Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical Series)

by Stacey Kayne

  He ruffled Joshua’s white ringlets and sat beside him. “Chance down yet?”

  Tucker reached across the table for the skillet of eggs. “He’s already headed out to the south end. Guess he’s in a hurry.”

  Garret’s smile collapsed. He stood and shrugged on his jacket. “If he gets in a mood he won’t be fit to work with.” He grabbed a fistful of biscuits and snatched up some bacon. “See you at suppertime, Miss Cora,” he said before rushing out the backdoor.

  “Suppertime? Won’t they be in at noon?” she said to Tucker.

  “Not for the next few days.” He spooned some eggs onto a plate for his son. Joshua grabbed a fluffy handful. “Mama likes you to use your fork.”

  Joshua shoved the fistful into his mouth, then obediently picked up his fork, grinning at his father as he chewed.

  Tucker smiled and glanced back at Cora. “All but two hands will be riding out to drive in our free-range stock. It’s too far out to make it back at noon. We’ll be looking forward to supper all the more.” He stood and moved around the table.

  “Are you rushing off, as well?”

  “I’m just getting the coffee.” He picked up a towel and lifted the pot from the stove. “It’ll take more than Chance’s dark moods to keep me from having breakfast with my boy, ain’t that right?” he said to Joshua.

  Joshua held up his loaded fork. “Eggs, Papa!”

  “We’ll take some up to Mama when we’re done.” Tucker poured himself a cup of coffee and one for Cora, then dug in to his breakfast.

  How strange, she thought while sipping her coffee. She had always pegged Chance as the considerate one.

  He could be, she thought, thinking of his big hands handling his little niece with such gentleness, the same hands that had comforted her when she’d lost her composure last night. She hadn’t seen a trace of that warmth this morning.

  Push or be pushed.

  She’d definitely been pushed.

  Two-year-olds were a breed unto themselves, Cora decided after a day of keeping up with her young helper. A whirlwind of constant chatter and motion, Joshua had been by her side all day, counting out clothespins and berries and dishes in between running up and down the stairs to see his sisters. Though she couldn’t always understand what he said, his animated expressions and wide smiles kept her laughing all afternoon.

  By three o’clock the wash was put away, supper was simmering and pies were cooling. Cora had brought her sewing basket downstairs to finish the tablecloth for Skylar while Josh dumped out a box of blocks. One moment he’d been stacking wooden shapes and talking about barns, the next he was laid out on the rug, sound asleep with a block in each hand.

  Finished with Skylar’s tablecloth, Cora glanced at the little boy now curled up on the sofa beside her, his thumb tucked into his mouth. All in all, it had been a pleasant day.

  She reached for the sewing basket on the floor and withdrew her knitting needles and a ball of blue yarn, which she perceived as one of Skylar’s favorite colors judging by what she’d seen of her wardrobe. She placed the white tablecloth in the basket, then set her needles to work.

  “I thought he must have passed out.”

  A deep-blue skirt swayed at the top of the staircase.

  “Skylar,” she said, watching her slow descent. She was surprised to see her fully clothed. The fitted blue dress revealed Skylar’s long, slender figure. Her blond hair hung over one shoulder in a thick, damp braid. A floral scent followed her into the room. Their home boasted some luxuries such as a room for bathing, both upstairs and down.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “The house was far too quiet. I wanted to check on Josh. Now that I’ve had a bath and can finally see my feet again, I’m anxious to be up and about.” She stepped up to the chair beside Cora and grimaced as she eased onto the cushion.

  “Are you sure you should even be out of bed?”

  “I’m not ready to leap into a saddle, but I’m tired of being cooped up in that room. I hope Joshua wasn’t too much trouble today.”

  “Not at all. He keeps himself quite busy. He certainly loves to count.”

  Skylar smiled. “He gets that from Chance, I think.”

  “Really?”

  “Chance can tally numbers in his head like nothing I’ve ever seen. Whether we’re calculating poundage, shipping costs, feed conversion or a combination of all three, he can have the total in a blink. He’s quite handy to have around. So are you. Do I smell berry pie?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. I was up and cooking the morning after Joshua was born, and back on a horse in a week. Having two babies is quite an adjustment.”

  Cora recalled Chance’s comment about Skylar working with the horses. She couldn’t imagine running such a large household and working the ranch as well. “You really do work outside with the men?”

  “I help with training, but not so much anymore. With three little ones, they’ll have to get on without me.”

  “Will Tucker expect you to continue?”

  “With the horses, no. Chance will likely be disappointed,” she said with a laugh. “Mitch was hired to take my place, but I start to miss my bullwhip at times. I don’t mind going out once in a while to teach them all a new trick or two. Got to keep those men on their toes.”

  Cora gathered Skylar had no trouble in doing so.

  “What are you doing?” Skylar asked, her gazed fixed on the knitting needles.

  “Knitting some hot pads. I thought they’d be useful in the kitchen.”

  Surprise lit Skylar’s face. “How nice.” She glanced at the basket on the floor between them and leaned down to brush her fingers over the white tablecloth. “Did you make this, as well?”

  “Yes. For you.”

  Skylar glanced up from the crocheted flowers. “For me?”

  Cora lifted the cloth from the basket and held it out to her. “For you.”

  Skylar took it, draping the soft fabric over her skirt.

  “I thought it might make a nice tablecloth.”

  “Oh, Cora.” Her eyes hazed with tears. “It’s beautiful.” She brushed her hands over the raised flowers. “My goodness. You made this?”

  “It’s the least I could do, when you’ve opened your home and really made me feel welcome.”

  “There must be a hundred little flowers here,” Skylar said, inspecting each one.

  Pleased by her enthusiasm, Cora smiled down at her lap and tucked her needle beneath the next blue stitch and started another row. “I crocheted the blossoms during my travels. The coaches can be rather confining, so I was limited on space.”

  “Crocheted?”

  The question in Skylar’s voice surprised her. “A little different from knitting. Simpler, in fact. Once I get the rhythm down of the design, they go rather quickly.”

  “My goodness, that’s because your fingers are a blur of motion.”

  Cora stilled her hands. A flush warmed her cheeks. “If I’m idle for more than a minute, I’m usually pulling out my crochet hook or knitting needles.” She rubbed her thumb over the impression her needles had pressed into her index fingers over time, an imperfection her mother had noticed right off. “Mother thought it a nasty habit.”

  “I should think it rather useful.”

  “It has been useful,” she admitted, smiling at a woman she liked more with every passing moment. “I sold a steady supply of sweaters and such while running the boardinghouse, which is how I paid for my trip out here.”

  “I don’t know much about sewing and rather wish I did. Do you think I could learn?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’d show me how?”

  “I’d love to. I have an extra hook and needles in my trunk upstairs.”

  Skylar pushed to her feet, and Cora realized she meant now.

  Yes, she definitely liked this woman. They were up the stairs in a flash, kneeling before her open trunk. Skylar’s eyes drew wide at the colorful displ
ay of yarn.

  “Cora!”

  “Well, you have to have yarn if you’re going to knit.”

  “You must have every color,” she said, sifting through them.

  “Quite a few. Some fabrics as well.”

  “Margarete made our curtains and such. Now that I’m housebound, I’d like to do more. The depot will be getting a shipment of fabrics come the first of the month. I’d like some fancier window coverings and perhaps some pretty pillows.” She lifted a small stack of white doilies from the trunk. “My mother used to have these.”

  “Doilies.”

  “Doilies,” Skylar repeated, a smile on her lips.

  “They’re easy to crochet. We could start with those.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I have a window swag in here I’d made for the boardinghouse.” Cora tugged the pink taffeta from beneath a pile of yarn. “If you like it, the width is similar to the window in your front room.”

  Skylar ran her fingers over the smooth swirls of pink then drew her hand back. “You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much.”

  “I don’t have any use for it. If you don’t like the fabric for your window, perhaps you could use it for dresses for the girls.”

  Skylar bit her lip and glanced back at the lace-trimmed swag. Her blue eyes sparked with excitement as she stood with the swag and a ball of yarn for the doilies.

  “Let’s try it over the window.”

  He hadn’t been comfortable in the saddle all day!

  She’d done it on purpose, filling his mind with images of her smooth skin wrapped in nothing but cool sheets, when he needed to be focused on rowdy stallions.

  Chance walked from the stable in the front yard, the night closing in around him. He stomped up the front steps, not looking forward to being in Cora Mae’s presence. He didn’t have to go further than opening the front door. One look at the parlor, a quick glance into the great room and he felt the full presence of a Tindale.

  He pushed the door shut behind him, his gaze landing on the lacy white rag covering the small table beside the door. More were draped over the back of the sofa and the arms of the chairs.

  He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, the muscles bunching in his back. This was how it started, covering the house in their fancy eastern frippery, slowly infiltrating until the house was coated in satin and echoed of nothing but bawling women and more misery than a kid knew what to do with.

  He wasn’t having it. He snatched up the lacy ovals and rectangles, crushing them into a wad.

  This was his house. He’d built most of it with his own two hands. They didn’t need her expensive eastern frills littering up the place!

  His gaze landed on shiny pink fabric ballooning out from the top of the front window. Memories of pink satin wallpaper flashed in his mind, along with swags of lace and dried dogwood smothering the warm wood textures that had once been his home.

  He wasn’t about to be crowded out of his house by another Tindale. He lifted the rod and shook off the satiny sleeve. Wrapping the fancy swag around the pile of useless rags, he stormed up the staircase, cutting a fast route to the back of the house. She could save her lacy do-dads for the next victim.

  Reaching her room, he swung the door open.

  Cora Mae spun around as the door banged against the wall. She stood beyond the bed, clutching the unbuttoned bodice of her dress. “Chance!”

  He’d assumed she’d be in the kitchen. Reminding himself of why he’d opened her door in the first place, he strode to the bed. She wasn’t so different from her mother, bringing fancy frills and lies into his house. He dropped the pile of useless decorations.

  Cora Mae sucked in a breath. Her mouth dropped open.

  “I believe you misplaced a few of your things around my house.”

  He turned and slammed the door shut on his way out. She needed to get out of his home and out of his mind.

  After washing up in the basin in his bedroom, he headed for the stairs. Cora Mae hadn’t come out of her room.

  He wouldn’t be swayed by any Tindale pouting. He didn’t care if she stayed in there all night.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  As he reached the kitchen, the men were just starting to file into the dining room. He was glad to see his sister-in-law sitting at the table, looking fresh as ever.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” she was saying as Tucker sat beside her.

  Chance spotted the web of white stretched across the table, and froze.

  Holy hell.

  “She crocheted all of those little flowers during her trip out here. Can you imagine?”

  Every man at the table looked closer at the white weave beneath all the dishes, murmuring their amazement.

  An intense heat began to creep its way up Chance’s collar as he walked to the table and slumped into his chair. The cloth of connected flowers brushed his pant leg.

  She’d made it? He never would have guessed.

  “Cora knits, too,” Skylar announced. “You should see her work the needles. She’s promised to teach me. She showed me how to work the crochet hook this afternoon.”

  “How ’bout that,” Tucker said, clearly pleased by his wife’s excitement over the new craft.

  “I finished a doily. Nothing fancy, but it’s pretty.”

  Tucker drew her hand to his lips. “I want to see it.”

  Skylar flushed with pleasure. “We put it on the table just inside the parlor.”

  Oh hell.

  Garret reclined back in his chair to have a look. “Table looks bare from here.”

  Skylar stood up to peer into the front room, and the muscles in Chance’s neck knotted up.

  Damnation. The thought of Skylar having had a hand in decorating the front room had never crossed his mind.

  “Well, that’s odd.”

  Cora Mae walked in from the kitchen, the bodice of her dress now buttoned up to her chin, her hands clamping bright-blue hot pads over the handles of the large stew pot.

  “Cora,” said Skylar, “did you move the doilies we worked on today?”

  The heavy pot thunked onto the table. “You’ll have to ask Chance.” She dropped into the chair beside him. “This is his house.”

  He felt everyone’s gaze shift in his direction. Cora Mae folded her hands in her lap, her downcast eyes trained on the bowl in front of her.

  The heat beneath his collar rapidly climbed his neck.

  “Chance?”

  Skylar’s voice felt like a whip crack through the heavy silence. He couldn’t even look at her.

  “I, uh…moved ’em.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…I, um…” What could he say without looking like a complete ass? Skylar wouldn’t be pleased to discover just how rude he’d been to her new best friend. He glanced across the table at his brother, hoping Tucker would bail him out.

  “Stew’s getting cold and I’m starving,” Tucker said, obviously taking note of his desperate situation. “Chance can enlighten us on his decorating expertise after supper.”

  The hard look in his twin’s eyes was anything but understanding as he folded his hands and bowed his head, cutting off the opportunity of further comments.

  “Lord, we thank you for this bounty, for blessing us with a healthy family and hardworking crew. We thank you for bringing Cora Mae back into our lives, which has pleased my wife no end. Help us, Lord, as we struggle with tolerance and humility, and give us the wisdom to choose our battles wisely, so that we may continue to earn your grace. Amen.”

  Having been one of the longest prayers Tucker had ever given, Chance heard the message loud and clear.

  “Garret, why don’t you start serving stew and we’ll pass the bowls around,” Tucker suggested.

  The kid stood, filled his bowl, passed it to Cora Mae and took her empty one. Without glancing up, she swapped the stew for Chance’s empty bowl as others passed in theirs.

  “So far the numbers look fairly good on the north end,” Tu
cker said, taking control of the conversation. “How about the south?”

  “So far so good,” said Garret. “Huh, Chance?”

  “Yeah.” He took a basket of bread from Mitch. As he held it out to Cora Mae, his gaze focused on her hands. They weren’t the delicate hands of a pampered woman. Her skin looked smooth as cream, yet showed signs of use, her short nails worked back to the quick and a callous on the inside of her thumb.

  As if sensing his gaze, she curled her fingers into her palms.

  A soft cry sounded from upstairs.

  “I’ll get her.” Cora Mae surged up from her seat.

  Chance was already standing. Their gazes locked and he noted the red rimming her eyes.

  Oh, hell. He’d made her cry.

  Remembering the only time he’d seen Cora Mae cry, a familiar surge of regret twisted through him.

  “Why don’t you both go?” suggested Tucker.

  “No.” Eyes as dry and cold as a glacier glared up at him. “I’ll go.”

  She turned away.

  Chance did about the only thing he could—he sat down and ate his meal.

  Chapter Six

  F or the first time in the past week, the afternoon wind had died down to a mild breeze. Cora knelt to pick another yellow squash. Hoisting a full basket into her arms, she walked along the uniform rows of a lush garden she could only dream of having. The neat greens and herbs ran the entire length of the side of the house, bursting with a harvest that could keep her and Skylar busy with pickling and preserving. She pushed open the white gate, an ache squeezing her heart as she glanced past the ranch buildings nestled amongst green hills, hugged by the surrounding mountains.

  It didn’t matter how much she loved it here, Chance wouldn’t let her stay. The past few days of pleasantries with Skylar and the others hadn’t taken the sting out of Chance’s blatant rejection. He couldn’t have made his feelings plainer if he had packed her up and dumped her at the stage line.

  When he charged into her room, his eyes revealed what his days of silence had hidden—an abhorrence of anything Tindale. She understood his hatred of her mother, but what had she done to earn such resentment? She’d done everything she could to distance herself from Winifred.