Emily tossed her head. “And that’s exactly what this mollycoddled woman intends to do!”

Chase raised an eyebrow. Apparently, his ill-advised comment had hit a nerve. Now it was up to him to make amends. “It’s a couple of miles back to the house,” he said gently. “Your boots aren’t fully broken in yet. Trust me, you’ll find sixteen hands preferable to two feet.”

She stalked past him. “I’ll take my chances,” she called over her shoulder.

Watching her, he shook his head and muttered beneath his breath, “Stubborn woman.”

He pulled the rope from his saddle and, after attaching one end to Daisy’s halter, mounted his own horse. Holding Rebel’s reins with one hand and the lead rope with the other, he urged both horses forward.

Catching up to Emily, he again offered her a ride. As he expected, she again turned him down. At least this time, she sounded less obstinate about it.

Smiling to himself, he mentally gave her a mile at the most before she changed her mind and accepted his help. The midafternoon sun was relentless. Greenhorn that she was, she hadn’t even thought to carry water. In Boston, she probably had a driver carry it for her.

“Would you care for some liquid refreshment?” he asked after they’d traveled for close to half an hour. He held out his canteen. It was a peace offering as much as a necessity.

This she took gratefully and, after gulping down a generous mouthful of water, handed the canteen back. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Now they were getting somewhere. Or at least that was what he’d thought. But she relieved him of that notion the moment she took to walking again.

Shaking his head, he rode by her side. He looked for signs of her slowing down and saw none. Affording her his begrudging admiration, he tried to shade her with his horse as much as possible.

They traveled a total of two miles. Then three.

Noting her red face, he offered her another drink. Taking shallow breaths, she took a sip. Though he was dripping with sweat, her skin looked dry, and that was a worry.

“Emily, you need to ride with me.” This time, it wasn’t a request or even an invitation. He meant business. Had he expected her to give in, he would have been sorely disappointed. But neither did she argue. She simply handed the canteen back and continued walking.

His breath rushed out of him. Having spent most of his time around the male species, he’d forgotten that women took everything to heart. “I’m sorry,” he called after her. “I shouldn’t have said you were mollycoddled.”

Apologizing never came easy, but right now, he would do anything to get her on his horse.

Her steps faltered as her eyes met his. “Are you sorry you thought it?”

Now she was pushing it. “Okay, yeah. I’m sorry I said it, thought it, whatever!”

She tossed her head, and her chin jutted out in that determined way of hers. “You don’t sound sorry.”