How could he read her so well? She wanted to turn and study him but forced herself to stare straight ahead as a couple of busters roped Gordo’s bronc and brought him ’round. The past week since getting stuck in the bog, something had shifted in her relationship with Jericho. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was. They’d had normal conversations, talked about ordinary things, and she hadn’t wanted to strangle him once.

“I need the money.” She half raised her arm to swipe at the sweat trickling down her temples but then lowered it, afraid if she touched her face, she’d wipe away the soot.

Jericho’s attention was still riveted on Gordo.

“I’m surprised you ain’t wanting to win a quick dollar.” There were times, like today, when she didn’t think he was all that interested in their contest for the land. If he cared, wouldn’t he be seeking out more ways to increase his earnings? “You might be the only one who’d give me a fair challenge in the roping.”

“Fair challenge?” He scoffed. “I’d beat you in no time.”

“Doubt that. This ain’t a knitting bee.”

“Last one sure seemed like it.”

She tucked a grin out of sight. She loved bantering with Jericho. It reminded her of the way things used to be between them long ago. If only she knew how to keep things simple and friendly without heading back down a path of frustration.

She sensed he was doing his part to keep their conversations from veering in that direction too. Like now. He hadn’t once tried to stop her from participating in the competitions, even though he’d hinted that he didn’t want her to.

“Maybe you can distract Wyatt and Flynn during my ride.”

“What do you want me to do? Dress up like a clown?”

“That might work. Except you won’t need to dress up.”

This time his grin kicked up.

The sight of it sent her heart bucking against her ribs. Her lips twitched with the need to smile back, but she reckoned no one was gonna take Buster Bliss seriously if he was fawning over Jericho.

She pushed away from the fence before she ruined her disguise. “Wish me luck.”

His grin hit the dust faster than a greenhorn getting unloaded from a bronc. “Be careful.”

“Ain’t I always?”

“No.”

“I’ll be fine.” She ambled away, wishing she wasn’t attired in the men’s garments, that she was in one of her fancy outfits earning his admiration. That night at the bog, he’d admitted she was pretty. He’d never said anything like that to her before. Even if he’d finished out the compliment by saying something about all the McQuaid women being pretty, he’d singled her out first.