Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical Series)

by Stacey Kayne

  Tucker and Skylar sat across from him, waiting patiently for his wife to join them at the small table. Baked chicken and fresh biscuits steamed on their plates, the aroma making his mouth water.

  He should have woken her up. He nearly had. The moment he’d awakened and felt her warmth beside him, saw her face tucked so sweetly against his chest, his body had burned with the urge to wake her with kisses, to reawaken the passion they’d shared several times the night before. But if he’d done that, he’d likely have stayed in bed with her until noon.

  He imagined she had surprised herself last night. She’d certainly shocked the hell out of him. He hadn’t dreamed his bride would be so passionate. Okay, he might have dreamed it, but he truly hadn’t expected her to come apart in his arms last night, to give herself so completely. Her openness, her honesty, it had burned him to the quick.

  I love you.

  Her breathless proclamation had been sounding in his mind all morning.

  You give me so much.

  He wondered if it all seemed different to her in the morning light. If she’d realized the words he’d withheld.

  His brother’s warning had nagged at him all morning, as well, and now seemed to shout through his mind. I do believe proclamations of love are words most women want to hear on their wedding night. I was too damn scared to tell Skylar I loved her when I should have.

  He glanced at his sister-in-law. Judging by all the times he’d caught them lip-locked over the past few years, she must have forgiven him.

  Skylar shifted in her chair. “Cora, come and sit down,” she said. “The pans can wait.”

  Cora Mae turned from the stove. She eyed him up with the wariness of a green-broke filly looking to avoid a lasso.

  Hell. She was definitely seeing things differently in the clear light of day. He’d rushed her; he knew he had. But damn it, the way she’d responded to his touch, his kisses—

  “I made fresh butter,” she said, turning away from him again.

  “Cora, we don’t—” Skylar snapped her mouth shut as Cora Mae disappeared into the pantry.

  A low chuckle rumbled from his brother. Tucker grinned at him from across the table as he finished buttering his biscuit. “Morning-after jitters?” he asked in a low whisper.

  Chance glared at him.

  Skylar jabbed him with her elbow. “Why don’t you and I eat in the front room,” she whispered, picking up her plate and glass of tea as she stood. “It’s not often the kids are all napping at once.”

  “Fine idea,” Tucker said, picking up his plate to join her retreat.

  “You don’t have to,” Chance said.

  Skylar smiled. “You’ve always given us our privacy. We can do the same.” She stepped beside him. “She’s been nervous all morning,” she whispered for his ears alone, then hurried through to the dining room with Tucker.

  He appreciated the warning. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it. Cora Mae came back to the table holding a small crock, her eyes widening at the sight of the two empty chairs.

  “Where’d they go?”

  “Wanted some time alone, I guess.”

  Her slow approach ate at his nerves. Maybe she just needed to be reminded that she liked being in his arms.

  The moment she was in reach, he grabbed ahold of her apron and tugged until she plopped down onto his lap.

  “Chance!”

  He forced a lazy grin as he took the crock from her hands and set it on the table.

  “What are you—”

  “Kissing you good-morning,” he said, “like I should have hours ago.”

  Her expression softened and Chance felt an ache in his chest, which only tightened as she leaned into his kiss, her hands sliding over his shoulders with familiar ease. Chance took care not to rush, teasing her lips with light caresses, followed by a deep tasting. The next thing he knew, she was clinging to him, kissing him back with equal intensity. As gradually as the kiss escalated, Chance backed off, easing his hold, the pressure of his mouth, until he was nibbling gently on her lush lower lip before releasing her.

  “Much better,” he said, quite satisfied with her rosy cheeks and complacent expression. “I should have done that before I went out to work this morning. Tomorrow I’ll know better.”

  “I wish you had. I slept far too late.”

  “You needed the rest,” he said, holding her on his lap when she would have stood.

  She glanced warily toward the dining room.

  “Skylar’s likely on Tucker’s lap in the front room,” he said with a grin. A smile eased her tense expression as she relaxed in his arms.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, why you’re so nervous.”

  Her brow creased with a frown. “I don’t know. I didn’t, I’ve never…I just am. We’re married.” She said it as though the news came as a shock to her.

  “We are. You’re having second thoughts?”

  “No.”

  He drew a silent breath of relief.

  “We’ve just not spent much time with each other.”

  “My fault,” he said. “I’ll take care to be home in the evenings.”

  “Skylar suggested I move my things into your room—”

  “Our room,” he amended. “And you should.”

  “I know,” she said, her frown deepening.

  “But you don’t want to?”

  “I started to,” she said, her expression miserable. “My trunk is in your room. But when I opened your bureau and saw everything lined up so neat, the clothes folded so nicely in the drawers, I didn’t want to mess it up.”

  She was upset because she didn’t want to mess up his neat drawers? Laughter shook his chest, even as he tried to fight it. “Honey, you could put my clothes on the back porch for all I care. What matters to me is you.”

  “I couldn’t move your things to make room for mine.”

  “Then we’ll do it together. When I come in tonight.”

  Her smile touched her lips, though it didn’t take the sadness from her eyes. “Okay.”

  “Honey, we’re not talking about clothes, are we?”

  “I just…I don’t want to make a mess of things. You’ve seen Mother when she’s in a dither, she can leave behind the destruction of a hurricane.”

  “I won’t let her. She’ll likely have to travel for a week to find the nearest judge.”

  “I hate knowing I’ve brought such a burden to this house. Did you talk to Garret?”

  Chance doubted the news that he’d spent his morning working with Duce instead of Garret would ease her concern. Judging by the frigid glare he’d given him before riding out with Tucker, the kid was mad as hell. He’d taken for granted how well they’d worked together over the past few years.

  “He just needs some time to cool off,” Chance said, hoping that was indeed the case.

  “Seems no matter what I do, I’m uprooting someone.”

  “At sixteen, he has plenty of time to find a place to spread his roots.”

  Her lips twitched with the start of a grin. “Unlike you, who’s firmly rooted?”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  The warmth in her gaze filled him with a sense of satisfaction. Strange, how soothing her doubts helped to ease his own. Her eyes seemed to search his.

  Tell her you love her.

  “I love the feel of you in my arms,” he said, hugging her close. Coward.

  “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  He smiled into her hair. “After last night, I can’t believe you’d have any doubt.” He felt the heat of her blush and laughed.

  Had he ever laughed so much? He didn’t think so. He kissed her smiling lips.

  “Your dinner’s getting cold,” she said between kisses.

  “I’d rather kiss you and go back to work hungry,” he said, muffling her laughter with his mouth.

  By the time Tucker and Skylar came back into the kitchen, Chance was leaning against the counter as Cora put away their clean plates. They had managed to
eat, though he had kept Cora Mae on his lap the whole time.

  “Ready?” asked Tucker.

  “As ever,” he said, starting for the back door. He glanced back at Cora Mae, returning her warm smile before stepping outside.

  “Did you two work things out?” Tucker asked as they set off across the yard.

  “I think so.” They enjoyed being with each other. Hell, he could hardly stand being away from her. He was damn certain he loved her—an affliction he’d sworn he would never suffer. A few weeks ago he hadn’t believed any woman could be worth such risk. He’d been wrong.

  As they neared the first barn, Chance paused, detecting the faint scent of smoke. “Hey, Tuck?”

  Tucker was already searching the clear blue sky for signs of a plume. “Where’s it coming from?”

  Hoofbeats pounded toward them as Garret rode into view. “Fire on the north pasture!” he shouted. He reined to a hard stop, the horse turning in a full circle. “Duce and I cut the fences. I’m rounding up the others. We need shovels!”

  “We’ll bring ’em,” Chance shouted back, already running into the stable with Tucker.

  Cora Mae couldn’t stop smiling.

  She pressed a rolling pin into a mound of piecrust and began flattening out a circle.

  Thirty minutes inside the house, and Chance had slaked all her fears. Chance Morgan, her husband.

  The very notion still amazed her. Everything had happened so fast, Mother’s arrival, the wedding, last night. Her stomach dipped at the memory of the intimacy she and Chance had shared.

  This morning, it had all seemed so overwhelming. She’d begun to worry she had guilted him into something he’d regret, but she couldn’t doubt the truth she saw in Chance’s eyes.

  He loves me.

  He didn’t have to say the words for her to feel his affection. The man had just sat in this kitchen and hand fed her just to keep her on his lap. She never dreamed a man could be so endearing, not even Chance.

  He’d soothed her doubts—his tender touch making her feel cherished.

  Cora released a slow sigh and pressed out the edges of the piecrust. Breathing in an unexpected scent of smoke, she glanced at the stove. Nothing seeped from the oven door or the stovepipe. Realizing the smell was coming from outside, she leaned toward the kitchen window, searching the sky until she spotted thick gray clouds billowing up from the north, beyond the stables.

  Good gracious! She set the rolling pin aside and hurried out the back door. Keeping her eyes on the massive plume, she ran toward the corrals. Only horses milled about in the various stalls. Not a single man was in sight.

  “Chance? Tucker!”

  The ranch seemed deserted.

  Of course they’d have already spotted the smoke, she reasoned. To her relief, the fire appeared to be far off.

  She crossed her arms as she stared across the pasture toward the rising plumes. Skylar was nursing her daughters. Cora wasn’t sure if she should worry her. The wind was blowing northwest, away from the house. Surely the men would have alerted them if they were in any danger.

  Assuring herself they likely had everything under control, she turned back to the house.

  Movement to her left caught her eye. She turned as someone grabbed her from behind. A man’s bruising grip strapped around her arms. His other hand clamped over her mouth as he lifted her off the ground.

  Cora twisted and tried to scream. Each strained breath sucked in the foul scent of a cloth he held over her nose and mouth.

  Her vision blurred.

  Oh no.

  Wyatt rode toward the Lazy J, anxious to see Salina’s reaction to the news he’d just heard about Chance Morgan. Having spotted what looked to be a brush fire on Morgan land, they’d gone to investigate and found a blaze moving through trees and pasture. A fire was every rancher’s worst fear. He’d sent his crew to help contain it, and would have gone himself but he didn’t put it past Morgan to shoot him on sight.

  Not that he’d blame him. Blinded by jealousy, he’d been ready to kill the man. As it turned out, Morgan had married Miss Tindale after all.

  A smile pushed high into his cheeks as Wyatt rode into the yard, but his good cheer was cut short.

  A tall, sharply dressed stranger stood beside a fancy black coach, talking to Salina. Another woman dressed in black stood beside them.

  What the hell is she up to now?

  Wyatt spurred his horse. Salina turned, seeming startled to see him barreling into the yard. He leaped from his saddle, noting the tense expression of all three, as though he’d just intruded on a meeting of some importance.

  “This is my foreman,” Salina said, introducing him like some common cowpuncher as he stomped toward her. “Wy—”

  “Wyatt McNealy,” he said, extending his hand toward the fancy-dressed stranger. He slid his arm around Salina’s waist and pulled her against his side, ignoring her pinched expression.

  “Grissom,” the man said, shaking his hand. “My mistress, Winifred Tindale.” He motioned to the woman.

  Mrs. Tindale’s smile was more smirk than grin, her slender arching eyebrow suggesting amusement. She gave a regal nod, and Wyatt couldn’t help but think how she reminded him of a much-older version of Salina.

  “Tindale? You’re kin to Miss Cora Tindale, or rather Mrs. Morgan, going by the news I heard this afternoon.”

  Salina stiffened beside him. “What?”

  “According to one of their ranch hands, they were wed last night.”

  “Utter nonsense,” said Mrs. Tindale. “She’s been promised to another. Now that we have what I came for,” she said brightly, “we’ll be on our way.”

  A loud shriek drew their gazes to the tall black carriage.

  “Miz Tindale!” shouted a girl’s voice. The small carriage door burst open and a young girl dressed in white leaned out, her eyes wide with fear. “She’s waking up!”

  The girl yelped as she was forced forward and landed face-first in the dirt.

  Cora fell to her knees in the open doorway, her hands bound in front of her. She blinked as though fighting to keep her eyes open. “Chance!”

  Grissom was over her in a flash, pushing her back into the carriage as he pulled a brown bottle from his pocket.

  “You can’t do this!” she screamed, twisting as he struggled to hold a white cloth over her mouth. “Chance,” she called, her voice reduced to a whisper.

  Wyatt stared in horror as Grissom stepped up into the coach and tossed Cora’s limp body onto the padded bench, none too gently. He glanced at the woman before him watching the scene with blue eyes that could have been cut from a glacier.

  “You kidnapped her?” he asked, hardly able to believe what he’d just witnessed.

  “I’m merely taking what’s mine,” said Mrs. Tindale.

  “Madam,” said Grissom, holding his hand out to help the widow lady into the carriage. “We should go if we’re to make the riverboat.”

  “Thank you for your assistance,” she said to Salina, a pleasant smile transforming the woman’s expression to one of sheer elegance.

  The burning in Wyatt’s gut intensified.

  “My warm regards to her new husband,” Salina said.

  The look of satisfaction on her face sickened him.

  Who the hell were they to take Cora from the man she’d chosen?

  Grissom snapped a whip, and the coach rocked forward, pulling out of the yard.

  “Salina, what have you done?”

  “I fixed my problem,” she said in a huff, “and helped a mother reclaim her daughter.”

  “Reclaim? Seems to me Cora Tindale is old enough to think for herself. She married Chance Morgan last night.”

  “You heard her mother,” Salina protested. “She’s been promised to another.”

  “Promises don’t change the fact that Reverend Keats was at Morgan’s place last night! I heard it straight from one of Morgan’s men when we went to see about a fire on their—”

  “Wait a minute,”
he said, the pieces clashing together in his mind the way thunder breaks through storm clouds. “Tell me you didn’t have one of our men set that fire.”

  Salina pursed her lips, her usually pretty face set in a stubborn scowl. “Grissom did what he had to. There was no chance of it spreading here.”

  Wyatt could hardly believe the lengths she’d gone to in order to catch a Morgan. Then he reminded himself he’d lynched the man to ensure he’d have Salina all to himself.

  My God. We’re two of a kind. Ruthless, blind and dumb as ax handles.

  “It’s not going to work, Salina,” he said, sounding as defeated as he felt. “How do you think Morgan is going to react to the news that you had a hand in kidnapping his wife?”

  “How will he know?”

  “Hell, woman! You took his wife! You think he won’t be looking for answers? I’d be shooting down any man who took you from me! I hanged the last man who hinted at trying!”

  Salina’s mouth dropped open. “You did?”

  “He doesn’t want you, but I do. I’ve played along with all your schemes, knowing Mr. Almighty and Righteous wouldn’t want a tramp for a wife.”

  Salina gasped.

  “I don’t even mind that, Salina. I know how it was with the old man, you needed time to test your freedom. And you kept coming back to me. I keep waiting for you to see, to realize—”

  “Realize what?”

  “That I love you!”

  Salina jerked back, his words hitting her like a slap in the face. How dare he use something like that against her!

  “Do you think I’d have stuck around this past year, putting up with other men in your bed, if I didn’t love you? I know you have feelings for me, Salina.”

  No. Wyatt had his place. She enjoyed his company, but he couldn’t give her the security she required.

  “We’ve been through too much,” he said.

  She wouldn’t be swayed. “Love won’t save this ranch.”

  “To hell with this ranch! All I want is you.”

  She shook her head, refusing to give up her plans. She didn’t need love—she wanted her house, her space, her comfort. “The Morgans have the land we need to expand our ranging. You can’t manage this ranch well enough to support me, much less a child. How am I supposed—”