Adam nodded. "What do you need?"
He was deferring to her? He was smarter than he looked.
It took another half hour to get the boy's leg into a rudimentary splint—Maxwell would've been appalled—and back in the saddle. Adam's mouth had quirked, and he'd shaken his head slightly as he'd helped her secure the boy to his saddle.
She'd mentioned lashing Adam to his saddle so he could nap, but this was serious. The boy needed medical attention.
She tied the mare's reins to her saddle and swung back into it.
Maybe Adam was right. They'd spent two hours finding the boy, and they'd be even farther behind as they stopped in the nearest town to find help. They couldn't move faster than a walk because of his lame horse.
Maybe she'd forfeited the race because of her choice.
And young Johnson hadn't even said thanks, though he'd had to hide tears when he'd said he didn't think anyone would come for him. He'd admitted that he’d been fighting with his brother.
She couldn't count the time spent as a waste, even if she was out of the race. If they hadn't come back for him, the boy might've died trying to get help. It would've been a fight for him to even get out of that ravine.
So she'd choose to be thankful instead.
8
Breanna woke with a start. It was still dark. Men snored throughout the empty dance hall building where they'd bunked down on the floor in their bedrolls.
She and Adam had been the last ones to check in last night—barely beating the cutoff for checking in—and the last ones to find a place to sleep. She was wedged with her back to the wall, Adam’s the closest shadow. She'd slept with her knife—sheathed—under the rolled-up shirt she'd used for a pillow.
No one was nearby. What had woken her?
There was movement all around as cowboys tucked away their bedrolls and gathered their hats. She'd found out last night that seven riders had dropped out, not including the injured Hugh Johnson. That meant forty-three riders were left.
She sat up with a start. Even Adam was standing. His hands were on his hips, and he was looking away from her.
"Why didn't you wake me?" she demanded.
He turned and grinned at her. She raised one hand to find that her hair had escaped the confines of her braid and was rioting around her head.
She quickly used her fingers for a comb and began the plait all over again.
"I thought you could use a few more minutes."
That was... thoughtful. Wrong, but thoughtful.
She squatted and began rolling her bedroll, her movements fast and efficient. She'd pushed her gelding yesterday with extra miles and then extra speed as they'd sought to stay in the race after their rescue.
Today she meant to stretch out the miles as much as possible, allowing her horse—and Adam's—to rest when they could.
"I heard someone mention a hot breakfast," Adam murmured from beside her. He tied a leather thong around his bedroll.
His hair was adorably rumpled and the two—three?—days of stubble covering his jaw made him look almost dangerous.
She rocked back on her heels, realizing all over again how handsome he was.
He glanced up at her and then did a double take, his gaze meeting and holding hers. His eyes smoldered. "What?"
She shook her head, unable to put into words the swirl in her belly. He could probably see the blush rising in her face.
"Tell me," he said in a low voice that brooked no argument.
Being ordered around like that should've put her back up, but the pleasurable knot in her belly drew tighter.
