Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

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СКАЧАТЬ their frightened daughters toward him. What was wrong with townfolk? Why would anyone assume that because he had a ranch, he’d be suitable marriage material? Or that he wanted a wife?

      “Mud wouldn’t have kept me from noticing that little lady was prettier than a buttercup,” said Garret. “A buttercup bloomin’ in the, uh…um…”

      Pressing his hat over his wet hair, Chance glanced at Garret’s beet-red face. He followed the kid’s wide-eyed gaze to the “buttercup” standing a foot to his right, and grinned. That’ll teach the kid to go spouting off at the mouth.

      “You again?” He allowed his gaze to slide across her alluring figure. “Did you change your mind about the escort?”

      She stared up at him through watery eyes and appeared to be choking.

      “Miss, are you okay?”

      “Chance,” she said, sounding breathless.

      Shock rippled through him. Being one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen, he knew damn well he’d never laid eyes on her until today. But she sure as hell seemed to know him.

      “Have we met?”

      “Oh, yes,” she said in a rush. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.” Her pink lips formed a bright smile. A smile that sparkled in eyes the shade of cinnamon.

      His gaze honed in on the light dusting of freckles across her small nose. Spotting a spiral of bright-auburn hair poking out from beneath her wide fancy hat, Chance was hit by the flashing memory of big doe eyes, long orange braids and the mischievous grin of a little girl he hadn’t seen since he was twelve. He looked deeper into brown eyes flecked with bits of gold and amber.

      Holy hell.

      Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”

      She gave an excited shriek. Her body seemed to vibrate before she leaped at him, her arms banding around his waist.

      “Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him.

      Chance patted her back as she smiled up at him, hoping the light touch would release him from her tight embrace.

      “You’re so tall,” she said, squeezing him tighter still. “And handsome! I’ve missed you so much. And Tucker. How is Tucker? You can’t imagine…”

      As she continued to jiggle and talk, Chance didn’t know what made him dizzier. The woman’s rapid-fire sentences or the soft, supple curves pressed flush against him. The discomforting stir of his body answered his quandary, while bringing about a stark realization.

      He may have lived under the same roof as a red-headed tomboy during two years of his childhood, but he didn’t know this shapely woman from Eve. Certainly not well enough to have her rubbing herself all over him, her pretty face gazing up at him as though the sun rose and set in his eyes.

      “You’ve heard of Lowell’s Textile?”

      Chance nodded and gently pried her arms from his waist and set her away from him. The abrupt shift didn’t slow her excited chatter.

      “—but I was so certain I’d find you. And here you are. My goodness gracious, so strong and tall.”

      He smiled, her jubilation seeming somewhat contagious as he tried to keep up with her rapid-fire sentences.

      “—ornery dickens that you were as a boy, and twice as cunning. Mother was sure you’d perished in the war, but…”

      Her rush of words shattered into meaningless fragments at the mention of a name that never failed to put ice in his veins.

      Mother.

      Her mother, to be precise. The pristine witch who’d made life a living hell before he and Tucker had left home to follow their father into war. He and Tuck hadn’t been the only ones anxious to get away from their vicious stepmother. Their father couldn’t have beaten a trail off that ranch fast enough and had spent countless hours around a Rebel campfire warning the boys about the guiles of fancy women.

      “Cora Mae,” he blurted out when she finally paused for breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      She flinched at his hard-spoken words. Her smile dimmed.

      Damn. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just…can’t imagine what would bring you all this way.”

      “I tired of waiting.”

      He’d never been one to guess at the mysteries of a woman’s mind. “Waiting for what?”

      “For what?” she repeated, planting her fists against sweetly rounded hips. She sure hadn’t turned out anything like her starchy, whip-thin mother. He couldn’t keep his gaze from roving the tight yellow bodice hugging full breasts. The gentle dip at her waist and prominent flare of her hips left no doubt that a man would find a soft, warm landing in her arms.

      Lord, have mercy. He was sure he shouldn’t be noticing such things about a woman who used to be his stepsister, once upon a time.

      “For you to make good on your promise,” she said, bringing his attention back to where it belonged: on her pretty face.

      “My promise?”

      “Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”

      Old guilt rushed across his conscience, along with a wave of unwanted memories. He recalled Cora Mae’s big brown eyes filled with tears, her frantic plea for him not to leave her behind. He had promised to go back for her. And at the time, he’d meant it. He’d also been twelve years old and hadn’t known war from a Sunday picnic. It was a guilt he’d gotten over a long time ago.

      “You promised to go back for her and never did?” Garret asked, sounding outraged.

      Chance’s gaze snapped toward the kid. He’d plain forgotten Garret was standing beside him. “I was twelve!”

      “I waited,” Cora Mae said, her sad eyes twisting the pain in his gut.

      “We couldn’t go back.” He shook his head, trying to shrug off the meaningless memories he’d spent too many years trying to forget. “You might recall there was a war going on. Tucker and I happened to be in the middle of it. Until we managed to get ourselves thrown into a Yankee prison camp.”

      “Oh, Chance.” The warmth of her hand closed over his forearm, the light touch burning into his flesh like a fiery brand.

      “It was a long time ago,” he said, brushing her hand from his skin. “We survived.” Barely.

      Lily-white hands pressed against her full bosom. “I never imagined.”

      Of course she hadn’t. She’d been busy with art classes and piano lessons. “You never answered my question,” he said, wondering again what Cora Mae Tindale was doing in Slippery Gulch, fawning all over him.

      “What question was that?” СКАЧАТЬ