At their last break,Adam had dug a scrap of paper and the stub of pencil out of his saddlebag and moved it to his pocket. He was glad of it now, because it took him longer than it should've to jot a few measly sentences about the race as he scarfed down the food the ranch cookie handed him.
Something about the day's ride.
The number of riders.
Over forty miles.
I've never been so sore in my life.
That part wouldn't make the cut. He needed to make it sound exciting instead of like torture.
He was too exhausted to really think straight and prayed Clarence would edit and edit well before he printed any of it.
It took another few minutes to find a cowhand who actually worked at the ranch to deliver it to the nearest town in the morning. Adam slipped him two dollars to ensure that it happened.
By the time he'd collected a meal for her, he couldn't say how many minutes it'd been since he'd left Breanna.
It was full dark now. Idiot. He never should've left her.
He was carrying her plate and a tin of water when he met her coming from the corral, an older man beside her.
He glanced between them, but she didn’t seem tense or upset.
She immediately reached for the plate. "I'm starving."
He surrendered it to her as the older man nodded and walked off.
"Is everything all right?" He’d imagined all sorts of things happening to her, but she was safe and whole.
"Fine," she mumbled from behind her wrist, her mouth full.
He could already hear snoring from the men camped at the edge of the field closest to the corral. He wasn't looking forward to sleeping in his rucksack where bugs and all sorts of critters could climb inside with him.
"Any advice for avoiding critters while we sleep tonight?"
She shook her head, mouth still full as she chewed. When she'd swallowed, she said, "Check your boots in the morning before you put them on." She grinned. "I thought you were an intrepid journalist. Traveling thousands of miles and all that."
He grimaced, and she laughed, the sound sending a thrill through every exhausted muscle in his body. "Doesn't mean I like sleeping with bugs and snakes."
"You'll certainly have a story to write," she said, now grinning down at her plate.
It would certainly be a story. His last adventure. After this, he’d be trapped in that blasted office for the rest of his life.
"The rancher offered to let me share his daughter's room instead of sleeping out with all the men." There was a shadow in her face when she said it. Something in the way her face turned slightly to the side, as if she were hiding something from him. But what?
"I'm jealous," he said with a grin. "But I also value your safety."
She glanced briefly at the sleeping cowboys. "Nothing here I can't handle," she mumbled into her plate before she scooped another bite into her mouth.
But was it his imagination, or was there a slight tremble in the fingers holding her spoon?
"I won't let anything happen to you," he said.
He didn't imagine the grimace that crossed her expressive face. "I can handle myself—"
"Maybe you don't think I'd be as valuable as one of your brothers in a fight, but I can throw a punch. And I'm not a stranger to firearms." Though he'd never actually killed a living being—animal or otherwise.
She was shaking her head. "I don't want you to fight over me. You'll get hurt."
