Page 17

He reached for one of the bottles. The plastic bottle rattled in his hand as he shook it. The label was bubbled and warped, like it had been sitting in a windowsill for months.

Opening the cap, he sniffed. No real smell.

He poured a few into his palm. They were supposed to be joint supplements, but he didn’t recognize the brand.

He set the bottle back on the shelf and reached for a different bottle.

The label was so faded he couldn’t make out what it was.

He snapped off the cap, sniffed, then poured a couple of the pills into his hand.

They looked identical — chalky beige, no markings, nothing like what his dad used to buy for their horses.

His brow furrowed. These weren’t just old. They looked… fake ? He opened more bottles and discovered the same thing — the plain, odorless capsules were in every bottle.

He ran a hand through the open grain bin. The texture felt wrong — too dusty, like it had sat too long. A few darker clumps made him frown. Mold?

He lifted a handful to his nose and coughed.

Musty. Like wet hay. Not fresh at all. And cheap. He hooked his arm over his mouth and sifted through more. The deeper he dug near the bottom, the worse it got.

So they weren’t rotating the feed either, just tossing cheap grain on top of the old.

Why? To make it look fuller than it was?

He inspected the inventory books and delivery dates. Everything was logged and accounted for, but the records didn’t match the supply.

Adam spent the next hour cleaning out the feed bin. He salvaged what he could, bagged the spoiled feed, and tucked it beneath the obviously unused supplement cabinet — for now.

He stored all the tools he’d used and then did one final check that all stalls and gates were secured. A quick glance at the clock revealed it still wasn’t six. Close enough. He needed to speak with Clara Mae anyway, so technically, he wasn’t done for the day.

Growing up with two brothers, Adam’s father had repeatedly reminded him not to tattletale. “ It’s not your job to take care of everyone, Adam . Your brothers’ wrongdoings will come to light on their own . You worry about Adam , okay ?”

Adam sighed. This was not a tattletale that someone swept dust under their bed or didn’t brush their teeth — this was real life.

Overnight, Adam had stepped into a position where horses’ lives were at stake. The horses — all of them — had no one to speak for them. Well, they didn’t before. Now they did.

If Clara Mae knew and was letting it slide, that was all Adam needed to know. He’d buy back Bolt, and get Peter the hell out of here.

If she didn’t know what was going on, Adam knew why he was in Wasilla and not Anchorage.

* * *

Adam knocked on Clara Mae’s door, but she still wasn’t home. Rusty had mentioned tonight, so maybe this was a regular thing. Since the four hands were allowed a day during the week, maybe Clara Mae took off Sundays.

Outside the door to his new basement apartment sat a brown paper grocery bag that hadn’t been there this morning.

Adam opened it carefully, peeking inside before venturing deeper.

For whatever reason, he felt like he was walking on eggshells, as if someone might know who he is and about the money that was still in his possession.

Since nothing moved or jumped out at him, he opened the bag wider, thrilled when he saw a loaf of Wonder bread and jars of peanut butter and grape jelly.

PBJs must be a ranch staple. No concern there, he could live on peanut butter sandwiches.

And right now, he just realized he hadn’t eaten since the previous evening.

He tucked the bag under his arm and opened the basement door.

The steps creaked as Adam started down them.

While he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Peter — the way their dad and then Thomas had — this also meant no one could sneak up on him, either. He kind of liked that.

Sneak-attacks perpetrated by his father and Thomas were not one of his special memories. Thomas had been so concerned about them missing their parents that he upped the ante of all Dad’s quirks.

Christmas Eve, Thomas had read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to them, even exchanging the line after And laying his finger aside of his nose to the obnoxious, he pulled out a boogie , then continued with the real line…

and up the chimney he rose . The dorky line got a hearty laugh out of Peter — as always.

Then Thomas had carried both of them — at once — to their bedroom, promising that Santa would come down the chimney if they stayed in bed.

He sucked in a breath and blinked back tears. Thomas had said no crying, but that’s because his brother hadn’t expected to die — he expected to meet them in Anchorage.

Adam halted on the steps before pulling the chain for the basement light.

Had he? Had Thomas planned to meet them in Anchorage?

Why hadn’t Adam questioned what Peter had realized so easily?

If Thomas had intended to meet them in Anchorage, why hadn’t he told them where he’d meet them? Maybe the answer was in the backpack. Adam had been so busy since he’d been pulled out of bed Friday night that he hadn’t stopped to think.

He tugged on the chain. Peter had slept all day — nothing new. His mother had claimed that boys grew when they slept. Maybe that was why he was shorter than Thomas, and Peter was way taller than he’d been at fourteen.

Adam took another step, ducked to look into the basement.

Peter’s cot was empty.

The blanket was half on the floor — of course. Even in the dark, Adam had made his bed.

“Peter?” Adam called out, heart thudding. He hadn’t seen Peter all day. He just assumed after not sleeping and then working all day that Peter would sleep until Monday morning. He darted down the steps. “Peter? You in the shower?”

No answer.

He set the bag on the table and scanned the basement. Other than the storage closet, there wasn’t any place to hide. Peter hated small places. No way would he hide inside the stuffed cramped space. He wouldn’t even climb into the treehouse their father had built for them.

The air had a sour, earthy tang that wasn’t just teenage sweat. Something sharper, pungent.

Before he could head back up the steps, the metal screen door upstairs banged shut.

Had to be Peter .

Unlike Adam who took care to open and shut all the doors quietly — and old ladies didn’t let doors slam — Peter just let them go. Or worse, slammed them when he was mad.

Adam darted back to the stairs, looked up, waiting.

Where had Peter been all day ?

“Adam!” Peter called, slinking down the steps. “Dude, I am fu-freaking starving. I was just looking for you.”

His brother’s clothes looked dirtier than they’d been, like he’d crawled beneath one of the stalls, and he smelled of hay and God-only-knew-what, even though he hadn’t gone near the barn. Had he not showered since mucking stalls yesterday?

Adam hated sounding like Peter’s father, but he had to share a room with him. “Didn’t you shower last night… or today?”

“Ugh! You sound like —”

Adam cut him off with a glare. “Go shower. Clara Mae left us some bread and peanut butter and jelly.”

“Again?”

“Honest to God, Peter!”

Peter lifted his hands. “Going!” He dropped his head and stalked toward the bathroom.

I’m sixteen . Why is this happening to me ?

Adam calmed himself with one thought: I’m going to see Claire tonight. He’d make sandwiches, take a shower, catch a short nap… And tonight, he’d see the one person that made his life feel like it mattered.