Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

what?” she repeated, planting her fists against sweetly rounded hips. She sure hadn’t turned out anything like her starchy, whip-thin mother. He couldn’t keep his gaze from roving the tight yellow bodice hugging full breasts. The gentle dip at her waist and prominent flare of her hips left no doubt that a man would find a soft, warm landing in her arms.

      Lord, have mercy. He was sure he shouldn’t be noticing such things about a woman who used to be his stepsister, once upon a time.

      “For you to make good on your promise,” she said, bringing his attention back to where it belonged: on her pretty face.

      “My promise?”

      “Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”

      Old guilt rushed across his conscience, along with a wave of unwanted memories. He recalled Cora Mae’s big brown eyes filled with tears, her frantic plea for him not to leave her behind. He had promised to go back for her. And at the time, he’d meant it. He’d also been twelve years old and hadn’t known war from a Sunday picnic. It was a guilt he’d gotten over a long time ago.

      “You promised to go back for her and never did?” Garret asked, sounding outraged.

      Chance’s gaze snapped toward the kid. He’d plain forgotten Garret was standing beside him. “I was twelve!”

      “I waited,” Cora Mae said, her sad eyes twisting the pain in his gut.

      “We couldn’t go back.” He shook his head, trying to shrug off the meaningless memories he’d spent too many years trying to forget. “You might recall there was a war going on. Tucker and I happened to be in the middle of it. Until we managed to get ourselves thrown into a Yankee prison camp.”

      “Oh, Chance.” The warmth of her hand closed over his forearm, the light touch burning into his flesh like a fiery brand.

      “It was a long time ago,” he said, brushing her hand from his skin. “We survived.” Barely.

      Lily-white hands pressed against her full bosom. “I never imagined.”

      Of course she hadn’t. She’d been busy with art classes and piano lessons. “You never answered my question,” he said, wondering again what Cora Mae Tindale was doing in Slippery Gulch, fawning all over him.

      “What question was that?” she asked, smiling so sweetly, it set his gut on fire.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Once I heard of your ranch, I had to come. Surely you’re aware that your ranch is broadly known?”

      Damn right it was. He and Tuck had worked their asses off to make their ranch a success. The last thing they needed was Winifred sending her daughter in to sniff things out.

      “Hearing that twin brothers by the name of Morgan were the owners, I had to find out if it was really you and Tucker.”

      “You could have sent a letter.”

      Her eyes widened, hurt registering in those rich brown depths.

      “Chance,” Garret said, stepping in between them, “what’s gotten into you? She just finished telling us how she traveled all the way from Massachusetts to see you.”

      But Chance hadn’t heard much beyond the roar of his blood as he stared down at the woman resurrecting demons from the past he’d long since put to rest. If Winifred thought she’d worm her way into their business by sending her daughter, she’d be disappointed. He was no longer a little boy who could be hauled out to the woodshed and whipped for the sheer delight of hearing him scream.

      “That’s quite all right.” Cora Mae’s jaw stiffened in a way Chance remembered it could. “I know there’s no blood shared between us. If I’m not welcome—”

      “Of course you’re welcome,” Garret insisted. “Isn’t she, Chance?”

      Chance regarded her for a long moment, certain he wouldn’t have to see her fancy yellow-clad body again if he suggested she wasn’t welcome. He had to remind himself it was never Cora Mae he’d hated. He’d once been as close to her as he had to his twin brother. In some ways, closer. That fact didn’t help to slake his unease.

      “Sure you are,” he said, though his tone didn’t carry a note of Garret’s enthusiasm. “It’s just a little hard to believe you’d travel clear across the States all by your lonesome just to see me.”

      “And Tucker, of course. How is Tucker?”

      “Just fine. How’s your mother?” he asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

      Her bright expression blanched. He couldn’t blame her for that. Thoughts of Winifred made him downright ill.

      “I…I haven’t seen her in years. Not since I went to work at the mill.”

      Cora Mae had been a lousy liar at the age of nine. It seemed some things hadn’t changed. The tightness in her delicate features told Chance she was lying through her pearly white teeth. “Cora Mae, if Winifred sent you here—”

      “Oh, no. She didn’t. She’s…dead.”

      His eyebrows kicked up. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Over the years he’d envisioned Winifred Morgan choking on her own meanness and dying a very slow and painful death.

      “Dead?” he repeated, trying not to sound hopeful.

      Her ivory hat bobbled with her vigorous nod, but Cora Mae’s wide eyes didn’t reveal the certainty he wanted to see there. As if sensing he could read her doubt, she lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

      Some things were just too good to be true. “How’d she die?”

      “Well I…I don’t know,” she said, her voice a tad too high. “I only received a note telling me of her passing. Since I was no longer obligated to send my wages to Mother, I chose to come west.”

      “She took your wages?”

      She bristled at that, her brow pinching in annoyance, the starch in her spine making the most of her five feet. “Of course she took my wages,” she spat. “Had I not been of some use to her, she’d have abandoned me years ago. My mother held no fondness for me. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

      He’d tried, and had been doing a fair job of blocking out the bad memories, stupid mistakes and unkept promises made by a boy too young to understand his limitations.

      “Don’t think I’ve come looking for free room and board.”

      He had a notion she’d come seeking a lot more than room and board. Cora Mae might have been fun as a kid, but she’d since been groomed by a woman who had a nose for money and a penchant for lying.

      “I’m fully capable of finding work for myself,” she insisted. “Though…” Her gaze skated briefly toward the landscape stretched out behind him. “I hadn’t planned on you living quite so far removed from any kind of township.”

      “We’ve got plenty of room on the ranch,” said Garret. “Tuck’s been trying to talk my stubborn sister into hiring help for around the house. With the babies coming and all, this sounds like a perfect solution.”

      Cora Mae kept her wary gaze on Chance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

      A little late for that.

      “Chance,” said Garret, his tone low with warning. He nodded to his left. Chance spotted the four riders coming in from the hills. Even at a distance, he recognized the rowdy ranch hands from the Lazy J. “We should get movin’,” said Garret.

      The kid had a point. Once those boys found Wyatt, travel would become somewhat more hazardous than usual. “Line the horses.” He took Cora Mae by the elbow and ushered her toward the livery. “I’ll drive the cart.”