Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

worse than death.

      Inside the house a rumble of voices echoed across the high ceiling of the dining room. A succulent aroma filled the air, something he’d missed his first time through the door. His mind hadn’t gotten past the fact that Salina had been sitting in his living room. Hunger replaced the cold ache in his belly as he walked to the dining room.

      He found everyone seated at the long table. Tucker at the far end with Skylar to his right, his son between them in his high chair already chewing on a crust of bread. Garret and the eight ranch hands filled in the sides of the long table. Their supper steamed from large bowls spaced across the polished surface.

      Chance pulled out the chair on his end and glanced again at his crew of horse wranglers sitting at attention, every one of them so spruced up he had to wonder if it was Sunday. Seemed every man had found time to slick his hair back, or at least dunk his head in a trough.

      “We invite the old preacher over for supper?” he asked as he sat down.

      Tucker laughed. “I don’t recall John ever getting this kind of reception.”

      Cora Mae. He’d been so preoccupied by Salina, he hadn’t noticed her absence.

      “Can’t blame a man for wanting to spiff up a bit before sitting down to supper,” Duce said, sitting two chairs away from Chance on his right, his shaggy, sun-dried orange hair now slicked back against his scalp.

      “Spiffed up?” Mitch said from beside him. “Looks like you dumped a pint of grease on your head.” The sharp edges of Mitch’s thick brown mustache were clearly defined against smooth tawny skin. Seemed his horse trainer had found time to shave before supper.

      “You and Salina have a nice chat?” asked Tucker.

      “No.” Chance glanced at the empty chair on the right. “Where’s Cora Mae?”

      “Finishing up with the ham,” said Skylar.

      “All done,” Cora Mae called from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway holding a platter laden with sliced ham.

      The sudden tension in Chance’s chest told him he’d missed more than the scent of food the first time he’d entered the house. With only a swath of her hair pinned up on each side, her auburn mane flowed across her shoulders and stood out against a dark-gray pinafore. He tried to convince himself she couldn’t have gotten prettier in the day he’d been away from her.

      There wasn’t anything fancy about her drab dress, but her plain attire only drew attention to the shapely woman beneath. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the subtle sway of her hips.

      Sweet mercy.

      She stepped up to the empty spot beside him and leaned over to place the platter on the white tablecloth. The red, gold and copper of her hair glimmered against the lamplight from above. What had once been carrot-orange hair had become a burst of fall colors. He didn’t dare allow his gaze to drift below those lovely locks to all the curvy changes he’d rather not notice.

      “Allow me, Miss Cora,” Garret said, jumping up to shift the chair that was already directly behind her.

      “Thank you, Garret.”

      The doe-eyed kid beamed as he retook his seat. The flush in Cora Mae’s cheeks stole Chance’s attention. She looked his way, her lips tipping with a nervous smile before she averted her gaze. Even her long lashes had an amber tinge against her pale skin.

      Peaches and cream, he thought noting the light dusting of freckles across her small nose.

      She’s Cora Mae, he curtly reminded himself, disturbed by the sudden stir of his body. The reminder didn’t do a damn thing to dampen the hard rush of attraction.

      Just because she doesn’t look a thing like her mama doesn’t mean she hasn’t been soured by her. He’d be a fool to believe she was still all sunshine and sweetness.

      “Chance?”

      He blinked and realized Cora Mae was holding up the platter of ham. Apparently he’d missed his brother saying grace.

      “I swear I didn’t poison it.”

      “You cooked supper?” he asked, taking the platter.

      Her lips thinned in clear annoyance. “You needn’t sound so shocked. I’m used to feeding thirty girls three times a day, as well as tending to the laundry and other household needs.”

      In truth, he was shocked. The idea of a Tindale woman actually working hadn’t yet registered in his mind. “I’m surprised Skylar gave up control of her kitchen,” he said as he forked a few slabs of ham onto his plate and passed it on.

      “If you’d joined us for breakfast or dinner,” said Skylar, “you’d know I haven’t cooked a lick since Cora arrived.”

      Chance glanced from Cora Mae to the spread currently working its way around the table. I’ll be damned.

      “I’m glad to help out,” she said. “After a month of travel, I’ve missed cooking.”

      “Running a boardinghouse with so many girls must have kept you busy,” said Tucker.

      “It did. Having worked in the mill for a few years, I understood how much an organized household could help with the strain of living on factory time. A twelve-hour workday is long enough without having to worry about walking home on a thirty-minute break only to discover supper wouldn’t be ready before you had to walk back to the mill. The time clock didn’t care if you’d eaten or slept on filthy sheets or had clean clothes in your wardrobe. But I cared. I made sure my girls were taken care of.”

      “Sounds like you enjoyed your job,” Chance said, taking a bowl of fresh greens from her.

      She smiled. Sheer pride lit her eyes. “I loved it.”

      The sincerity in her voice intrigued him. “So, why’d you leave?”

      “Well…” Her smile collapsed, taking the spark from her eyes. “I guess…I was ready for some change.”

      “We’re sure glad you’re here,” said Garret.

      “We certainly are,” Skylar put in. “I’m grateful for all your help. If these babies don’t make an appearance soon, I may become permanently lazy.”

      Suddenly overwhelmed by a staggering sense of loss, Cora couldn’t muster a smile. She lowered her gaze to her plate as her mind flooded with the image of Mr. Grissom’s cold expression and callous gaze. Standing on the front porch of the boardinghouse, her mother’s mercenary had announced his intention to take her home. It hadn’t been a request. She’d been packed up and carted off—no explanation, no time to give notice or goodbyes. And for what?

      To be starved into satin bonds and handed to a drunken laird as though she were nothing more than a bargaining chip in her mother’s reserves.

      Anger twisted through her at the memory of a closet full of beautiful gowns, all fashioned for a woman a third her size. A welcome home gift, her mother had called them. A gift laced with the usual ridicule and insult. A reminder of why she’d been sent away, considered unworthy of a place in society. Lord knew all her cousins fit perfectly into the Tindale debutant mold.

      “Miss Cora?”

      Garret smiled brightly and passed her a basket of bread. She took it but realized she’d lost her appetite as swiftly as she’d lost control of her life. She passed the bread on, telling herself she didn’t need the hassle of letting out her dress seams, but it was her mother’s voice she heard.

      What have you done to yourself, Cora Mae? Honestly, Cora Mae, it’s no wonder you are nearly thirty and unwed.

      She hated the sound of her full name, knowing insults never trailed far behind it. Not that changing her name had done anything to improve her appearance.

      Salina Jameson’s