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       Praise for Stacey Kayne

       MUSTANG WILD

      ‘Fast-paced and well written, MUSTANG WILD was a delight to devour… Highly romantic, with just the right touch of humour, MUSTANG WILD is one for the keeper shelf. Stacey Kayne has penned a treasure.’

      —Cataromance

      ‘This strong debut is a tale of one woman’s struggle to overcome a father’s deceit before she can find peace, forgiveness and passion with the man meant for her. Each character carries his or her own weight, adding depth and humour to this honestly written story.’

      —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

      “Chance,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been waiting forever to see you again.”

      Chance took a cautious step back. “Cora Mae?”

      She gave an excited shriek. “Goodness, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed, damn near squeezing the life out of him. “Ydou’re so tall,” she said, squeezing him tighter still. “And handsome! I’ve missed you so much. And Tucker. How is Tucker? You can’t imagine.…”

      Chance didn’t know what made him dizzier. The woman’s rapid-fire sentences or the soft, supple curves pressed flush against him. The discomforting stir of his body answered his quandary.

      “Cora Mae,” he blurted out, when she finally paused for breath. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      She flinched at his hard-spoken words. Her smile dimmed.

      Damn. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh. I just…can’t imagine what would bring you all this way.”

      “I tired of waiting.”

      “Waiting for what?”

      “For you to make good on your promise,” she said.

      “My promise?”

      “Yes,” she said, her eyes growing misty. “To come back for me.”

      Stacey Kayne has always been a daydreamer. If the comments on her elementary school report cards are any indication, it’s a craft she mastered early on. Having a passion for history and a flair for storytelling, she strives to weave fact and fiction into a wild ride that can capture the heart. Stacey lives on a ranch near the Sierra Nevada, with her high-school sweetheart turned husband of eighteen years and their two sons. Visit her website at www.staceykayne.com

       A recent novel by the same author:

      MUSTANG WILD

      MAVERICK WILD

      Stacey Kayne

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Special thanks to:

      Kimberly Duffy for her ‘Wild’ title inspiration.

      Carla, Kathy, Marlene and Sheila for their tireless critiquing and for believing in this story.

      My family for their wonderful support.

      My readers. I’ve been truly touched by all the letters and emails—thank you for the wonderful welcome into a genre I love.

      Prologue

       Virginia, 1862

      “If we don’t ride out, she’ll have us whipped to the bone before the old man comes back.”

      Chance didn’t spare the breath or energy to agree with his brother, the urge to ride fast and hard burning stronger in his gut than the welts flaming across his back. Their father’s short visit meant his camp was close, freedom was within reach.

      The darkness in the stable didn’t impede his deft movements as he tossed his saddle over the blanket and reached for the cinch. They couldn’t risk lighting a lantern.

      “How could he leave us here to deal with his raving-mad wife?” Tucker ranted in a low whisper. “She ran him off like she always does with her screaming and bawling. Did you see how he rode out this evening and didn’t even look back?”

      “I saw.”

      “I don’t know why he doesn’t ever stand up to her. If she were my wife—”

      “We won’t be fool enough to marry,” Chance cut in.

      “Amen.”

      “Before the old man rode out, I told him we’d be on his heels in a day.”

      His twin spun around, his pale-yellow hair flashing in streaks of moonlight seeping through the barn windows. “What’d he say?”

      “That a rebel camp ain’t no place for young boys.”

      “Can’t be worse than living with Winifred. We’ll be thirteen come the spring—nearly grown men!”

      Chance gave a nod of agreement as he secured his bedroll behind his saddle.

      “He should’a taken us with him,” said Tucker. “We’re old enough to fight for our home.”

      The way Chance saw it they’d lost that battle two years ago when their father had taken a wife. Seemed like foolish business to him and Tucker. They’d gotten on just fine for ten years without a woman in their lives, but they hadn’t had any say in the matter. The old man had come home from a business trip up north hollering loud enough to raise the dead about the underhanded shenanigans of starched-up fancy women. The next thing Chance knew, he and Tucker were standing beside their father in their Sunday trousers and stiff collars as he married Winifred Tindale.

      A slender woman with a mess of blond curls tumbling about her head, a blushing smile and fluttering blue eyes, she’d seemed harmless enough. But it hadn’t taken much to crumble that gentle mask. At their slightest fidget, all that pretty contorted into a glare fierce enough to scare bark off a tree. He’d known right there in the church that their days of doing as they pleased were over. True enough, she’d made the past two years a living hell.

      While their father had been off at Virginia state meetings, his witch of a wife had turned their house upside down, changing everything from the wallpaper to the staff. She’d fired the people who’d raised him and Tuck, taking away everything familiar to them. She’d brought in her own staff, strangers who didn’t give two wits if their mistress gave an order to whip the dog or her stepsons.

      Chance shoved his winter coat into his saddlebag, knowing there’d be no coming back. He took Star by the reins and led the black mare toward the moonlight streaming through the open doors. A chilling breeze helped to soothe his aching shoulders. His breath uncurled like a cloud into the crisp fall air.

      Across the yard shaded by a giant hickory tree, the moon lit up the white two-story house he’d grown up in, a home he no longer recognized. His gaze locked on the center second-story window. Their stepsister hadn’t

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