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Maverick Wild
Stacey Kayne
Haunted by a promise he couldn’t keep – and a past he couldn’t forgetChance Morgan had locked away his heart. Until Cora Mae Tindale crossed half the country to find him. The beguiling creature who insisted on turning his serviceable ranch into a home was hiding something – and Chance was hell-bent on finding out her secrets! Cora Mae only wanted a place to hide, but her youthful protector had grown into a war-hardened rancher with looks that could tempt a saint.Yet his dark glances were filled with distrust…and unmistakable desire. Cora Mae’s childhood crush was rapidly becoming a much more adult craving!
Praise for Stacey Kayne
MUSTANG WILD
‘Fast-paced and well written, MUSTANG WILD was a delight to devour… Highly romantic, with just the right touch of humour, MUSTANG WILD is one for the keeper shelf. Stacey Kayne has penned a treasure.’
—Cataromance
‘This strong debut is a tale of one woman’s struggle to overcome a father’s deceit before she can find peace, forgiveness and passion with the man meant for her. Each character carries his or her own weight, adding depth and humour to this honestly written story.’
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Chance,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.”
Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”
She gave an excited shriek. “Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him. “Ydou’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.…”
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.
“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.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you to make good on your promise,” she said.
“My promise?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”
Stacey Kayne has always been a daydreamer. If the comments on her elementary school report cards are any indication, it’s a craft she mastered early on. Having a passion for history and a flair for storytelling, she strives to weave fact and fiction into a wild ride that can capture the heart. Stacey lives on a ranch near the Sierra Nevada, with her high-school sweetheart turned husband of eighteen years and their two sons. Visit her website at www.staceykayne.com
A recent novel by the same author:
MUSTANG WILD
MAVERICK WILD
Stacey Kayne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Special thanks to:
Kimberly Duffy for her ‘Wild’ title inspiration.
Carla, Kathy, Marlene and Sheila for their tireless critiquing and for believing in this story.
My family for their wonderful support.
My readers. I’ve been truly touched by all the letters and emails—thank you for the wonderful welcome into a genre I love.
Prologue
Virginia, 1862
“If we don’t ride out, she’ll have us whipped to the bone before the old man comes back.”
Chance didn’t spare the breath or energy to agree with his brother, the urge to ride fast and hard burning stronger in his gut than the welts flaming across his back. Their father’s short visit meant his camp was close, freedom was within reach.
The darkness in the stable didn’t impede his deft movements as he tossed his saddle over the blanket and reached for the cinch. They couldn’t risk lighting a lantern.
“How could he leave us here to deal with his raving-mad wife?” Tucker ranted in a low whisper. “She ran him off like she always does with her screaming and bawling. Did you see how he rode out this evening and didn’t even look back?”
“I saw.”
“I don’t know why he doesn’t ever stand up to her. If she were my wife—”
“We won’t be fool enough to marry,” Chance cut in.
“Amen.”
“Before the old man rode out, I told him we’d be on his heels in a day.”
His twin spun around, his pale-yellow hair flashing in streaks of moonlight seeping through the barn windows. “What’d he say?”
“That a rebel camp ain’t no place for young boys.”
“Can’t be worse than living with Winifred. We’ll be thirteen come the spring—nearly grown men!”
Chance gave a nod of agreement as he secured his bedroll behind his saddle.
“He should’a taken us with him,” said Tucker. “We’re old enough to fight for our home.”
The way Chance saw it they’d lost that battle two years ago when their father had taken a wife. Seemed like foolish business to him and Tucker. They’d gotten on just fine for ten years without a woman in their lives, but they hadn’t had any say in the matter. The old man had come home from a business trip up north hollering loud enough to raise the dead about the underhanded shenanigans of starched-up fancy women. The next thing Chance knew, he and Tucker were standing beside their father in their Sunday trousers and stiff collars as he married Winifred Tindale.
A slender woman with a mess of blond curls tumbling about her head, a blushing smile and fluttering blue eyes, she’d seemed harmless enough. But it hadn’t taken much to crumble that gentle mask. At their slightest fidget, all that pretty contorted into a glare fierce enough to scare bark off a tree. He’d known right there in the church that their days of doing as they pleased were over. True enough, she’d made the past two years a living hell.
While their father had been off at Virginia state meetings, his witch of a wife had turned their house upside down, changing everything from the wallpaper to the staff. She’d fired the people who’d raised him and Tuck, taking away everything familiar to them. She’d brought in her own staff, strangers who didn’t give two wits if their mistress gave an order to whip the dog or her stepsons.
Chance shoved his winter coat into his saddlebag, knowing there’d be no coming back. He took Star by the reins and led the black mare toward the moonlight streaming through the open doors. A chilling breeze helped to soothe his aching shoulders. His breath uncurled like a cloud into the crisp fall air.
Across the yard shaded by a giant hickory tree, the moon lit up the white two-story house he’d grown up in, a home he no longer recognized. His gaze locked on the center second-story window. Their stepsister hadn’t escaped the witch’s tirade unscathed. Winifred didn’t have her daughter dragged outside for public floggings, but on occasion Chance had spotted bruises hidden by ruffles and lace, and too often watched Cora Mae flinch at her mother’s callous words.
His fingers fisted around the reins in his hand as hatred welled up inside him. He and Tuck used to feel cheated, their own mama having died the day they were born. He’d since realized they’d been the lucky ones. The first day he’d met Cora Mae, she’d brought an ache into his chest he’d never felt before.
After returning from the chapel, the old man had been shocked to discover a seven-year-old daughter among his new wife’s possessions. Chance had never seen anything like her, not a single orange ringlet out of place and skin so white it glowed.
Perched on a settee amid stacks of trunks and other parcels in the grand foyer, she’d reminded him of the fancy porcelain dolls on the high shelves at the general store. All frilly and fragile—something he wasn’t allowed to play with. Just like those delicate dolls, Cora Mae’s pink lips didn’t smile or frown, just stayed frozen in place as though painted on. He and Tuck had fixed that.
Despite his stepmother’s efforts to keep her daughter locked away from the world, that ol’ hickory got more use than the staircase during their frequent moonlight rides and walks to the creek. He’d become real partial to Cora Mae’s smiles and wild giggles. If he’d had his way, she’d be riding out with them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tucker said from beside him.
“Doesn’t feel right, leaving her here,” Chance admitted.
“Nine years old is too young. And she’s a girl. We’ll be lucky if they don’t chase us off.”
Star tugged at his hold on the reins, anxious for the ride her saddle promised.
“Besides,” said Tucker, “she belongs to Winifred.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” a soft voice whispered from the shadows. Cora Mae stepped into the moonlight, her orange hair flaring up in the pale light like a wick touched by a flame. Two thick braids draped over a pair of their old denim overalls—her usual sneak-out attire. Her dark eyes went from Tucker, to him, to their horses and back again.
“Where are you going?”
Chance couldn’t seem to find his voice.
“We’re meeting up with our father’s unit,” Tucker informed her.
Her wide gaze locked with his. “Chance?”
He liked how she did that, recognized him from his brother with nothing but a glance. His own father couldn’t tell him from his twin and was never home long enough to have reason to. He was going to miss her something awful. Knowing there’d be no one to check on her after one of her mother’s temper tantrums felt like a kick in the gut.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I was until now,” she said, her voice escalating. “You can’t leave me!”
“Shhh!” he and Tuck said together.
“Do you want us to get whooped again?” Tucker ground out. “We’re already torn up.”
Cora Mae clamped her lips tight, but that didn’t keep her lower lip from trembling. “You can’t go without me.”
Chance stared in horror as fat tears rolled from her eyes and leaked down her pale cheeks. He’d never seen Cora Mae cry—though she often had reason. He dropped his gaze to his boots, not wanting to see it now.
“Damnation,” Tucker muttered. “I can’t handle no more crying females. You’re the one who’s always yammering on with her through all hours of the night.” He nudged Chance’s arm. “You explain it to her.” He mounted his horse and started toward the woods.
It was just like Tucker to stick him with the hard stuff!
“Chance.” Cora Mae took a step toward him. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”
“If we were going anywhere else, I’d—”
“I’m not afraid to go.”
He knew she wasn’t. When she was away from her mother, Cora Mae had a fearlessness to be marveled at. They hadn’t accepted having a girl along for their late-night adventures without putting her through her paces. Cora Mae didn’t back down from a dare and had tackled every challenge he and Tuck had put before her. She’d turned out to be more fun to have around than a new puppy. But this was different. They were going to war.
“We’re not taking a ride down to the creek, Cora Mae. The soldiers would never let you stay.”
Sniffling, she wiped at her damp cheeks. “What am I to do without you?”
He hated this. What was he supposed to tell her? That it would be all right? He wouldn’t wish her mother on a Yank! He wanted to do more, to be able to protect her. But he couldn’t. Leastways, not yet. “We’ll come for you,” he said at last. “When the fighting’s over.”
Sullen brown eyes held his gaze. She tilted her head, the way she did when she was trying to make up her mind. “Promise?”
“Soon as we can,” he said with a nod.
Tucker whistled softly, and Chance took a step back.
“I got to go.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his sleeve as he lifted his boot to the stirrup. “Take this.” She pulled a ribbon from one of her braids, setting free a mass of orange ripples. Shoving the wide strip of satin through a buttonhole on his shirt pocket, she began working it into a pink bow that would have Tucker laughing clear to the next county.
“Cora Mae, I can’t—”
“So you won’t forget,” she said, the catch in her voice stopping his protest.
Heck, even if she weren’t his stepsister, he couldn’t forget a girl with bright orange hair and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen. “That’s not likely.”
She stepped back and drew a jagged breath. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears he could tell she was trying hard to hold back. “Be careful.”
“You, too.” He swung into the saddle and started toward the thicket of trees before she had him covered in ribbons.
Not about to let Tucker catch him with a pink bow on his chest, Chance tugged the thing from his shirt. He rubbed the silken fabric between his fingers then shoved it deep into his pant pocket. Feeling Cora Mae’s gaze on him as surely as the cold breeze whispering across the back of his neck, he spurred Star into a gallop.
No wonder his father never looked back—he didn’t have to.
As Chance rode into the darkness of the woods, all he could see was the image of Cora Mae standing in moonlight, her somber brown eyes silently pleading for him to take her with him.
Chapter One
Wyoming Territory, 1883
One hand clutching her valise, the other flattened atop her ivory bonnet to prevent the biting wind from snatching it away, Cora Mae Tindale charged through the dusty, pitted road of Slippery Gulch. Horses and wagons clamored through the small strip separating the parallel rows of buildings. She leaped onto the crowded boardwalk. Folks swarmed like bees as the stagecoach driver continued to toss parcels and crates down from the stagecoach that had brought her this far.
Only twenty more miles.
Cora drew her carpetbag of dusty traveling clothes against her aching ribs and forged her way through. Her corset pinched beneath the straining fabric of the yellow gown her mother had starved her into just one agonizing month ago. Lord, what she’d give for a full breath. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s petite build, but the raving woman wouldn’t relent.
