Folks all thought Buster Bliss came up from Denver over the Kenosha Pass on the weekends to participate in the cowhand competitions. While friendly contests had always existed in some form on the local ranches, the gatherings were growing in popularity and size, so it wasn’t unusual nowadays for fellas to travel from outside of the area to join in, especially as the prize money increased.

Her cover worked well, given that Buster always had to depart early enough in the evenings to travel for a spell. The leaving helped her avoid questions about why she didn’t want to go with everyone else to the saloons after the contests were over. It was already hard to keep her cover for the few hours she competed. She’d never be able to last well into the night.

“Bliss!” At the shout of her name from Mack Custer, Elkhorn Ranch foreman, the organizer of the Sunday-afternoon competition, she pivoted as casually as she could while she kept wrapping her rope.

Instead of looking her way, the foreman was clasping hands in greeting with someone else—a man with a strong, lean outline and a determined set to his shoulders. For several heartbeats, Ivy could only stare, trying to make sense of the familiar form.

It couldn’t be. . . .

The fella shifted enough that she got a full view of his profile—a chiseled jaw covered in a layer of stubble, firm lips, and light brown hair peeking out from underneath his hat.

Her pulse began to race unsteadily. She didn’t have to see him head-on to know he was Jericho Bliss, her girlish infatuation.

As though sensing her attention, he glanced her way.

She spun and faced the opposite direction. Holy Saint Peter. What was Jericho Bliss doing back in South Park?

She hadn’t heard a peep from him since the night he’d ridden away with Dylan nearly two years ago. At the time Jericho had been doing her and her brothers a big favor by helping Dylan steer clear of the danger he’d been in from Bat and his gang for the gambling debt he’d owed them. Like everyone else, she’d been grateful to Jericho for saving Dylan’s life.

Eventually Dylan had written, letting them know he was fine and had steady work. He hadn’t told them where he was or what he was doing. And he hadn’t said anything about Jericho either. They’d guessed Dylan hadn’t wanted to give too much away in case Bat and his gang got wind of his letter and decided to come after him.

Ivy had waited impatiently for another letter, for more news, for anything from Dylan. She’d told herself she was just concerned about her brother and wanted assurance he was okay. But deep down, she couldn’t deny she’d wanted information about Jericho too.