“Doesn’t matter. I’m not racing a second time.” Jericho spoke firmly—and loudly enough for her to hear his decision.

Inwardly she released a frustrated groan as she began to lead her horses to the starting line. Behind her Jericho continued to argue with Custer and others with barely concealed anger.

When she reached the end of the field, she brushed a hand over each of the horses to get the feel of them and to allow them to get to know her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jericho stalk away, shaking his head.

“Find me someone else to race,” she called out in her manly tone. “Someone who ain’t afraid of me.”

Jericho stopped abruptly. When he turned slowly, his body was stiff and his jaw clamped tightly, the sure sign she’d pushed him to the edge of frustration. He stared her down, then he started back toward his team, his bootsteps slapping the dirt hard.

By the time Jericho reached the starting line with his horses, the crowds along both sides of the field had increased. She had no doubt Wyatt and Flynn and the rest of her family would be among the spectators. Would they recognize her true identity? If so, what would they think when they realized she was racing? Against Jericho?

He fiddled around with his pair of horses without speaking to her. But he didn’t need to say a word. From his jerking movements, she reckoned he was mad enough to burn the field to cinders.

As she began to mount, he spoke in a low growl. “Can’t believe you’re going through with this. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’ve got no right to lecture me.”

“Blast it all. Why do you have to be so danged stubborn?”

“You’re the stubborn one, keeping me from racing so you could win.”

“I wasn’t planning on riding, but Custer twisted my arm.”

She glanced to where Custer was making his way through a crowd of cowhands. No doubt he was cashing in on the race. The burly man could be persuasive when he wanted to be. “Don’t matter. You started this. Now you need to see it through.”

“No!” His whisper was harsh, almost desperate.

“Yep.” She hefted herself on top of the first horse.

“Son of a gun, Ivy—”

She cut him off with a dark look. She certainly didn’t need him revealing who she was right here and now. He wouldn’t do that, would he?

For a second, he remained motionless, almost as if he was contemplating doing that very thing. He finally blew out a long, noisy exhale. “You’ll be the death of me.”