The fact was, she’d be happier with someone else. And he had to let her find a man who could love her the way she deserved.

Tearing his sights from her, he spun and started toward the line of tables near Steele’s house. They were laden with the pies and cakes and cookies that had been a part of the baking contests earlier in the day and had now been set out by the women who’d made them.

Those who weren’t dancing lingered around the food tables, talking and eating. As he stepped up and helped himself to a piece of carrot cake, he half-considered calling it a night. He’d already made arrangements for a room at Hotel Windsor and planned to stay there for the time being.

Of course, he’d have to ride back to Healing Springs Ranch and gather his belongings. But he’d do it at a time when he wouldn’t have to face Wyatt again.

“Jericho?”

Speaking of Wyatt. Jericho could feel the man’s presence behind him and hesitated to turn. Was there a way he could slip away and pretend he hadn’t heard the oldest McQuaid?

As much as he wanted to escape Wyatt and the dance and images of Ivy, he had to stick around until the end. The late hours when people were the most tired and drunk provided him with the best opportunities to hear things he might not otherwise. He’d already gleaned plenty of details over the past few hours, but his work for the day was far from over. And he couldn’t forget it.

He was aiming to rub shoulders with Gordon Rathburn and see if he could get the man to slip up and share more about his past. From everything Jericho had heard about the bronc rider, Gordo fit the profile for Rodney James. Nobody knew for sure what part of the East Gordo was from, but in the four years since the end of the war, he’d roamed the West. Ivy had been right about him spending some time in Texas. But beyond that, his past was much too mysterious. And Gordo was too tight-lipped, fitting the profile of a man with something to hide.

Slowly Jericho pivoted. He wouldn’t relish another battering, since his cheek and eye still smarted from Flynn’s punches. But he was willing to take whatever punishment Ivy’s brothers wanted to lay on him.

Wyatt stood alone—thankfully, without Flynn.

Jericho braced himself. He didn’t plan to fight back now any more than he had earlier. As much as he’d loved the kiss with Ivy, he shouldn’t have done it, especially not under the circumstances with their being alone and her without her bodice on.

“Wyatt.” Jericho eyed the cake on the brown paper that served as a plate. Should he put it down or let Wyatt stuff it into his face?