“I’m glad it’s all worked out, then.”
Tucker stared at him for a moment before releasing a sigh and looking away, obviously not seeing the sincere joy he’d hoped to find on Chance’s face.
How the hell was he supposed to react to Cora Mae turning up in Slippery Gulch?
“How’d it go down at the miners’ camp?”
“Just dandy. I gave Wyatt his colt and told him I’d be sending a bill for it and any others that died because of his ignorance.”
“Why am I thinkin’ there’s more to that account than what you’re telling?”
Chance shrugged and ate the last of the bread. “Might have tossed in a punch before giving him Starlet. No less than he deserved.”
“I sure wish you’d told me before you lit off into that valley.”
Chance wished he had, too. Then Tuck could have endured Cora Mae’s bright smiles and excited jiggles. The memory of how quickly he’d squelched that excitement tugged at his conscience.
Noticing some breadcrumbs on the table, he brushed them into his hand.
“Wyatt could have had others with him.”
“I had the kid along.” Chance stood and emptied his palm into the sink basin. “We took care of it.”
“Did Wyatt admit to damming the river?”
“He didn’t have to.” Chance leaned back against the countertop. “We knew it was him.”
“What makes you so certain he wasn’t following orders?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He works for Widow Jameson.”
“Wyatt’s the one who controls her crew. What cause would Salina have to dam the river? She told me she didn’t have a problem with our use of wire fencing.”
“Yeah, but what a woman says and how a woman feels are two different things. Especially when you become personally involved with her.”
Chance groaned. “We’re not personally involved.”
His brother arched an eyebrow. “Not the way I heard it.”
“That was nearly two months back, and I didn’t do anything!” She had latched on to him in front of half their crew before he’d known what had hit him. For a tiny slip of a thing, she had the grip of a grizzly and the kiss of a skilled temptress.
“One kiss does not make us ‘personally involved.’”
“I can hardly ride out without finding her and her black buggy pulled up right beside you.”
“She won’t leave me alone,” he argued, frustrated and downright peeved by the amount of gossip she’d created. “I have more sense than to sow my wild oats in my own backyard.” Since they’d put down stakes, his oats hadn’t been getting sown at all! An inconvenience he hadn’t foreseen before settling in this valley. It was one thing to spend a few hours with a willing woman when he was just passing through—quite another to bed a woman close enough to start conjuring expectations.
“We were having trouble with the crew from the Lazy J long before Salina mauled me—that’s why we took to using the wire.”
“Nothing like the trouble we’ve been having in the past two months. Zeke took some heavy hits by whoever jumped him out on the north pasture last week. I wasn’t sure he was gonna make it. If he hadn’t—”
“There’d have been a hanging,” Chance finished for him. He would have been the first one on the Lazy J. If Skylar and Zeke’s wife hadn’t barred the stable holding shotguns, he and a few others would have ridden to the Lazy J and beat the identity of the coward who’d attacked Zeke out of their whole crew of worthless cowpokes.
Damn women. Always interfering!
“The old man can still barely walk,” Tucker continued. “Our boys are getting sick of fixing cut wire and having to look over their shoulder the whole time. You sure Wyatt isn’t her latest bed warmer?”
“How the hell should I know? So what if he is? I’ve never proclaimed an interest in Salina. I don’t know why she’s suddenly stuck on me!”
“Clearly you’re the victor,” Tuck said in a droll tone.
“Well I forfeit!”
“Good luck with that. In the meantime, her crew’s creating a powerful hostility among the men. We’re a stone’s throw away from an all-out range war.”
“Why do you think I rode down into that valley?”
“I just hope you targeted the right source.” Tuck picked up the ledger and stood.
“Are you saying I should have ridden to the Lazy J and punched out Salina?”
Tuck chuckled and turned away. “I’m going to bed. We can talk more tomorrow. By the way, I put Cora Mae two doors down from you.”
Chance beat him to the doorway and blocked his path. “Why is she on my side of the house?”
“Why do you think? Skylar could go into labor any day now. Our only spare room is between Josh and the nursery. Garret has the only room down here. You better be nice to her,” Tuck said, wagging a finger at him. “It won’t kill you to show a little politeness.”
“I don’t trust her.”
Tucker’s laughter tightened the anger twisting inside him. “You don’t trust anyone. I’m not asking you to like her. Just be nice.” Tucker moved past him, heading for the stairs in the front room.
Chance glanced at the stairwell at the end of the kitchen leading to his section of the house. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she was in Wyoming. Grumbling to himself, he put out the lamp and climbed the stairs. His footsteps slowed as he reached the light spilling out from beneath her door.
He remembered a time when they’d snuck into each other’s rooms on a regular basis and would talk for hours or climb out of the window for a late-night venture to the river. They’d also been caught on occasion and, though Cora Mae hadn’t gotten off unscathed, it was him and Tuck who’d lost strips off their hide.
Rage tightened over Chance’s body as old hatred welled up inside him. He couldn’t separate the good memories from the bad, and preferred not to think about the past at all.
Be nice.
He walked into his room thinking he was well beyond the age when niceness got him anywhere. He was tired of tripping over marriage-minded women and sick to death of being celibate! Unless a woman was interested in getting naked and getting lost, she could get the hell out of his way.
Did he go around shouting such things? No! He was polite, damn it! And hadn’t it been his idea to knock on Cora Mae’s window and invite her along that first time. Tucker had griped for days about a girl tagging along with them. Who was Tucker to tell him to be nice?
He found the matches on his night table and lit the lamp, spilling light across his room and the wooden box beside the glass kerosene globe. Slumping onto his bed, he flipped the lid up and took a small leather pouch from the clutter of coins, cuff links and pocket watches. Dipping his fingers inside, he pulled out the thin silken fabric.
Faded by time, the only color left in the frayed thing were smudges of dirt and dried blood. Just a stupid ribbon…that had brought him the slightest comfort in times when he’d desperately needed to believe there was more than pain and violence in this world. He’d think of Cora Mae, her smiles, her sweetness, her resilience.
He wasn’t sure why he