Page 16

A dam stood in the barn’s center aisle after Claire had gone, the rhythmic beat of an unfamiliar song barely covering the sound of his thrumming heart.

“Then the son of a bitch tells me —”

Adam stopped cleaning and turned toward George.

The older man paused mid-sentence when he saw him, then waved off Rusty with a stiff hand. “Another time, Rust.” He tossed the rope he’d been carrying into the tack room and hustled toward the doors. “Calling it a day, boys! See ya manana.”

Frustrated, Adam closed his eyes. He’d just cleaned and reorganized the tack room.

He glanced at the clock — not even four.

Clara Mae had told him last night they worked until six, seven days a week.

Ranch hands were allowed one day off during the week — as long as it didn’t interfere with holidays or ranch events.

Neither Brett nor Clara Mae had made an appearance today, though.

Far as Adam could tell, no one was in charge when Brett wasn’t here. Frank disappeared a lot, and when Adam did see him, he moseyed around, doing nothing. George and Rusty kept busy but didn’t act like supervisors.

Adam, knowing that there was no use jockeying for anything beyond muck duty, had stuck close to the main barn — and he was glad he had. If he hadn’t been in Bolt’s stall, he would’ve missed Claire.

Hopefully, Clara Mae would announce soon that he was more than just a lowly stableboy.

Rusty jutted his chin toward the barn doors, then ambled over. “Claire, huh?”

Adam’s pulse spiked. “Whaddaya mean?” So far, he liked Rusty, but how old did the guy think Claire was?

“Down, boy,” Rusty said, smirking. “Just wanna make sure you know Clara Mae’s rule about owners and hands.”

“That rule go for you, too?” Adam shot back.

Rusty chuckled. “Told George not to mess with you. You might look like a teeny-bopper, but you’ve got some scrapper in you, don’t ya?”

Adam held his gaze but stayed quiet. His father’s lessons had been echoing in his head more in the last two days than they had in the last two years.

The man snorted. “Yeah, it goes for me, too. Not that I would ever look twice at Claire. I got my own girl; she just ain’t around right now.” Rusty sobered. “Just letting you know to steer clear. Her cousin Lala might be eighteen, but Claire’s only sixteen. Understand ?”

“Lala’s her cousin?”

Rusty raised a brow. “Yeah… But you’re missing the point. Just… keep your head down, kid. Clara Mae don’t tolerate fraternizing with the owners.”

“Got it!” Adam said. But as Rusty turned to leave, Adam realized he needed his help. He’d liked Rusty from the beginning — even when he butted in on his moment with Claire. And now he liked him more, knowing he was looking out for her.

He didn’t want to lie, but maybe he could gain his confidence without telling him everything.

“Rusty?”

The man turned. “Yeah?”

“Claire said she had to leave the drive-in last night.”

The man’s jaw tightened.

Adam was glad Rusty hadn’t made that face yesterday when he handed him Bolt’s lead. He might have left the ranch right then.

Rusty bent forward, cocking his head. “That punk show up here today? He needs a good ass-kicking. Damn near all these kids who board here are spoiled, but he’s the worst. No clue what she sees in him.”

Now Adam understood Rusty’s demeanor and his question to Claire earlier. Someone — some guy — had hurt Claire. In the last two days, Adam lost his brother and his home, been shot at, belittled, and he needed sleep something awful, but Claire … A vein at his temple throbbed, and his vision blurred.

Adam breathed deeply, doing his utmost to keep his face calm. “She only said that she didn’t stay for the movie. Did someone hurt Claire?”

Rusty’s mouth curled in disgust. “Hurt her? Nah, she’s okay.

But I’m damn certain that ass was gonna rape her.

Right there in front of God and everybody.

Pisses me off. And he’s got the nerve to throw slurs at me —” Rusty clenched his fists, then relaxed, jaw grinding.

“I’m gonna have a long talk with Clara Mae when she gets back tonight. ”

Adam swallowed hard. “Who — what’s his name?”

“Boyd!” Rusty snapped. “Punk. They’re all punks —”

“Boyd Landrum ?”

“You know him?” Rusty shook his head. “You know what? Forget it. What do I know? I’m just a lowly De-na .

Well, technically, my father was Dena’ina; my mother was Inuit.

Far as most folks are concerned, I’ll never be anything but an Eskimo — as if all Alaska Natives live in igloos and hunt fur seals! ”

Adam didn’t know what to say to that. But he now knew that he could trust Rusty.

He couldn’t fully relate to what Rusty had been through — most Alaska Natives were treated poorly when pioneers settled in Alaska.

He understood what it meant to be judged before you ever had a chance to prove yourself, though.

People like Claire’s father applauded other rich folks like Boyd but looked down on boys like him because he mucked out stalls — as if working hard equaled lower-class citizen.

Adam had learned early on that men like his father could train their horses, but their sons weren’t allowed to associate with their daughters. He remembered the day clearly — Claire’s father had taught Adam this life-lesson while laughing with another man who’d come with him to pick up her horse.

“ The muckboy rides his mustang bareback like some wild savage .”

That’s all he’d ever be to men like them.

And here Adam was… still mucking out stalls.

And having the nerve to think he could take the man’s daughter to the movies.

But hey, Claire had asked this muckboy out.

He’d handle Boyd later — he’d never liked him.

Right now, he needed to get on Rusty’s good side, let him know he wasn’t one of the… punks .

“I don’t think that way, Rusty,” Adam said quietly. “I’m just a lowly muckboy, at least that’s all I’ve heard.”

Rusty smirked. “True. Ain’t we all? Even Brett, with his high-and-mighty brow. He’ll see. She ain’t interested in him. Not really.”

Adam didn’t know who she was. He remembered Brett’s direct command to Lala and cringed. He certainly hoped he wasn’t messing with Lala. Eighteen or not, she was still way too young.

Instead of questioning Rusty’s comment, Adam simply nodded, letting him know they were on the same side.

He leaned toward Rusty, lowering his voice. “Claire and I, we went to school together. I would never hurt her, but she did ask a favor of me, and I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

“She wants to see the end of the movie.” Adam shrugged. “Don’t laugh, please, but I want to see the movie, too.”

Rusty let out a snort. “You uh… a disco fan or something a little fruitier?”

Adam caught the smirk, the raised brow, the loaded tone. It wasn’t the first time he’d been teased. When his mother got all out of sorts, his father would remind her, “ It’s just boys being boys. It’s how you know you’re part of the team .”

Adam had taken those words to heart. Letting Rusty know he got his drift, he shot back, “Hey, man. You were there, too.”

Rusty smacked his arm. “The first flick was Bruce Lee. Had to balance it out, ya know. Can’t let folks get the wrong idea.”

“Definitely not,” Adam agreed, then repeated his request. “Like I said… I’ve known Claire since kindergarten. Do you mind? Can I take her tonight?”

Rusty pursed his lips, then nodded. “You’re okay, kid. Sure. I’ll cover for ya if Clara Mae starts asking where you’re at.” He aimed a finger at him like a gun. “But no funny stuff, yeah?”

Adam raised his right hand. “Scout’s honor. I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“Oh!” Rusty said, pointing to the back of the barn, then hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “Bring in the horses. Buttercup’s in back. Snowball and a few others are in the ring.” He walked backward toward the doors. “Great job today, Muckboy! You’ve earned a night with Princess Buttercup.”

Adam glared at Rusty as he turned and walked off — rather, drifted off. The man swaggered as if he were dancing to a beat only he heard. Maybe he really did like disco .

* * *

After bringing in all the horses, Adam headed back to the radio.

Now that all the owners and hands were gone, he cranked up the volume. Even though everyone had left, and he was exhausted, he still had work to do.

He headed back to the tack room to pick up the rope George had tossed over the partition wall.

Adam’s father had repeatedly preached about taking care of gear. “ Whether it’s equestrian tack or climbing gear , the integrity of your gear matters . A rope tossed aside might get a snag ; that snag could fray , then break when you need it most .”

When Adam scooped up the rope, he uncovered a cigarette butt. He reached for it, then realized as bad as the idea of someone tossing a butt, it was worse. He picked it up and sniffed. A joint.

Frank ? Had to be Frank. The man walked around like one of the zombies out of Night of the Living Dead . That stoner could burn down the barn — kill Bolt. Buttercup. All the horses.

He had to say something. But who would he tell? Brett was Frank’s cousin. And it was only Adam’s second day. Would Clara Mae believe him? Call him a troublemaker? Or would she agree?

Adam pocketed the joint and proceeded to the cabinet to accomplish what he’d stayed behind to do. He wanted to check the vitamins and feed. After finding rough patchy skin on more horses than just Bolt, he wanted to find out what Clara Mae was ordering.

Since he would be training and responsible for the horses’ care, she’d given him a key.

He unlocked the cabinet, noticing right away that the stock was low. Maybe she received fresh stock at the beginning of the month. Maybe that’s what she or Brett had been doing today. Though that didn’t seem likely on a Sunday.