"Why aren't you already married?" she blurted. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with fire. "I mean... how old are you, anyway? Most of my friends are already married off."
And now she was babbling. Lovely. She snapped her mouth closed before any more humiliating words could tumble out.
His eyes still held the same intensity as before, but the skin at the corners crinkled. "My mother is determined to pair me off," he admitted. "But there was always something missing for me. Some of the girls she tried to match me with were..."
"Vapid?" she offered. "Boring? Stuffy?" What had he meant to say? She shouldn't have interrupted.
He tweaked her nose. "They couldn't hold a candle to you, that's for sure and certain."
She could only imagine the kind of girl his mother would choose. Someone beautiful with carefully coiffed hair and fancy dresses. The kinds of dresses Breanna's ma had once worn long ago. The kinds of dresses Breanna would be careful not to touch. Her calloused hands were rough on lace and silk.
She could race, but she couldn't compare to the women Adam's mother would want for him.
Breanna meant to press him about his mother's matchmaking, but the cowboys were abandoning their sleeping quarters, and she needed to get moving.
She mashed her hat on her head and stood, tucking her bedroll beneath her arm.
He caught her hand in his, halting her when she would've moved toward the door. He ignored the curious glances some of the other men were shooting them. He stepped closer, still holding her hand.
"All joking aside," he said quietly, "there's something about you that I never could forget."
Forget about knots and bows. Her stomach felt as if she'd gone into freefall, jumping from the barn loft with no haystack to land on.
"It's my sparkling wit." She meant to bring some levity to the moment, but he didn't crack a smile.
"It's everything. Everything about you calls to me in a way no one else does. Even from across the country. Even across the space of time."
They were standing close enough that, if he wanted, he could bend his head and kiss her. For a moment that stretched long, she thought he would.
Her breath was lodged in her chest as she gazed into his eyes.
But then he simply squeezed her hand and let go.
"I'm going to seek out that hot breakfast. And find someone to send a telegraph." He waved a crumpled piece of paper where she could barely make out scribbled words. He must've spent time on it before she'd woken this morning.
She followed him onto the boardwalk, where a sliver of light was already at the horizon. They parted ways, and she surreptitiously glanced around for Scar-face. He was nowhere in sight.
But Archie Johnson was waiting for her just outside the livery with his hat between his hands.
"You all right?" she asked.
"Fine. I didn't get to say thank you last night. About my brother." He scratched the back of his neck, and she realized he was blushing. He was as shy as her brother Maxwell.
"You probably should've been watching over him," she said. There was no probably about it, but if the man was thanking her, maybe he was feeling guilty.
He shifted his feet. "I tried to talk him out of entering. He's too young, too inexperienced."
"That kind of argument from my brothers would've prompted me to enter just out of spite," she said.
His eyes widened, and then he laughed a little. "You're probably right. On both counts. I should've used a better argument, and I should've kept watch over him better."
She nodded toward the livery. Hugh was all right. That was enough for now. "I've gotta get saddled up."
Archie clapped his hat on his head. "I was glad you made it to check-in. Well. Sorta glad."
Now it was her turn to laugh.
His cheeks went even more pink. He probably hadn't meant to admit he'd be glad to have one fewer competitor to face.
