Maverick Wild

“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.