Now it was time to hightail it on home. As much as she wanted an extra dollar to add to her winnings, she couldn’t risk the exposure.
She made her way across the corral toward the barn entrance, hoping to disappear inside before any of the fellas noticed she was gone. Unfortunately, one of the Elkhorn Ranch cowhands saw her coming and slapped her on the back so hard she almost winced. “You nailed it out there, Buster!”
“Yep.” She lowered her pitch, trying to make herself sound like a man.
“Got my bets placed on you for the next event too.” The cowhand strode alongside her.
Another of the fellas fell into step. “You aimin’ to ride with saddles or without?”
One thing was for blamed sure. She wasn’t about to get away from the competition unnoticed. Every fella around was itching to watch her race. And why shouldn’t she stay? Jericho had no right to come strolling back into South Park and prevent her from earning more money for her new ranch.
Stiffening her shoulders, she veered toward the horses already waiting for the contestants. Six horses meant only three riders. She’d have no trouble winning the contest this time. Maybe she oughta make things fair-like and ride bareback.
“Let’s take them off.” She eyed the horses, the most docile Elkhorn Ranch had. “Might as well give everyone the show they paid to see.”
Her declaration brought a few more whoops.
When she’d hatched her plan to disguise herself as a man, she hadn’t realized it’d be so hard. But she hadn’t had much choice, not after she’d been banned from entering the competitions as a woman.
The first time she’d tried, everyone had laughed at her. No one had given her the time of day, even though most folk for miles around knew she’d been working with cattle since she’d moved to Colorado when she was twelve.
Fact was, after years of perfecting her cattle roping, she was a heap better than the majority of men. This past spring during branding time, the Healing Springs’ foreman had made her the main roper, giving her the job of heeling the calves and dragging them to the iron men. She rode steady, had perfect timing, and could judge distance.
But when it came to the competitions, her skills hadn’t mattered a lick. The organizers wouldn’t allow her to participate. Not until she’d come riding in as Buster Bliss. Then they’d been more than happy to let a scrawny man like Buster take part, thinking he’d be easy to beat.
Over the past month, she’d shown them Buster wasn’t as soft and fluffy as a goose-feather pillow. Buster had some gumption and grit. And he didn’t give up easily.
In no time, she was ready to ride with her pair of horses at one end of the open range next to the other two contestants and their horses. The finish line was near the main barn, where the spectators had congregated.
As she situated her boots on the backs of her mounts and adjusted the reins of both, she couldn’t keep from scanning the crowds. She didn’t care where Jericho was or what he was doing. She really didn’t. That wasn’t why she was searching for his lean frame. Nope, she was only looking so she knew where not to focus later.
When she didn’t catch sight of his stiff, proud shoulders or his handsome face, she released a breath. See, she had nothing to fear. Jericho had already left. That’s because he was an expert at leaving.
At the crack of a pistol from the side of the field, she shook the reins and started her horses. Riding while standing up and straddling two horses wasn’t an easy feat. Not many could do it. During the Roman-style racing the previous Sunday over at Bear Creek Ranch, one of the men had fallen and broken his shoulder and arm. He’d been real lucky he hadn’t cracked open his head with the way he’d landed.
Yep. This race was one of the most dangerous events. But that’s why she liked it. She thrived on danger. And the earnings were decent.
Between the fees for the contestants and the charges to the spectators, the winners of each contest always left with a prize. Even if it wasn’t grand, at least it was something. The real money was made in the betting. Something she didn’t do. Ever. Not after all the trouble Dylan had gotten himself into as a result of gambling.
The horses trotted forward, not too fast or too slow. She used a few paces to get her balance and crouch into the rhythm of the up-and-down sway of first one horse and then the other. The jolting was challenging. But she’d learned that the more she relaxed into the movement, the easier it was.
She kept abreast of the other two riders who clutched at their reins and strained to hold their horses close enough together that the straddling wouldn’t get uncomfortable.
As the halfway point neared, she snapped the reins and clucked to the horses. Time to speed things up and give the crowd the show they were hoping for. The horses took her cue and lengthened their strides. But with the increase in speed, one of the mares veered from the other.
She jerked on the reins to keep the horse in line. But it only continued to pull away. Her boot began to slip. And although she grasped the leather straps as tightly as she could, she was gonna have to let go before she fell and crashed.
Chapter
2
Jericho Bliss pushed away from the barn and straightened, his muscles tensing. The little fellow at the front was losing his position on the left flank. In a matter of seconds, the horses would be too far apart for him to race. And he was destined for a terrible tumble, one that would put him in the direct path of the contenders behind him. Not only would he be trampled, but he’d possibly cause the other two riders to lose their footholds too.
Jericho gauged the distance between himself and the approaching disaster. He didn’t have time to intervene, not with the onlookers blocking his way. All he could do was watch with a churning gut.
Why had the man in front decided to go bareback? Without the saddle, he had less traction.
Jericho shook his head. The man was an idiot.
The crowd seemed to be holding a collective breath as the fellow fumbled and lost his footing. For several seconds, he rode with one leg hanging in the air.
Jericho cringed and waited for the fall.
Somehow, the man hung on to the reins from the runaway mount and began wrapping them around his wrist, tightening the slack between himself and the uncooperative horse. He had amazing control, drawing in the steady mare, bringing her closer to the other horse.
With a daring that defied death, the man planted his boot back into position and shifted in such a way that the runaway horse was able to read an unspoken request to do his bidding. It calmed and aligned with the other horse, so that within seconds the rider was firmly in place straddling the two.
The crowd let out a cheer.
At the sound, the man flicked his reins and urged the horses even faster.
More whistles and encouraging shouts filled the air.
Jericho released a pent-up breath but couldn’t release the tension in his muscles. The fellow was a daring idiot.
As he crossed the finish line, the accolades rose to a deafening level. Only then did the scrap of a man let go of the left horse and shift himself with ease onto the other one. Nimbly, he lowered himself first to a sitting position before he swung both legs over and hopped down even as the horse continued galloping.
The move was effortless. And it reminded him of the way Ivy had practiced and perfected dismounting during their months of trekking west together. He, Dylan, and Ivy had all been just kids and had invented fun ways to pass the time, including trick riding and dismounting.