Wyatt nodded, grabbed Flynn’s arm, and the two started toward the door. Once there, they both glanced at her over their shoulders as if she were a different breed of animal they’d never come across.

As the door shut behind them, she sank onto the closest bench and buried her face in her hands. An instant later, her palms were damp with her silent tears. How had things gone bad so rapidly?

One minute she was on the brink of heaven in Jericho’s arms, kissing him and basking in the attention she’d only dreamed about him giving her. In the next, he was telling everyone he didn’t like her enough to consider marriage—not now or anytime soon.

Why had he dismissed her so easily? What was wrong with her?

No doubt she was a mess-up. Even Flynn had said so. He’d tried mighty hard to raise her up to be a good and decent woman. But somehow she was always falling short.

A better woman wouldn’t have been caught smooching with a man in a church. A better woman wouldn’t have been half-dressed with a man she wasn’t married to. A better woman wouldn’t have let someone else take the blame for her problems.

None of this was Jericho’s fault. He hadn’t used her. In fact, he hadn’t done anything to harm her. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But by her silence, she was letting her brothers think the worst about him.

They’d fired him and kicked him off the ranch because of her.

“Oh, Lord Almighty, what have I done?” She’d driven a wedge between Jericho and her family because of her selfishness, because she hadn’t wanted him to tell anyone about her competitions so she could keep saving up for her own ranch.

The main door of the church opened, then closed softly. Footsteps padded down the aisle toward the front pew where she sat. The steps were too light to belong to Jericho. After their parting, she doubted she’d see him again anyway. Not after how selfish she’d been.

If only everything inside wasn’t aching for the need to be with him. Holy Saint Peter. What she wouldn’t have given to marry him today. But never in her dreaming had she imagined forcing him into marriage.

Someone sat beside her and laid a gentle hand on her arm.

Ivy didn’t have to look to know who it was. The protruding belly and the extra huff of breathing told her Greta had been the one Flynn and Wyatt had designated to come inside and talk some sense into her. From the voices filtering in, she knew everyone else—even all the young’uns—were waiting close-by.