Page 32 of Falling for the Cowgirl
“You’ve never liked Jericho. I don’t know why you’d care if he’s interested in me now.”
Ivy stared through the darkness at the slanted ceiling. How could she explain her complicated relationship with Jericho? Of course, she’d never disliked him. But she sure acted like it for a whole lot of years in order to keep from humiliating herself, especially when Jericho made it so abundantly clear he didn’t reciprocate her feelings.
Ivy shrugged. “Just don’t go fooling yourself into thinking he likes you, or you’re gonna get hurt.” She oughta know.
Astrid huffed. “Maybeyoushould be the one not to fool yourself soyoudon’t get hurt.” With that, Astrid flipped over and faced the wall, her body rigid.
Ivy reckoned they both needed to take each other’s advice, but they were too stubborn to do it.
Chapter
10
A strange prickling on Jericho’s neck told him he wasn’t alone. He slowed the team and wagon and casually glanced around the gulch while stroking the trigger of the rifle on his lap. The gulch widened out just ahead, and the sawmill sat at the base of a cleared area less than half a mile away.
When Wyatt had started running short on lumber for the new building projects, Jericho had offered to go after the supplies. He wanted to help Wyatt. But more than that, he’d gotten wind of a couple of men working up at the sawmill who’d fought for the South. Apparently they were a rough breed, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them. At the very least, they might be able to direct him to others in the area who’d taken sides with the Confederates.
The fresh mountain air, the scent of pine, the rushing of the river next to the trail—it’d all made the long, bumpy ride worthwhile. And it would be even more worthwhile if he could dig up additional information.
He was finding that the fellows who worked constructionwith him were talented gossipers and an invaluable source of information on most people in South Park. He’d even gone out on a couple of evenings after work to chase down leads. They hadn’t amounted to anything, but he was quickly crossing names off his suspect list.
It always took time to narrow down and identify criminals. Rodney James would take even more effort than usual, based on how sneaky he was. He wasn’t the typical gun-slinging, table-turning, glass-shattering kind of man. Instead, from all the reports, he worked much more subtly and was a brilliant con artist.
Most notoriously he was wanted for his role in the slaughter of a regiment of black soldiers who were shot in cold blood rather than taken as prisoners of war.
One of the paragraphs described how Rodney infiltrated a Union regiment and pretended to be a surgeon. He killed at least a dozen injured soldiers before leaving with all the rations and ammunition.
Another incident told of his posing as a friend of a wounded Union soldier and taking news home to the man’s family. Apparently, the family had welcomed him into their home only to have him murder them in their sleep before leaving with everything of value.
Jericho wasn’t discouraged yet by how slow his progress was. And his lack of discouragement had nothing to do with his getting to see Ivy every day. Even though he’d told himself he’d only stay a few days at Healing Springs, he decided he wasn’t in a hurry to move to town. After the bog incident two days ago, he was less inclined, especially with the realization that if he hadn’t been around to notice Ivy’s absence, she would have been stuck out in the mud all night.
He’d mulled over Flynn’s revelation that Ivy’d had a hankering for him for a long while. It was still hard to believe. Especially because she’d always been with one fellow or another at socials and dances.
Even though it’d been difficult to get the image of her long legs out of his head, he was determined to keep his vow to Flynn and keep things with herfriend-like.
The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end again, and this time he drew the team to a halt. He might as well confront whoever was watching him. It would be better than sitting out in the open.
He slowly descended while scanning the thick pines that grew alongside the sloping gulch. Among the cover of branches and amidst the trunks, he counted three fellows on their mounts, and one of them was wearing a long black cloak.
Bat and his gang.
Even if Bat was a dangerous gambler and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who double-crossed him, he wasn’t stupid enough to murder a law-abiding citizen like Jericho in broad daylight, especially within sight of the sawmill—at least Jericho hoped so.
“What do you want, Bat?” he called.
“Jericho Bliss. Heard you was back in the area.” Bat stayed hidden within the shadows of the pine. “I know it was you who freed Dylan McQuaid from my men.”
Jericho tensed, but he feigned nonchalance. He’d long since learned it was best to keep his opponent from sensing any emotion. “That was close to two years ago. Time to let bygones be bygones.”
“He owes me two thousand dollars plus interest.” Batconferred with one of his men before speaking to Jericho again. “That amounts to three thousand dollars now.”
“Guess that’s your problem. You shouldn’t have let Dylan join in your gaming since you already knew he was low on money.”
“He vowed he was good for it.”
Jericho shrugged. “Anyone with half a brain knows Dylan’s a drunk and can’t be trusted.”
Bat and his men didn’t respond.
