Page 38 of Falling for the Cowgirl
She glanced to where Custer was making his way through a crowd of cowhands. No doubt he was cashing in on the race. The burly man could be persuasive when he wantedto be. “Don’t matter. You started this. Now you need to see it through.”
“No!” His whisper was harsh, almost desperate.
“Yep.” She hefted herself on top of the first horse.
“Son of a gun, Ivy—”
She cut him off with a dark look. She certainly didn’t need him revealing who she was right here and now. He wouldn’t do that, would he?
For a second, he remained motionless, almost as if he was contemplating doing that very thing. He finally blew out a long, noisy exhale. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“You’re already the death of me.” She took the first set of reins in hand and then reached for the second horse. As she rose onto the saddle and balanced herself, she perched her other foot on the opposite horse’s saddle, trying not to watch Jericho but unable to stop.
When they were both situated, having tested their mounts, he muttered, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She wanted to tell him it was too late, that the stupidest thing she’d ever done was allow herself to care about him. But she focused on the opposite end of the field. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been doing this for weeks. You’re the one who needs to watch out for yourself.”
The gun went off with a resounding echo, and she wasted no time in urging her horses forward with the controlled speed she’d perfected. She glanced sideways at Jericho to find that he was riding neck and neck with her. His tempestuous blue eyes collided with hers. His dark fury only added to his devastatingly handsome appeal, and she couldn’t keep at bay the thrill of knowing she was competing against him.
From a distance, she could hear the calls and cheers fromthe crowd, but she was too aware of Jericho and the race. She wanted to beat him so badly and show him she was every bit as talented as he was. At the same time, she didn’t want him sore at her. Maybe she ought to slow down and let him take the lead.
Before she could wrap her mind around her shifting emotions, Jericho pushed ahead of her. He guided his horses fluidly, almost as if he could communicate with them the same way Brody could.
In the next instant, however, Jericho’s foot slipped from the horse on his right. Rather than acting quickly and correcting himself, Jericho fumbled with the reins. The horses veered apart, leaving him hanging perilously in midair. Even as fear for his well-being gripped her, she pulled ahead and charged the last of the distance toward the finish line. As she crossed over, she glanced back in time to see Jericho easily right himself.
Surely he hadn’t. But from the way he avoided making eye contact with her, she had no doubt he’d purposefully thrown the race.
She hopped down even before the horses had come to a complete halt. She stomped the ground, the heat of her temper rising swiftly. He’d let her win. The Gila monster. The Mexican dog. The desert varmint. A dozen more heated words pressed for release. She started toward him, her fists balled, her body taut with the need to haul into him.
Before she could reach him, Mack Custer and the other cowhands surrounded her, bumping and congratulating her. The manhandling was the part about competing she liked the least. But she took the praise and teasing as best she could, even though inside she was furious.
After pocketing her earnings and making her way toward the fence where she’d dropped her bag, someone shouted her real name, almost drawing her gaze. She resisted the urge and instead swiped up her haversack.
“Ivy!” The call came louder and belonged to Astrid.
Of course, Astrid would be the one to recognize her through the disguise. And Astrid would also be the one who wouldn’t care about revealing her identity.
Ivy picked up her pace. She couldn’t let it happen. Not in front of the entire community. Not when it would mean the end to her competing.
Elbowing her way through the crowds, she pushed until she was free. With the main thoroughfare of town swarming with people, she dodged among them, praying she’d get lost in the throngs and that Astrid wouldn’t draw any further attention to her.
At another shout of her name, her heart sped, and she started to jog. She had to find a place to hide and change out of her men’s clothing. If she showed up in public wearing one of Linnea’s elegant gowns and hats, no one would be the wiser for her deceitfulness.
The church spire seemed to beckon her. She’d found refuge in the church before, and she knew it wouldn’t be in use today. If she entered through the side door, no one would guess that’s where she was hiding.
Dodging several more people, she ducked off the street to the pathway between the buildings. When she reached the side entrance, she glanced over her shoulder. Her spectacles were sweaty and falling down her nose. But from what she could tell, no one was paying attention to her. If anyone was on her trail, hopefully she’d lost them.
She opened the door and slipped inside. Sunshine from the front windows lit the chapel, showing it to be as deserted as she’d hoped. Only dust wafted in the air, along with silence. Blessed silence.
She lowered herself to the nearest pew, her frustration still keen at winning against Jericho because he’d thrown the race. Of course, she couldn’t complain about the extra winnings. But she’d wanted to beat him fairly or not at all.
At the rattle of the front door, she flattened herself on the hard bench and hardly dared to breathe. The door opened and the sounds from the street filtered through the room—women’s laughter, children squealing, men joking, horses clomping, and loud calling from the pig-wrestling arena.
Ivy remained motionless. A few seconds later, the door closed, and the footsteps on the plank walkway drifted from the building.
She waited another minute before taking off the spectacles and wiping her sleeve across her face, using the perspiration to clean off the charcoal dust. Finally, she sat up and shed the men’s clothing. Smoothing out all the wrinkles, she donned first the skirt and then her chemise. She wanted to unwrap the tight binding around her bosom since it was chafing her skin, but she hesitated. She had to get back to her family before they investigated her connection to Buster Bliss—if they hadn’t already.
If Astrid pushed her to admit anything, what would she say?
