, certain he wouldn’t have to see her fancy yellow-clad body again if he suggested she wasn’t welcome. He had to remind himself it was never Cora Mae he’d hated. He’d once been as close to her as he had to his twin brother. In some ways, closer. That fact didn’t help to slake his unease.
“Sure you are,” he said, though his tone didn’t carry a note of Garret’s enthusiasm. “It’s just a little hard to believe you’d travel clear across the States all by your lonesome just to see me.”
“And Tucker, of course. How is Tucker?”
“Just fine. How’s your mother?” he asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Her bright expression blanched. He couldn’t blame her for that. Thoughts of Winifred made him downright ill.
“I…I haven’t seen her in years. Not since I went to work at the mill.”
Cora Mae had been a lousy liar at the age of nine. It seemed some things hadn’t changed. The tightness in her delicate features told Chance she was lying through her pearly white teeth. “Cora Mae, if Winifred sent you here—”
“Oh, no. She didn’t. She’s…dead.”
His eyebrows kicked up. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Over the years he’d envisioned Winifred Morgan choking on her own meanness and dying a very slow and painful death.
“Dead?” he repeated, trying not to sound hopeful.
Her ivory hat bobbled with her vigorous nod, but Cora Mae’s wide eyes didn’t reveal the certainty he wanted to see there. As if sensing he could read her doubt, she lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.
Some things were just too good to be true. “How’d she die?”
“Well I…I don’t know,” she said, her voice a tad too high. “I only received a note telling me of her passing. Since I was no longer obligated to send my wages to Mother, I chose to come west.”
“She took your wages?”
She bristled at that, her brow pinching in annoyance, the starch in her spine making the most of her five feet. “Of course she took my wages,” she spat. “Had I not been of some use to her, she’d have abandoned me years ago. My mother held no fondness for me. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”
He’d tried, and had been doing a fair job of blocking out the bad memories, stupid mistakes and unkept promises made by a boy too young to understand his limitations.
“Don’t think I’ve come looking for free room and board.”
He had a notion she’d come seeking a lot more than room and board. Cora Mae might have been fun as a kid, but she’d since been groomed by a woman who had a nose for money and a penchant for lying.
“I’m fully capable of finding work for myself,” she insisted. “Though…” Her gaze skated briefly toward the landscape stretched out behind him. “I hadn’t planned on you living quite so far removed from any kind of township.”
“We’ve got plenty of room on the ranch,” said Garret. “Tuck’s been trying to talk my stubborn sister into hiring help for around the house. With the babies coming and all, this sounds like a perfect solution.”
Cora Mae kept her wary gaze on Chance. “I don’t want to intrude.”
A little late for that.
“Chance,” said Garret, his tone low with warning. He nodded to his left. Chance spotted the four riders coming in from the hills. Even at a distance, he recognized the rowdy ranch hands from the Lazy J. “We should get movin’,” said Garret.
The kid had a point. Once those boys found Wyatt, travel would become somewhat more hazardous than usual. “Line the horses.” He took Cora Mae by the elbow and ushered her toward the livery. “I’ll drive the cart.”
“More trouble?” asked Cora Mae, her neck craned to see what had captured their attention.
Chance smiled at the pretty patch of trouble he was about to take home. “I seem to be blessed that way.” He checked to make sure her trunk had been roped down, then held a hand out to help her up onto the seat. “After you, Cora Mae.”
She shrugged off his touch and stepped onto the cart without his assistance. “It’s just Cora.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name,” she said, smoothing down the full yellow skirt that had swallowed the entire seat. “I shortened it when I began working at the mill. I prefer to be called Cora.”
“That sure is a pretty name,” said Garret, already mounted on his pinto with Chance’s horse and the pack horse lined up behind.
The kid had a lot to learn about women. Pretty didn’t mean trustworthy. There was no denying the truth he’d seen in her eyes. Cora Mae was hiding something. He was in no mood to play a charlatan’s game.
“Better secure your hatpin, Cora Mae. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Chapter Two
Cora clutched the seat, her feet braced wide on the buckboard as Chance drove her cart across another green valley as though he were leading the last wagon train out of hell. A biting wind flattened the tall grass before them.
Chance’s strong frame seemed to follow every shift of the seat while she shook until her teeth rattled. So focused was he on the uneven terrain, he’d likely not notice if she toppled out. Perhaps he intended to send her careening to the ground. What on earth had she been thinking, traveling into the middle of the Wyoming wilderness to find two boys from her childhood?
The wagon slowed as they reached the crest of another rise. Chance reined the horse to a halt. A valley stretched out before her, covered by swaying grasses bursting with wildflowers and spotted with boulders and trees.
She uncurled her fingers from the seat and ran them briskly over her arms, trying to rub some of the chill from her skin. She glanced beside her and found Chance’s gaze intent on hers. His striking features could have been carved in granite, the sparkling green of his eyes cold and clear as a gemstone.
“Sorry about your dress.”
She glanced down at the dark smudges on her yellow skirt. Knowing more were on the dress front hidden beneath her crossed arms, an instant heat flared in her cheeks.
“It’s nothing,” she said, certain the dress had fared far better than her pride. Had she actually hugged him? She must have been blinded by images of the boy who’d long since outgrown her memory of him. What a spectacle she must have made.
How could she not have expected the full-grown man beside her to be a stranger? A frightening one at that. Chance’s reception had fallen drastically short of her expectations.
Seemingly out of things to say, he gazed across the windswept grasses. She took the opportunity to secure her hat before the wind snatched it away completely. After a few minutes of listening to the jingle of horse harnesses and watching the wind chase leaves and grass, she couldn’t stand it. Unfriendly as he may be, it was still Chance Morgan who sat beside her. The closest friend she’d ever had.
“Did you never wonder about me?”
His jaw flexed as though the question annoyed him. “Sure we did.”
“Are your memories of me so terrible?”
He eased back against the seat and released a long sigh before he finally met her gaze. His expression softened, revealing a sadness Cora felt to the bottom of her soul.
“You know I didn’t want to leave you behind.”
She’d clung to that hope for two decades.
“Tuck and I, we spent countless nights plotting all kinds of scenarios for going back for you.”
“You did?” Warmth blossomed inside her.
“But we were kids, Cora Mae. And you were Winifred’s daughter.”
And just that quickly the spark died, stamped out by the hatred buried in those last two words. Winifred’s daughter. “Has it been so long that you’ve confused me with my mother?”
“No. But apparently you believe enough time has passed between us that you can lie to me and get away with it.”
Cora froze, stunned by his candid accusation.
Her mother’s manipulation may have driven her here, but Cora wouldn’t allow Winifred’s influence to ruin her chance to know her stepbrothers again.
“I’ve not lied,” she insisted.
“Cora Mae.” His voice was barely a rumble above the wind.
The sudden warmth in his green eyes stole her breath. His lips tipped into a slight smile, and Cora was struck by the urge to…certainly not hug him.
“I think you forget how well I know you,” he said.
She hadn’t forgotten. She’d never stopped praying for the day he would come back into her life. Winifred wouldn’t steal this from her. She wouldn’t allow it.
“You knew a child. The man sitting before me is proof that people change over time. You’re hardly the sweet boy I once knew.”
“Sweet boy? I recall doing my best to set off a certain prissy tomboy’s spitfire temper and landing her in a mess of trouble on several occasions.”
He’d been the best adventure of her life. “You were worth the trouble.”
He arched a golden eyebrow and Cora averted her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of sitting so close to him and speaking of such personal matters. “You were my very best friend,” she clarified. “It’s one of the few childhood memories I hold dear.”
“All clear!”
Cora jumped at the sound of Garret’s voice. She glanced back to see him approaching on his horse with Chance’s horse and a packhorse trailing behind him, realizing only then that she hadn’t seen him since they’d left Slippery Gulch some time ago.
“Have you been right behind us all along?” she asked as he reined in beside them.
“No, ma’am.” He dismounted and began changing the lineup of the three horses. “I stayed a short ways back, making sure Wyatt didn’t send any of his men after us.”
“After us?”
“You don’t need to fret none.” Garret met her gaze with a grin. “I didn’t spot any riders.” He mounted the other saddled horse now standing at the front of the line. “Which pass are we taking?” he said to Chance.
“Northeast is the shortest.”
Garret gave a sharp nod.
“Mr. Spud mentioned a distinct trail to your ranch,” she said, certain this was not the direction he’d described. “I haven’t noted one.”
“We’re using a stock trail,” said Chance. “Not the smoothest ride, but it shaves nearly an hour off travel. We’ll make it home in time for Skylar’s supper.”
“Tucker’s wife?”
“Yeah.”
At thirty-three, she had truly expected them both to be wed by now. “You’ve not married?”
Chance gave a short, humorless laugh. “Marriage is not for me. Not in this lifetime.”
She found an odd sense of comfort in that response and rather agreed with his outlook.
“Miss Cora,” Garret said, reining in beside her. He leaned over and dropped a large coat over her shoulders, enveloping her in a warm lamb’s wool lining. “No sense in you shivering all the way to the ranch.”
“Thank you.” She pulled the thick coat tight and breathed in a musky, masculine scent.
“Chance can’t use it. You might as well stay warm.”
Chance noticed the sudden stiffness of her spine. She paused in the midst of securing the top button at her throat. After blindsiding him with all that sentimental talk about being her best friend, he didn’t see why she should be repulsed by wearing his coat.
“Do you mind?” she asked, meeting his gaze with clear reluctance.
“Why should I?” he said, unsure of how he felt about anything at the moment. He only wished he’d thought of it sooner. The heavy brown leather enveloped her from her chin to her knees. Keeping her covered up was a definite improvement.
“I have a layer of mud to keep me warm. Your lips are practically blue.”
“See you at the ranch,” Garret said as he set off ahead of them.
The wagon lurched forward. Cora resumed her hold on the seat as her exhausted muscles prepared for another jarring ride.
“Sure hope you got more sensible clothing in that trunk.”
“I have.” Indeed, there was nothing but sensible clothing in her trunk. Not that it mattered. Chance’s reception had made it painfully obviously she would not have been well received, no matter what she’d worn. Thankfully she’d ignored her mother’s order to throw out her maid attire.
She owed her mother nothing. Her life was her own.
Descending the hillside at hair-raising speed, she sucked in a deep breath of crisp Wyoming air, and tasted freedom.
Hours later the warm hues of sunset streaked the sky as they rode into a green valley with a horse ranch at its center. Snow-capped mountains rose up on either side. Cora gazed out in amazement at all Chance and Tucker had accomplished. A maze of fencing and outbuildings surrounded a massive two-story house. Horses milled about in the various pens and dotted the distant pastures.
As they neared the house, they captured the attention of men on horseback and others inside fences. Garret stood in the yard near a large barn. He held a little boy with the same pale shade of white-blond hair.
The moment they stopped, Cora shrugged Chance’s coat from her shoulders and jumped from the cart, ready to have her feet on the blessed unmoving ground.
“Unco ’ance!” The little boy, no older than two, ran toward them.
“Hey, Joshua.” Chance stepped beside Cora and crouched down to catch the child at midleap into his arms. He lifted him high, initiating wild giggles before he set him down on his little booted feet. It was the wide smile on Chance’s face that stole Cora’s attention, the pure joy that lit his eyes as he looked at Joshua. “You been good for your mama?”
Cotton-white curls flipped in the wind as he bobbled his head enthusiastically.
“Go tell Uncle Garret to give you your treat.”
Joshua glanced past his uncle, his big blue eyes taking Cora in before he turned and ran back to Garret.
Chance stepped around her, not bothering to introduce her to his nephew.
“Chance Morgan!” shouted a woman’s hostile voice.
He looked toward the house, his broad shoulders blocking Cora’s view. “Don’t worry. I plan to go around back and clean up before stepping foot in the house.”
“I should hope so!”
Cora eased around her rude host to see the tall woman standing on the porch. Her loose blond hair and blue dress whipped in the wind, the midsection of her dress strapped tight over her protruding belly. She appeared dreadfully overdue for giving birth. Her brilliant blue eyes surged wide as she spotted Cora.
“Oh! I didn’t realize we had company.”
Chance put his hand on Cora’s lower back and ushered her forward. “Skylar, this is Miss Cora Mae Tindale, my, uh…stepsister.”
Skylar gaped at her from the top of the stairs. “Truly?”
Cora struggled to smile as she shuffled up the steps. “I am sorry to arrive unannounced.”
“Nonsense. Tucker will be so excited. He’s mentioned you on several occasions. Isn’t this wonderful, Chance?”
He stood at the base of the steps, stiff as a stone statue, her carpetbag in one hand. “It is.”
“Where have you traveled from?” asked Skylar.
“Del-uhum, Massachusetts,” she corrected, catching her slip and the sudden scrutiny in Chance’s gaze. He knew full well her mother’s family resided in Delaware.
“Del—um, Massachusetts.” He held up her valise. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
She snatched her luggage. “Yes, well, it’s…small.” Goodness gracious. This was going to be a very short visit.
“You came all that way alone?”
Cora turned to Skylar, anxious to escape the intensity of Chance’s green eyes, unnerved by the flutters in her belly. “I was able to travel by rail for much of the journey. The past week on the stage was a bit unsettling at times.”
“I can imagine. The stage line—” Skylar’s words broke off, her startled gaze looking past Cora. “Joshua, what’s in your mouth?”
Clutching his uncle’s big hand, he smiled a red toothy grin. “Canny.”
Skylar sighed before casting a disapproving glance at Chance. “You’re going to rot his teeth.”
Chance grinned as he ruffled the child’s white hair. “Baby teeth fall out anyhow, don’t they, cowboy?” He turned away, his nephew in tow. “I’ll bring the trunk in after I finish with the horses and wash up.”
“No more candy,” Skylar called after them.
“Fine.”
Skylar took Cora by the arm. “Let’s get out of this wind. You must be chilled to the bone.”
Cora stepped into a great room lined with honey-colored polished pine from the floor to the high ceiling. Instantly enveloped by heat, it felt like walking into pure sunshine. A fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace to her left. Across the room, a banister staircase led to an open second story. She was quite taken aback by the grandeur of it all, yet everything in the room spoke of simplicity.
Four oversize chairs covered in cowhide, a single rocking chair and a few wooden footstools were spaced around the fireplace and what appeared to be a sheepskin rug. To her left, in the immediate parlor area, a tapestry sofa and wing back chair complemented a bare coffee table.
“What a beautiful home.”
Skylar beamed. “Thank you. The kitchen is straight back.” She led her through the formal dining room. Oil lamps glowed from a circular chandelier above a long table already set with at least a dozen place settings. “I’m just finishing up with supper preparations.”
The scent of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen—another tidy room polished to a shine from floor to ceiling.
“Please, sit.” Skylar motioned to one of the six chairs.
“Thank you.” Cora set her bag beside the table and removed her pin and hat. Skylar eased onto a chair, folding her hands over her round stomach. Despite her smile, the woman appeared thoroughly exhausted.
“I hope you don’t think me too rude for asking but are you carrying twins?” Cora was fearful she already knew the answer.
“There’d better be two in there,” Skylar said, patting the rounded rise. “I wasn’t half this big at the end with Joshua.”
Cora forced a smile, knowing Chance and Tucker’s mother had died shortly after their birth.
“There’s coffee on the stove, and hot water if you’d prefer tea.”
“Tea sounds wonderful. Please, allow me to get it,” Cora said as Skylar began to rise. “I’ve been sitting for days on end and find I’m quite restless.”
The hiss of a pot boiling over drew their attention to the stove before she could retrieve a cup from the open cupboard. “I’ve got it,” she said, quickly grabbing a dishtowel and lifting the lid from the sputtering pot.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I ran a boardinghouse for four years in Massachusetts. You can’t imagine how I’ve missed my kitchen.” She missed it all, being in charge of her house, her girls, her life.
The back door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a clean version of Chance, yet there was something distinctly different about his presence, the ease in his expression, the smooth slide of his smile as he looked at Skylar.
Tucker.
He slammed the door and dropped to his knees in front of his wife. “How are my little kickers?” he asked, pressing his cheek to Skylar’s protruding belly. It was one of the sweetest displays of affection Cora had ever seen.
“Um, Tuck.” A pink hue rose into Skylar’s cheeks. “You have company.”
Tucker glanced over his shoulder. “Oh,” he said, and quickly stood. “I beg your pardon.”
Cora could only grin.
“This is Miss Tindale,” said Skylar. “Your stepsister.”
Tucker’s green eyes surged wide. “Cora Mae?”
“Hello, Tucker.”
He gave a shout. In an instant she was wrenched off her feet in a tight hug before he set her back down. “Look at you!” He took a step back, a grin pushing high into his cheeks as he shook his head. “My God. All grown up.”
“Twenty years away will do that to a person.”
His laughter initiated her own. What a switch. Tears burned in her eyes as joy swept through her. This was the reception she’d hoped for.
“Well, let’s have it,” he said. “What are you doing here? How did you get out here?”
“By rail and stage,” she said, batting away her tears. “I’d heard about some fine horses coming from the Morgan Ranch in Wyoming Territory, and I had to see for myself.”
His grin widened. “I’ll be damned. Who brought you out?”
“Chance. I ran into him while leaving the Slippery Gulch depot.”
Tucker’s smile fell. His gaze paused on her dirty dress as his brow knitted in a look of concern. “How’d that go?”
“He didn’t throw me in the dirt, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She smiled at the blatant relief on Tucker’s face. “But he didn’t seem pleased to see me, either.”
“Thoughts of your mama can sure put ice up the spine.”
“Yes, I know. And I’m sorry. You may recall she was no fonder of me, her own flesh and blood.”
“I do recall.”
“She’s passed on, and I’ve been on my own for quite some time now. I wanted to see the brothers I’d missed so dearly. I promise not to wear out my welcome.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Cora Mae. With the babies due any day, some extra help around here would be really appreciated. Right, honey?”
“I won’t complain,” Skylar said, her hands folded over her belly as she watched them with a wide smile. “I usually have help from our foreman’s wife, Margarete, but since Zeke’s been hurt she’s had her hands full. Tucker, why don’t you help Cora get settled in a room upstairs so she can freshen up before supper?”
“Be happy to.” His arm closed around her shoulders and Cora was overcome by a sense of relief.
She’d made it.
The moon was well up in the night sky by the time Chance put out the lamps in the barn and headed to the house. He’d opted to clean up in the bunkhouse while the others had their supper. After the long ride to the ranch and fighting an attraction he had no business feeling, he wasn’t up to sitting across the table from Cora Mae.
He tugged up the collar of his jacket as a cold wind swirled around him on his way to the back porch. Cursing the misfortune of his day, he tugged off his boots and left them on the step before slipping inside.
Tucker glanced up from the small kitchen table. One of their account books lay open beneath the lamplight. “Wondered when you’d show up.”
“What are you doing to my ledgers?” The last time Tuck had offered to help with the books it had taken Chance a week to get everything back in proper order.
“Just checking our numbers, making sure we’re on schedule for filling our contracts.”
His brother’s frown wasn’t reassuring. “How’s it look?”
“Tight. All the trouble with the Lazy J is costing us time. We’ll be lucky to bring in our band of wilds and have them broke in time for the first drive. The number of mavericks increases every time our fencing goes down, some of our best horses. We don’t have time to chase them to hell and back before the first drive to the stockyards.”
Chance gave a nod of agreement. “We’ll start rounding up the mustangs tomorrow and get a solid count. If need be, we’ll pay a visit to the Lazy J, see if they’re being neighborly again by rounding up our strays.”
Tucker’s lips tipped in a wry grin. “More likely they’ve driven them out to the badlands just for spite. Where’ve you been all evening?”
“Catching up on chores.”
Tucker’s smile widened. “And here I thought you were avoiding Cora Mae.”
Chance thought the reason they’d settled at the back end of nowhere was so they wouldn’t have to avoid anyone, but decided to leave that unsaid as he opened the breadbox on the counter. He found half a loaf of Skylar’s bread and took it to the table.
“She mentioned you weren’t too happy to see her,” Tucker added, closing the ledger as Chance sat across from him.
He shrugged and bit into the bread. “I brought her out here, didn’t I?”
“All in one piece. I am impressed.”
“I was polite.”
“Must be why she frowns at the mention of your name.”
He tore off another bite of bread, annoyed by the notion that he’d somehow behaved inappropriately. “Have you forgotten who we’re talking about? Winifred’s daughter shows up unannounced and I’m supposed to just welcome her with open arms?”
“There was a time when you’d have crossed two enemy lines to do just that.”
“That was a lifetime ago. A lifetime she’s spent under the influence of a witch. What’s more, I think she’s lying about Winifred.”
“You have a suspicious mind, Chance.”
He grunted. “I’m blessed that way.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Why do most women lie? To get something. What do you want to bet Winifred’s finally squandered all she stole from our family and is looking for a new source of pay dirt?”
Tucker shook his head. “Cora’s nothing like her mama, and you know it.”
“You could tell that in one evening?”
“I could tell that when I met her at age seven. She’s already proven to be helpful in the kitchen, and Skylar happens to think she’s a pure delight.”
“I’m glad it’s all worked out, then.”
Tucker stared at him for a moment before releasing a sigh and looking away, obviously not seeing the sincere joy he’d hoped to find on Chance’s face.
How the hell was he supposed to react to Cora Mae turning up in Slippery Gulch?
“How’d it go down at the miners’ camp?”
“Just dandy. I gave Wyatt his colt and told him I’d be sending a bill for it and any others that died because of his ignorance.”
“Why am I thinkin’ there’s more to that account than what you’re telling?”
Chance shrugged and ate the last of the bread. “Might have tossed in a punch before giving him Starlet. No less than he deserved.”
“I sure wish you’d told me before you lit off into that valley.”
Chance wished he had, too. Then Tuck could have endured Cora Mae’s bright smiles and excited jiggles. The memory of how quickly he’d squelched that excitement tugged at his conscience.
Noticing some breadcrumbs on the table, he brushed them into his hand.
“Wyatt could have had others with him.”
“I had the kid along.” Chance stood and emptied his palm into the sink basin. “We took care of it.”
“Did Wyatt admit to damming the river?”
“He didn’t have to.” Chance leaned back against the countertop. “We knew it was him.”
“What makes you so certain he wasn’t following orders?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He works for Widow Jameson.”
“Wyatt’s the one who controls her crew. What cause would Salina have to dam the river? She told me she didn’t have a problem with our use of wire fencing.”
“Yeah, but what a woman says and how a woman feels are two different things. Especially when you become personally involved with her.”
Chance groaned. “We’re not personally involved.”
His brother arched an eyebrow. “Not the way I heard it.”
“That was nearly two months back, and I didn’t do anything!” She had latched on to him in front of half their crew before he’d known what had hit him. For a tiny slip of a thing, she had the grip of a grizzly and the kiss of a skilled temptress.
“One kiss does not make us ‘personally involved.’”
“I can hardly ride out without finding her and her black buggy pulled up right beside you.”
“She won’t leave me alone,” he argued, frustrated and downright peeved by the amount of gossip she’d created. “I have more sense than to sow my wild oats in my own backyard.” Since they’d put down stakes, his oats hadn’t been getting sown at all! An inconvenience he hadn’t foreseen before settling in this valley. It was one thing to spend a few hours with a willing woman when he was just passing through—quite another to bed a woman close enough to start conjuring expectations.
“We were having trouble with the crew from the Lazy J long before Salina mauled me—that’s why we took to using the wire.”
“Nothing like the trouble we’ve been having in the past two months. Zeke took some heavy hits by whoever jumped him out on the north pasture last week. I wasn’t sure he was gonna make it. If he hadn’t—”
“There’d have been a hanging,” Chance finished for him. He would have been the first one on the Lazy J. If Skylar and Zeke’s wife hadn’t barred the stable holding shotguns, he and a few others would have ridden to the Lazy J and beat the identity of the coward who’d attacked Zeke out of their whole crew of worthless cowpokes.
Damn women. Always interfering!
“The old man can still barely walk,” Tucker continued. “Our boys are getting sick of fixing cut wire and having to look over their shoulder the whole time. You sure Wyatt isn’t her latest bed warmer?”
“How the hell should I know? So what if he is? I’ve never proclaimed an interest in Salina. I don’t know why she’s suddenly stuck on me!”
“Clearly you’re the victor,” Tuck said in a droll tone.
“Well I forfeit!”
“Good luck with that. In the meantime, her crew’s creating a powerful hostility among the men. We’re a stone’s throw away from an all-out range war.”
“Why do you think I rode down into that valley?”
“I just hope you targeted the right source.” Tuck picked up the ledger and stood.
“Are you saying I should have ridden to the Lazy J and punched out Salina?”
Tuck chuckled and turned away. “I’m going to bed. We can talk more tomorrow. By the way, I put Cora Mae two doors down from you.”
Chance beat him to the doorway and blocked his path. “Why is she on my side of the house?”
“Why do you think? Skylar could go into labor any day now. Our only spare room is between Josh and the nursery. Garret has the only room down here. You better be nice to her,” Tuck said, wagging a finger at him. “It won’t kill you to show a little politeness.”
“I don’t trust her.”
Tucker’s laughter tightened the anger twisting inside him. “You don’t trust anyone. I’m not asking you to like her. Just be nice.” Tucker moved past him, heading for the stairs in the front room.
Chance glanced at the stairwell at the end of the kitchen leading to his section of the house. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was in Wyoming. Grumbling to himself, he put out the lamp and climbed the stairs. His footsteps slowed as he reached the light spilling out from beneath her door.
He remembered a time when they’d snuck into each other’s rooms on a regular basis and would talk for hours or climb out of the window for a late-night venture to the river. They’d also been caught on occasion and, though Cora Mae hadn’t gotten off unscathed, it was him and Tuck who’d lost strips off their hide.
Rage tightened over Chance’s body as old hatred welled up inside him. He couldn’t separate the good memories from the bad, and preferred not to think about the past at all.
Be nice.
He walked into his room thinking he was well beyond the age when niceness got him anywhere. He was tired of tripping over marriage-minded women and sick to death of being celibate! Unless a woman was interested in getting naked and getting lost, she could get the hell out of his way.
Did he go around shouting such things? No! He was polite, damn it! And hadn’t it been his idea to knock on Cora Mae’s window and invite her along that first time. Tucker had griped for days about a girl tagging along with them. Who was Tucker to tell him to be nice?
He found the matches on his night table and lit the lamp, spilling light across his room and the wooden box beside the glass kerosene globe. Slumping onto his bed, he flipped the lid up and took a small leather pouch from the clutter of coins, cuff links and pocket watches. Dipping his fingers inside, he pulled out the thin silken fabric.
Faded by time, the only color left in the frayed thing were smudges of dirt and dried blood. Just a stupid ribbon…that had brought him the slightest comfort in times when he’d desperately needed to believe there was more than pain and violence in this world. He’d think of Cora Mae, her smiles, her sweetness, her resilience.
He wasn’t sure why he still kept it. It had been too many years since they’d been informed that Winifred had sold their birthright and taken her daughter to Delaware to live in luxury at Tindale Manor.
He glanced at the lamp’s flame, so tempted to lower the ribbon into the bright light and be done with it.
What the hell good will it do now?
She was here, her big dark eyes full of sadness and shadows, tying him up in knots, just as they always had.
And he was supposed to be nice?
Chapter Three
If a woman wanted something done right, she had to do it herself!
Salina Jameson snapped the reins, picking up speed as the Morgan house came into view. Her buggy wasn’t moving nearly fast enough. She knew it was close to suppertime, and their household was likely busy. Didn’t matter.
She wasn’t about to risk her claim on the man she’d been trying to seduce into her bed for the past year. Elusive devil he may be, but Chance Morgan was hers. The sooner he realized marrying her would end his troubles with the Lazy J, the sooner everything would work out best for all of them.
She’d listened to Wyatt’s account of Chance’s retaliation as he’d moaned about his bruised ribs for over an hour, all before he’d casually mentioned the woman.
Pretty young woman, he’d called her. Miss Tindale, he’d called her.
Seething with rage, she snapped the reins again. How could Wyatt not see this woman’s arrival as a threat to their plans? Perhaps she was becoming too relaxed with him. She’d clearly have to set her affair with Wyatt aside for now. She had to keep her eyes on the real prize. Merging with the Morgan Ranch.
The highwaymen calling themselves a cattle association were robbing her blind. By joining with the Morgans she would more than meet the land requirements to avoid their penalties. She’d save her ranch from ruin and gain a man worth having in a marriage bed. The mere thought sent a surge of arousal through her body as she guided her buggy into the yard. She paid no notice to the men stopping to glance at her from various corrals. She only wanted one man in her bed, for now.
As she reined in near the house, Skylar’s younger brother rode toward her. Not too young, she thought, admiring the strong build of the young man as he reined in beside her. A sixteen-year-old was fine for passing some time, but not what was required in a husband. She needed a man who could intimidate those overlording cattlemen. There wasn’t a man who didn’t step aside when the Morgan brothers moved through the railhead stockyard.
She needed Chance Morgan.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Jameson,” Garret said, the spark in his eyes and kick of his smile assuring her she’d chosen the right gown. Black didn’t have to be basic.
“Mr. Daines,” she said, giving him a coy smile. “Is your sister home?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d take you in, but Tuck’s waiting on me. Skylar will answer the door.” His horse sidestepped away. “Good day to you.”
Not so far. She set the brake, stepped down from her buggy and strolled toward the two-story ranch house.
Quite grand, she thought, crossing the wide porch to the double polished-oak doors. Surely Chance would want his own home, away from his brother’s family? Her home wasn’t nearly as large, but it was quaint and she was settled. She rapped her knuckles three times against the wood. Tugging off her gloves, she decided she was very anxious for a visit with her future sister-in-law, and her guest.
The door opened and her gaze locked on an impossibly large belly.
“Salina. What a surprise.”
The poor dear! “Hello, Skylar. Aren’t you…”
“Huge,” Skylar supplied, patting her round stomach.
She couldn’t argue. She’d never seen a woman so heavy with child.
“Twins,” Skylar said.
Salina had always counted her inability to produce a child as a blessing—and was now twice as thankful.
“What can I do for you, Salina?”
“I heard there was another woman in the area, and I thought I’d pay a social call.”
Her neighbor stared down at her in clear surprise.
Salina couldn’t deny that she’d never been one to pay social calls in the past, at least not to women. But that was before they’d brought in a rival.
“We’re in the midst of preparing supper.”
“Oh, thank you, but I can’t stay to eat.” She stepped between the small gap of the door frame and Skylar’s belly and slipped into the house. “I just wanted to say hello and give a proper greeting.” She glanced around the large yet frightfully simple home. The bare tables and clunky furniture reminded her of a bunkhouse. The woman of the house clearly had no sense of fashion or style.
Movement beyond the dining hall caught her attention. A rather plain woman with reddish hair walked toward them, wiping her hands on a white apron tied at her waist.
This is my competition? Wyatt hadn’t mentioned the splash of freckles on the woman’s face or her sturdy build. Pleasantly plump, thought Salina. The woman’s drab gray smock and black dress were similar to that of Salina’s housekeeper’s.
“You must be Miss Tindale.” She hoped.
“Yes.”
Salina glanced back at Skylar and awaited her introduction.
“Cora, this is our neighbor, Mrs. Salina Jameson, owner of the Lazy J ranch, just beyond the east end of our valley.”
Salina flashed her best smile. “Charmed.”
“Likewise,” Cora replied.
“Cora is such a lovely name.”
“Thank you. My condolences on your loss,” she said, glancing at her diamond wedding ring.
“It was a shame,” she said, releasing a mournful sigh. Catching his wife at the peak of passion with a ranch hand had been too much for her late husband’s elderly heart. Had she realized such a scene would divest her of him so efficiently, she wouldn’t have waited four years before seducing Wyatt in the parlor.
“Shall we sit?” Salina asked, making her way toward the furniture.
Cora glanced at Skylar’s perplexed expression as Salina Jameson made herself at home. The young widow flounced onto one of the chairs. Light chiffon ruffles fluttered around her, the black mass emphasizing her tiny waist. The dress could hardly be referred to as widow’s weeds, the stiff bodice barely covered the ivory mounds being pressed toward the woman’s dainty chin. A black bonnet secured a bundle of cascading brown curls.
Cora followed Skylar to the adjacent sofa and offered her arm for support as Skylar leaned back. She felt a twinge of caution as she seated herself across from the woman watching her with calculating brown eyes. Salina sat on the edge of her chair, her hands folded in her lap, her posture impeccably straight, as though she might spring up at any moment.
“So,” Salina said, her voice dripping with sweetness, “how do you know the Morgans?”
“My mother was married to their father for a short time during our childhood.”
“Oh, so you’re related?”
“No blood relation, of course. Two years after our parents wed, their father perished in the war. Chance and Tucker have stayed dear to my heart.”
“And now you’ve come to Wyoming to settle close to your brothers—how lovely. I think you’ll find your chances of finding a husband greatly improved. Men around these parts aren’t so choosy.”
Cora looked into Salina’s perfect smiling face and felt as though she were back in her mother’s house. Skylar leaned forward in a rush, clearly picking up on the barb, but Cora knew this game all too well. “How reassuring,” she said, patting Skylar’s arm as she returned Salina’s fake smile.
“Indeed. And don’t feel as if you have to settle. I feel quite fortunate to be courted by Chance.”
“Courted?” Skylar repeated. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Yes, well. Chance is not much of a talker. Lately I’ve not seen as much of him as I would like.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Cora said, certain this announcement was for her benefit. “I was just telling Skylar today that I’d never had a sister. The prospect of having two is thrilling.”
“I’ll anticipate seeing more of you, then,” said Skylar. “Seems a shame that in the three years we’ve been neighbors, this is your first formal visit.”
“Truly,” Salina said, beaming. “I would love nothing more.”
A side glance from Skylar told Cora she had her doubts.
Boot steps pounded against the porch just before the front door burst open. Tucker stormed in as though he intended to foil a robbery. Chance walked in behind him. Both men stopped short as their gazes collided with Salina.
“Salina,” said Tucker. “Is everything okay on your ranch?”
Her gaze moved a bit frantically between the two, as though trying to distinguish one brother from the other, which Cora found rather amusing. “Yes. Thank you.”
The seething chill in Chance’s eyes must have given him away. “Hello, Chance.”
“Evening.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. It appeared she wasn’t the only one subjected to Chance’s less-than-welcoming reactions. For a reason she couldn’t explain, her spirits lifted.
Salina sprang up in a flutter of black chiffon. “I really must be going. Skylar, Cora, it has been lovely.” She stepped between the two brothers and slid her arm beneath Chance’s. “Chance,” she said, not seeming to notice the narrowed eyes that had never left her. “See me out, won’t you?” Chance stared down at Salina’s smiling face, then glanced at her arm hooked around his.
What the hell’s going on?
He didn’t wait to find out in front of his family. He turned and guided Salina toward the front door as quickly as he could.
The moment Garret had told him Widow Jameson was at the house, he and Tucker had hightailed it home. If Tucker was right and he had roughed up Salina’s current lover, he didn’t want his sister-in-law bearing the brunt of her anger. Judging by the eerie pleasantries he’d just witnessed, that didn’t seem to be the case.
Salina nestled against his side as he led her onto the porch and closed the door behind them.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, tightening her hold on his arm.
“Lately, I seem to be blessed that way.” Being missed by women was becoming a true hazard.
Once in the yard, he slipped his arm from her grasp.
“Chance,” she said, puckering her lower lip. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.”
“Well…” He rubbed a hand against the tension in the back of his neck. “I suppose that all depends. Did Wyatt give you my message?”
“Are you referring to the news of your guest, Miss Tindale?” she asked, batting her thick eyelashes.
“I’m referring to Wyatt blocking one of our rivers. I lost one of my best colts yesterday as a result.”
“My gracious. That is truly terrible. I had no idea our pond construction would have such a diverse effect on your land.”
“Pond construction?”
“Yes.”
“Nearly eight miles from your house?”
“Yes.” Her eyes fluttered as she flashed a smile.
“And you didn’t realize diverting water from my land would turn the riverbed into a mud bog?”
“Why, I suppose I just didn’t think it through. I must admit, having you to help oversee such business decisions would clear up this kind of confusion.”
The woman was talking in riddles. “Oversee your business decisions?”
“After you put a ring on my finger, of course.”
He’d definitely missed a big part of this conversation. “A ring?”
She batted those long lashes. “Well, I’ve tried being subtle.”
“Salina, you’re about as subtle as a thunderstorm.”
She beamed a smile. “Then you must have realized that I fancy you.”
The way he heard it, she’d fancied quite a few men even before she’d been widowed, but he wasn’t one for repeating gossip. It wasn’t his business and she wasn’t the first to marry for material comfort.
“You see, I’ve decided it’s time to start thinking about the future, and I want that future to include you.”
“Why?” The question shot from his mouth as if by its own accord, surprising him—and Salina.
“Well…” she said, seeming to search for an answer. “You’re the first real gentleman I’ve come across in a long while.”
“You’d be the first to label me as such,” he said, amused by the title. Just because he hadn’t tossed her to the grass and taken what she’d repeatedly offered didn’t mean he was a gentleman. He’d been tempted. He enjoyed a roll in the hay as much as the next man, but not at the risk of gaining a wife he hadn’t sought. For now, reason outweighed his lust.
“Surely you can see the advantages of seeking my hand,” she persisted. “You’d gain my land and the profit of my stock.”
“That’s a hell of a proposal, Salina.”
Anger firmed her delicate features. “I wasn’t proposing! I was merely suggesting the good that could come from merging our land.”
“Only, I don’t have the need for a cattle outfit. My business is horses. The cattle we range are for training and our own consumption. The ones your men don’t steal, that is.”
“By merging our ranches, there’d be nothing to steal.”
Now he was getting somewhere. “So you admit your awareness of the problem?”
“You’re straying from the topic of conversation.”
“Which is?”
“Marriage.”
This just wasn’t his week. “Then let me be blunt. I don’t want a wife. And we’re getting real tired of dealing with the thieves and thugs you call a cattle crew.”
She sashayed toward him in a way meant to gain a man’s attention. “I think I can change your mind,” she said, placing her hands against his chest, slowly sliding them up to his shoulders. He wasn’t immune to her touch. He’d gone too long without the physical gratification of a woman. “Perhaps you’re not comprehending the finer points of marriage?”
He comprehended just fine.
He let his hands fall against her tiny waist, noting she smelled of rose petals. Not one of his favorite scents, he decided.
“Salina,” he said, leaning his head toward hers.
“Yes?”
“If your men don’t learn to behave themselves, someone’s gonna get killed.”
She shoved him with a huff and planted her fists on her narrow hips. “You’re a difficult man, Chance Morgan.”
“I’m a businessman, Salina. And you are an independent, business-minded woman.”
She beamed as though he’d given her a compliment. “Exactly. We’re well suited.”
She certainly matched him in persistence. “Perhaps,” he conceded. He glanced past her toward the darkening sky. His men had already headed around back to clean up for supper. “It’s getting late.”
Her lips puckered in a pretty pout. “Will you think about what I said?”
Being hog-tied into marriage? He’d more than think about it—he’d surely have nightmares. But that wasn’t the answer that would get her off his land.
“I will,” he said, forcing a slight smile.
Her face lit up like the electric lights he’d seen down in Cheyenne. She stepped up into her buggy, seeming quite pleased. “Very well. I do hope you’ll pay me a visit soon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You have a safe ride home.”
Chance watched her until she disappeared over the distant rise before he started toward the house.
Holy hell. Stolen stock was one thing. Being railroaded into marriage sounded like a punishment worse than death.
Inside the house a rumble of voices echoed across the high ceiling of the dining room. A succulent aroma filled the air, something he’d missed his first time through the door. His mind hadn’t gotten past the fact that Salina had been sitting in his living room. Hunger replaced the cold ache in his belly as he walked to the dining room.
He found everyone seated at the long table. Tucker at the far end with Skylar to his right, his son between them in his high chair already chewing on a crust of bread. Garret and the eight ranch hands filled in the sides of the long table. Their supper steamed from large bowls spaced across the polished surface.
Chance pulled out the chair on his end and glanced again at his crew of horse wranglers sitting at attention, every one of them so spruced up he had to wonder if it was Sunday. Seemed every man had found time to slick his hair back, or at least dunk his head in a trough.
“We invite the old preacher over for supper?” he asked as he sat down.
Tucker laughed. “I don’t recall John ever getting this kind of reception.”
Cora Mae. He’d been so preoccupied by Salina, he hadn’t noticed her absence.
“Can’t blame a man for wanting to spiff up a bit before sitting down to supper,” Duce said, sitting two chairs away from Chance on his right, his shaggy, sun-dried orange hair now slicked back against his scalp.
“Spiffed up?” Mitch said from beside him. “Looks like you dumped a pint of grease on your head.” The sharp edges of Mitch’s thick brown mustache were clearly defined against smooth tawny skin. Seemed his horse trainer had found time to shave before supper.
“You and Salina have a nice chat?” asked Tucker.
“No.” Chance glanced at the empty chair on the right. “Where’s Cora Mae?”
“Finishing up with the ham,” said Skylar.
“All done,” Cora Mae called from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway holding a platter laden with sliced ham.
The sudden tension in Chance’s chest told him he’d missed more than the scent of food the first time he’d entered the house. With only a swath of her hair pinned up on each side, her auburn mane flowed across her shoulders and stood out against a dark-gray pinafore. He tried to convince himself she couldn’t have gotten prettier in the day he’d been away from her.
There wasn’t anything fancy about her drab dress, but her plain attire only drew attention to the shapely woman beneath. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the subtle sway of her hips.
Sweet mercy.
She stepped up to the empty spot beside him and leaned over to place the platter on the white tablecloth. The red, gold and copper of her hair glimmered against the lamplight from above. What had once been carrot-orange hair had become a burst of fall colors. He didn’t dare allow his gaze to drift below those lovely locks to all the curvy changes he’d rather not notice.
“Allow me, Miss Cora,” Garret said, jumping up to shift the chair that was already directly behind her.
“Thank you, Garret.”
The doe-eyed kid beamed as he retook his seat. The flush in Cora Mae’s cheeks stole Chance’s attention. She looked his way, her lips tipping with a nervous smile before she averted her gaze. Even her long lashes had an amber tinge against her pale skin.
Peaches and cream, he thought noting the light dusting of freckles across her small nose.
She’s Cora Mae, he curtly reminded himself, disturbed by the sudden stir of his body. The reminder didn’t do a damn thing to dampen the hard rush of attraction.
Just because she doesn’t look a thing like her mama doesn’t mean she hasn’t been soured by her. He’d be a fool to believe she was still all sunshine and sweetness.
“Chance?”
He blinked and realized Cora Mae was holding up the platter of ham. Apparently he’d missed his brother saying grace.
“I swear I didn’t poison it.”
“You cooked supper?” he asked, taking the platter.
Her lips thinned in clear annoyance. “You needn’t sound so shocked. I’m used to feeding thirty girls three times a day, as well as tending to the laundry and other household needs.”
In truth, he was shocked. The idea of a Tindale woman actually working hadn’t yet registered in his mind. “I’m surprised Skylar gave up control of her kitchen,” he said as he forked a few slabs of ham onto his plate and passed it on.
“If you’d joined us for breakfast or dinner,” said Skylar, “you’d know I haven’t cooked a lick since Cora arrived.”
Chance glanced from Cora Mae to the spread currently working its way around the table. I’ll be damned.
“I’m glad to help out,” she said. “After a month of travel, I’ve missed cooking.”
“Running a boardinghouse with so many girls must have kept you busy,” said Tucker.
“It did. Having worked in the mill for a few years, I understood how much an organized household could help with the strain of living on factory time. A twelve-hour workday is long enough without having to worry about walking home on a thirty-minute break only to discover supper wouldn’t be ready before you had to walk back to the mill. The time clock didn’t care if you’d eaten or slept on filthy sheets or had clean clothes in your wardrobe. But I cared. I made sure my girls were taken care of.”
“Sounds like you enjoyed your job,” Chance said, taking a bowl of fresh greens from her.
She smiled. Sheer pride lit her eyes. “I loved it.”
The sincerity in her voice intrigued him. “So, why’d you leave?”
“Well…” Her smile collapsed, taking the spark from her eyes. “I guess…I was ready for some change.”
“We’re sure glad you’re here,” said Garret.
“We certainly are,” Skylar put in. “I’m grateful for all your help. If these babies don’t make an appearance soon, I may become permanently lazy.”
Suddenly overwhelmed by a staggering sense of loss, Cora couldn’t muster a smile. She lowered her gaze to her plate as her mind flooded with the image of Mr. Grissom’s cold expression and callous gaze. Standing on the front porch of the boardinghouse, her mother’s mercenary had announced his intention to take her home. It hadn’t been a request. She’d been packed up and carted off—no explanation, no time to give notice or goodbyes. And for what?
To be starved into satin bonds and handed to a drunken laird as though she were nothing more than a bargaining chip in her mother’s reserves.
Anger twisted through her at the memory of a closet full of beautiful gowns, all fashioned for a woman a third her size. A welcome home gift, her mother had called them. A gift laced with the usual ridicule and insult. A reminder of why she’d been sent away, considered unworthy of a place in society. Lord knew all her cousins fit perfectly into the Tindale debutant mold.
“Miss Cora?”
Garret smiled brightly and passed her a basket of bread. She took it but realized she’d lost her appetite as swiftly as she’d lost control of her life. She passed the bread on, telling herself she didn’t need the hassle of letting out her dress seams, but it was her mother’s voice she heard.
What have you done to yourself, Cora Mae? Honestly, Cora Mae, it’s no wonder you are nearly thirty and unwed.
She hated the sound of her full name, knowing insults never trailed far behind it. Not that changing her name had done anything to improve her appearance.
Salina Jameson’s sweetly spoken remarks resurfaced, this time grating over sensitive wounds.
What does it matter? She’d rather die a spinster than find herself at the mercy of another man.
Chance took the basket being offered to him and wondered if anyone else had noticed her hesitation to answer his question or the sadness still darkening her eyes as she stared blindly at her plate.
“You won’t have time to be lazy when those girls get here,” Garret was saying to Skylar.
“Why do you keep calling them girls?” demanded Tucker.
Garret shrugged while swallowing a bite of food. “Margarete is predicting girls. She said Josh’d be a boy. And he was.”
“How’s Zeke?” Chance asked, determined to get his focus off Cora Mae. The mention of their foreman’s wife reminded him he’d forgotten to stop and check on him.
“Better,” said Skylar. “Cora and I took them some supper. Margarete has her hands full enough trying to keep Zeke in bed and off a horse.”
Well into his sixties, Zeke was as tough as they came. The beating he’d endured would have taken the starch out of any man.
“It was good to see him sitting on his porch this morning,” said Duce.
“He’s still favoring his left leg,” Garret added.
Duce shook his head and jabbed his fork into a piece of ham. “Not one of those cowards on the Lazy J poked a head out while we tore down that dam.”
Not surprising. Serving himself a helping of potatoes, Chance caught a glimpse of Cora Mae’s plate. The circle of porcelain was dabbed with hardly enough food to fill a sparrow. He glanced again at her downcast gaze and pale complexion.
“Are you not feeling well?” he asked in a hushed voice, leaning toward her, not wanting to draw attention from the others.
She looked up in surprise. “I feel fine,” she whispered back.
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
Her eyes widened. Red splotched her cheeks. “I am.”
Chance glanced again at the spot of green and sliver of ham. “Cora Mae, you don’t have to starve yourself to be polite. A body can’t survive on a few bites of food.”
“Mine can,” she said, her voice barely audible.
The sad bow of her mouth sent a lash of anger through him. Every dip and curve of her sweetly shaped body was enough to drive him to distraction. He heaped a spoonful of potatoes onto her plate. “Bullshit,” he said, knowing her mother had likely planted such thoughts in her mind. “A few more pounds won’t make you any less attractive.”
A sudden silence fell over the dining room and Chance realized he hadn’t kept his voice as low as he should have.
“What?” He shoved the bowl into Mitch’s hands, annoyed by the shock on everyone’s faces and the wave of heat rising up from his collar. “Am I out of line for stating the truth?”
“You’d have to be blind not to notice,” Garret piped in.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Mitch. “Are you spoken for?”
Chance stopped short of taking a bite of greens. Cora Mae visibly stiffened.
“You’re bound to have suitors,” said Tucker. “Single women don’t last long around these parts. If you’ve a mind to marry—”
“Certainly not,” Cora Mae answered with a speed and sternness that put instant frowns on the men, and nearly had Chance smiling.
“I have no interest in marriage,” she said, “so there’s no provocation for suitors. Or courtship. Of any sort,” she added, hammering a final nail into the courtship coffin.
That settled that.
“Do you have reason to leave soon?” asked Skylar.
“Well…no. But I don’t intend to wear out my welcome.”
“So,” said Duce, “if you was to take a shine—”
“I won’t marry.”
Chance admired the firmness in her tone, and had to refrain from kicking his temporary foreman.
“I don’t intend any insult,” she said, clearly noting the glum expressions around the table, “I just…”
“She’s not interested,” Chance interjected. “And we won’t tolerate any pestering.” His gaze pinned every man at the table. “Duce, did you finish bringing in the mustangs on the north side?”
“Not by half. We spent our morning tearing down the last of the Lazy J dam.”
The rest of the conversation was a hum in Cora’s ears as Chance’s protective words played over in her mind. He’d been her strength for so long. Even as children, he’d taken the sting out of her mother’s endless insults.
Your mama’s stupid. I like your orange hair.
She stole another glance at him. Perhaps he hadn’t changed so much. The blond hair reaching his collar and flipping up around his ears was darker than she remembered, his strong masculine features far more handsome than she could have imagined. Could the Chance she’d known as a child be buried somewhere beneath that rugged exterior?
His gaze caught hers. Flutters erupted low in her belly.
His brow furrowed as he looked away. Anger darkened his eyes. “Salina said what?”
Cora glanced at the shocked expressions around the table and realized there’d been a drastic shift in the conversation.
“That you’re courting her,” said Skylar. “Her words. And she was rude to Cora while making her announcement.”
Chance’s questioning gaze whipped toward her.
“It was nothing,” Cora quickly put in. “She was obviously staking her claim on you, which is none of my business or my concern.”
“Bu-shit!” Joshua slapped the tray of his high chair, capturing everyone’s attention. He shoved a soggy crust of bread back into his mouth and continued to babble incoherently.
Skylar glared across the table at Chance.
“Thanks a lot, partner,” he said to his nephew. “Mumble everything but the swear word.”
“Much like his uncle,” said Skylar.
Cora laughed into her napkin.
“You know,” said Mitch, “courting Widow Jameson ain’t a bad idea. You take over the Lazy J and maybe we can actually get some work done around here instead of just repairing the fencing.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with Mad Mag,” said Duce, initiating a roar of laughter.
Cora leaned close to Garret. “Who’s Mad Mag?”
His hazel eye winked at her. “Crazy trapper woman who lives up on the mountain.”
Chance’s chair scuffed across the floor as he shoved away from the table. “Excuse me,” he said, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Cora couldn’t blame him. The thought of suffering through a forced marriage turned her stomach as well. At least Chance was aware of his situation and had his brute strength to fight off such unwanted advances.
She’d had neither the warning nor the strength.
Chapter Four
The floors swept, the chopping block oiled and every other surface polished to a shine, Cora had run out of reasons to avoid heading upstairs. Skylar had bidden her good night some time ago. Tucker and Garret had also retired for the night. She set the dishcloth beside a sparkling sink basin and started toward the darkened stairwell.
Sheer exhaustion had afforded her some sleep last night. She doubted she’d be so fortunate tonight. A sense of dread washed through her as she climbed the stairs. Since the night she’d left her mother’s house, she couldn’t lie in a bed without remembering the foul scent of bourbon hot on her face, waking to darkness and a great weight upon her.
We won’t tolerate any pestering.
The steel in Chance’s voice rang clear in her mind, easing the fear gripping her throat like a vice. She was glad to find the oil lamp already burning in her room, the warm glow spilling into the hall, as well as an odd scent. She stopped in the doorway, surprised by the large bouquet of bright flowers on the bureau.
Garret.
She couldn’t fathom who else would have brought them up to her room. Shutting the door behind her, she approached the colorful cluster, unsure how to take the young man’s attention. She leaned close to the tiny flowers in yellow, white, lavender and pink and breathed in their rather earthy, medicinal scent. A smile eased her tense expression.
No one had ever given her flowers. Garret had been nothing but sweet to her and couldn’t be faulted for picking pretty weeds. They did brighten the room. She lifted the wildflowers from the water-filled jar and folded them into her apron. Once dried, they’d be a lovely decoration.
She knelt before her trunk at the foot of her bed, pushed it open and began sifting through her pride and joy—bundles of yarn and balls of thread in every color. When she’d fled, she’d simply shoved some dresses into her sewing trunk before lowering it out of the window. Her sole possession had given her the greatest comfort during her journey west, and had been her only escape during the month of imprisonment with her mother. Why couldn’t Winifred have just left her alone?
She often wondered if her mother would have treated her differently had she not inherited her father’s hair color and, presumably, his sturdy build. She’d never been given the name of her father, though she’d overheard enough whispers to surmise her existence was the result of her mother’s failed attempt to secure a titled Scotsman.
She took some solace in knowing her father had had enough sense to outrun her mother. Just as Cora had more sense than to marry some drunken laird simply on her mother’s say-so. She was finished being the martyr to her mother’s past. She only wished she’d run sooner. She’d been such a fool to believe, to hope, her mother could feel sincere affection toward anyone. Winifred had shunned the Morgan name the moment it had been of no more use to her, just as she’d dumped her own daughter off at the textile mill, until she’d found use for her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told herself, fighting the unwanted memories from her mind and the ache from her chest. She was here, making a new start. Wyoming could bring no worse a fate than her mother’s betrayal.
She moved aside balls of yarn and stacks of small white flowers she’d crocheted during her travels. Once on the train west, she’d been thankful she’d shoved an armload of dresses into her sewing trunk before lowering it from her bedroom window.
Finding the lavender yarn, she quickly bound the stems. She left a long piece at the end and carried the bundle to the window where the colorful bouquet could dry in the sun.
The rod holding gingham fabric over the window was too high to reach, even on tiptoe. She pushed her sewing chest against the wall, climbed atop the curved lid, pushed back the curtains and stretched to tie the yarn around the wooden dowel. Outside, beyond the grassy lawn, the barns stood out like children’s blocks against an onyx sky. A figure moved into the light of a single lantern at the end of a stable. He shut one of the wide doors.

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