Didn’t matter. Greta was a superior cook. Her and Judd’s garden was enormous. And the meals were better by far.

So where was Jericho?

By the time Ivy finished the morning meal and cleaned up, her insides felt half-baked. So during the ride to town, she chawed herself out for letting herself think on him so much.

As Greta directed the team and wagon down Main Street, Ivy finally put on her shoes. The wagon wheels kicked up clouds of dust—adding to the grimy film that covered the front windows of all the businesses. At midmorning, the town was busy, mostly with men loitering about. But more women were moving into the area every year, and new homes were being built.

When the wagon rattled to a halt in front of Simpkins General Store, Ivy hopped down and winced at the tightness against her toes.

“You alright, Miss McQuaid?” asked a tall fella passing by.

She was half-tempted to kick off the shoes, but she haltered the urge and instead offered the man a polite greeting. “I’m doing just fine.”

Greta had dismounted and was hobbling toward the end of the wagon with one hand on her back and the other on her rounded belly.

Ivy started after her sister-in-law. “Don’t you dare lift a finger with any of those crates.”

“They weigh less than Ryder. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t matter. Wyatt told me to tie you to the wagon seat if you start carrying things.”

“That man worries enough for the both of us.”

“Reckon he’s hoping for some extra smooching time later and doesn’t want you too tired for it.”

“Ivy!” Greta’s rebuke was tempered by a smile and twinkle in her eyes.

Ivy just smirked. She wasn’t sure which of her brothers took the prize for the most kissing. They were all pretty-near the same in cornering their women and kissing them every chance they could get.

“You ladies need some help unloading?” asked the tall fella as he followed Ivy.

“If you’ve got a mind to it.” Ivy sized up the man—Hance Payne, the owner of the barbershop that had opened up last summer. With neatly combed blond hair that was slicked back with some sort of musky cream, he was a distinguished-looking gentleman, especially with his spectacles and fine trousers and vest. His trim mustache and sideburns lent him a dashing air.

Recently during her visits to town, he’d made a point of approaching her, inquiring if she needed assistance, and complimenting her on her outfits. Last time, he’d asked if he could come out to the ranch to visit her.