by Stacey Kayne
Cora Mae looked at him from across the kitchen, a tray of freshly baked pastries in her hand. She’d swept her hair up at the sides, the way he liked it, creating a cascade of curls down her back.
“Evening,” he said, his voice still gritty.
Her gaze landed near his collar. She gasped, and Chance suppressed a groan.
“Chance? What happened?”
He didn’t want her sympathy. “It’s nothing,” he said, quickly stepping into the pantry to grab the whiskey. If he didn’t douse his cuts, they’d become infected for sure. When he came back to the kitchen, Cora Mae hadn’t moved an inch. Her wide eyes gazed at him.
“You’ve been hurt.”
“I’m fine. Good night.” He turned and started up the stairs. He slowed in the hall long enough to grab some rags from a cabinet then continued into his dark room. He set his supplies on the bureau then lit the lamp. Turning back, he spied Cora Mae standing in the doorway.
“Where did you go?” she asked. “What happened?”
What was he supposed to tell her? That he’d ridden out with the intention of bedding another woman in an attempt to get her off his mind? “I was…just…out. Ran into the wrong people. Could you shut the door for me?”
“How did you…” Her voice trailed off as he pulled his shirt over his head. “You’re bleeding,” she said, her voice escalating. “My God, Chance, is that a rope burn?”
“Shh!”
“Don’t you hush me,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Someone’s tried to hang you!”
“It’s not the first time, and likely won’t be the last,” he muttered to himself. “Go to bed, Cora.”
She took a timid step toward him, then stopped.
She actually feared him. The reminder stabbed at his pride.
“Not until I know who’s done this to you,” she insisted.
“One of the imbeciles you’d warned me about.” He poured some water into the washbasin and uncapped the whiskey, knowing the sting in his neck was only going to get worse.
Cora Mae continued to hover just inside the doorway.
“Listen, I’ve had a rotten night. As much as I know I deserve it, I’d rather you not watch me flinch as I clean this burn.”
She strode into his room looking ready to slug him. To his amazement, she took the cloth from his hand and pointed at the end of his bed. “Sit.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked at his neck and her eyes flinched. “I want to help.” She picked up the basin from the dresser. Chance did as she’d said, settling onto the end of his bed, his pride cracking further as she approached him. Her brow creased as she looked closely at his injury.
“Good Lord, Chance. I should wake Tucker.”
“No.”
She touched his chin and he looked up, giving her better access. The sympathy in her gaze only made him feel worse. He tried not to flinch as she pressed the cool rag against his burning skin.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“I haven’t doused it with alcohol yet. Does your throat hurt?”
Only when he swallowed. “A little.”
“You sound as though you’ve been gargling sand.” She dunked the bloody rag into the basin and continued to rinse his skin. “Chance, I really should go get Tucker.”
“No,” he said, clenching his teeth through the pain. If Tuck knew Wyatt had had him dangling at the end of a noose all hell would break loose. And for what? Because Salina was playing games with both of them? He wasn’t going to risk a ranch war over a woman. Tucker had his family to look after and they both already had all the work they could deal with. He’d bide his time and deal with Wyatt his own way.
“You’re really hurt,” she said.
“This doesn’t involve the ranch.”
“How could it not? One of your neighbors has tried to kill you!”
“Shh!”
“How can you—”
“This wasn’t over a ranch quarrel.”
“What else could it be?”
“Jealousy.” He shook his head. “My own stupidity.”
The concern in Cora’s eyes ripped at his conscience. “I doubt Wyatt would have tried to kill me if I hadn’t told him I’d paid a call to Salina.”
She blinked. “Wyatt did this?”
“Seems he’s not real receptive to the idea of me courting his mistress.”
Cora felt her jaw drop open and was powerless to pull it shut. He couldn’t be serious! “You’re…” Dear God. She could barely get the words past her throat. “Courting Salina Jameson?”
His wide, bronze shoulders shifted, drawing her gaze to the firm planes and sculpted muscle of his chest. A wave of heat rushed through her body, sending a flush into her cheeks.
“Figured I’d give it a shot,” he said.
She returned her focus to the task of rinsing the bloody gash in his skin, thinking she must not know Chance at all. If he was interested in a woman like Salina, he had more brawn than brains. How could he be fooled by a woman so blatantly like her mother!
“Ouch!” Chance flinched away, and Cora realized she’d been sponging his neck a little too hard.
“Sorry.” She dabbed the strip of raw, welted skin once more then turned back to the bureau for the whiskey. Drawing a deep steady breath, she tugged at the high collar of her dress, slightly flushed beneath. Despite his injury, the sight of his partially clothed body was having an alarming effect on her. Gathering her senses, she turned back to the shirtless man behind her.
Chance gazed up at her through his tousled hair, watching her with a combination of curiosity and caution. She couldn’t decide what she wanted more, to smooth those golden waves back with her fingers, or gag him with the rancid cloth. Gagging would be the smartest option, she decided.
“You don’t like her,” he said as she moved beside him.
“I don’t know her.” No more than she wanted to. “This is going to sting.”
It did. Air hissed through Chance’s teeth, every light touch of the cloth setting fire to his skin. “Try not to have too much fun.”
She stopped, halfway across his throat, anger flashing in her eyes as she pressed the backs of her hands to the curves of her hips. “I would never wish for you to be hurt.”
He smiled despite the pain. “I was teasing.”
Her frown deepened. “Oh.”
“Used to do that all the time.”
“Yes, well…we used to be friends,” she said, glancing down at the rag in her hand, hiding her gaze. But he heard the sadness. She turned back to the dresser and poured another round of whiskey onto the cloth.
She didn’t meet his gaze when she returned. “Look down.”
Chance followed the command.
“I think we could be,” he said at length, the pain in his neck becoming nearly tolerable.
“Could be what?”
“Friends.”
She stepped back. The tension in her expression suggested otherwise. He knew it had taken a lot for her to come into this room and help him. Compassion wasn’t trust and was far more than he deserved.
“We came awfully close earlier today,” he said, remembering the short time he’d let go of his anger and mistrust.
Her lips twitched with the start of a smile, and Chance’s heart leaped. He wanted to put her at ease with him.
“Or maybe you just like to play in the mud,” he said, forcing a grin.
“Maybe I do,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
She sure had sass. She always had, he reminded himself. Perhaps Tucker was right. When he really thought about it, she hadn’t done anything to cause his distrust. Nothing other than accomplish what he couldn’t—bringing them together without the threat of Winifred hanging over their heads. He couldn’t have hoped to hear better news than of his stepmother’s death, that Cora Mae had found a life she’d enjoyed, away from her mother’s cruelty, a life she had given up to find him and Tuck.
Looki
ng into her pretty face, he knew it was more than memories of Winifred that tainted his feelings toward Cora Mae. It was Cora Mae—the woman he never imagined she would become, a woman who could stoke his desire with an ease that troubled him. Mostly because she didn’t even try. All she had to do was stand there, and he could sense her sweetness and the fire inside her he’d already caught glimpses of. A temptation snared with all the trappings of love and marriage—he certainly had no right to touch Cora Mae unless he was interested in both. Old warnings surfaced in his mind.
Love is a trap. Nothing else could weaken the mind and shatter the spirit with such efficiency.
“Look up,” she said.
He remained silent as she finished.
“Should I do your wrists?” she asked.
“I can get it.” He took the cloth from her. “Thanks.”
She moved back as he stood and walked to the dresser. He washed his hands then picked up the whiskey bottle and doused the mild rope burns on his wrists.
“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked from behind him.
He released a sigh as he grabbed a towel, not thrilled with the idea of sharing how foolish he’d been. “On my ride back from the Lazy J, I was too busy stargazing to realize I was being ambushed.”
“Why would Wyatt ambush you?”
He turned and was surprised to see Cora Mae sitting on the end of his bed.
Don’t get sidetracked. He was lucky she was even talking to him.
“Apparently he’s having trouble with cattle rustlers and I triggered his trap. When he found out I’d been to the ranch to see Salina, he decided stealing his woman carried the same penalty as rustling.”
“He could have killed you.”
“He nearly did. I’m sure I’d be quite dead if it hadn’t been for Mag.”
Cora’s eyes popped wide. “The trapper’s woman?”
Realizing his slip, Chance could have bit off his tongue. “Yeah,” he said with some hesitation. “I guess she spotted the lynching and felt inclined to help me out.”
“Does she live so close? I’ve heard her mentioned by the other men on a few occasions. They said she passes through the area every now and again, but I assumed she lived high up in the mountains.”
“Her place is closer than anyone thinks. Might even be on Lazy J land, not that it should matter to them. Halfway up the first mountain peak between our ranches is still wild country, and no place to graze stock.”
“You’re friends?”
“I don’t think Mag has use for friends. We met during my first ride into this valley. I was lost, if you want to know the truth of it,” he said with a slight smile. “She knows these hills and mountain passes better than I know my own ranch. I helped her out with something and she showed me around.”
“And the trapper?”
“He’s even less social than Mag,” Chance said, thinking that was an understatement. Danvers had been dead for a few days before Chance had come upon Maggie trying to dig a grave in frozen ground. He’d already told Cora Mae more about Mag than he should have, more than he’d ever told anyone. He wasn’t about to break his vow of silence about Danvers’s death. “Anyhow, she helped me out, and I’m fine.”
“Fine?”
“Close enough.”
Cora could hardly believe his nonchalance. “Chance, this is serious!”
“And I’ll deal with it. In my own time, in my own way.”
Was he trying to protect Salina? Could he really care for her? Her mind rebelled at the thought, but the question still escaped her mouth. “Do you still intend to pursue Salina?”
“If I took over the Lazy J, I’d control the crew.”
“That’s a reason to marry?”
“More reason than some have for getting hitched.”
“But…you don’t love her.”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t want to love the woman you marry?”
“I never wanted to marry at all.” Again he shrugged. “But life’s like that sometimes.”
He deserved better. He deserved the warmth and caring she saw between Tucker and Skylar. “Who says you have to marry?”
“It’s been suggested. It could be ideal when you think about it.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
Chance found himself fighting a grin as he stared at her stern expression. He couldn’t win. Here he was, trying his damnedest to convince her he was averting his romantic intentions away from her—and she was getting mad at him. “I’ve thought about the things you said earlier, and you were right. My actions were disrespectful this afternoon, and I’m sorry. I meant it when I said I wanted us to be friends.”
Her tremulous smile lasted a moment and wasn’t entirely convincing. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too, Cora,” he said, knowing it was a lie even as the words left his lips.
She deserved to be part of this family. His physical frustrations were his problem. “You’re safe with me. I swear it. I don’t want to chase you off. Though I haven’t shown it, I am glad you came.”
Cora listened to him saying all the words she’d wanted to hear, while talking in the low baritone voice that turned her insides to jelly. She couldn’t take her gaze off his mouth, the mouth that, for a time, had felt so nice against hers. She wasn’t so sure it was Chance that she didn’t trust.
“I’m going to bed,” she said, standing and edging toward the door. “I still think you should tell Tucker about Wyatt.”
“Cora?”
She stopped in the doorway.
“Can you forgive me for my actions, the things I’ve said?”
The concern in his gaze only increased the chaos raging inside her. “I already have,” she said, her voice barely audible.
He smiled and shoved a hand through his tangled hair, relief shining in his green eyes. Yet all Cora could think about was the taste of his wild kisses, the feel of his solid chest pressed against her, his heart beating as erratically as her own.
“Thanks for fixing me up,” he said, but Cora was already closing the door of her own room, and trying to tamp down the surge of sensation that had stolen her breath.
His apology couldn’t take away the memory of his kisses, or the cravings she knew better than to want.
Chapter Twelve
S ounds of laughter drew him from the stable. Visions of fall rooted him in place. A shimmer of red and copper curls danced on the breeze as Cora Mae chased his nephew across the back lawn. She latched her arms around Josh and lifted him off his booted feet. The delighted giggles carrying across the wind suggested his nephew had clearly wanted to be caught.
Smart kid.
Something inside Chance warmed at the sight of them.
The past week of being nice hadn’t been so bad. He’d discovered sitting in a warm kitchen with Cora Mae to be a real treat. He was even starting to get used to the flushed cheeks and heated gazes she did her best to hide from him whenever their eyes caught and held for a few seconds too long. Somehow, knowing she struggled with the same desire that had been tearing at him for weeks gave him the edge he needed to be able to control his own.
We’re friends. Who happen to spark like flint to stone.
Skylar’s voice called Joshua back into the house. Cora Mae released the boy, and his nephew scampered up the back steps. Cora Mae picked up a wicker basket and strode toward the clothesline where linens waved like white flags in the wind.
He had to get back out to work. His branding crew needed the coils of rope he had let slide from his shoulder. Tucking his gloves into his back pocket, he headed for the clothesline. He approached, watching the shadow of Cora Mae’s shapely body as she reached for the clothespin.
I’ve got a few minutes to be nice.
The white drape fell away, and Cora Mae jumped at the sight of him standing on the other side.
“Chance!”
“Can I give you a hand with that?”
She seemed lost for words, so he grabbed t
he end of the sheet flapping in the breeze.
“Thank you.”
“No sense in you wrestling with this big sheet in the wind.”
Cora didn’t tell him she’d planned to fold them inside. She simply followed his lead, folding the linen in half, then stepping toward him to fold it across the middle.
“Breakfast sure was good,” he said.
And all it had taken was his near death to get him to sit at the breakfast table and come in for a noontime meal. Her gaze slid to the red bandanna secured around his stubborn neck, hiding his rope burns. “I think you’re making a mistake,” she said, voicing her concern as she had in previous days.
He glanced down at the sheet they’d worked into a fat rectangle. “If I’m doing it wrong—”
She laughed, despite her irritation. “I mean by not telling Tucker about Wyatt.”
He grinned and passed the bundle to her. “Don’t worry. Wyatt will be dealt with, in a way that won’t blow our chances for meeting our contracts. We haven’t had a speck of trouble with the Lazy J in the past week. You can bet they’re spooked. And they should be.” He took another sheet off the clothesline while she placed the folded linen in the basket.
“How would telling Tucker affect meeting your contracts for horses?”
He flapped the sheet toward her. “A ranch full of dead cowhands would attract an inquiry.”
Cora gaped at him from across the sheet. She hadn’t thought of Tucker retaliating, but now she remembered his warning the morning he’d told her about Salina’s crew stealing their stock. She supposed either of the twins would seek vengeance against anyone who raised a hand against the other.
“Salina’s not worth the bloodshed, and my brother has seen enough killing to last a lifetime. I’ll deal with Wyatt on my own.”
He stepped forward again. Their fingers brushed as he passed her his end and reached for the bottom. The light caress was like a static shock, the current rippling up her arms to the peaks of her breasts. She was certain Chance felt it, too, his gaze hot on hers.
Silence stretched as they folded the next two sheets.
“You’re a man of many talents,” she said as she placed the last of the linen in the basket.
