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“Holy fuck,” he says, sounding far more alert. “Are you all right? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, brushing my fingers against my sore palm. “No big deal. But I’m a bit stranded.”

“Yeah, no, I…” A pause, and then, “Where are you?”

“Near the Hawk Hollow access point on Mason?”

“Yeah, I know it. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you, Colt. I owe you.”

“Um, yeah,” he says quietly, and then he ends the call.

With a defeated sigh, I pick up my busted bike and walk it back toward the guard rail.

So much for my lead.

Chapter 23

Colton

Ittakesaboutfifteenminutes to reach Noah’s location. I was already headed in that direction toward the next clue, but once I got his call, I picked up the pace.

Noah looks up once he hears me, his head on a swivel when he realizes I’m approaching from behind him, not streetside.

“What…in the actual fuck?” he asks, pushing away from the guard rail.

I pull Clementine to a stop, dropping down out of the saddle. “Where are you hurt?”

He gapes at me. “You rode here. On a horse.”

“Wonderful observational skills you’ve got,” I deadpan, stalking his way. “Now where the fuck did you get hurt, Noah? Are you bleeding out? Did you hit your head?”

“What the fuck?” he mutters again.

I slap his forehead once I reach him, and he blinks in shock. “Focus, King. Do I needa get an ambulance out here?”

“Jesus. No,” he says, swatting my hand away when I try to check his pulse. “Fuck, Colton. I thought you’d bring your truck.”

“I was already on Clem when you called. The ranch is a straight shot east from here, and if the next five clues are on the trails like I think they are, I figured I’d get through them much faster on horseback. Now tell me where the fuck you’re hurt before I do a damn strip search.”

He shakes his head, copper eyes wide. “My palm,” he finally answers, holding out his hand. “That’s it. Maybe a bruise on my leg. But I’m fine.”

His hand is streaked in a series of shallow cuts, dirt and blood dried over the surface. I wince, doubling back to grab the small first aid kit I keep in Clementine’s go bag. Noah looks dumbfounded as I walk back his way.

“This is Clementine,” I tell him, opening the small kit. “My horse. Clem, this is that asshole Noah King I was telling you about.”

Noah looks unimpressed, but he doesn’t pull his hand away when I take it between my own.

“Don’t bite my head off,” I tell him, using an alcohol wipe to clean the skin.

He doesn’t even flinch. “What are we gonna do about my bike?”

“We can come back for it later,” I tell him. “After I win this contest.”

Noah scoffs.

I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Something to say, Mr. Come Get Me? I certainly don’t need to be dragging you along, you know.”