He gave a curt shake of his head, as though fending her away. “I’d offer to help you with the buttoning. But I’m sure you could get any of the other men to do the job.”

At the brazen insult, she lifted a hand and smacked his cheek. It happened before she could think, before she knew what she was doing.

He didn’t flinch.

Around them, both inside and outside the store, the commotion came to a halt.

“You’re a pig,” she ground out, burning with fury but not sure why.

In an instant, Hance Payne was at her side, his face creased with concern. “Miss McQuaid, is everything alright?”

Jericho’s cheek darkened with the print of her hand, but she didn’t care. He deserved it for being rude. “I’m fine. Thank you for being so kind and polite, Mr. Payne. It’s good to know such men still exist in this world.”

“You’re welcome, Miss McQuaid.” Hance’s gaze darted between Jericho and her. Of course he wouldn’t know who Jericho was since he was fairly new to town. “If I can be of any assistance, just let me know.”

The hurt inside Ivy swirled like a dust storm, growing stronger with each passing second. She didn’t know the first thing about flirting or playing coy. But she slipped her hand boldly into the crook of Hance’s arm and batted her eyelashes up at him. “You still interested in coming for a visit?”

“I’d love to.” Hance nodded eagerly but then focused on Jericho’s fingers moving to the handle of his pistol. “I, uh . . .”

“Tonight?” she persisted.

“Sure?”

Jericho gripped his gun.

Hance’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

Ivy reached over and swatted Jericho’s hand away, unable to stop the perverse pleasure in knowing she was irritating him. “Quit trying to scare Hance.”

Jericho’s expression didn’t falter. “If he’s getting scared already, then he won’t stand a chance.”

She bristled. “A chance against who? You?”

“No, against you.”

Against her? What did that mean?

With eyes narrowed in contempt at Hance, Jericho started on his way, his boots hitting the plank sidewalk with a forcefulness that nailed into Ivy’s heart, making it ache with each step he took.

Hance watched Jericho’s ramrod straight back before turning to her with wide eyes behind his spectacles.

“Don’t worry about him.” She wanted to stomp after Jericho, spin him around, and . . . and what? Slap him again?

He made her mad enough to bust. That’s what. He was back less than twenty-four hours, acting like her brother, and already scaring off suitors worse than Wyatt or Flynn had ever done. Come to think of it, Jericho had always been worse at that. It was past time to show him he had no sway over the men she chose to court.

Chapter
6