by Stacey Kayne
“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 d
istant 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 her
e,” 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.”