With a daring that defied death, the man planted his boot back into position and shifted in such a way that the runaway horse was able to read an unspoken request to do his bidding. It calmed and aligned with the other horse, so that within seconds the rider was firmly in place straddling the two.

The crowd let out a cheer.

At the sound, the man flicked his reins and urged the horses even faster.

More whistles and encouraging shouts filled the air.

Jericho released a pent-up breath but couldn’t release the tension in his muscles. The fellow was a daring idiot.

As he crossed the finish line, the accolades rose to a deafening level. Only then did the scrap of a man let go of the left horse and shift himself with ease onto the other one. Nimbly, he lowered himself first to a sitting position before he swung both legs over and hopped down even as the horse continued galloping.

The move was effortless. And it reminded him of the way Ivy had practiced and perfected dismounting during their months of trekking west together. He, Dylan, and Ivy had all been just kids and had invented fun ways to pass the time, including trick riding and dismounting.

His chest pinched at the remembrance of those carefree days. What he wouldn’t give to have just a fraction of that untroubled life back.

A beefy hand clamped on his shoulder, followed by the sour, sweaty odor of Mack Custer. “Think you could’ve done better, old man?”

Jericho shrugged and tried to loosen the knot inside. “Probably.”

Custer laughed, his rounded middle wobbling beneath a too-tight shirt that outlined the dark sweat spots under his arms and on his chest. “Ain’t nobody beat Buster Bliss yet.”

Bliss? Jericho returned his attention to the short, slim man.

“You know him?” Custer homed in on the fellow too. “He kin of yours or something?”

“I don’t have any relatives left.” Aside from his dad. But no one out in the West knew about Elijah Bliss, and it was better if things stayed that way.

Buster Bliss trotted to the other two contestants and shook their hands. “Well, Buster might be puny,” Custer continued, “but he sure does bring in the crowds.”

And the money.

Custer had always been a gambler, even when Jericho had been the foreman of Elkhorn Ranch. Jericho wouldn’t have chosen the man to replace him, but the boss had given Custer the job anyway, even though Jericho had recommended several others.

Buster Bliss finished shaking hands with his competitors. Then he tipped his hat toward the crowd before ambling toward the barn.

Jericho narrowed his eyes on the fellow, taking in the patched trousers with frayed hems. The rear end hung over his frame, clearly too big. His boots were clunky and his shirt baggy, almost as if he were playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes.