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Chance nickers at his name as if to say, “Says who?” I run my hand over his mane and give him a short pat on his neck to acknowledge that I know he’s got my back.

“It’s not a competition,” I say, setting my jaw. “Riley’s not a trophy.” Or a prize. Or a notch on a hitching post.

“Now, see, I think it is a competition. You’re interested in her. I’m interested in her.”

“But you’re assuming she’d be interested in both of us.”

Jake narrows his eyes at me. “Be realistic, Colton. Out of the two of us, who stands the better chance?”

Based on our history, he does. But I’m not about to admit it.

“She’s only here until the end of the week and then she’s back to California and you’ll never see her again. You and I both know you aren’t the love ’em and leave ’em type,” he says.

Jake’s right again, but I can’t stomach how willing he is to treat Riley so casually. Unlike local girls, she doesn’t have a clue about his reputation. I know she’s smart and strong and can make her own decisions, but leaving her in the dark on this is like leaving the barnyard door open when you know there’re wolves in the hills.

“Riley and I are friends,” I say, wondering if maybe I’m getting all worked up for nothing. It’s possible I misread things last night. It seemed like she was into me, but then I think back to our conversation by the campfire, after we finished the peach cobbler.

“Friends?” I’d asked.

“Friends,” she’d replied.

Maybe friendship with me is all Riley’s interested in. But mixed signals or not, friends look out for each other.

“That’s why,” I say, “I’m asking you, as a friend, to leave her alone. Like you said, she’s only here a few more days.”

Jake smirks. “Exactly. We mess around and go our separate ways with a clean break and I don’t have to worry about her leaving me voice mails or sliding into my DMs. This is exactly why she’s perfect for me.”

She’s all wrong for Jake, but some of what he says resonates with me, since I’m starting to believe Riley’s actually perfect for me. “Riley deserves better.”

He snorts. “You? No offense, Colt, but you aren’t exactly a hot commodity. I saw you two last night, with your little lasso lesson. The opportunity was right there, and you couldn’t even make a move. Bet that goes over real well with the ladies.”

My blood boils. A minute longer with this guy and they’ll be pulling me off him. “Some of us have work to do,” I say, tapping Chance’s sides with my heels. He speeds up into an easy trot and we leave Jake and all his sliminess behind.

I never liked him before, but now I downright despise Jake Harding.

CHAPTER 25

Riley

THE PRAIRIE GOES on for miles, seemingly endless in all directions. You’d think with all this space, it would be easier to avoid Jake. But no, he manages to pop up at every turn, offering an array of overused movie quotes, cheesy pickup lines, and saccharine compliments. I smile and nod and do my best to ignore him while attempting to look as busy as possible. I need to shake him so I can talk to Colton alone, but damn, he is persistent. If chasing me were an Olympic sport, he’d probably manage to sweep the standings and take home gold, silver, and bronze.

Unfortunately, Colton is as difficult to track down as Jake is to circumvent. While Wild Wanda and Felix whip up lunch and everyone else settles in for our daily nooning, I make two complete rounds of the caravan, but Colton and his horse are nowhere to be found.

By the time lunch is ready, I give up looking. With a tin plate piled high with vegetable fritters, baked beans, and a slice of bacon, I sink onto a picnic table bench and prepare to dig in. As I’m about to take my first bite, a horse appears on the ridge to the west. I can tell from the way the rider sits in the saddle that it’s Colton. He zigzags the horse down the incline and then dismounts in the middle of the grass. Every so often, he stoops down to grab something. Down, up, down, up, like he’s picking seashells off the beach.

Jake’s about to sit next to me, but he must spot Colton, too, based on the way his gaze lasers in on the same patch of prairie. He mutters, “Oh, it’s on,” and slaps his tin plate on the table. A few beans fall off his plate, roll to the end of the table, and disappear over the edge. The raccoons will be happy tonight.

Jake turns to me with his mouth set in a determined line. “I’ll be right back, babe. Don’t go anywhere.”

Where does he think I’m going to go? We’re literally in the middle of nowhere.

Then he grabs my hand and brushes his lips over the back of it. I yank my hand back and wipe it on my jeans as he tosses his hat onto the seat beside me. He stares out at Colton with narrowed eyes and then rushes off in the opposite direction.

What the hell is going on?

I finish my lunch and pull out my sketchbook to draw the covered wagons. I’m just about finished when I look up to find that Colton has Chance tethered to a wagon and is making his way over, his Stetson tipped low on his brow and shadowing his face. In his hand is a small bundle of something wiry and green. As he gets closer, I realize it’s a collection of prairie grass, each one a different species.

“I thought you might like these,” he says, holding the bundle out to me. “There’s some prairie June grass, western wheatgrass, quack grass, prairie wedgescale, plains bluegrass, and woolly sedge. I can tell you more about them later, if you’d like.”