While Hance rambled on about several of the creeks he and Otis had explored, Jericho attempted to lead Gordo into sharing more about his time in Texas—where he’d lived and who he’d worked for. Gordo didn’t come right out and say it, but he hinted at having been an Irregular for the Confederates and having known some of the worst of the war criminals, one of whom was apparently now mining down by Buckskin Joe. A man who went by the name of Tippy Simons.

At the revelation, Jericho mentally rehearsed all the excuses he could find for making a trip to Buckskin Joe. He doubted Tippy Simons was Rodney James. With a big bounty on his head, Rodney wouldn’t flaunt his whereabouts so openly. At least Jericho didn’t think he would. But he had to investigate the lead, and maybe Tippy would spill more information.

“I know of a couple areas that have rock formations.” Ivy’s declaration drew Jericho’s attention. “I could show them to you if you want.”

“We would enjoy the pleasure of your company on Sunday, Miss McQuaid,” Hance replied. “We leave at dawn if you’re up for the challenge.”

“No.” The word slipped out before Jericho could stop it. “She’s not going.”

In the process of nodding her agreement, Ivy fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Stay out of this, Jericho. This ain’t none of your concern.”

How many times had he heard that from her over the years? Was it because he’d always interfered in her business? Because he’d cared about her something fierce, just like Wyatt had declared?

He shook his head, dumped out the remains of tobacco from his pipe, and pocketed it. He didn’t want to admit Wyatt was right and that he’d had a longtime hankering for Ivy. No. He’d interfered because she was reckless and impulsive and needed someone to keep her from doing something stupid.

Like now.

“You’re not going.” He stalked around the bonfire toward her.

Ivy turned her back toward him and faced Hance. “Where should I meet you, Mr. Payne?”

Hance’s eyes widened upon Jericho, and he took a step away from Ivy. Good thing. Or Jericho might have shoved him a mile.

“Let’s go.” Jericho took hold of her arm and began to tug her away from the gathering, but she dug in her heels.

“Give her a reason to go with you!” Gordo laughed. “Show her you mean it.”

Chortles and vulgar suggestions burned Jericho’s ears on one side, and Ivy struggled against him on the other. With mounting frustration, he swung her up, giving her no choice but to grab his neck and hang on.

He tromped away toward her horse, whistles and raunchier calls following after them.

Ivy held herself stiffly but didn’t persist in fighting him. “What do you think you’re doing?”