The Wildes of Wyoming: Chance

by Ruth Langan

  Chance crossed the room and yanked one of the blankets from the foot of the bunk, wrapping it around her shoulders.

  “Sit here,” he ordered, pressing her into a sturdy wooden kitchen chair. Then he placed his rifle beside the closed door and shrugged out of his parka, before setting to work making a fire.

  While he worked, Maggie studied the width of his shoulders and the muscles of his back and upper arms straining beneath the plaid shirt. What would it be like to be encircled in the warmth of those arms? To be free to run her hands over that muscled back, those corded shoulders? The thought of it caused her heart to skip a beat.

  Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she forced herself to look away, noting the small bathroom beyond an open door and the apartment-sized stove and sink on the far side of the room. Above were open cupboards, stocked with staples. Sugar, flour, coffee, canned meats.

  As warmth began to fill the room, she felt herself relax. This might be an inconvenience, but it was far from primitive. She thought about her first reaction, back there on the trail. She must have sounded like a whining, self-absorbed little girl. Suddenly she was ashamed of herself.

  Clutching the blanket around her she crossed the room and rummaged through the cupboards until she located a coffeepot. “I could make some coffee.”

  Chance got to his feet, wiping his hand on his jeans. “That’d be great.”

  She busied herself at the small stove. Soon the aroma of coffee brewing added another layer of comfort to the room. When the coffee was ready she filled two cups and handed one to Chance.

  As he accepted it she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for what I said back there.”

  “Hey, I don’t blame you. I guess it did look suspicious. Besides, you had no way of knowing what you were getting into.” He sipped. With an easy smile he turned away, rummaging through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for. Uncorking a bottle of whiskey, he poured a liberal amount into both their cups. “Drink this. It’ll take away the chill.”

  He drank, and Maggie did the same. She could feel the warmth begin to snake through her veins.

  “Well.” She had thought the tension would be relieved, but now that she was warm and safe, there was another kind of tension to deal with.

  He was standing entirely too close. She was beginning to feel the room closing in on her. Especially when each time she looked at Chance she felt that quick little flutter around her heart.

  Looking for something, anything, to distract her from her thoughts, she pointed to the kerosene lanterns on a shelf. “What are those for?”

  It didn’t work. Chance was still looking at her as he said, “They’re a backup. In case there’s no power.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  He nodded. “The weather up here is unpredictable. We get plenty of ice and snowstorms. We try to be prepared for any emergency.”

  “Do all the ranchers around here have places like this on their land?” She knew she was babbling, but she needed to keep the conversation focused on something bland and safe.

  “Most of them.” He drained his cup, set it aside. “It isn’t just the winters that can cause problems. We’ve been known to have ice storms in April and May and snow squalls in August.”

  Maggie shivered and drew closer to the fireplace. “I had no idea. I can’t even imagine snow in August.”

  “It doesn’t happen often. But we’ve learned to be prepared for anything nature wants to throw at us. Speaking of which…” he slipped into his parka, “…I’m going to bring in another supply of logs. I wouldn’t want that fire to go out in the middle of the night.”

  As he stepped outside, Maggie stared at the closed door, relieved that, for the moment, she could catch her breath. The truth was, being alone with Chance Wilde absolutely terrified her.

  She’d never known a man quite like him before. There was something…uncivilized about him.

  If it was true that people were shaped by their environment, then Chance Wilde had come by his tough-guy attitude and fierce determination naturally. It would take a special kind of man, a man with superhuman strength and extraordinary courage, to succeed in a place as demanding as this. And now that Cody had filled her in on some of the family history, she realized that Chance Wilde was as much a gambler as his father had been. He was just following the example of Wes Wilde—a man who had left everything that was comfortable and familiar to make his own way in the world. She had no doubt that Chance Wilde would survive no matter where he found himself.

  He was the exact opposite of her. She’d always liked everything safe. Safe and comfortable. Until recently. She was reminded again how far she’d come from all that was familiar. And yet, though she ought to feel completely out of her element, the truth was, each day in this Wyoming wilderness brought her one step closer to a sense of calm within herself.

  By the time Chance returned with an armload of logs, she had pulled herself together. If she could survive all that had happened to her before this, she could certainly survive one night alone with Chance.

  He deposited the logs and stood by the fire a moment, rubbing his hands together. Then he filled his cup with more coffee and splashed it with whiskey before lifting it to his lips.

  “I’m sorry about the long, cold walk here, Maggie. But I think you’ll agree that this is a much better place to spend the night than my truck.”

  “Definitely.” She stared out the small window of the shack. “Is that snow on the windowpane?”

  “Just a few flakes. It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t think we’re going to get any measurable amounts of snow for a few weeks yet.”

  “Good. I don’t mind a night here. But I don’t think I’d like to find myself snowed in.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” His voice warmed with a hint of laughter. “I can think of worse things.”

  Something about his tone caused her to turn. He was staring at her in that dark, dangerous way that had her heart doing somersaults.

  Needing to do something, she walked to the fireplace. With her back to him she said, “I asked Cody to tell me about your father. It was an amazing story. If everything Cody told me is true, your father was an unbelievably confident man.”

  “Yeah. It runs in the family.”

  She turned to face him and saw that he hadn’t moved. There had been no change in the inflection in his voice. And yet Maggie had the distinct impression that he was no longer talking about his father or his family history.

  This was personal. Just the two of them. And the knowledge frightened her, even while it excited her.

  Chance saw the flush that colored her cheeks and knew that, although she was trying to ignore him, she was having a hard time of it. Maybe it was the whiskey and the exertion of the long walk in the cold night air. Or maybe it was finally being alone with the woman who had caused him so many sleepless nights. What ever the reason, he decided to simply enjoy himself. And let this night write its own ending.

  “Funny.” He took a step closer, watching her eyes. “You’ve only been in this shack an hour or less, and already I can smell your perfume in here.”

  “I think that’s coffee you smell.”

  “No.” He stepped closer, breathing her in. “It’s you. I’d know you anywhere. Even in the dark.”

  She was reminded of a wild animal catching the scent of another. She swallowed as he touched a hand to her hair.

  “What is it about your hair, Maggie? It’s so soft.” He plunged both hands into the tangles and drew her head back.

  Without warning he skimmed his mouth over her temple, then lower to her cheek, then lower still, until his mouth was on hers.

  She’d meant to avoid this. But now that his lips were on hers, now that his tongue was whispering ever-so-lightly over hers, she couldn’t even recall what it was she was supposed to avoid.

  “Every morning I see you in some prim little blouse.” His hands skimmed down her sides, then up again, his thumbs brushing the
sides of her breasts. “And I find myself wondering how you look when you go to bed at night.”

  “Chance, I…”

  “Shh.” He pressed his lips to hers. “Don’t spoil my illusions. I like imagining you in some sheer, slinky little harem number.”

  She chuckled. “Sorry to spoil things for you. I look even worse at night than I do when I’m baking bread.”

  “Umm.” He ran hot, quick kisses over her face. “Bread. Now there’s a real turn-on. When I see you dusted with flour, I want to kiss it away.” He pressed soft kisses to her cheek, the tip of her nose. “And when I see you stirring something on the stove, I just want to come up behind you and…” he lowered his mouth to her neck. “Until you came along, I never thought about sex in the kitchen. In fact, I never dreamed a woman could make me feel this way just by cooking. But you do, Maggie.”

  She wanted to laugh. But instead the sound came out in a shaky little sigh. “I had no idea. So far you’ve only tasted simple fare. I wonder how you’ll control yourself when I cook something exotic.”

  “Who says I need to control myself?”

  “I do.” She struggled to remember the plan. To hold him at arm’s length. But it wasn’t easy when his mouth was doing such pleasurable things to her skin. “I came here to cook, remember? I’m so glad I found the Double W.” She arched her neck, loving the dizzying feelings that were stirring inside. She was hot and cold and her legs felt a little too weak. But she was safe here. And the knowledge loosened her tongue. “I’m so tired of running, Chance. I just want to be here. Safe in your arms.”

  “Safe?” His head came up. His eyes narrowed. All his movements halted. “Is that what you want? To be safe?”

  She started to backtrack. “Did I say that? I meant to say…”

  He lifted his hands away, and took a step back, breaking contact. To keep from touching her again he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away. “If you think you’re safe with me, you must really be desperate.”

  “I’m not desperate. I’m…” She hung her head, but not before he saw the fear in her eyes. Fear, mixed with regret.

  “Yeah. I know. Backed into a corner, with nowhere to go.” His voice was harsher than he intended. But anger and frustration were warring inside, and he was in no mood to be gentle. What had started out as seduction had suddenly become deadly serious. And right now, one of them had to act responsibly. He’d pushed her too far, too fast. And taken her in the wrong direction. She was looking for safety, while he was looking for hot sex.

  “Go to bed, Maggie. And take the top bunk. That way, you can be sure I won’t attack you.”

  Seeing the temper in his eyes she kicked off her boots before skittering up the ladder as fast as she could.

  He stared at her backside as she climbed up and snuggled under the blankets, and fought another rush of heat.

  With just the light from the fire, he kicked off his boots and pulled off his shirt before climbing between the covers of the lower bunk.

  He heard a soft rustling above, and knew that Maggie was trying to get comfortable.

  He crossed his arms under his head and resolutely closed his eyes. But he knew sleep would never come now. All he could think about was the woman who lay just an arm’s length above him. How she tasted. How her body felt pressed against his. How his body responded each time he touched her.

  He got up and walked to the window, peering into the darkness. He may as well not even try to sleep. Instead of what he’d been hoping for, it was going to prove to be nothing more than a long, miserable night.

  Chapter 8

  Maggie was back in Chicago. Stepping off the elevator, heading toward her apartment. She was upset by something she’d been told. What was it? Something about Eve. Something too horrible to recall. She’d blocked it from her mind.

  She stopped to fit the key in the door when she realized it wasn’t locked. As she touched the knob, the door swung inward.

  Puzzled, she peered inside. What she saw had her heart stopping. The foyer table had been overturned. The front hall mirror shattered. There was broken glass everywhere. Potted plants upended, their broken stems and trails of leaves and dirt streaking the Oriental rug.

  And then she caught sight of the man’s shadow as his head came up and he spotted her, standing in the doorway. In his hand was a gun. He slowly raised his arm, pointed the pistol, aimed, fired.

  With a cry she sat bolt upright, her heart racing, her breath burning her lungs.

  As she came fully awake, she realized it had been the dream again. That terrible, blood-chilling dream that haunted her, giving her no rest.

  It took her a moment to remember where she was. Wyoming. The range shack. A thousand miles away from any danger.

  She glanced around. The room was in darkness. The fire had burned to embers. Shivering, she gathered up her blanket and climbed down the ladder. As she crossed to the fireplace, she caught sight of a man’s shadow by the window. Her heart leaping to her throat, she froze.

  “Chance.” His name came out in a whoosh of air.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  He stayed where he was, reluctant to go to her. He’d heard her thrashing about. Had realized that she was in the throes of a nightmare. But there was nothing he could do to help her. Not unless he climbed that ladder and offered to hold her. And that would have taken him over the line. And so he’d merely waited, hoping she’d come out of it and drift back to sleep.

  He held up a glass of amber liquid. “Maybe this will help.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the glass and drank, grateful for the warmth and the bitter bite of the whiskey.

  She watched as he crossed to the fireplace and tossed another log on the hot coals. He straightened, turned. He was barefoot and naked to the waist, wearing only his jeans, unsnapped at the waist.

  He stayed where he was as flames began to lick along the bark and ignite. It was far better if he kept his distance.

  “I’m sorry I woke you. I guess I cried out.”

  He shook his head. “I was awake. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I wish I could say that. If I had my way I’d never fall asleep.”

  He did go to her then, but only to take the empty glass from her hands. “Does this happen often?”

  She nodded, struggling to shake off the tremors that still rocked her. “Often enough to cause a lot of sleepless nights.”

  “Is there nothing you can do about it?”

  She shrugged, already feeling embarrassed by what he’d seen and heard. She turned away. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”

  “I’ll make it. You sit here by the fire.”

  Before she could protest he walked away. She drew the blanket around her shoulders and settled herself on a chair in front of the fire. Soon the little cabin was filled with the rich fragrance of coffee.

  Chance filled two cups and offered one to her.

  She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m not used to being waited on. I’m usually the one doing the serving.”

  “Maybe you ought to be waited on more often.”

  She gave a shaky little laugh. “Now why would you say a thing like that?”

  “You strike me as a woman who deserves to be pampered.”

  To keep from touching her he walked to the fireplace and rested his hand along the stone mantle. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble, Maggie.”

  She gave a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “It wouldn’t take much to figure that out. I’m not very good at hiding it.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?” His tone was harsh. “Or won’t?”

  “Both, I suppose.” She stood and crossed to the stove, intent upon re-filling her cup. She kept the blanket wrapped around her like a mantle of dignity.

  She was startled when he caught her arm and turned her to face him. On his face was a look of fury. “How can I help you if
you won’t confide in me?”

  “You can’t help me, Chance. Nobody can.”

  “Let me try.”

  “No.” She tried to pull away but she was no match for his strength.

  His fingers closed over her upper arms, and he dragged her against him with such fury she cried out.

  At once his touch gentled. “God, Maggie. I don’t want to hurt you. I can tell you’ve already been hurt enough. All I want to do is help you. With whatever trouble you’re in.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I just wish…”

  When she fell silent he held her a little away. “What do you wish?”

  “That it would all disappear.” She shook her head. “Oh, Chance. Just hold me for a minute.”

  Without a word he gathered her against him, his hands soothing, massaging, as they wandered up and down her back. The blanket fell to pool at their feet. Neither of them noticed.

  Oh, she felt so good, so right, here in his arms. But he didn’t know how much longer he could do this without taking them both down that path she was so determined to avoid.

  He wanted her. Desperately. And he was afraid that giving in to his desire would only make things worse. For both of them. It had to be her choice, not his. And there were too many things going on in her life right now. Whatever they were, they were causing her too much pain.

  She lifted her head. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “That feels so good. If you wouldn’t mind…”

  “What?”

  She took in a quick breath. “Just kissing me. Once.”

  His eyes narrowed. She was asking too much of him—offering herself, but limiting him to a single kiss. Still, only a saint would refuse. And he was far from saintly.

  “Hell, I don’t mind.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  At the touch of their mouths he absorbed the shock. A kick from an angry bull would have been less potent.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her, unwilling to believe what he’d just felt. But he could see by the glazed look in her eyes that she’d felt it too.