Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (7 page)

“Will Tucker expect you to continue?”

“With the horses, no. Chance will likely be disappointed,” she said with a laugh. “Mitch was hired to take my place, but I start to miss my bullwhip at times. I don’t mind going out once in a while to teach them all a new trick or two. Got to keep those men on their toes.”

Cora gathered Skylar had no trouble in doing so.

“What are you doing?” Skylar asked, her gazed fixed on the knitting needles.

“Knitting some hot pads. I thought they’d be useful in the kitchen.”

Surprise lit Skylar’s face. “How nice.” She glanced at the basket on the floor between them and leaned down to brush her fingers over the white tablecloth. “Did you make this, as well?”

“Yes. For you.”

Skylar glanced up from the crocheted flowers. “For me?”

Cora lifted the cloth from the basket and held it out to her. “For you.”

Skylar took it, draping the soft fabric over her skirt.

“I thought it might make a nice tablecloth.”

“Oh, Cora.” Her eyes hazed with tears. “It’s beautiful.” She brushed her hands over the raised flowers. “My goodness. You
made
this?”

“It’s the least I could do, when you’ve opened your home and really made me feel welcome.”

“There must be a hundred little flowers here,” Skylar said, inspecting each one.

Pleased by her enthusiasm, Cora smiled down at her lap and tucked her needle beneath the next blue stitch and started another row. “I crocheted the blossoms during my travels. The coaches can be rather confining, so I was limited on space.”

“Crocheted?”

The question in Skylar’s voice surprised her. “A little different from knitting. Simpler, in fact. Once I get the rhythm down of the design, they go rather quickly.”

“My goodness, that’s because your fingers are a blur of motion.”

Cora stilled her hands. A flush warmed her cheeks. “If I’m idle for more than a minute, I’m usually pulling out my crochet hook or knitting needles.” She rubbed her thumb over the impression her needles had pressed into her index fingers over time, an imperfection her mother had noticed right off. “Mother thought it a nasty habit.”

“I should think it rather useful.”

“It has been useful,” she admitted, smiling at a woman she liked more with every passing moment. “I sold a steady supply of sweaters and such while running the boardinghouse, which is how I paid for my trip out here.”

“I don’t know much about sewing and rather wish I did. Do you think I could learn?”

“Of course.”

“You’d show me how?”

“I’d love to. I have an extra hook and needles in my trunk upstairs.”

Skylar pushed to her feet, and Cora realized she meant
now
.

Yes, she definitely liked this woman. They were up the stairs in a flash, kneeling before her open trunk. Skylar’s eyes drew wide at the colorful display of yarn.

“Cora!”

“Well, you have to have yarn if you’re going to knit.”

“You must have every color,” she said, sifting through them.

“Quite a few. Some fabrics as well.”

“Margarete made our curtains and such. Now that I’m housebound, I’d like to do more. The depot will be getting a shipment of fabrics come the first of the month. I’d like some fancier window coverings and perhaps some pretty pillows.” She lifted a small stack of white doilies from the trunk. “My mother used to have these.”

“Doilies.”

“Doilies,” Skylar repeated, a smile on her lips.

“They’re easy to crochet. We could start with those.”

“I’d like that.”

“I have a window swag in here I’d made for the boardinghouse.” Cora tugged the pink taffeta from beneath a pile of yarn. “If you like it, the width is similar to the window in your front room.”

Skylar ran her fingers over the smooth swirls of pink then drew her hand back. “You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much.”

“I don’t have any use for it. If you don’t like the fabric for your window, perhaps you could use it for dresses for the girls.”

Skylar bit her lip and glanced back at the lace-trimmed swag. Her blue eyes sparked with excitement as she stood with the swag and a ball of yarn for the doilies.

“Let’s try it over the window.”

He hadn’t been comfortable in the saddle all day!

She’d done it on purpose, filling his mind with images of her smooth skin wrapped in nothing but cool sheets, when he needed to be focused on rowdy stallions.

Chance walked from the stable in the front yard, the night closing in around him. He stomped up the front steps, not looking forward to being in Cora Mae’s presence. He didn’t have to go further than opening the front door. One look at the parlor, a quick glance into the great room and he felt the full presence of a
Tindale
.

He pushed the door shut behind him, his gaze landing on the lacy white rag covering the small table beside the door. More were draped over the back of the sofa and the arms of the chairs.

He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, the muscles bunching in his back. This was how it started, covering the house in their fancy eastern frippery, slowly infiltrating until the house was coated in satin and echoed of nothing but bawling women and more misery than a kid knew what to do with.

He wasn’t having it. He snatched up the lacy ovals and rectangles, crushing them into a wad.

This was his house. He’d built most of it with his own two hands. They didn’t need her expensive eastern frills littering up the place!

His gaze landed on shiny pink fabric ballooning out from the top of the front window. Memories of pink satin wallpaper flashed in his mind, along with swags of lace and dried dogwood smothering the warm wood textures that had once been his home.

He wasn’t about to be crowded out of his house by another Tindale. He lifted the rod and shook off the satiny sleeve. Wrapping the fancy swag around the pile of useless rags, he stormed up the staircase, cutting a fast route to the back of the house. She could save her lacy do-dads for the next victim.

Reaching her room, he swung the door open.

Cora Mae spun around as the door banged against the wall. She stood beyond the bed, clutching the unbuttoned bodice of her dress. “Chance!”

He’d assumed she’d be in the kitchen. Reminding himself of why he’d opened her door in the first place, he strode to the bed. She wasn’t so different from her mother, bringing fancy frills and lies into his house. He dropped the pile of useless decorations.

Cora Mae sucked in a breath. Her mouth dropped open.

“I believe you misplaced a few of your things around
my
house.”

He turned and slammed the door shut on his way out. She needed to get out of his home and
out of his mind
.

After washing up in the basin in his bedroom, he headed for the stairs. Cora Mae hadn’t come out of her room.

He wouldn’t be swayed by any Tindale pouting. He didn’t care if she stayed in there all night.

Out of sight, out of mind
.

As he reached the kitchen, the men were just starting to file into the dining room. He was glad to see his sister-in-law sitting at the table, looking fresh as ever.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she was saying as Tucker sat beside her.

Chance spotted the web of white stretched across the table, and froze.

Holy hell
.

“She crocheted all of those little flowers during her trip out here. Can you imagine?”

Every man at the table looked closer at the white weave beneath all the dishes, murmuring their amazement.

An intense heat began to creep its way up Chance’s collar as he walked to the table and slumped into his chair. The cloth of connected flowers brushed his pant leg.

She’d made it
? He never would have guessed.

“Cora knits, too,” Skylar announced. “You should see her work the needles. She’s promised to teach me. She showed me how to work the crochet hook this afternoon.”

“How ’bout that,” Tucker said, clearly pleased by his wife’s excitement over the new craft.

“I finished a doily. Nothing fancy, but it’s pretty.”

Tucker drew her hand to his lips. “I want to see it.”

Skylar flushed with pleasure. “We put it on the table just inside the parlor.”

Oh hell
.

Garret reclined back in his chair to have a look. “Table looks bare from here.”

Skylar stood up to peer into the front room, and the muscles in Chance’s neck knotted up.

Damnation
. The thought of Skylar having had a hand in decorating the front room had never crossed his mind.

“Well, that’s odd.”

Cora Mae walked in from the kitchen, the bodice of her dress now buttoned up to her chin, her hands clamping bright-blue hot pads over the handles of the large stew pot.

“Cora,” said Skylar, “did you move the doilies we worked on today?”

The heavy pot
thunked
onto the table. “You’ll have to ask Chance.” She dropped into the chair beside him. “This is
his
house.”

He felt everyone’s gaze shift in his direction. Cora Mae folded her hands in her lap, her downcast eyes trained on the bowl in front of her.

The heat beneath his collar rapidly climbed his neck.

“Chance?”

Skylar’s voice felt like a whip crack through the heavy silence. He couldn’t even look at her.

“I, uh…moved ’em.”

“Why?”

“Well…I, um…” What could he say without looking like a complete ass? Skylar wouldn’t be pleased to discover just how rude he’d been to her new best friend. He glanced across the table at his brother, hoping Tucker would bail him out.

“Stew’s getting cold and I’m starving,” Tucker said, obviously taking note of his desperate situation. “Chance can enlighten us on his decorating expertise after supper.”

The hard look in his twin’s eyes was anything but understanding as he folded his hands and bowed his head, cutting off the opportunity of further comments.

“Lord, we thank you for this bounty, for blessing us with a healthy family and hardworking crew. We thank you for bringing Cora Mae back into our lives,
which has pleased my wife no end
. Help us, Lord, as we struggle with tolerance and humility, and give us the wisdom to choose our battles wisely, so that we may continue to earn your grace. Amen.”

Having been one of the longest prayers Tucker had ever given, Chance heard the message loud and clear.

“Garret, why don’t you start serving stew and we’ll pass the bowls around,” Tucker suggested.

The kid stood, filled his bowl, passed it to Cora Mae and took her empty one. Without glancing up, she swapped the stew for Chance’s empty bowl as others passed in theirs.

“So far the numbers look fairly good on the north end,” Tucker said, taking control of the conversation. “How about the south?”

“So far so good,” said Garret. “Huh, Chance?”

“Yeah.” He took a basket of bread from Mitch. As he held it out to Cora Mae, his gaze focused on her hands. They weren’t the delicate hands of a pampered woman. Her skin looked smooth as cream, yet showed signs of use, her short nails worked back to the quick and a callous on the inside of her thumb.

As if sensing his gaze, she curled her fingers into her palms.

A soft cry sounded from upstairs.

“I’ll get her.” Cora Mae surged up from her seat.

Chance was already standing. Their gazes locked and he noted the red rimming her eyes.

Oh, hell
. He’d made her cry.

Remembering the only time he’d seen Cora Mae cry, a familiar surge of regret twisted through him.

“Why don’t you both go?” suggested Tucker.

“No.”
Eyes as dry and cold as a glacier glared up at him. “I’ll go.”

She turned away.

Chance did about the only thing he could—he sat down and ate his meal.

F
or the first time in the past week, the afternoon wind had died down to a mild breeze. Cora knelt to pick another yellow squash. Hoisting a full basket into her arms, she walked along the uniform rows of a lush garden she could only dream of having. The neat greens and herbs ran the entire length of the side of the house, bursting with a harvest that could keep her and Skylar busy with pickling and preserving. She pushed open the white gate, an ache squeezing her heart as she glanced past the ranch buildings nestled amongst green hills, hugged by the surrounding mountains.

It didn’t matter how much she loved it here, Chance wouldn’t let her stay. The past few days of pleasantries with Skylar and the others hadn’t taken the sting out of Chance’s blatant rejection. He couldn’t have made his feelings plainer if he had packed her up and dumped her at the stage line.

When he charged into her room, his eyes revealed what his days of silence had hidden—an abhorrence of
anything
Tindale. She understood his hatred of her mother, but what had she done to earn such resentment? She’d done everything she could to distance herself from Winifred.

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.