"You don't look so good, mister."
Breanna stifled a laugh. "This is my friend Adam. He's riding in the race, too."
"You got a hitch in your britches, mister?"
This time Breanna couldn't hold in her laugh.
Adam shook his head, returning to his task of saddling up, unable to stop a smile. There was more movement from the cowboys, and he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the race was on again. Oh, goody.
"I'm afraid Adam didn't realize what a hardship a race like this would be."
"On his backside, you mean?"
The teen from the porch called out, and the young girl took one more look at Breanna. "Good luck today."
She scampered back toward the house as Adam cinched the saddle tight.
"Here." Breanna handed him a biscuit.
He saluted her with it.
"Knees hurting this morning?" she asked.
The younger of the two cowboys saddling up nearby—maybe Breanna's age—glanced over at them.
"Everything hurts," Adam said.
"If you adjust your stirrups, the knee pain'll stop. I'll help."
She waited for him to clamber up into the saddle, which he did with a white-hot burst of pain up his spine and only one yelp that he muffled with his fist.
She squinted up at him from the ground. "All good?"
"Sure," he gasped.
She touched his knee. He might've enjoyed it more if he hadn't been half-blind with pain. "You don't have to prove anything to me," she said quietly. "I'm not your father."
The worst of the pain dissolved as he drew a deep breath. He smiled wryly down at her. "Good guess, but it was my grandmother who always compared Father and me."
"Really?" she reached beneath his leg and loosened a strap.
He looked down on the crown of her head. Her hat was waiting on the horn of her saddle, so he studied the neat part and dark hair that fell to the braid down her back.
"There. Try that one." She ducked beneath his stallion's neck, keeping one hand on the horse so he knew her intention, and moved to Adam's other side to work the other buckle.
He slipped his foot into the stirrup she'd just fixed. "It's not much different."
"Doesn't take much," she said. "It's right now."
"Granny died when I was five. But sometimes she brought up how much like my grandfather my dad was. Is. And sometimes she remarked on how much like my Father I seemed."
Breanna looked up at him, her gaze open and curious. "Are you still trying to best him now?"
He shrugged, the movement loosening sore muscles. "I don't know. I'd like to think I'm my own man."
She patted his knee. "Done." And backed up a step. "Your own man who plans to go into the family business. Interesting."
There was more to it than she knew. He had Reggie to consider.
