Page 36 of Falling for the Cowgirl
“No, I really shouldn’t—”
“Can tell you’re itchin’ to do it.” Custer scratched his protruding abdomen with both hands.
Jericho had already told Ivy not to ride because it was too dangerous. Besides, he’d only be putting himself at risk, something he wasn’t willing to do when he needed to keep his wits about him.
“Or maybe you’ve changed too much.” Custer eyed him with suspicion.
Jericho met the man’s gaze and tried to read what was left unsaid. Was he wondering why Jericho was really back?
Jericho had met with Steele again about the land and let him know he and Ivy were having a little competition for the purchasing rights. He’d asked Steele to respect Ivy’s needfor anonymity. If anyone asked, Steele agreed to let people know he had a couple interested buyers, including Jericho.
Meanwhile Jericho had spread the word he was doing the construction work for Wyatt to finish saving up to buy Steele’s parcel. So far, everyone had believed him—or at least no one questioned him. Except Custer...
Custer’s eyes were hard and mean in a way Jericho had never liked. Jericho had considered adding Custer to his list of suspects but hadn’t yet. The foreman’s long history and experience as a cowhand from Texas didn’t line up with Rodney James being from Virginia. And he didn’t resemble the photo of Rodney either. Custer might be a scallywag and a crook—especially with the betting profits—but he was too forthright to be a con artist like Rodney.
Custer let a stream of tobacco juice fly. “You hidin’ something from us, Jericho?”
“You hiding something from me?” Unblinking, Jericho held the man’s gaze, needing to prove no amount of pushing or prodding would scare him.
Finally, Custer grinned, dispelling the tension. “Reckon I can drive the stakes high if you ride. How ’bout if I give you a cut of the profit?”
Maybe he was acting too much like an outsider and not playing his role well enough. If he wanted to be accepted without question, he had to do a better job of proving he was still a regular cowhand. And a regular cowhand didn’t mind showing off once in a while, especially when he had the skills.
He straightened his shoulders. He should have figured he’d need to compete. “Alright. I’ll race.”
“Thata boy.” Custer’s grin widened. “I’ll give you—”
“The prize money from winning is enough for me.”
“Sounds like something you’d say.” Custer grabbed his arm and led him toward the teams of horses awaiting the Roman-style racing. “Guarantee you won’t regret it.”
Hopefully, Custer was right. At the very least, if he won, the other competitors from the day would welcome him as one of their own. Later, when the liquor started loosening their tongues, he’d be in the perfect position to pry for information.
Thankfully, Ivy was already gathering up her things and readying to leave. Even though she wasn’t planning to stick around for the Roman-style race, it was too much to hope that she wouldn’t find out later. The community was small, and she brushed shoulders with too many cowhands not to hear mention of it eventually.
She’d be hopping mad. And she wouldn’t speak to him the rest of the day. That would probably be for the best. He could admit he hadn’t been looking forward to the dance and watching her with Hance and the rest of the men in town who’d be lining up to take a turn with her.
Maybe another argument with her would do him good and stamp out the interest that lingered even after doing his best to treat her as a friend and nothing more. Over the past week during the evenings he’d been home, they’d had a good-natured shooting contest, gone fishing, and trapped a couple of pesky raccoons. He loved that Ivy could do just about anything and make the experience interesting and enjoyable.
Yet somehow, all of the interacting had only made him want to be around her more. She was still just as easy to talk to as she’d always been, and he’d found himself opening up to her about his time in Chicago as much as he could, aboutmissing his mother, and about the continued difficulty he had with his dad’s drunkenness.
It had gotten harder and harder as the week went on not to tell her everything about his job for Pinkerton, letting her believe instead that he worked with Dylan in the police department.
He hated the duplicity and feared that if he kept up the friendship, he would end up revealing the real reason he was in South Park. And that would be disastrous for both of them.
Yes, an argument was in order. All the more reason to join in the race.
Chapter
12
Ivy was gonna blister Jericho’s hide once she got a hold of him.
The whistles and cheers escalated as his horses thundered toward the finish line. Straddling the two, his strong, lean body radiated with determination. She’d always loved watching him race Roman-style. He made it seem effortless—riding as smoothly as if he’d been sitting in the saddle instead of standing and spanning two mounts.
But she knew from personal experience just how difficult the race was, keeping the bouncing rhythm of both horses, drawing them close enough together, maintaining a grip with each foot, holding two sets of reins, and guiding each creature separately while thinking on everything else.
She’d fallen a time or two in her early days, almost been trampled, nearly broken bones, and gotten plenty of bruises. The risk of injury was high. The possibility of death was ever present.
