Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne

way.” He checked to make sure her trunk had been roped down, then held a hand out to help her up onto the seat. “After you, Cora Mae.”

      She shrugged off his touch and stepped onto the cart without his assistance. “It’s just Cora.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “My name,” she said, smoothing down the full yellow skirt that had swallowed the entire seat. “I shortened it when I began working at the mill. I prefer to be called Cora.”

      “That sure is a pretty name,” said Garret, already mounted on his pinto with Chance’s horse and the pack horse lined up behind.

      The kid had a lot to learn about women. Pretty didn’t mean trustworthy. There was no denying the truth he’d seen in her eyes. Cora Mae was hiding something. He was in no mood to play a charlatan’s game.

      “Better secure your hatpin, Cora Mae. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

      Chapter Two

      Cora clutched the seat, her feet braced wide on the buckboard as Chance drove her cart across another green valley as though he were leading the last wagon train out of hell. A biting wind flattened the tall grass before them.

      Chance’s strong frame seemed to follow every shift of the seat while she shook until her teeth rattled. So focused was he on the uneven terrain, he’d likely not notice if she toppled out. Perhaps he intended to send her careening to the ground. What on earth had she been thinking, traveling into the middle of the Wyoming wilderness to find two boys from her childhood?

      The wagon slowed as they reached the crest of another rise. Chance reined the horse to a halt. A valley stretched out before her, covered by swaying grasses bursting with wildflowers and spotted with boulders and trees.

      She uncurled her fingers from the seat and ran them briskly over her arms, trying to rub some of the chill from her skin. She glanced beside her and found Chance’s gaze intent on hers. His striking features could have been carved in granite, the sparkling green of his eyes cold and clear as a gemstone.

      “Sorry about your dress.”

      She glanced down at the dark smudges on her yellow skirt. Knowing more were on the dress front hidden beneath her crossed arms, an instant heat flared in her cheeks.

      “It’s nothing,” she said, certain the dress had fared far better than her pride. Had she actually hugged him? She must have been blinded by images of the boy who’d long since outgrown her memory of him. What a spectacle she must have made.

      How could she not have expected the full-grown man beside her to be a stranger? A frightening one at that. Chance’s reception had fallen drastically short of her expectations.

      Seemingly out of things to say, he gazed across the windswept grasses. She took the opportunity to secure her hat before the wind snatched it away completely. After a few minutes of listening to the jingle of horse harnesses and watching the wind chase leaves and grass, she couldn’t stand it. Unfriendly as he may be, it was still Chance Morgan who sat beside her. The closest friend she’d ever had.

      “Did you never wonder about me?”

      His jaw flexed as though the question annoyed him. “Sure we did.”

      “Are your memories of me so terrible?”

      He eased back against the seat and released a long sigh before he finally met her gaze. His expression softened, revealing a sadness Cora felt to the bottom of her soul.

      “You know I didn’t want to leave you behind.”

      She’d clung to that hope for two decades.

      “Tuck and I, we spent countless nights plotting all kinds of scenarios for going back for you.”

      “You did?” Warmth blossomed inside her.

      “But we were kids, Cora Mae. And you were Winifred’s daughter.”

      And just that quickly the spark died, stamped out by the hatred buried in those last two words. Winifred’s daughter. “Has it been so long that you’ve confused me with my mother?”

      “No. But apparently you believe enough time has passed between us that you can lie to me and get away with it.”

      Cora froze, stunned by his candid accusation.

      Her mother’s manipulation may have driven her here, but Cora wouldn’t allow Winifred’s influence to ruin her chance to know her stepbrothers again.

      “I’ve not lied,” she insisted.

      “Cora Mae.” His voice was barely a rumble above the wind.

      The sudden warmth in his green eyes stole her breath. His lips tipped into a slight smile, and Cora was struck by the urge to…certainly not hug him.

      “I think you forget how well I know you,” he said.

      She hadn’t forgotten. She’d never stopped praying for the day he would come back into her life. Winifred wouldn’t steal this from her. She wouldn’t allow it.

      “You knew a child. The man sitting before me is proof that people change over time. You’re hardly the sweet boy I once knew.”

      “Sweet boy? I recall doing my best to set off a certain prissy tomboy’s spitfire temper and landing her in a mess of trouble on several occasions.”

      He’d been the best adventure of her life. “You were worth the trouble.”

      He arched a golden eyebrow and Cora averted her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of sitting so close to him and speaking of such personal matters. “You were my very best friend,” she clarified. “It’s one of the few childhood memories I hold dear.”

      “All clear!”

      Cora jumped at the sound of Garret’s voice. She glanced back to see him approaching on his horse with Chance’s horse and a packhorse trailing behind him, realizing only then that she hadn’t seen him since they’d left Slippery Gulch some time ago.

      “Have you been right behind us all along?” she asked as he reined in beside them.

      “No, ma’am.” He dismounted and began changing the lineup of the three horses. “I stayed a short ways back, making sure Wyatt didn’t send any of his men after us.”

      “After us?”

      “You don’t need to fret none.” Garret met her gaze with a grin. “I didn’t spot any riders.” He mounted the other saddled horse now standing at the front of the line. “Which pass are we taking?” he said to Chance.

      “Northeast is the shortest.”

      Garret gave a sharp nod.

      “Mr. Spud mentioned a distinct trail to your ranch,” she said, certain this was not the direction he’d described. “I haven’t noted one.”

      “We’re using a stock trail,” said Chance. “Not the smoothest ride, but it shaves nearly an hour off travel. We’ll make it home in time for Skylar’s supper.”

      “Tucker’s wife?”

      “Yeah.”

      At thirty-three, she had truly expected them both to be wed by now. “You’ve not married?”

      Chance gave a short, humorless laugh. “Marriage is not for me. Not in this lifetime.”

      She found an odd sense of comfort in that response and rather agreed with his outlook.

      “Miss Cora,” Garret said, reining in beside her. He leaned over and dropped a large coat over her shoulders, enveloping her in a warm lamb’s wool lining. “No sense in you shivering all the way to the ranch.”

      “Thank you.” She pulled the thick coat tight and breathed in a musky, masculine scent.