"Hullo, little lady."
It was Scar-face, and he'd found a friend. The other cowboy had stringy long hair flowing from the back of his hat. Both men reeked of stale sweat, though after the long day she probably did too.
Casually, she rested her hand on the butt of her gun.
Scar-face's friend stopped short, but the other man sidled slightly closer. That was okay. Closer target meant he'd be easier to hit.
"No need to get all jumpy. We're just being' friendly-like. What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a race like this?"
"Same as you," she said evenly. She refused to let him know he unnerved her with his salacious stare. "I'm after the purse."
"Are you really? Or you greasin' the way for your city-slicker beau?"
"He ain't got a chance of winnin'," the blond man said.
Maybe not, but she didn't need either of these roughnecks focusing on her or Adam.
"Maybe you need to pair up," the emphasis on those two words made it clear what he meant by it, "with a winner."
She worked to keep calm, not to show how revolting she found the thought. In her experience, not showing a reaction was the easiest way to make a hooligan like this leave her alone.
"I'll thank you to stay away from me. And my city-slicker friend."
She didn't draw her gun. Neither did she take her hand off it.
She saw the glitter of malice in Scar-face's gaze.
"H—" Whatever he would've said was lost as someone approached out of the darkness.
"Howdy. Everyone get their horses checked over and turned in for the night?" It was an older man she'd never seen before. He could've been her grandad, if she’d had one. But he was dressed like Pa, like a working rancher.
He didn't wait for a response as the two men faded back into the shadows. He took a few steps toward her. "I'm Hugh. This is my spread."
He reached out his hand, and she shook it. It would've been rude not to. Didn't mean she wasn't wary, after the encounter she'd just had.
"Breanna White."
He smiled at her, and there was nothing malicious about it. "I heard a rumor there was a woman rider. My oldest daughter will be riled that her mother wouldn't let her ride."
Breanna let herself relax, let the coat fall back into place. He was a family man.
"I'm afraid my ma is probably having an apoplexy over me bein' in the race," she admitted.Racing isn't ladylike. She should've told Ma and Pa straight out that she’d been thinking about it. But of course, they would've tried to stop her.
"My wife is concerned about you sleeping out with the menfolk."
Breanna hadn't given it a thought before now. She'd been camping with her brothers, but fifty rough cowboys...? And she'd have to watch out for Adam. Scar-face had figured him for a city-slicker. If the riders thought Adam was meager protection, they might rough him up to get to her.
The last thing she needed was to get him beat up on her account.
"If you've got a loft in the barn, I'd be mighty appreciative," she said.
"We can do better than that. Why don't you share a room with my daughter for the night? She's fifteen and will be delighted to make your acquaintance."
As long as it didn't break any race rules, Breanna wouldn't turn down the offer of a bed. Her abused muscles would thank her in the morning.
"I appreciate that. I'll grab some grub and come up to the house momentarily."
She still had to say good-night to Adam. She hadn't forgotten the kiss he wanted to claim.
