When talk of conscription had turned into a reality in the early part of ’63, Dad decided to move Nash and him farther west. He telegrammed about the arrangements he’d made for them to drive cattle to Colorado. After gaining experience driving cattle in Missouri, they were just the kind of help Flynn McQuaid had been looking for in moving Wyatt’s new herd of Shorthorns to the high country.

Nash had never once questioned their dad’s decisions, and Jericho had always thought Nash was weak because of it. But now, in hindsight, he understood why Nash had gone along with their dad’s plans. Since their mom’s death, his brother had become a father to him and had wanted to keep him safe more than anything, especially from the long reaches of the war.

Jericho guided his mount closer to the river but then froze at the sight ahead. Ivy. Submerged up to her shoulders in the middle of the river.

The sky wasn’t completely black. The moon was full, and the stars were out in abundance. And he had no trouble seeing the shore, which told him everything he needed to know. She’d discarded her men’s garments and left them in a pile next to her horse. Now she was washing off her disguise before she put on her everyday garments, because she couldn’t very well show up at the ranch dressed like a man.

She splashed more water on her face and scrubbed both hands over her cheeks. With her back facing him, his thoughts turned again to the night he left Colorado, when he discovered her bathing in the stream.

His anger had been swift. Even though she’d only been seventeen at the time, it wasn’t lost on him that she’d been turning into an attractive woman. He’d seen the attention she garnered every place she went. He’d heard the comments men were making. And if any one of them had come across her taking a bath, they wouldn’t have thought twice about seducing her.

He’d sneaked up on her and proven just how dangerous it was for her to be out alone. But apparently his lesson hadn’t taught her anything. Maybe he ought to try to teach her another one. After her stunts at the competition and now this, it was clear she needed someone watching over her better.

Looping his horse’s lead line over a nearby branch, he tossed aside his boots and socks before wading in. For June, the water was still icy, containing the runoff of the melting snow in the higher elevations. As he tiptoed toward her over the slippery rocks on the stream bottom, the water numbed his toes and soaked his trousers up to his knees.