As far as Ivy knew, there weren’t any sheep farmers in Colorado, at least not with large herds. But the Mormon settlers had brought sheep with them, and eastern Utah was now thriving with sheep farms. She’d heard that raising sheep was even more profitable than cattle. In the spring when a ewe was sheared, the sale of the wool covered the upkeep of the ewe for an entire year.

Judd took another sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Well? You gonna tell me what a blamed fool I am for considering it?” She wasn’t sharing a peep about the land she was gunning for. He’d think she was even a bigger fool.

“Ain’t gonna say much at all about it, except that you can call on me if you need help with the critters.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“You sure you ain’t gonna blabber to Wyatt about my plans?” If Judd told her brothers about the sheep, that would pop open a whole keg of questions she didn’t want to answer—like how she’d be able to pay for them and where she intended to graze them.

“Truth has a way of comin’ out in its own time no matter what we do to keep it locked away.”

Another Judd proverb, as Linnea called his wise words. Usually Ivy took his proverbs to heart. But she had too many things she was hiding. And this time, she hoped Judd was wrong.

Chapter
11

Sweat trickled down Ivy’s soot-covered face, and she prayed her disguise would hold out until the end of the competition, until she had her winnings in her pocket. But with the crowds surrounding the wide fence that had been erected to form a contest ring, her stomach twisted as she kept waiting for someone—especially one of her family members—to recognize her and call out.

Judd’s warning from earlier in the week still haunted her, that truth had a way of coming out in its own time.

Maybe she’d been too hasty in donning her disguise today of all days, Independence Day, when every family and cowhand for miles around congregated in Fairplay to celebrate with picnics, games, music, dancing, and competitions.

But so far over the past couple of hours, no one had made any comments. Except Jericho. Even now as she perched on the rail near the other contestants, he leaned in beside her, watching the final round of the bronc riding.

“Gordo’s good.” Jericho spoke low, keeping his conversation with her private. He didn’t take his gaze from the tough, muscular cowhand doing his best to stay on the wild horse, even as the mustang bucked to dislodge him.