Jericho had met with Steele again about the land and let him know he and Ivy were having a little competition for the purchasing rights. He’d asked Steele to respect Ivy’s need for anonymity. If anyone asked, Steele agreed to let people know he had a couple interested buyers, including Jericho.

Meanwhile Jericho had spread the word he was doing the construction work for Wyatt to finish saving up to buy Steele’s parcel. So far, everyone had believed him—or at least no one questioned him. Except Custer . . .

Custer’s eyes were hard and mean in a way Jericho had never liked. Jericho had considered adding Custer to his list of suspects but hadn’t yet. The foreman’s long history and experience as a cowhand from Texas didn’t line up with Rodney James being from Virginia. And he didn’t resemble the photo of Rodney either. Custer might be a scallywag and a crook—especially with the betting profits—but he was too forthright to be a con artist like Rodney.

Custer let a stream of tobacco juice fly. “You hidin’ something from us, Jericho?”

“You hiding something from me?” Unblinking, Jericho held the man’s gaze, needing to prove no amount of pushing or prodding would scare him.

Finally, Custer grinned, dispelling the tension. “Reckon I can drive the stakes high if you ride. How ’bout if I give you a cut of the profit?”

Maybe he was acting too much like an outsider and not playing his role well enough. If he wanted to be accepted without question, he had to do a better job of proving he was still a regular cowhand. And a regular cowhand didn’t mind showing off once in a while, especially when he had the skills.

He straightened his shoulders. He should have figured he’d need to compete. “Alright. I’ll race.”

“Thata boy.” Custer’s grin widened. “I’ll give you—”

“The prize money from winning is enough for me.”

“Sounds like something you’d say.” Custer grabbed his arm and led him toward the teams of horses awaiting the Roman-style racing. “Guarantee you won’t regret it.”

Hopefully, Custer was right. At the very least, if he won, the other competitors from the day would welcome him as one of their own. Later, when the liquor started loosening their tongues, he’d be in the perfect position to pry for information.

Thankfully, Ivy was already gathering up her things and readying to leave. Even though she wasn’t planning to stick around for the Roman-style race, it was too much to hope that she wouldn’t find out later. The community was small, and she brushed shoulders with too many cowhands not to hear mention of it eventually.