Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

got the feed stocked up in here. I paid for six bags.”

      “Sure do. Right inside the door there. Help yourself. Now that you’re here, I won’t have to worry about finding the lady an escort.”

      “That’s quite all right,” Cora quickly cut in. “I don’t need an escort.”

      Cold green eyes raked across the length of her. “If you’re headed in our direction—”

      “No. Thank you. I really do not require an escort.”

      His broad shoulders shifted, creating tiny avalanches of dust and dirt. “Your choice.”

      “But that don’t make no sense,” said Mr. Spud. “Not when—”

      “I can manage,” Cora insisted. “Thank you, Mr. Spud. I’ll be on my way.”

      “You heard the lady. Let’s get these loaded, kid.” He turned away and hoisted four large sacks of feed.

      “Nice seeing you again,” Garret said, smiling brightly as he backed toward the open doors carrying the other two bags. “See you next month, Spud.”

      “Uh, Miss Tindale?” Mr. Spud poked his fingers under his hat and scratched at his hair as he squinted at her. “Ain’t you headed to the Morgan place?”

      “I am,” she said, walking toward the cart.

      “Then you ought to change your mind about the escort, seein’ as that there’s one of the Morgans.”

      Cora’s gaze whipped toward the hitching rails outside the stable. “No.” She looked from the nice young man who couldn’t be more than sixteen to his broad-shouldered companion securing bags of feed to the back of a horse. “Are you certain?”

      “Yes, ma’am. He’s either the married one or he ain’t. ’Bout the only time I can tell ’em apart is when Tuck brings his wife along.”

      She thought of the man’s piercing green eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

      Oh, my goodness. Struck between horror and disbelief, she slowly made her way outside.

      Garret laughed as the Morgan man dunked his head into a trough. He whipped back, spraying water across the sky and revealing golden blond hair. Drops of water trickled down handsome features to his sharp jaw. His head tilted back as he raked his fingers through his hair, and she spotted a tiny scar hidden beneath his chin. A scar she’d given him accidentally.

      Chance.

      Smoothing her hands across the front of her skirt, she continued toward him. She had so wanted to make a good first impression. She stopped a few feet away. Tears stung her eyes, constricting her throat when she would have offered a greeting. She had waited so long.

      “You’re gonna get mighty cold by the time we reach the ranch,” Garret said through his laughter.

      Chance Morgan welcomed a chill, but he doubted it would help. “Trust me, kid, I won’t be cold.”

      “She caught your eye, too, huh?”

      “My eye didn’t catch anything,” he countered, still irritated that he’d been attracted to a pile of fluff and lace. Not his style. It was just as well Her Highness had opted to decline their escort.

      “All that mud must be clogging your vision,” said Garret.

      Not likely. He’d made out all those curvy features with crystal clarity. He had enough trouble without adding fancy women into the mix. Five minutes in the general store and mothers were nudging their frightened daughters toward him. What was wrong with townfolk? Why would anyone assume that because he had a ranch, he’d be suitable marriage material? Or that he wanted a wife?

      “Mud wouldn’t have kept me from noticing that little lady was prettier than a buttercup,” said Garret. “A buttercup bloomin’ in the, uh…um…”

      Pressing his hat over his wet hair, Chance glanced at Garret’s beet-red face. He followed the kid’s wide-eyed gaze to the “buttercup” standing a foot to his right, and grinned. That’ll teach the kid to go spouting off at the mouth.

      “You again?” He allowed his gaze to slide across her alluring figure. “Did you change your mind about the escort?”

      She stared up at him through watery eyes and appeared to be choking.

      “Miss, are you okay?”

      “Chance,” she said, sounding breathless.

      Shock rippled through him. Being one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen, he knew damn well he’d never laid eyes on her until today. But she sure as hell seemed to know him.

      “Have we met?”

      “Oh, yes,” she said in a rush. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.” Her pink lips formed a bright smile. A smile that sparkled in eyes the shade of cinnamon.

      His gaze honed in on the light dusting of freckles across her small nose. Spotting a spiral of bright-auburn hair poking out from beneath her wide fancy hat, Chance was hit by the flashing memory of big doe eyes, long orange braids and the mischievous grin of a little girl he hadn’t seen since he was twelve. He looked deeper into brown eyes flecked with bits of gold and amber.

      Holy hell.

      Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”

      She gave an excited shriek. Her body seemed to vibrate before she leaped at him, her arms banding around his waist.

      “Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him.

      Chance patted her back as she smiled up at him, hoping the light touch would release him from her tight embrace.

      “You’re so tall,” she said, squeezing him tighter still. “And handsome! I’ve missed you so much. And Tucker. How is Tucker? You can’t imagine…”

      As she continued to jiggle and talk, Chance didn’t know what made him dizzier. The woman’s rapid-fire sentences or the soft, supple curves pressed flush against him. The discomforting stir of his body answered his quandary, while bringing about a stark realization.

      He may have lived under the same roof as a red-headed tomboy during two years of his childhood, but he didn’t know this shapely woman from Eve. Certainly not well enough to have her rubbing herself all over him, her pretty face gazing up at him as though the sun rose and set in his eyes.

      “You’ve heard of Lowell’s Textile?”

      Chance nodded and gently pried her arms from his waist and set her away from him. The abrupt shift didn’t slow her excited chatter.

      “—but I was so certain I’d find you. And here you are. My goodness gracious, so strong and tall.”

      He smiled, her jubilation seeming somewhat contagious as he tried to keep up with her rapid-fire sentences.

      “—ornery dickens that you were as a boy, and twice as cunning. Mother was sure you’d perished in the war, but…”

      Her rush of words shattered into meaningless fragments at the mention of a name that never failed to put ice in his veins.

      Mother.

      Her mother, to be precise. The pristine witch who’d made life a living hell before he and Tucker had left home to follow their father into war. He and Tuck hadn’t been the only ones anxious to get away from their vicious stepmother. Their father couldn’t have beaten a trail off that ranch fast enough and had spent countless hours around a Rebel campfire warning the boys about the guiles of fancy women.

      “Cora Mae,” he blurted out when she finally paused for breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      She flinched at his hard-spoken words. Her smile dimmed.

      Damn.