Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (4 page)

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.”