What could a blind girl offer someone like Seb? She couldn't cook. Couldn't help with chores on the homestead. Couldn't ride.
She would never see his handsome face again. Or the faces of the children she'd dreamed about having in their future.
What use was she?
None. None at all.
She would write to him. Or rather, dictate a letter to Daniel. Because she could no longer write, either. Even what used to be a simple task, writing a letter, was impossible for her.
She would have to tell Seb in frank terms. She could no longer have the life they'd dreamed of together.
And she was never going back to Bear Creek.
6
That evening, Breanna watched Adam move the reins to his right hand and unobtrusively lower his left to his thigh. He flexed his hand several times. It was the only sign of pain he'd given all day, though Breanna knew he had to be hurting. Not one word of complaint. His hand might be numb, or maybe he had blisters inside his glove.
They trotted their horses toward the huge farmhouse and barn near the horizon. If the penciled map she'd received was correct, that was their check-in for the evening.
Which was a blessing, because she was more than ready to stop. She'd taunted Adam about not being used to riding for such a long period, but the truth was that at home, there were very few days she spent twelve hours in the saddle. Maybe once or twice a year. Her workday was split between household chores and working the ranch with the men. Ma was determined she be able to know how to run a household, though Breanna would rather bunk down in the bunkhouse with Seb.
Adam kept pace with her now, just as he had all day. After his initial question about why she held back from the main pack of riders, he hadn't made another comment, at least not about her riding.
They'd alternated between galloping, walking, and trotting their horses, crossing mostly open prairie with its endless waves of grass and wildflowers.
During the hottest hours of the afternoon, they'd crossed a decent-sized stream, one large enough that it rose over her gelding's knees. Breanna had stopped for a quarter hour and kept her gelding standing in the stream as she used her hat to scoop the cool water over his chest and shoulders, cooling him off. Adam had done the same for his stallion, although his bowler hat didn't have quite the same effect.
They'd covered more than forty miles today, and she was weary to the bone. But her work wouldn't be done when she rode into that farmyard. And she was too exhausted to keep agonizing over Adam's motives for entering the race.
Several minutes later, she and Adam rode into the yard, where several cowboys milled around. A few were consulting with a man who must be the vet, while others were knotted in a group, consuming something that smelled delicious even from here. The excitement in their eyes hadn't dimmed one whit. It was clear they were still wired and ready to continue in the morning. She shook her head silently. Not a bright one among the bunch. Their poor horses.
She and Adam checked in with the race master, who must've ridden in on the railroad, and were instructed meet with the vet first, then turn their horses loose in the corral and collect a hot meal from the ranch cookie.
She dismounted first, acknowledging the ache in her back.
Adam just looked at her, still tall in the saddle.
"You need a hand, pard?" she asked with a grin.
"I'm a little afraid of humiliating myself when my feet hit the ground," he admitted cheerfully. "But you'll notice I won our wager."
A boon if he finished the day. He'd said he would claim a kiss.
She waggled her eyebrows. "I'm thinking it doesn't count if you can't get off the horse. Hurry up, we've still got to cool them out."
He swung his leg over the saddle and she stifled a smile at the groan he couldn't suppress as his feet hit the ground one after the other. She had an inkling that if he hadn’t been holding onto the saddle, he would've collapsed to the dirt.
"Adam—"
"I'm fine." He shook his head, reminding her of Oscar anytime he got thrown from a horse. Brushing off her concern—or anyone else's—and stubbornly refusing to admit anything was amiss.
Adam stretched both hands above his head and then bent at the waist to touch his toes.
The least she could do was distract him from his pain. "What was the gift you brought me?"
He glanced at her from upside-down, his eyebrows lifted in a question.
"You mentioned it earlier," she reminded him.
