Maverick Wild

by Stacey Kayne

  It wasn’t fair! She only wanted to have a life free of her mother’s cruelty, but still she haunted her.

  “Afternoon, Miss Tindale.”

  Cora jumped, her gaze snapping toward a grove of fruit trees beside the garden.

  Wyatt stepped forward. Sunlight separated his dark duster from the shaded grove. “How nice to see you again,” he said, pulling off his hat. The light breeze caught the ends of his curly black hair. “And on such a nice afternoon.”

  She wondered how he came to be standing beside the garden fence, appearing casual and relaxed. She couldn’t see any sign of a horse in the ripple of hills and trees stretching out behind him.

  “Mr. McNealy.” She glanced over her shoulder, searching for anyone standing about the yard. Wyatt’s slow grin suggested he already knew they were alone. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin.

  “You needn’t be alarmed.”

  After all she’d learned about him, stealing from her stepbrothers, attacking poor Zeke, her wariness of him was a warranted reaction. And if he hadn’t meant to alarm her, he wouldn’t have sneaked up on her while avoiding the attention of the ranch hands.

  “If you’re looking for Tucker or—”

  “I’d prefer not to leave here with my teeth in my hands, thank you. I figure you can relay my message.” He held up a small leather pouch. “Payment for the colt Chance delivered. Can’t have any ill will getting in between Chance and Salina, with her trying to snare him into courtship and all.”

  The very idea wedged in Cora’s mind like a bur.

  “Don’t suppose you have any objections to such a union?” he asked. “Do you have plans to claim a Morgan for yourself?”

  “Certainly not,” she said, startled by his question and realizing she had bristled up at the mention of Chance courting Salina. “Chance’s personal matters are none of my concern.”

  “Hmm.” Wyatt nodded, seeming to mull that over. “I suppose I should feel the same way. Can’t blame a cowboy for dreamin’.” The sadness in his smile added to the chill washing through Cora.

  “You have a nice afternoon, Miss Tindale.” He tossed the leather pouch into the air. Cora watched as it landed in her basket, sliding between a yellow squash and a head of cabbage. When she glanced back at the trees, Wyatt was gone. She took a cautious step back, wondering if he hid in the trees or in the grass like a snake.

  He was trying to frighten her, and it was working. She set the basket down and ran past the house, beyond the clothes flapping on the clothesline, toward the dust rising into the air beyond the bunkhouse and stables.

  A commotion of noise and voices grew louder as she neared the end of the long buildings. The men had been talking about busting broncs when they’d come in at noon, everyone except Chance, who must have taken to eating grain with the horses.

  “You’re up, Ike,” someone shouted over the clamor.

  “I’m not getting back on that hell-raiser!”

  Cora rounded the corner of a stable as a man strode toward a circular corral from a neighboring pen where other men were lassoing horses. A pair of fawn leather chaps hugged his narrow hips and flared wide across his legs with each of his long strides. Even from a side view, she knew it was Chance, the breadth of his shoulders, the power in his stride, the swirl of sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  “What do you mean back on him?” Chance’s voice rang clear above the others. “Do we gotta call the women out here to do your job? That stud should already be green broke.”

  “Come on, Chance,” Duce called out from inside the corral, the orange bushy hair beneath his hat making him easily recognizable. “Let’s see if you can sweet-talk this demon as good as Skylar.”

  Chance leaped onto the fence, swinging his legs up and over as his strong arms vaulted him to the other side in a single fluid motion. He jammed his hat down as he strode toward Duce and Garret, each holding the harness of a brown-and-white horse.

  Cora stepped up to the corral and peered between two others sitting atop the fence as Chance took the reins. Duce and Garret made a fast retreat.

  “Two dollars says he lands on his ass,” Garret called out from a high perch.

  Chance kept his eyes on the horse, not making any attempt to mount it. The low, silken murmur of his voice carried back on the wind. Cora had to wonder if the horse was as mesmerized as she, and as taken aback by Chance’s smooth and sudden shift into the saddle.

  The horse sidestepped, then lunged forward, dipping its head as the hind quarters bucked up, trying to send Chance into the air.

  Cora held her breath through two more sharp kicks.

  Chance shifted in the saddle and tightened his hold on the reins, talking softly all the while. The horse glanced back at its rider. Chance tugged at the reins, and the horse turned to the right then stopped.

  “Just takes focus and a little finesse,” Chance said, patting the horse’s dark mane.

  And a mountain of muscle, Cora noted, her gaze following the muscular bulge of his arms to the flex of powerful thighs beneath his chaps.

  Good gracious. Her own body felt quite tremulous.

  He steered the horse in a circle. Another flex of his thighs and a slow gait answered his lead.

  “See there?” The corner of Chance’s mouth kicked up in a slanted grin as he reined in the horse.

  She caught his gaze and was startled by a surge of sensation in the most peculiar places. His brilliant green eyes widened a fraction beneath the brim of his hat. Her breath burned in her lungs.

  The horse bucked again, breaking their gaze as Chance flew from the saddle. Cora gasped as he landed hard in the dirt. He instantly jumped to his feet and glared at the horse cantering away from him.

  Laughing, Garret jumped down from the fence and opened a gate. “The next bronc is mine. Come on, Boots! Bring him in.” A shaggy black dog darted into the ring and began chasing the horse toward the open gate.

  “Put him with the green brokes,” Chance shouted, using his hat to beat the dust from his pants and chaps.

  “But he bucked you off,” Garret protested.

  “Chance lost his focus.” Duce glanced over the fence and tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Cora.”

  Cora didn’t answer, her gaze locked on the man tromping toward her. Chance lunged up, bracing his hands wide on the fence separating them, and landed before her with the grace of a mountain cat. Tingles danced across her skin as he stepped closer, towering over her, crowding her space.

  Flustered by her body’s reaction, the ache in her breasts, she crossed her arms.

  “Do you need something?” he asked. “Some of us are trying to work here.”

  The impatience in his tone clipped at her nerves, reminding her she was nothing but a nuisance to him, a pest he’d like to pluck from his ranch and ship back to the East Coast.

  “Truly?” she managed to say in a mild tone. “All I saw was you sitting in the dirt.”

  Chance arched an eyebrow as low chuckles rumbled from the men gathering on the fence behind him.

  “I’m looking for Tucker,” she said, thinking she’d tell her concerns to someone who’d actually listen.

  “He’s with one of the brood mares, three barns over. Is everything okay with Skylar?”

  “She’s fine. Gentlemen,” Cora said to the three men now standing behind Chance.

  “Miss Cora,” they said, reaching for their hats as she turned away.

  “I’ll walk you over,” Garret offered, breaking away from the others.

  “Thought you were busting the next bronc,” Chance called after him.

  Garret grinned over his shoulder. “Duce can take it. I already earned two extra dollars today.”

  Chance leaned back against the fence, his gaze never leaving the gentle sway of Cora Mae’s hips. The purely feminine movement stoked the surge of heat that had hit his body a moment before he’d been thrown from the saddle. In the space of a breath, his body had answered the open desire reflected in her eyes.


  Be damned. He hadn’t imagined the sheer, hot hunger he’d seen in her gaze.

  What the hell is she playing at?

  “That sure is some woman,” Duce said from beside him.

  Chance’s grunt was neither a denial nor an agreement.

  “The kind of woman it takes to flourish out here.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “She don’t bend under your dark glares for one thing.”

  “I didn’t glare at her.”

  “Her pastries are sweet enough to make this cowpuncher weep,” Duce said, ignoring his protest. “And I ain’t never met a woman with flaming hair who didn’t have a temper to match. You know what they say about a woman with a temper, they’re real wild in the—”

  “I’ll remind you that you’re talkin’ about my stepsister,” Chance said, shifting his glare to Duce.

  “If I thought your stepsister had the slightest interest in me, she’d already have a ring on her finger.”

  “She doesn’t,” Chance felt inclined to remind him.

  “I’ve noticed. But I’ll bet my saddle I ain’t the only man who feels that way.”

  Chance scoffed. “The kid couldn’t be more obvious if he dropped to one knee and started spouting sonnets.”

  Duce laughed and turned back to the corral to get started with the next bronc. “I wasn’t referring to Garret.”

  Chance’s gaze slid toward the corrals, but every man had turned their attention back to their work. So why was he still standing about as though he had nothing better to do than waste his time thinking about a woman he didn’t want on his ranch, much less consuming his thoughts?

  The last bit of twilight touched the darkening sky as Chance reined in his horse in front of Zeke and Margarete’s house. He and Tucker had built the older couple’s home up the road from their place to afford them some privacy.

  Zeke sat on the front porch, his thinning gray hair bright as a porch light. Packing tobacco into his pipe, he reclined in his chair, his boots propped up on the porch railing. “Evenin’, boss.”

  Chance grinned at the title. “How you doin’, old man?”

  “Better every day.”

  Chance was glad to see the ripple of wrinkles around his eyes, where they should be, instead of swollen purple bruises. “How’s the hip?” he asked as he came up the steps.

  Zeke grinned. “I could probably dance a little jig. It’s the womenfolk who are keeping me housebound. I’m ready to get back out there and earn my keep before you toss me off this place.”

  “You ever hear of snowstorms in hell?” Chance said, smiling as he dropped onto the rickety wooden chair beside him. They both knew that day would never come. Zeke had been the first trail boss to give two half-starved fifteen-year-olds a shot at driving cattle and had taught him and Tuck all they knew about long drives. When they hadn’t been on the cattle trail, Zeke and his wife had taken them in, giving them the start they’d needed to find their own way. Chance would make sure Zeke and Margarete were looked after the same way for as long as they chose to stay.

  “I’ll be out there tomorrow,” Zeke said, clamping his pipe between his teeth, “even if my señora harps at me the whole way.”

  “Just in time. We could use another man to bust broncs.”

  “I will bust you,” Margarete said as she stepped through the open front door.

  Chance smiled up at her, recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw. The only thing Zeke would be mounting anytime soon would be a rocking chair.

  “Have you had supper?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Cora brought us too much. I will fix you a plate.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Margarete patted his shoulder and turned away, hurrying back into the house.

  “This is the third night in a row you’ve graced our porch,” said Zeke. “I’m starting to feel mighty special. Don’t suppose a certain little redhead is keeping you away from your own supper table?”

  Chance rocked his chair onto the back legs. “Maybe.”

  “I overheard something about the two of you having a scuffle.”

  “Wasn’t a scuffle. I tried to take a stand and got put in my place…which lately tends to be the barn.”

  Zeke chuckled as he lit a match. “Yeah, that’s about what I heard.” He puffed on his pipe, the circular glow lighting up his tawny skin in the growing darkness. “Dangerous business, agitating the henhouse,” he said, shaking out the match.

  “Henhouse, hell. That house is half mine.”

  Zeke blew out a puff of smoke and shook his head. “You must be forgetting that a man’s home is his castle, which we all know is ruled by the queen. You’ve got no queen, son. Do believe that gives Skylar full reign.”

  “I might as well move my clothes into the stables, then.”

  Zeke rubbed at his whiskered jaw. “Mind if I ask what the problem is?” he said softly. “Was my understanding that you and Tuck had both been fond of your stepsister. Cora cooks as good as my mama did and comes off as being mighty sweet.”

  “It’s been my experience that anything that sweet can be nothing but trouble.”

  “Or attract trouble,” Zeke said, his teeth clamping down on the end of his pipe as he eased back.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Wyatt McNealy stopping in to pay a call to Miss Cora.”

  The front legs of Chance’s chair hit the porch with a hard clunk. “Wyatt was on the ranch? When?”

  “Round three o’clock. I spotted him there beside the garden,” he said, pointing toward the ranch house, “talking to Miss Cora.”

  “What call would he have to be talking to Cora?”

  “Can’t say. Whatever it was seemed to spook her. I was on my way out the door when he stepped back into that grove of trees. Miss Cora set off toward the corrals like her heels were on fire. Wyatt was real careful picking his way off the ranch. I didn’t spot him again. I suppose Cora found Tucker before you.”

  The hell she had. The fire he’d seen in her eyes hadn’t been due to fear or any mention of Wyatt. “Did anyone else see him on the ranch?”

  “Not as far as I could tell. Mitch and Tucker set off in his direction a short time later, but must have been satisfied that he’d headed back to the Lazy J.”

  Why would Wyatt want to talk to Cora Mae?

  The image of her standing beside Wyatt in the fancy yellow dress flashed into his mind. Strange she’d be talking to him on the day she’d arrived. He hadn’t thought twice about it at the time, but if there was anyone who’d be foolish and cocky enough to conspire with someone on his ranch, it was Wyatt.

  He knew she’d been hiding something—he just hadn’t connected it with Wyatt.

  “Margarete,” he called out, surging up from his chair, “I’ll have to pass on the supper. See you later, Zeke.”

  “You don’t have to rush off,” Zeke called after him.

  “Oh, I think it’s time I had a talk with my stepsister.”

  Five minutes later he was tethering his horse near his front porch. He knew she’d been lying about her reasons for coming here but had never imagined they’d be linked to Wyatt. He’d have the truth now.

  He pounded up the steps and through the front door. Cora Mae was perched on one of the oversize chairs in the front room, beneath her fancy pink valance. She glanced up at him and quickly stuffed something into a small basket tucked beside her.

  “Chance,” she said, flipping the lid shut.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Her back stiffened like an iron rod as he approached her. “It’s none of your concern.”

  “Everything you do while you’re on this ranch is my concern. How do you know Wyatt McNealy?”

  Her eyes popped wide. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Wyatt. The cowpoke you were sneakin’ around with in the garden today.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking around. The man appeared in your garden.”

&nbs
p; “He had to tiptoe around a whole ranch full of men to catch you alone. I’d like to know why he found you worth the effort.”

  “I can assure you I don’t know. I met Mr. McNealy not two minutes before you threw a horse on him.”

  “Right. And now he’s stopping in for socials?”

  Her hands fisted. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Can you tell me why Wyatt would seek you out?”

  “I should think it obvious.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what he had to say?”

  “Ask Tucker. I’ve already given him the message.”

  “I’d rather hear it from you.”

  Her jaw tightened with anger. “He delivered the money for your colt.”

  His eyes went back to her basket, and Cora surged to her feet.

  “How dare you even think I would steal from you!”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to! I could read the accusation in your eyes. You have a suspicious mind.”

  “And you have a shady past, Cora Mae.”

  “I believe I’ve asked you to call me Cora.”

  “Why? So I’ll forget who you really are and where you came from?”

  She jerked back as though he’d struck her. The pain in her expression was a blow to his gut.

  “Cora Mae—”

  “You caught me,” she said, her features firming. “I’m in cahoots with Wyatt.”

  Her comment blindsided him. It suddenly struck Chance just how ridiculous the notion had been.

  “Isn’t that what you think?”

  The lack of one lie didn’t mean she hadn’t told him others. “I just—”

  “Why else would I be here in your house, talking to Wyatt in your garden, if I wasn’t plotting against you?” She rounded on him, forcing Chance to take a step back. “Maybe,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest with a blatant defiance no man on this ranch would dare, “Wyatt just enjoyed showing you what a fool you are. Perhaps he wanted to remind you that there’s no such thing as safety in a lawless land inhabited by imbeciles! But don’t take my word for it. After all, Tindale blood pours through my veins like venom!”

  She glared up at him, her breath labored, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alive with fire.