"And if it costs you the race?" he asked quietly.
"Then my conscience will be clear."
She'd claimed to be racing only for the purse, but her character wouldn't allow her to leave the boy behind. It was admirable, but he still didn't want those extra minutes—hours?—in the saddle.
"You should stay here," she said. "Or better yet, keep riding. I'll catch up to you, even if it's at the check-in."
No.It was a visceral reaction from his gut. She might not think him much of a protector, but he wanted to know she was safe. Out here, she was his responsibility, whether she liked it or not.
He swung up into the saddle, holding back a grunt of pain but not his grimace. "I think I'll try having one of those consciences you're speaking of."
She shook her head but wore a small smile. She couldn't be angry that he was accompanying her.
She pushed their pace into a fast trot as they covered the ground they'd already traveled once. He'd thought the almost-barren landscape with its clubs of stubby, sharp-leaved plants beautiful in its own way, but now he was starting to hate it.
"I suppose you have other ways to appease your conscience," she called to him. "Throwing money at charities and orphanages and such?"
He frowned. "My mother is a patron of several charities." For himself, he'd never bothered. He couldn't even say what Mother's charities were.
He'd never considered it himself. Philadelphia was a big city, and there were too many poor. If he gave a nickel to every street urchin he walked past, he'd be broke. It just wasn't possible.
But the pensive look on Breanna's face and the way she went silent told him that maybe his honest answer wasn't good enough for her. What she wanted was a tall order. And maybe he was a selfish man. He rarely considered the needs of others. He'd never had to.
If he meant to win Breanna over, he certainly wasn't showing himself in the best light this morning. He needed to rally. He'd been singularly focused on his pain. If he wanted to win Breanna, he needed his wits about him.
He was a catch. His Mother had often told him so.
He just needed to figure out a way to show Breanna.
She'd been right.
Breanna didn't gloat when they found the Johnson boy's horse riderless with its reins caught in a bramble bush. The mare was lame in one leg.
It took another half hour of searching, but they found the young man at the bottom of a shallow ravine, one leg twisted at an impossible angle.
Adam was already dismounting when she reined in. "I'll climb down and get him.” She started to argue and he added, “You're too petite to carry him."
The boy let out a shout when Adam lifted him and another groan when Adam stumbled on some loose gravel on the climb up.
Adam was sweating and the boy was white-faced by the time they reached the lip.
"Good job."
At her words, Adam shot her a look that told her he’d thought she was patronizing him.
"I mean it," she said quietly.
Adam settled the boy on the ground slightly away from the horses. Breanna pressed her canteen into his hands.
His face was sunburned and his eyes were red-rimmed. He shook his head, and she glared at him the way Ma did to her. "Drink." He'd been out in the sun all day and was likely dehydrated.
"What happened?" Adam kneeled at the boy's side.
"I was crossing up here and something spooked my horse. It reared and threw me. I landed wrong and then rolled..."
So he likely had a host of bruises in addition to the broken leg.
"We'd better splint it,” she said. “We can lash him to his horse and get him to the nearest town. There's one halfway to the checkpoint."
