She could sense the beast going down and dismounted from her horse, landing at a run that brought her to the steer. She grabbed one of the front legs and slipped a hooey knot over it. Then, with practiced skill, she strung the front leg to the two back, circling the rope enough to keep the creature from getting loose.

She hopped up and raised both hands to signal she was done.

The crowd on the outside of the corral fence let out a whole lot of whooping at her record time.

A thrill pulsed through her. Nothing beat the sound of winning. Of course, it’d be better if she could hear the sound of winning while dressed as a woman instead of as a man. But something was better than nothing.

She tried not to grin and give away her disguise. Instead, she shrugged off the praise and sauntered a few steps from the steer like all the cheering didn’t matter. That’s what a real man would do. And that’s what she needed to do now—stay in character as Buster Bliss, the expert roper.

She had to keep up the charade for as long as she could, at least until she had enough for the down payment on the parcel of land Landry Steele was selling south of Fairplay. With today’s winnings, she’d be closer to having what she needed. But only a mite.

Her face itched beneath the crusty charcoal she’d smeared over her skin to imitate scruffy facial hair. She’d tightly pinned up her long dark brown hair beneath her battered hat. And she’d wrapped strips of linen around her chest to flatten her womanly figure. While nothing could conceal her curves completely, the baggy flannel shirt and vest helped. So did the trousers and men’s boots. So far she’d fooled everyone into thinking she was a skinny runt of a man.

The big, round spectacles she wore made her appear scholarly and only added to the good-natured teasing the cowhands gave her—as Buster Bliss.

As the hooting and hollering came to an end, she tipped the brim of her man’s hat in thanks before she returned to the steer. Only then did she allow herself a smile. She’d done it again. And the honest-to-goodness truth was that she loved every single second of the cattle roping and would’ve competed without any prize money.

She knelt and jerked the rope free from the steer’s horns before releasing the binding from its legs. The creature hefted itself up with a bellow. Before it raced off, she slapped its hide affectionately, letting it know of her appreciation for the fun.

Coiling her rope around her arm, she cast her sights to the sun making its way toward the western range. Looked like she’d have time for the last—and best—event before she needed to start home.