Page 37 of Falling for the Cowgirl
One of Jericho’s feet slipped, and her heart leapt intoher throat. In the next instant, he righted himself, as self-assured as usual. With his loose grip on the reins, he shifted and gave more lean into the horse on his left, which was another good move.
An instant later, he crossed the line at least a dozen paces ahead of the closest contender. Jericho was still the best and unbeatable. By anyone except Buster Bliss.
She kicked at the fence post from the far corner where she’d returned to watch the race after hearing his name shouted out from the sideline. The anger boiled again. He’d told her not to ride Roman-style. Why? So that he could go out and show her up? He had always treated her fairly as a woman—almost like an equal.
But this time? He was a hypocrite. Telling her one thing but doing another. If Roman-style wasn’t dangerous for him, then it sure as heaven above wasn’t gonna hurt her. Apparently, he was more interested in the prize money than he’d let on.
As he dismounted to the backslapping and congratulations of other cowhands, one of his rare grins lit up his face. She had half a mind to stride right over and knock that smile into next week.
Of course, she couldn’t do it. She was still wearing her Buster Bliss getup. And if she went over and socked him, everyone would start questioning what was going on and figure out she knew Jericho a lot better than Buster Bliss should.
She was gonna have to wait until she got him away from the crowds. Then she would give him a piece of her mind.
“Hey, Buster!” Mack Custer shouted above the crowd.
She was tempted to duck and slink away. But the Elkhorn Ranch foreman, the organizer of the holiday competitions, was already weaving through the onlookers toward her.
“You and Jericho! Race right now and see who’s the best!” Custer’s voice boomed loud enough to draw attention, including Jericho’s.
His intense gaze picked her out. He gave a curt shake of his head, as though to warn her against racing.
She stiffened. How dare he?
Spitting out the grass she was chewing, she climbed onto the fence rail and dropped down inside the makeshift competition ring. Jericho shook his head again, his eyes flashing—with worry or anger or both?
He had no right to be upset with her. He’d gone behind her back and raced. How long had he been planning to do it? Maybe he’d reckoned he would race all along?
“Fine.” Ivy responded in her fake man’s voice. “Let’s see who’s the better man.”
Ignoring Jericho, she made her way toward one of the pairs of horses that had just competed. The racing distance was short enough that the horses weren’t winded or tired. They could easily go another round.
“No, I’m not doing it again.” Jericho’s hard statement broke through the commotion. “And no, it’s not because I’m afraid I’ll lose.”
“You’re scared Buster’s gonna whup the pants off you.” Good-natured teasing rose into the air.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not racing a second time.” Jericho spoke firmly—and loudly enough for her to hear his decision.
Inwardly she released a frustrated groan as she began to lead her horses to the starting line. Behind her Jericho continued to argue with Custer and others with barely concealed anger.
When she reached the end of the field, she brushed a handover each of the horses to get the feel of them and to allow them to get to know her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jericho stalk away, shaking his head.
“Find me someone else to race,” she called out in her manly tone. “Someone who ain’t afraid of me.”
Jericho stopped abruptly. When he turned slowly, his body was stiff and his jaw clamped tightly, the sure sign she’d pushed him to the edge of frustration. He stared her down, then he started back toward his team, his bootsteps slapping the dirt hard.
By the time Jericho reached the starting line with his horses, the crowds along both sides of the field had increased. She had no doubt Wyatt and Flynn and the rest of her family would be among the spectators. Would they recognize her true identity? If so, what would they think when they realized she was racing? Against Jericho?
He fiddled around with his pair of horses without speaking to her. But he didn’t need to say a word. From his jerking movements, she reckoned he was mad enough to burn the field to cinders.
As she began to mount, he spoke in a low growl. “Can’t believe you’re going through with this. It’s too dangerous.”
“You’ve got no right to lecture me.”
“Blast it all. Why do you have to be so danged stubborn?”
“You’re the stubborn one, keeping me from racing so you could win.”
“I wasn’t planning on riding, but Custer twisted my arm.”
