family and hardworking crew. We thank you for bringing Cora Mae back into our lives, which has pleased my wife no end . Help us, Lord, as we struggle with tolerance and humility, and give us the wisdom to choose our battles wisely, so that we may continue to earn your grace. Amen.”
Having been one of the longest prayers Tucker had ever given, Chance heard the message loud and clear.
“Garret, why don’t you start serving stew and we’ll pass the bowls around,” Tucker suggested.
The kid stood, filled his bowl, passed it to Cora Mae and took her empty one. Without glancing up, she swapped the stew for Chance’s empty bowl as others passed in theirs.
“So far the numbers look fairly good on the north end,” Tucker said, taking control of the conversation. “How about the south?”
“So far so good,” said Garret. “Huh, Chance?”
“Yeah.” He took a basket of bread from Mitch. As he held it out to Cora Mae, his gaze focused on her hands. They weren’t the delicate hands of a pampered woman. Her skin looked smooth as cream, yet showed signs of use, her short nails worked back to the quick and a callous on the inside of her thumb.
As if sensing his gaze, she curled her fingers into her palms.
A soft cry sounded from upstairs.
“I’ll get her.” Cora Mae surged up from her seat.
Chance was already standing. Their gazes locked and he noted the red rimming her eyes.
Oh, hell . He’d made her cry.
Remembering the only time he’d seen Cora Mae cry, a familiar surge of regret twisted through him.
“Why don’t you both go?” suggested Tucker.
“No.” Eyes as dry and cold as a glacier glared up at him. “I’ll go.”
She turned away.
Chance did about the only thing he could—he sat down and ate his meal.
Chapter Six
F or the first time in the past week, the afternoon wind had died down to a mild breeze. Cora knelt to pick another yellow squash. Hoisting a full basket into her arms, she walked along the uniform rows of a lush garden she could only dream of having. The neat greens and herbs ran the entire length of the side of the house, bursting with a harvest that could keep her and Skylar busy with pickling and preserving. She pushed open the white gate, an ache squeezing her heart as she glanced past the ranch buildings nestled amongst green hills, hugged by the surrounding mountains.
It didn’t matter how much she loved it here, Chance wouldn’t let her stay. The past few days of pleasantries with Skylar and the others hadn’t taken the sting out of Chance’s blatant rejection. He couldn’t have made his feelings plainer if he had packed her up and dumped her at the stage line.
When he charged into her room, his eyes revealed what his days of silence had hidden—an abhorrence of anything Tindale. She understood his hatred of her mother, but what had she done to earn such resentment? She’d done everything she could to distance herself from Winifred.
It wasn’t fair! She only wanted to have a life free of her mother’s cruelty, but still she haunted her.
“Afternoon, Miss Tindale.”
Cora jumped, her gaze snapping toward a grove of fruit trees beside the garden.
Wyatt stepped forward. Sunlight separated his dark duster from the shaded grove. “How nice to see you again,” he said, pulling off his hat. The light breeze caught the ends of his curly black hair. “And on such a nice afternoon.”
She wondered how he came to be standing beside the garden fence, appearing casual and relaxed. She couldn’t see any sign of a horse in the ripple of hills and trees stretching out behind him.
“Mr. McNealy.” She glanced over her shoulder, searching for anyone standing about the yard. Wyatt’s slow grin suggested he already knew they were alone. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin.
“You needn’t be alarmed.”
After all she’d learned about him, stealing from her stepbrothers, attacking poor Zeke, her wariness of him was a warranted reaction. And if he hadn’t meant to
Having been one of the longest prayers Tucker had ever given, Chance heard the message loud and clear.
“Garret, why don’t you start serving stew and we’ll pass the bowls around,” Tucker suggested.
The kid stood, filled his bowl, passed it to Cora Mae and took her empty one. Without glancing up, she swapped the stew for Chance’s empty bowl as others passed in theirs.
“So far the numbers look fairly good on the north end,” Tucker said, taking control of the conversation. “How about the south?”
“So far so good,” said Garret. “Huh, Chance?”
“Yeah.” He took a basket of bread from Mitch. As he held it out to Cora Mae, his gaze focused on her hands. They weren’t the delicate hands of a pampered woman. Her skin looked smooth as cream, yet showed signs of use, her short nails worked back to the quick and a callous on the inside of her thumb.
As if sensing his gaze, she curled her fingers into her palms.
A soft cry sounded from upstairs.
“I’ll get her.” Cora Mae surged up from her seat.
Chance was already standing. Their gazes locked and he noted the red rimming her eyes.
Oh, hell . He’d made her cry.
Remembering the only time he’d seen Cora Mae cry, a familiar surge of regret twisted through him.
“Why don’t you both go?” suggested Tucker.
“No.” Eyes as dry and cold as a glacier glared up at him. “I’ll go.”
She turned away.
Chance did about the only thing he could—he sat down and ate his meal.
Chapter Six
F or the first time in the past week, the afternoon wind had died down to a mild breeze. Cora knelt to pick another yellow squash. Hoisting a full basket into her arms, she walked along the uniform rows of a lush garden she could only dream of having. The neat greens and herbs ran the entire length of the side of the house, bursting with a harvest that could keep her and Skylar busy with pickling and preserving. She pushed open the white gate, an ache squeezing her heart as she glanced past the ranch buildings nestled amongst green hills, hugged by the surrounding mountains.
It didn’t matter how much she loved it here, Chance wouldn’t let her stay. The past few days of pleasantries with Skylar and the others hadn’t taken the sting out of Chance’s blatant rejection. He couldn’t have made his feelings plainer if he had packed her up and dumped her at the stage line.
When he charged into her room, his eyes revealed what his days of silence had hidden—an abhorrence of anything Tindale. She understood his hatred of her mother, but what had she done to earn such resentment? She’d done everything she could to distance herself from Winifred.
It wasn’t fair! She only wanted to have a life free of her mother’s cruelty, but still she haunted her.
“Afternoon, Miss Tindale.”
Cora jumped, her gaze snapping toward a grove of fruit trees beside the garden.
Wyatt stepped forward. Sunlight separated his dark duster from the shaded grove. “How nice to see you again,” he said, pulling off his hat. The light breeze caught the ends of his curly black hair. “And on such a nice afternoon.”
She wondered how he came to be standing beside the garden fence, appearing casual and relaxed. She couldn’t see any sign of a horse in the ripple of hills and trees stretching out behind him.
“Mr. McNealy.” She glanced over her shoulder, searching for anyone standing about the yard. Wyatt’s slow grin suggested he already knew they were alone. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin.
“You needn’t be alarmed.”
After all she’d learned about him, stealing from her stepbrothers, attacking poor Zeke, her wariness of him was a warranted reaction. And if he hadn’t meant to
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