Breanna lifted her gaze above the partition and examined the woman standing between the men. Adam had said there was no one special for him back home. But then why was that woman touching him? Her hand rested lightly on Adam's forearm, and he didn't pull away.
She was smiling, though Breanna could only see her face in profile.
She was lovely. Her hair was dark and lustrous and pinned into a complicated style that Breanna could never hope to replicate.
And that dress! She didn't even know what fabric it was made of. Both smooth and shiny, it was pink and poufy and had extra bustles and black lace along the cinched waist. It probably cost more than everything Breanna owned added up together.
She didn't have to look down at herself to know what she looked like.
She wore dusty, dirty men's trousers. Her blouse and vest weren't in any better condition. Her hair was coming out of its braid, and she was in desperate need of a bath.
She looked like a country bumpkin, like the tomboy that she was.
She would never stand up next to someone like the woman in the pink dress.
Had she really even been contemplating it? Maybe Adam wasn't crazy. Maybe Breanna was the crazy one for thinking she could be what he needed.
What would his family, that woman, think if Breanna presented herself for introductions? They'd think she was ridiculous.
With the dream she'd experienced only hours ago, she couldn't bear to find out.
She ducked out of the livery, praying Adam wouldn't see her and come after her.
She had to escape.
"There.You've seen my magnificent stallion. Now tell me what this is all about."
Adam was standing next to the man, and he still couldn't believe Reggie had traveled all the way from Philadelphia.
He'd hugged his brother when he'd seen him on the street, so shocked that he'd barely been able to speak. At the finish line, they’d attempted to reach Breanna. But she’d been surrounded by onlookers and Reggie’s chair had nearly been knocked over and Adam had been so puzzled by his brother’s presence that he’d retreated to the stable. He’d given Matty a brief hello when the man had brought his horse and then quickly disappeared.
Reggie had first assured him that Father was fine. Then he’d claimed to have seen Adam's picture from at the starting line in a Chicago paper. Apparently, the story of the cowboy race had made it to their competitors first.
And for some reason, Reggie had convinced her nurse, Miss P., to attend him on the journey.
Though the look she exchanged with Reggie was anything but professional. "Shall I do some window shopping while you catch up with your brother?"
Reggie clasped her hand in his. "Stay."
Adam hadn't seen his brother wearing a look of such determination in years—not since before the accident.
Now Reggie's chin jutted up, and he met Adam's gaze squarely. "Miranda took me to task after Father fell ill."
Miranda? Ah. Miss P.
The two shared a glance.
"She'd been trying for months, I suppose." He took a breath. "I was lost in self-pity for far too long. Too focused on what I’d lost."
Miss P. squeezed his hand affectionately, and Reggie looked up at her. In his expression, there was an echo of the pain he'd shown for so long.
Adam's gut dropped like a stone. He'd caused this pain in Reggie.
"I'm sorry," he choked out.
Reggie shook his head. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for. I've been a pitiful mess all these years thinking I was broken." He smiled ruefully. "Miranda told me on her first day of employment that I should stop feeling sorry for myself. That I wasn't, in fact, dead and buried."
Adam knew his eyes widened even as Miss P. went pink. It was a bold thing to say to someone who could have you fired in an instant. Perhaps the nurse had more of a spine than her appearance would indicate.
