Maverick Wild. Stacey Kayne
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 sweetly spoken remarks resurfaced, this time grating over sensitive wounds.
What does it matter? She’d rather die a spinster than find herself at the mercy of another man.
Chance took the basket being offered to him and wondered if anyone else had noticed her hesitation to answer his question or the sadness still darkening her eyes as she stared blindly at her plate.
“You won’t have time to be lazy when those girls get here,” Garret was saying to Skylar.
“Why do you keep calling them girls?” demanded Tucker.
Garret shrugged while swallowing a bite of food. “Margarete is predicting girls. She said Josh’d be a boy. And he was.”
“How’s Zeke?” Chance asked, determined to get his focus off Cora Mae. The mention of their foreman’s wife reminded him he’d forgotten to stop and check on him.
“Better,” said Skylar. “Cora and I took them some supper. Margarete has her hands full enough trying to keep Zeke in bed and off a horse.”
Well into his sixties, Zeke was as tough as they came. The beating he’d endured would have taken the starch out of any man.
“It was good to see him sitting on his porch this morning,” said Duce.
“He’s still favoring his left leg,” Garret added.
Duce shook his head and jabbed his fork into a piece of ham. “Not one of those cowards on the Lazy J poked a head out while we tore down that dam.”
Not surprising. Serving himself a helping of potatoes, Chance caught a glimpse of Cora Mae’s plate. The circle of porcelain was dabbed with hardly enough food to fill a sparrow. He glanced again at her downcast gaze and pale complexion.
“Are you not feeling well?” he asked in a hushed voice, leaning toward her, not wanting to draw attention from the others.
She looked up in surprise. “I feel fine,” she whispered back.
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
Her eyes widened. Red splotched her cheeks. “I am.”
Chance glanced again at the spot of green and sliver of ham. “Cora Mae, you don’t have to starve yourself to be polite. A body can’t survive on a few bites of food.”
“Mine can,” she said, her voice barely audible.
The sad bow of her mouth sent a lash of anger through him. Every dip and curve of her sweetly shaped body was enough to drive him to distraction. He heaped a spoonful of potatoes onto her plate. “Bullshit,” he said, knowing her mother had likely planted such thoughts in her mind. “A few more pounds won’t make you any less attractive.”
A sudden silence fell over the dining room and Chance realized he hadn’t kept his voice as low as he should have.
“What?” He shoved the bowl into Mitch’s hands, annoyed by the shock on everyone’s faces and the wave of heat rising up from his collar. “Am I out of line for stating the truth?”
“You’d have to be blind not to notice,” Garret piped in.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” said Mitch. “Are you spoken for?”
Chance stopped short of taking a bite of greens. Cora Mae visibly stiffened.
“You’re bound to have suitors,” said Tucker. “Single women don’t last long around these parts. If you’ve a mind to marry—”
“Certainly not,” Cora Mae answered with a speed and sternness that put instant frowns on the men, and nearly had Chance smiling.
“I have no interest in marriage,” she said, “so there’s no provocation for suitors. Or courtship. Of any sort,” she added, hammering a final nail into the courtship coffin.
That settled that.
“Do you have reason to leave soon?” asked Skylar.
“Well…no. But I don’t intend to wear out my welcome.”
“So,” said Duce, “if you was to take a shine—”
“I won’t marry.”
Chance admired the firmness in her tone, and had to refrain from kicking his temporary foreman.
“I don’t intend any insult,” she said, clearly noting the glum expressions around the table, “I just…”
“She’s not interested,” Chance interjected. “And we won’t tolerate any pestering.” His gaze pinned every man at the table. “Duce, did you finish bringing in the mustangs on the north side?”
“Not by half. We spent our morning tearing down the last of the Lazy J dam.”
The rest of the conversation was a hum in Cora’s ears as Chance’s protective words played over in her mind. He’d been her strength for so long. Even as children, he’d taken the sting out of her mother’s endless insults.
Your mama’s stupid. I like your orange hair.
She stole another glance at him. Perhaps he hadn’t changed so much. The blond hair reaching his collar and flipping up around his ears was darker than she remembered, his strong masculine features far more handsome than she could have imagined. Could the Chance she’d known as a child be buried somewhere beneath that rugged exterior?
His gaze caught hers. Flutters erupted low in her belly.
His brow furrowed as he looked away. Anger darkened his eyes. “Salina said what?”
Cora glanced at the shocked expressions around the table and realized there’d been a drastic shift in the conversation.
“That you’re courting her,” said Skylar. “Her words. And she was rude to Cora while making her announcement.”
Chance’s questioning gaze whipped toward her.
“It was nothing,” Cora quickly put in. “She was obviously staking her claim on you, which is none of my business or my concern.”
“Bu-shit!” Joshua slapped the tray of his high chair, capturing everyone’s attention. He shoved a soggy crust of bread back into his mouth and continued to babble incoherently.
Skylar glared across the table at Chance.
“Thanks a lot, partner,” he said to his nephew. “Mumble everything but the swear word.”
“Much like his uncle,” said Skylar.
Cora laughed into her napkin.
“You know,” said Mitch, “courting Widow Jameson ain’t a bad idea. You take over the Lazy J and maybe we can actually get some work done around here instead of just repairing the fencing.”
“I think I’d rather take my chances with Mad Mag,” said Duce, initiating a roar of laughter.
Cora leaned close to Garret. “Who’s Mad Mag?”
His hazel eye winked at her. “Crazy trapper woman who lives up on the mountain.”
Chance’s chair scuffed across the floor as he shoved away from the table. “Excuse me,” he said, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Cora