Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical #880)

Wyoming Territory, 1883One hand clutching her valise, the other flattened atop her ivory bonnet to prevent the biting wind from snatching it away, Cora Mae Tindale charged through the dusty, pitted road of Slippery Gulch. Horses and wagons clamored through the small strip separating the parallel rows of buildings. She leaped onto the crowded boardwalk. Folks swarmed like bees as the stagecoach driver continued to toss parcels and crates down from the stagecoach that had brought her this far.Only twenty more miles.Cora drew her carpetbag of dusty traveling clothes against her aching ribs and forged her way through. Her corset pinched beneath the straining fabric of the yellow gown her mother had starved her into just one agonizing month ago. Lord, what she'd give for a full breath. She hadn't inherited her mother's petite build, but the raving woman wouldn't relent.There was nothing to be done for it now. This was the nicest dress she'd managed to stuff into her trunk. She couldn't arrive at the Morgan Ranch appearing a vagabond in need of charity.Keeping her gaze on the livery just a few shops down, she quickened her pace. Beyond the noise and bustle of the crowded strip, tiny canvas-topped homes spotted the uneven grasses. Miles of rolling hills rippled into the distance like great green waves. Farther out, snowcapped mountains spiked up into the clear blue.Cora's heart constricted painfully. The imposing view made it all too clear that this settlement was nothing but a tiny speck in a vast expanse of hills and sky. She'd heard Wyoming Territory was largely unsettled, but hadn't imagined Tucker and Chance would have built their ranch so far out into sheer wilderness.She wouldn't be discouraged. She'd waited so long to see them again, though these were not the circumstances she had envisioned.An instant burn of tears stung her eyes at the thought. The eight years she had spent at the textile mill had truly been a kindness. She'd been such a fool to believe her mother had summoned her home because she had missed her. Had she even suspected--"Miss Tindale?"Alarmed by the foul scent of bourbon on the breath so close to her ear, Cora swung around.A tall cowboy shifted his hat over curly black hair. "Name's Wyatt McNealy. I hear you're headed to the Morgan Ranch and are, uh, in need of my services."Cora took one look at Wyatt McNealy's smug grin and winking eye and knew she'd crawl the twenty miles to the Morgan Ranch before she'd travel in the company of a man carrying the stench of alcohol."You are mistaken, Mr. McNealy. I am not in need of any services.""Spud tells me you're headed out to the Morgan place. I happen to be traveling in that direction. No sense in you having to struggle with a cart across such rugged ground."Cora squared her shoulders. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm quite capable of handling a horse and cart. After traveling for weeks without altercation, I'm sure I can manage another twenty miles." She attempted to move past him. "Good day."He sidestepped, blocking her way.Fear nettled beneath her skin. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her carpetbag, preparing to knock him out of her way. Her other hand curled into a fist, just as her stepbrothers had taught her."You kin to the Morgans?""We're a kin of sorts," she said, hoping Chance and Tucker still thought of her as such."Well then." His fingers closed around her elbow. "I know they'd want me to make sure you reached their homestead safe and sound."Cora wrenched her arm from his grasp."Wyatt!" boomed a voice from behind them. "You black-hearted son of a bitch!" The cracking of knuckles against Wyatt's jawbone punctuated the hard-spoken words. Wyatt dropped to the boardwalk. The crowd around them dispersed like a clutch of spooked chickens. Cora swallowed a shriek and backed against the building as Wyatt's attacker brushed past her.The dark figure seemed a giant, weKayne, Stacey is the author of 'Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical #880)', published 2008 under ISBN 9780373294800 and ISBN 0373294808.