by Stacey Kayne
She glared up at him, her breath labored, her cheeks flushed, her eyes alive with fire.
Hot damn. She still had a temper.
She spun in a whirl of gray skirts and stormed from the room.
Chance sat on the chair she’d risen from, his mind a tangle of confusion.
“Chance?” Tucker walked in from the dining room. “What the hell did you do to Cora?”
What had he done? She was making him crazy!
“What did you say to upset her?” demanded Tucker.
“Why do I keep getting blamed for her mood swings?”
“The only one on this ranch taking swings is you. What’s it going to take for you to realize she’s nothing like Winifred? She never has been and you know it.”
But he didn’t. Not really. She’d blown back into his life like a whirlwind, disrupting everything, making him feel a stranger in his own skin.
Realizing her basket was digging in to his hip, he reached over and flipped up the lid. The start of a tiny sweater lay on top. A second of the same design in green was folded beneath. She’d been busy with those knitting needles, and his nieces would look adorable in the matching sweaters.
He looked up at his brother’s angry face and wondered if he really was just being an ass, blaming Cora Mae for an attraction he didn’t want and a lack of self-control he wasn’t used to dealing with.
Biting out a curse, he grabbed up the basket and started for the back stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To apologize.”
He stopped outside her bedroom door, sucked in a deep breath and knocked gently.
He waited, but didn’t hear anything beyond the increasing sound of crickets in the yard.
“Cora Mae?”
“Go away!”
Instead he eased the door open. She stood just a few feet inside the room, her arms crossed over her chest.
The room smelled like her, he noted, a combination of floral fragrance and shortbread.
“What do you want?” she spat.
“You left your basket.” He eased it onto her chest of drawers, not about to take another step into her room.
“Should I dump it out so you can search the contents?”
“I want to apologize for what I said. I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did. You’re a man of few words. No doubt you choose them carefully.”
“I also make mistakes and can admit when I do. I call you Cora Mae because that’s how I’ve always thought of you. It’s just habit.”
“Tucker hasn’t had any trouble calling me Cora.”
“Guess I thought about you more often than he did.”
Her lips parted in surprise.
Chance tensed, stunned by the admission. She stared into his eyes as though trying to interpret some derogatory connotation, or worse yet, find the sincerity he truly intended but wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal.
Silence swelled between them, damn near suffocating him.
“You’re handy with those needles,” he said, breaking their gaze to glance at her sewing basket. “The girls will look pretty as springtime in the sweaters you’re knitting.”
“You did search my basket.”
“No, I—”
“Looked in my sewing basket,” she insisted, arching a single eyebrow.
Lord, she’s cute. She had the damnedest effect on him. Didn’t seem to matter if she was spitting mad or flashing smiles, everything about her put his pulse into double time. “The colors caught my attention,” he said.
“Surprised to find pastels in my shady past?”
He didn’t know whether to curse or laugh. The irritation burning in the depths of her eyes suggested he should leave.
“Don’t worry, Chance. I’ve already told Skylar I’ll be gone by the end of the month. I’ll try to stay out of your way until then. I’m sorry you find my presence so offensive.”
He was sure he should say something contradictory but was afraid to suggest otherwise.
“It was never my intention to crowd you out of your home,” she continued.
The sincerity in her gaze ripped at his conscience. “Where will you go?”
“I’m quite capable of building a life for myself anyplace I choose. For your information, most people like me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Which is more than I can say for you.” She surged forward and slammed the door in his face.
Damnation! This was not the way he wanted things to go. He wanted her gone, yet knowing she’d leave with hurt feelings only made him feel worse.
Women.
A week ago he’d have sworn marriage-minded females were the worst. He’d never imagined he’d find himself attracted to a woman who wanted nothing more than to wish him to the devil. He never could have guessed that woman would be Cora Mae Tindale.
Chapter Seven
S alina sat in her study, her mind throbbing from the past hour of staring at columns of numbers in the books spread across her desk. She’d never appreciated the difficulty of her late husband’s task. Of course, when Harlan had been alive, the surrounding cattle barons hadn’t been breathing down his leathery neck, trying to drive him out of business.
She needed tea. “Carmen!”
Salina eased back in her chair and rubbed her temples as she waited for her housekeeper. Thunder boomed outside. The rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping her headache. A moment later her short, stout housekeeper appeared in the doorway. Salina hoped the flush in her wrinkled cheeks meant she’d been baking.
“Mrs. Jameson?”
“Did you finish the sweet rolls?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Bring me one. And a pot of tea.”
“Right away.”
As the woman waddled off, Salina was hit by a horrifying thought. If she lost her contracts, she’d be forced to fire Carmen.
Thunder rumbled through the house, rattling the window behind her, increasing her growing sense of dread. She was starting to think making Wyatt her foreman had been a mistake. She didn’t doubt his loyalty, just his ability to assert any power over the crew, much less intimidate the rustlers who’d been robbing her blind with startling ease.
Glancing back at the ledger, she tapped her pencil against the page. If Wyatt’s numbers were correct, they should have just enough to make the first shipment. But she wouldn’t have much left for the next drive, not unless they found out who was herding away her stock, and where those steers were being held.
Chance Morgan wouldn’t have allowed his competition to drive him out of business. But that handsome devil was proving to be as elusive as the cattle rustlers.
The front door slammed. Wyatt walked into her study, his hat and jacket dripping wet. “We’re missing at least another forty head of cattle,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Maybe more.”
Salina gaped at him. “How can that be?”
Wyatt shifted his shoulders, knocking water from his long duster onto the polished wood floor. “The farther out we ride, the more empty pasture we find.”
Salina banged her hands against the open ledgers. “Steers cannot be tucked into a pocket and carted off! I want to know where they’ve gone!”
“Judging by the tracks we found today, I think they’re stashing our steers up in the canyons on Morgan land. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“At this rate, I won’t have to worry about shipping penalties—I’ll have nothing left to tax!”
“I’m working on it.” He pulled off his hat, scattering more droplets as he shoved a hand through the dark curls of his hair.
“Wyatt!” She stood to peer over her desk at the growing puddle. “You’re getting my floor wet!”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, shrugging out of his heavy duster, “it’s raining out there fit to drown Noah.” He tossed his damp jacket onto one of the pink striped satin chairs before her desk. “Which may give us the advantage we need. Makes the ground soft
, good for tracking.”
His hands began working down the buttons on his shirt, distracting her from the protest raging in her mind. The sight of his bare chest and the firm muscles of his arms sent a pounding surge of desire through Salina. He dropped his wet shirt to the floor and panic mingled with attraction.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
His slow seductive smile sent her pulse racing. “Getting out of my wet clothes.”
“Wyatt.”
He reached for his belt buckle. The answering rush of desire closed her throat. But they couldn’t! She was saving herself. For Chance.
“You can change in the bunkhouse.”
He only grinned as he moved around the desk, sliding his belt from the buckle. “This storm isn’t going to pass anytime soon.”
There had been plenty of times she’d prayed for rain, just to keep Wyatt in her bed all day. “Carmen will be here any minute with my tea.”
“I shut the door. She’ll come back.” His hand curved around her waist, the heat and determination in his gaze crumbling her resolve. He plucked a pin from her hair and dropped it to the floor.
“You’ve missed me.”
“If I wanted you—”
He kissed her, seducing her mouth as her hair tumbled around her shoulders. He pulled her tight against him, the rhythmic caress of his body burning through her like sensual lightning.
“You haven’t wanted no one but me in a long while,” he murmured against her mouth.
Returning his deep kiss, she knew it was true. Everything was so easy with Wyatt. And exciting. His kisses, his lovemaking, his stamina. If he was half as good a rancher as he was a bed partner, she wouldn’t be in her current situation.
Why couldn’t he be Chance?
Wyatt’s lips moved across her throat, distracting her from her thoughts. Within moments her black dress was falling to the floor and she was trembling, straining toward his touch. Something crashed behind her as he took her down onto the desk. His mouth slid to her breast, the hand between her thighs flooding her body with overwhelming pleasure.
“Wyatt.” She arched against the hard surface, crying out as a climax rocked through her. His mouth found hers, muffling her cries as he continued to stroke her body, rebuilding the mounting tension, making her burn for him all the more.
“Now, Wyatt.”
“I don’t want to stop touching you.”
Salina grasped blindly at his trousers, pushing them from his hips. Wyatt groaned as she found the hard, hot length of him. And then he was filling her, tugging at her hips as he slammed into her, giving her everything she needed. She arched, meeting his thrust, wondering how she’d made it a week without having him inside her.
A while later she lay spent beneath him, listening to his heavy breaths and the steady rainfall. Vaguely recalling something crashing to the floor, she glanced over the edge of the desk. Her ledgers were strewn everywhere with papers, pencils and a spilled bottle of ink.
“Oh, Wyatt. You’ve made a mess of my study.”
Laughing, he eased up, bringing her with him as he fell back onto her chair. He kept her pressed flush against him, her knees tucked against his hips. A deep sigh broke from his chest. “I love the rain.”
Salina smiled and kissed the tender spot she knew lay behind his ear, the steady patter on the roof now seeming rather soothing.
“Stop your foolishness,” he whispered against her hair, “and marry me.”
She tensed beneath the gentle glide of his fingers tracing her spine.
“You’re not going to catch that Morgan maverick,” he said.
She leaned back and found his dark eyes and handsome face all too tempting. “We’ve been over this, Wyatt.”
“If he wanted you, he’d have had you by now.”
She pushed off him and turned away to retrieve her dress. “Not all men have to bed a woman to be interested in her,” she said, lifting her crumpled dress from the floor and holding it to her chest.
“Sweetheart, I was interested for months before I ever got near you. You’d never known the tender touch of a man, hadn’t had even a taste of passion until me. I worked hard to win you over, Salina. I think I’ve put in my fair share of courtship.”
“If I lose this ranch, you lose me.”
“Seems to me, I’d lose you either way.”
Wyatt reached for the britches bunched at his ankles. He stood and pulled them up over his hips. Her persistence in chasing Chance Morgan infuriated him. He knew Morgan’s kind well enough. The two brothers lorded around these hills, shouldering their way through the stockyard as if the world should tremble at their feet.
He didn’t mind carrying out Salina’s wishes against their ranch, knowing her foolish ideas of bullying Morgan into courtship would likely backfire and secure Wyatt’s place by her side.
“Marriage didn’t get in our way before,” Salina pointed out.
Wyatt scoffed. Chance Morgan wasn’t a man who’d take a pretty young bride and let her languish away in a satin palace. No doubt he’d expect his wife to be faithful. And so would Wyatt. He didn’t want to be Salina’s fancy man; he wanted to marry her. For years he’d loved no one but her and had been as patient as a man could be.
He’d felt some guilt over the way ol’ Jameson had died, dropping dead to the floor right there in front of them. He’d given Salina the distance she’d requested. In the past year he’d stood by while she’d chosen others—but she always came back to him.
He’d outlasted them all, finally winning the sole place in her bed. Everyone on this ranch knew she belonged to him—everyone except Salina.
“You’d really choose him over me?” he asked.
Her brow puckered in annoyance. “This isn’t about who I like best. If you want me, do something about it! I won’t go back to having nothing, not for you, not for anyone.”
“You won’t have to!”
“I will if I lose this ranch! What would you have me do, Wyatt? Marry you and then what?”
“I’m doing all I can.”
“It’s not enough!”
“Hell, I’ve only got five men!”
She stepped into her dress, shoved her arms into the long black sleeves and clamped the bodice over her pretty round breasts. “You can’t blame this incompetence on a crew you hired.”
Frustration burned in his chest. Did she have no faith in him? “I’m getting close. I’ll recover the cattle. When I do,” he said, tugging her against him, “you make sure you realize it was me and not Morgan who saved this place.” He took her mouth in a hard kiss. She kissed him back with renewed passion. If he wasn’t preoccupied with catching those damn rustlers, he’d gladly oblige her all afternoon. But he’d had more on his mind than sex when he’d come into her study. She’d been too damn arousing and had kept him out of her bed for too long.
Abruptly he pulled back and set her away from him.
Salina leaned against the desk, breathing hard as she clutched at her bodice. Her expression was nothing short of crestfallen as he buttoned his fly, strained as it was, and went to retrieve his shirt.
“Where are you going?”
The pout in her voice tugged at him. He didn’t dare look at her, determined not to give in. He wasn’t about to give her up.
“If I’m gonna catch those damn rustlers, I’ve got work to do.” He stuffed his shirttails into his pants and gathered his hat and duster before glancing back.
She sat in her chair, her arms crossed tightly over her unbuttoned bodice.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Why don’t you go put on something pink for a change, so I can take it off you?”
Her teeth closing over her lush lower lip didn’t hide her smile or the spark of interest in her eyes.
She was his.
Morgan would disappoint her—he was counting on it.
Chapter Eight
“Y ou ever seen a newborn foal?”
At the sound of Garret’s voice, Cora glanced
up from the lemon cake she was frosting. His broad shoulders hidden by the half-opened door, Garret’s white hair glowed like a beacon in the bright sunlight.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Would you like to?”
If anyone else had asked, she would have agreed in a heartbeat, but she didn’t want to encourage Garret’s attention. Strong and handsome, she was sure any other woman would appreciate the constant doting that was beginning to wear on her nerves.
“Rosie dropped her foal just about an hour ago,” he said. “The Appaloosa is Tucker’s favorite mare. He thought you’d want to see her.”
Tucker had sent him? “Okay.” She put the finishing swirl on the icing. She swiped a dab of frosting from the empty mixing bowl before setting it in the sink, then tucked her thumb into her mouth, happy with the sweet lemony flavor.
She stepped out of the back door and squinted against the bright sky. “Your hair positively glows,” she said, the smooth, pale strands seeming almost translucent in the intense light. “I’ve never seen hair so white as yours and Josh’s.”
He smiled and tugged on his wide tan hat. “When we used to drive cattle out of Texas, some of the boys called my father The Viking on account of his pale hair, and likely his gruff manner.” He glanced up at the sky as they set off across the yard. “This is the prettiest day we’ve had all spring.”
There wasn’t a single cloud left from yesterday’s storm. “I was sure the sky couldn’t get any bluer.”
“We don’t get many days like these, with the wind died down so we can feel that sun on our skin. The rain washed a good coat of dust off everything. Made a mess of the roads, though,” he said as they reached the end of the yard.
Every pit and groove in the dirt road held a puddle of water.
Garret held out his arm. “I’ll get you across.”
After a few precarious steps through the saturated, slippery ground, she accepted his help and wrapped her fingers around the solid muscle beneath his blue sleeve.
“We had to move some of the mares,” he said, guiding her around a large puddle. “The ground behind the stable is a bit flooded.”
He led her up the road to a set of wide-open doors at the center of the stable. She stepped into the surprising warmth of a long building filled with oversize stalls. A tall, slender heater stood in the center row at each end, creating quite a cozy environment. She followed Garret to a stall holding a russet mare, her hindquarters dusted white and flecked with spots of deep amber.
