Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 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 СКАЧАТЬ