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“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?” she asked, smiling so sweetly, it set his gut on fire.
“What are you doing here?”
“Once I heard of your ranch, I had to come. Surely you’re aware that your ranch is broadly known?”
Damn right it was. He and Tuck had worked their asses off to make their ranch a success. The last thing they needed was Winifred sending her daughter in to sniff things out.
“Hearing that twin brothers by the name of Morgan were the owners, I had to find out if it was really you and Tucker.”
“You could have sent a letter.”
Her eyes widened, hurt registering in those rich brown depths.
“Chance,” Garret said, stepping in between them, “what’s gotten into you? She just finished telling us how she traveled all the way from Massachusetts to see you.”
But Chance hadn’t heard much beyond the roar of his blood as he stared down at the woman resurrecting demons from the past he’d long since put to rest. If Winifred thought she’d worm her way into their business by sending her daughter, she’d be disappointed. He was no longer a little boy who could be hauled out to the woodshed and whipped for the sheer delight of hearing him scream.
“That’s quite all right.” Cora Mae’s jaw stiffened in a way Chance remembered it could. “I know there’s no blood shared between us. If I’m not welcome—”
“Of course you’re welcome,” Garret insisted. “Isn’t she, Chance?”
Chance regarded her for a long moment, certain he wouldn’t have to see her fancy yellow-clad body again if he suggested she wasn’t welcome. He had to remind himself it was never Cora Mae he’d hated. He’d once been as close to her as he had to his twin brother. In some ways, closer. That fact didn’t help to slake his unease.
“Sure you are,” he said, though his tone didn’t carry a note of Garret’s enthusiasm. “It’s just a little hard to believe you’d travel clear across the States all by your lonesome just to see me.”
“And Tucker, of course. How is Tucker?”
“Just fine. How’s your mother?” he asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Her bright expression blanched. He couldn’t blame her for that. Thoughts of Winifred made him downright ill.
“I…I haven’t seen her in years. Not since I went to work at the mill.”
Cora Mae had been a lousy liar at the age of nine. It seemed some things hadn’t changed. The tightness in her delicate features told Chance she was lying through her pearly white teeth. “Cora Mae, if Winifred sent you here—”
“Oh, no. She didn’t. She’s…dead.”
His eyebrows kicked up. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Over the years he’d envisioned Winifred Morgan choking on her own meanness and dying a very slow and painful death.
“Dead?” he repeated, trying not to sound hopeful.
Her ivory hat bobbled with her vigorous nod, but Cora Mae’s wide eyes didn’t reveal the certainty he wanted to see there. As if sensing he could read her doubt, she lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.
Some things were just too good to be true. “How’d she die?”
“Well I…I don’t know,” she said, her voice a tad too high. “I only received a note telling me of her passing. Since I was no longer obligated to send my wages to Mother, I chose to come west.”
“She took your wages?”
She bristled at that, her brow pinching in annoyance, the starch in her spine making the most of her five feet. “Of course she took my wages,” she spat. “Had I not been of some use to her, she’d have abandoned me years ago. My mother held no fondness for me. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”
He’d tried, and had been doing a fair job of blocking out the bad memories, stupid mistakes and unkept promises made by a boy too young to understand his limitations.
“Don’t think I’ve come looking for free room and board.”
He had a notion she’d come seeking a lot more than room and board. Cora Mae might have been fun as a kid, but she’d since been groomed by a woman who had a nose for money and a penchant for lying.
“I’m fully capable of finding work for myself,” she insisted. “Though…” Her gaze skated briefly toward the landscape stretched out behind him. “I hadn’t planned on you living quite so far removed from any kind of township.”
“We’ve got plenty of room on the ranch,” said Garret. “Tuck’s been trying to talk my stubborn sister into hiring help for around the house. With the babies coming and all, this sounds like a perfect solution.”
Cora Mae kept her wary gaze on Chance. “I don’t want to intrude.”
A little late for that.
“Chance,” said Garret, his tone low with warning. He nodded to his left. Chance spotted the four riders coming in from the hills. Even at a distance, he recognized the rowdy ranch hands from the Lazy J. “We should get movin’,” said Garret.
The kid had a point. Once those boys found Wyatt, travel would become somewhat more hazardous than usual. “Line the horses.” He took Cora Mae by the elbow and ushered her toward the livery. “I’ll drive the cart.”
“More trouble?” asked Cora Mae, her neck craned to see what had captured their attention.
Chance smiled at the pretty patch of trouble he was about to take home. “I seem to be blessed that way.” He checked to make sure her trunk had been roped down, then held a hand out to help her up onto the seat. “After you, Cora Mae.”
She shrugged off his touch and stepped onto the cart without his assistance. “It’s just Cora.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name,” she said, smoothing down the full yellow skirt that had swallowed the entire seat. “I shortened it when I began working at the mill. I prefer to be called Cora.”
“That sure is a pretty name,” said Garret, already mounted on his pinto with Chance’s horse and the pack horse lined up behind.
The kid had a lot to learn about women. Pretty didn’t mean trustworthy. There was no denying the truth he’d seen in her eyes. Cora Mae was hiding something. He was in no mood to play a charlatan’s game.
“Better secure your hatpin, Cora Mae. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Chapter Two
Cora clutched the seat, her feet braced wide on the buckboard as Chance drove her cart across another green valley as though he were leading the last wagon train out of hell. A biting wind flattened the tall grass before them.
Chance’s strong frame seemed to follow every shift of the seat while she shook until her teeth rattled. So focused was he on the uneven terrain, he’d likely not notice if she toppled out. Perhaps he intended to send her careening to the ground. What on earth had she been thinking, traveling into the middle of the Wyoming wilderness to find two boys from her childhood?
The wagon slowed as they reached the crest of another rise. Chance reined the horse to a halt. A valley stretched out before her, covered by swaying grasses bursting with wildflowers and spotted with boulders and trees.
She uncurled her fingers from the seat and ran them briskly over her arms, trying to rub some of the chill from her skin. She glanced beside her and found Chance’s gaze intent on hers. His striking features could have been carved in granite, the sparkling green of his eyes cold and clear as a gemstone.
“Sorry about your dress.”
She glanced down at the dark smudges on her yellow skirt. Knowing more were on the dress front hidden beneath her crossed arms, an instant heat flared in her cheeks.
“It’s nothing,” she said, certain the dress had fared far better than her pride. Had she actually hugged him? She must have been blinded by images of the boy who’d long since outgrown her memory of him. What a spectacle she must have made.
How could she not have expected the full-grown man beside her to be a stranger? A frightening one at that. Chance’s reception had fallen drastically short of her expectations.
Seemingly out of things to say, he gazed across the windswept grasses. She took the opportunity to secure her hat before the wind snatched it away completely. After a few minutes of listening to the jingle of horse harnesses and watching the wind chase leaves and grass, she couldn’t stand it. Unfriendly as he may be, it was still Chance Morgan who sat beside her. The closest friend she’d ever had.
“Did you never wonder about me?”
His jaw flexed as though the question annoyed him. “Sure we did.”
“Are your memories of me so terrible?”
He eased back against the seat and released a long sigh before he finally met her gaze. His expression softened, revealing a sadness Cora felt to the bottom of her soul.
“You know I didn’t want to leave you behind.”
She’d clung to that hope for two decades.
“Tuck and I, we spent countless nights plotting all kinds of scenarios for going back for you.”
“You did?” Warmth blossomed inside her.
“But we were kids, Cora Mae. And you were Winifred’s daughter.”
And just that quickly the spark died, stamped out by the hatred buried in those last two words. Winifred’s daughter. “Has it been so long that you’ve confused me with my mother?”
“No. But apparently you believe enough time has passed between us that you can lie to me and get away with it.”
Cora froze, stunned by his candid accusation.
Her mother’s manipulation may have driven her here, but Cora wouldn’t allow Winifred’s influence to ruin her chance to know her stepbrothers again.
“I’ve not lied,” she insisted.
“Cora Mae.” His voice was barely a rumble above the wind.
The sudden warmth in his green eyes stole her breath. His lips tipped into a slight smile, and Cora was struck by the urge to…certainly not hug him.
“I think you forget how well I know you,” he said.
