Read Online Maverick Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) by Stacey Kayne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stacey Kayne
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found use for her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she told herself, fighting the unwanted memories from her mind and the ache from her chest. She was here, making a new start. Wyoming could bring no worse a fate than her mother’s betrayal.
She moved aside balls of yarn and stacks of small white flowers she’d crocheted during her travels. Once on the train west, she’d been thankful she’d shoved an armload of dresses into her sewing trunk before lowering it from her bedroom window.
Finding the lavender yarn, she quickly bound the stems. She left a long piece at the end and carried the bundle to the window where the colorful bouquet could dry in the sun.
The rod holding gingham fabric over the window was too high to reach, even on tiptoe. She pushed her sewing chest against the wall, climbed atop the curved lid, pushed back the curtains and stretched to tie the yarn around the wooden dowel. Outside, beyond the grassy lawn, the barns stood out like children’s blocks against an onyx sky. A figure moved into the light of a single lantern at the end of a stable. He shut one of the wide doors.
Chance .
He wore the thick coat she’d borrowed yesterday. Tucking his hands into the deep pockets, he glanced at the house. His gaze slid up to her window as if sensing her presence. Their eyes met. White teeth flashed behind his smile.
Cora’s heart bucked against her chest. Her fingers fumbled on the yarn.
Shaking his head, Chance looked away and blew out the barn lamp, cloaking himself in darkness.
Cora finished her bow and stepped down before she fell.
Good Gracious . It wasn’t as though he’d caught her in the midst of a crime…so why was her heart racing?
Perhaps because he still had an alarming knack of seeing right through her. She hadn’t really lied to him. In her mind, her mother was truly dead, buried with the memories of her deceit.
Too flustered to lie down, she pushed her sewing trunk back across the floor and opened the lid. She’d crocheted enough white blossoms to fill an apple orchard, figuring she could connect them later. Skylar’s long dining room table came to mind. She likely had enough to make a tablecloth and a stack of doilies—perhaps some hot pads connected with green leaves.
She grabbed a stack and began spacing them across her bed, visualizing the stitching she’d use to connect them. Going back to her trunk, she found her needles and a bundle of white yarn and set to work. The scent of floral soap followed her into the room.
A murmur of voices woke Cora with a start. Still sitting up in bed, a half-finished tablecloth draped out before her, she glanced about the room in a moment’s confusion.
“You take these to Margarete,” Chance said from beyond her door. “I’ll check the water on the stove.”
The babies!
In a flash she was across the room and jerked open the door. Chance and Garret glanced over their shoulders. Garret wore striped pajamas and held a stack of white bedding. Chance’s blue shirt was untucked, his feet bare.
“Are the babies coming?”
“Any minute,” Chance said as he turned and hurried down the stairs.
“Sky’s hurting something awful.” Garret’s eyes were dark with worry. “You should come. Margarete says she’s close.”
Cora didn’t know anything about birthing babies but followed as he rushed down the hall leading to the bedrooms on the east side of the house. As she neared Skylar and Tucker’s bedroom, she saw Margarete beyond the doorway, wearing a white robe, her black-and-gray hair pulled up in a thick bun at the crown of her head. She spoke in Spanish as she knelt before a settee draped in sheets at the foot of the bed where Skylar’s feet were braced wide. Skylar’s ragged breathing echoed from the room, and a rush of nerves nettled beneath Cora’s skin.
She hesitated a moment, before stepping into the room behind Garret. Tucker sat on his knees in the middle of the big bed, helping to support his wife as she gasped
“It doesn’t matter,” she told herself, fighting the unwanted memories from her mind and the ache from her chest. She was here, making a new start. Wyoming could bring no worse a fate than her mother’s betrayal.
She moved aside balls of yarn and stacks of small white flowers she’d crocheted during her travels. Once on the train west, she’d been thankful she’d shoved an armload of dresses into her sewing trunk before lowering it from her bedroom window.
Finding the lavender yarn, she quickly bound the stems. She left a long piece at the end and carried the bundle to the window where the colorful bouquet could dry in the sun.
The rod holding gingham fabric over the window was too high to reach, even on tiptoe. She pushed her sewing chest against the wall, climbed atop the curved lid, pushed back the curtains and stretched to tie the yarn around the wooden dowel. Outside, beyond the grassy lawn, the barns stood out like children’s blocks against an onyx sky. A figure moved into the light of a single lantern at the end of a stable. He shut one of the wide doors.
Chance .
He wore the thick coat she’d borrowed yesterday. Tucking his hands into the deep pockets, he glanced at the house. His gaze slid up to her window as if sensing her presence. Their eyes met. White teeth flashed behind his smile.
Cora’s heart bucked against her chest. Her fingers fumbled on the yarn.
Shaking his head, Chance looked away and blew out the barn lamp, cloaking himself in darkness.
Cora finished her bow and stepped down before she fell.
Good Gracious . It wasn’t as though he’d caught her in the midst of a crime…so why was her heart racing?
Perhaps because he still had an alarming knack of seeing right through her. She hadn’t really lied to him. In her mind, her mother was truly dead, buried with the memories of her deceit.
Too flustered to lie down, she pushed her sewing trunk back across the floor and opened the lid. She’d crocheted enough white blossoms to fill an apple orchard, figuring she could connect them later. Skylar’s long dining room table came to mind. She likely had enough to make a tablecloth and a stack of doilies—perhaps some hot pads connected with green leaves.
She grabbed a stack and began spacing them across her bed, visualizing the stitching she’d use to connect them. Going back to her trunk, she found her needles and a bundle of white yarn and set to work. The scent of floral soap followed her into the room.
A murmur of voices woke Cora with a start. Still sitting up in bed, a half-finished tablecloth draped out before her, she glanced about the room in a moment’s confusion.
“You take these to Margarete,” Chance said from beyond her door. “I’ll check the water on the stove.”
The babies!
In a flash she was across the room and jerked open the door. Chance and Garret glanced over their shoulders. Garret wore striped pajamas and held a stack of white bedding. Chance’s blue shirt was untucked, his feet bare.
“Are the babies coming?”
“Any minute,” Chance said as he turned and hurried down the stairs.
“Sky’s hurting something awful.” Garret’s eyes were dark with worry. “You should come. Margarete says she’s close.”
Cora didn’t know anything about birthing babies but followed as he rushed down the hall leading to the bedrooms on the east side of the house. As she neared Skylar and Tucker’s bedroom, she saw Margarete beyond the doorway, wearing a white robe, her black-and-gray hair pulled up in a thick bun at the crown of her head. She spoke in Spanish as she knelt before a settee draped in sheets at the foot of the bed where Skylar’s feet were braced wide. Skylar’s ragged breathing echoed from the room, and a rush of nerves nettled beneath Cora’s skin.
She hesitated a moment, before stepping into the room behind Garret. Tucker sat on his knees in the middle of the big bed, helping to support his wife as she gasped
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