Before she could reach him, Mack Custer and the other cowhands surrounded her, bumping and congratulating her. The manhandling was the part about competing she liked the least. But she took the praise and teasing as best she could, even though inside she was furious.

After pocketing her earnings and making her way toward the fence where she’d dropped her bag, someone shouted her real name, almost drawing her gaze. She resisted the urge and instead swiped up her haversack.

“Ivy!” The call came louder and belonged to Astrid.

Of course, Astrid would be the one to recognize her through the disguise. And Astrid would also be the one who wouldn’t care about revealing her identity.

Ivy picked up her pace. She couldn’t let it happen. Not in front of the entire community. Not when it would mean the end to her competing.

Elbowing her way through the crowds, she pushed until she was free. With the main thoroughfare of town swarming with people, she dodged among them, praying she’d get lost in the throngs and that Astrid wouldn’t draw any further attention to her.

At another shout of her name, her heart sped, and she started to jog. She had to find a place to hide and change out of her men’s clothing. If she showed up in public wearing one of Linnea’s elegant gowns and hats, no one would be the wiser for her deceitfulness.

The church spire seemed to beckon her. She’d found refuge in the church before, and she knew it wouldn’t be in use today. If she entered through the side door, no one would guess that’s where she was hiding.

Dodging several more people, she ducked off the street to the pathway between the buildings. When she reached the side entrance, she glanced over her shoulder. Her spectacles were sweaty and falling down her nose. But from what she could tell, no one was paying attention to her. If anyone was on her trail, hopefully she’d lost them.

She opened the door and slipped inside. Sunshine from the front windows lit the chapel, showing it to be as deserted as she’d hoped. Only dust wafted in the air, along with silence. Blessed silence.

She lowered herself to the nearest pew, her frustration still keen at winning against Jericho because he’d thrown the race. Of course, she couldn’t complain about the extra winnings. But she’d wanted to beat him fairly or not at all.

At the rattle of the front door, she flattened herself on the hard bench and hardly dared to breathe. The door opened and the sounds from the street filtered through the room—women’s laughter, children squealing, men joking, horses clomping, and loud calling from the pig-wrestling arena.

Ivy remained motionless. A few seconds later, the door closed, and the footsteps on the plank walkway drifted from the building.