Page 47 of Falling for the Cowgirl
Ivy glanced to the closed door. Though the two weren’t in sight, she had no doubt they’d been listening. “Lucky for them, there won’t be a next time.” Though she tried to keep the despair from her voice, it hung there anyway.
Greta’s arm tightened. “You’re a beautiful and enchanting young woman.”
Ivy shook her head. “Nope, that’s Astrid—”
“You too, Ivy. You’re beautiful inside and out. And some man will be blessed to have you as his wife.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Ivy wished she could believe Greta, but all she could think about was Jericho striding out the door and leaving her behind. If she was beautiful enough inside and out, then why didn’t he want her? And why did he always walk away?
Chapter
15
Blast it all, why did Ivy have to be the prettiest woman at the dance?
Jericho stood with the other single cowhands on the sideline and pretended not to notice Ivy dancing with every man but him. The last rays of the long summer day had faded into darkness, and the night was now lit by lanterns placed strategically along the perimeter of the mayor’s spacious yard. The stars glittered especially bright, as if deciding to add to the festivity of the holiday.
On a makeshift stage, the musicians played a lively mixture of fiddles, a banjo, and a concertina. The caller stood near them, his deep voice rising above the music and clapping and stomping.
Ivy twirled with her partner in a circle before switching directions and latching elbows with someone else. She’d shed every trace of the skinny Buster Bliss disguise. In her blue skirt and the matching bodice—which was now in place—shewas fancy and ladylike. And heaven help him, all he wanted to do was kiss her again.
Even now as she turned her face up and smiled at the man leading her in the circle, he watched her lips. She’d been soft and pliable, but their connection had been as explosive as fireworks. The leftover sparkles still tingled inside him.
Jericho’s bones ached with the effort of holding himself back from stalking over to her and dragging her away from the other men. He’d stuffed his hands deep in his pockets to keep himself in place. Though he tried to focus on the conversations around him, he could think of nothing and no one but her.
In fact, he’d thought of little else in the hours since he’d walked out of the church and left her behind. He’d given himself a mental lashing at least a dozen times for the whole confrontation and how he’d handled it. Even if she hadn’t wanted to marry him any more than he had her, his refusal to consider the suggestion had brought a shadow to her face and into her eyes.
Had he done the right thing by turning down Flynn and Wyatt’s proposal? He could only imagine what it would be like to be married to Ivy, the most beautiful woman God had ever created. Life with her would be intensely pleasurable, with never a dull moment.
What if he’d made a mistake in not claiming her for his bride while he still could?
His attention trailed her again. No, he couldn’t have her. He refused to drag her into the dangerous life he was carving out for himself. Even if plenty of Pinkerton agents were happily married and had no problems, he knew all too well what could happen, how the situation could change in theblink of an eye, how it could rip the ones you loved away from you.
He wouldn’t do that to Ivy. He wasn’t willing to risk her life.
The fact was, she’d be happier with someone else. And he had to let her find a man who could love her the way she deserved.
Tearing his sights from her, he spun and started toward the line of tables near Steele’s house. They were laden with the pies and cakes and cookies that had been a part of the baking contests earlier in the day and had now been set out by the women who’d made them.
Those who weren’t dancing lingered around the food tables, talking and eating. As he stepped up and helped himself to a piece of carrot cake, he half-considered calling it a night. He’d already made arrangements for a room at Hotel Windsor and planned to stay there for the time being.
Of course, he’d have to ride back to Healing Springs Ranch and gather his belongings. But he’d do it at a time when he wouldn’t have to face Wyatt again.
“Jericho?”
Speaking of Wyatt. Jericho could feel the man’s presence behind him and hesitated to turn. Was there a way he could slip away and pretend he hadn’t heard the oldest McQuaid?
As much as he wanted to escape Wyatt and the dance and images of Ivy, he had to stick around until the end. The late hours when people were the most tired and drunk provided him with the best opportunities to hear things he might not otherwise. He’d already gleaned plenty of details over the past few hours, but his work for the day was far from over. And he couldn’t forget it.
He was aiming to rub shoulders with Gordon Rathburn and see if he could get the man to slip up and share more about his past. From everything Jericho had heard about the bronc rider, Gordo fit the profile for Rodney James. Nobody knew for sure what part of the East Gordo was from, but in the four years since the end of the war, he’d roamed the West. Ivy had been right about him spending some time in Texas. But beyond that, his past was much too mysterious. And Gordo was too tight-lipped, fitting the profile of a man with something to hide.
Slowly Jericho pivoted. He wouldn’t relish another battering, since his cheek and eye still smarted from Flynn’s punches. But he was willing to take whatever punishment Ivy’s brothers wanted to lay on him.
Wyatt stood alone—thankfully, without Flynn.
