Page 19

Hopefully it’d be a little chilly, though.

Needing clean clothes, he’d rummaged through the basement closet where Clara Mae had come up with work clothes and rubber boots for him and Peter.

Not only had he found some clothes, but he’d also found lawn chairs and a blanket.

Although he’d never gone to the drive-in with a girl, he knew how cold it got in the truck bed.

Claire hadn’t said a date… Of course it wasn’t a date. She hadn’t even remembered his name.

Still, there was something about how she’d teased him… as if she’d known he was lying. Then again, maybe she’d been interested in Thomas all along.

He stared down at the stained Wranglers and red plaid shirt. At least they were clean, even if a bit musty. He hung the clothes on the edge of the shower, hoping the steam would release the wrinkles and the old-people smell that clung to them.

Shrugging, he checked his face in the side mirror. “At least they fit. Better than smelling like a barn,” he said to his reflection. Besides, Claire hadn’t seemed to mind how he was dressed earlier.

Peter had laughed, saying he looked like a nerd, then threatened to tell Clara Mae where he was unless he promised to bring him back a pizza, which meant he’d have to drive even farther than he already was.

Adam had playfully shoved him, threatening to shave his hair, which was way too long anyway, if he told. Peter settled with him for popcorn and a Snickers bar.

He lifted his head as the quaking aspen leaves trembled at the slightest breeze.

The sound never failed to relax him. In the summer, he often dragged a sleeping bag to the back porch and slept beneath the stars, listening to a symphony of wood frogs, katydids, and a near-constant wind rustling the leaves.

Oncoming headlights lit up the ranch entrance, pulling Adam to the present.

He hoped it was Claire — he still hadn’t come up with a believable excuse to tell Clara Mae why he was waiting outside the fence if she drove up.

Last he’d checked, Clara Mae still hadn’t returned.

He wondered where she went on Sundays.

The large vehicle barreled down the dirt road, headlights too bright to make out the type or driver.

Out of nowhere, his heart thumped harder. “What if it’s them?” He ducked into his truck, the way he’d done two nights ago. This can’t be happening — again .

His hands broke into a sweat. He didn’t even have a gun, not that he’d use it if he did, apparently.

Instead of roaring past him, the large vehicle angled to park along the fence.

Adam glared at the fire-engine red Chevy Blazer.

Bad guys didn’t drive around in bright-red trucks, did they?

The driver’s door opened, and Adam watched as a stylish shiny black boot with turquoise stitching emerged first — sticking straight out like the driver was reaching for something across the seat.

Definitely not the bad guys. Or Clara Mae, for that matter.

Still, Lala showing up wasn’t out of the question.

Actually, the bright-red Blazer screamed Lala-ville .

Adam hopped down from his truck and made his slow way to the truck. “Hey! Anyone driving that Blazer?” If it were Lala, he definitely didn’t want to mention Claire’s name.

“Yeah. Sorry. Hang on.”

Sure sounded like Claire.

But she’d said hang on , so Adam stopped. Maybe she was pulling on a shirt or something.

“Just trying to reach… There it is!” She plopped out backward from the driver’s seat and held up her purse, grinning. “Whew! It’s tough being short. I don’t know how Lala stands that ginormous vehicle.”

Adam’s smile came as naturally as ever. No one made him smile like Claire.

She was as cute as he remembered. Only now, she was cute in a womanly way.

He’d laughed at her when they were children.

Now, he felt anything but humor as he took her in.

She was wearing jeans, but not the worn jeans and flannel shirt she’d worn earlier to ride.

Now she wore jeans that were so dark they looked black and a gauzy white shirt that contrasted with her golden-brown skin.

Her hair, which she normally pulled into a ponytail, fell in loose waves around her face and down her back.

Stunning. In his eyes, Claire had always been the most beautiful girl in the world. Now, she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. It wasn’t her looks, either — he knew the women in the swimsuit issues were supposed to be perfect tens.

It was Claire’s smile. Her quiet confidence. Her lack of pompousness. And because she was his… she’d always been his, and she’d never pretended otherwise.

Where had she been for two years ?

Claire ran forward. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Adam blinked to clear his eyes. He’d gotten lost in the past. “I’m gonna be just fine.” He smiled and took her hand, leading her to his truck. “Oh, wait. Is my truck okay? It’s clean.”

Claire inspected the F-100, the long bed, then bit her lower lip and nodded. “Yep! Perfect.”

He opened the passenger door, using his grip on her hand to help her hop up.

Unlike Lala’s obnoxious perfume — definitely shouldn’t wear musk around horses — Claire smelled like something soft and clean, not like a scent that came in first and left last. Even better, as light as it was, she hadn’t worn it this morning, knowing she was visiting Buttercup.

He checked that her hands and feet were clear, then closed the door, jogging around to the driver’s side.

At his door, he paused just a second. Be cool, man . He pulled on the metal handle, then swung himself up onto the bench seat. “Ready?”

Claire bounced a bit, clearly excited. “I am. I’ve waited so long to see this movie, and last night —” She waggled her head. “You know what? I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see any of the movie last night. I’m gonna go in with fresh eyes.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Adam said. Got it ! She doesn’t want to talk about what happened with Boyd last night … just as she told Rusty several times .

He’d wanted to ask, but if she didn’t want to talk about it, he understood. God knew there were things he didn’t want to discuss. Thankfully, she didn’t have any bruises. He knew himself too well. If Boyd had put a mark on her, he wouldn’t have been able to let that slide.

Breathing deeply to calm himself, he turned the key, shifted into drive, then took off down the bumpy road.

Claire turned to him. “So you really read The Princess Bride ?”

“I did…” Adam laughed. He hadn’t thought that would be her first question.

He assumed she’d ask how he ended up in Wasilla from Falcon Run — the question he wanted to ask her.

“My mom and dad had a deal. He got my brothers and me during light season; she got us during the Midnight Sun season.” His voice hitched.

“My mom… she called us her Midnight Sons — S.O.N.S.”

“Aww… Wait — when did your parents divorce?”

“Never!” He cleared his throat. “My parents were inseparable.” He smiled, remembering how they’d been together.

“What I meant was… My mom liked books and poetry, flowers and dancing — and Dad, of course.” He chuckled.

“My dad… He loved the outdoors. And her. Loving each other — and us kids — was their shared passion. The only thing they argued about was who got to influence us more. He used to tell her, ‘ When the sun’s shining , we live outside . When it’s dark or rainy , we’ll read . ’”

“A born-and-bred Alaskan knows!” Claire laughed. “I do that, too, I guess. Though… I do like riding Buttercup during a spring shower.” She inhaled deeply.

“I know what you mean. The smell of the wet spring ground, releasing the scent of rotting leaves from the previous fall, the new buds…”

“Exactly!” Claire said, then burst into giggles. “Listen to us. We sound like an old married couple.”

Adam choked on a laugh. “God, I hope not!”

Claire’s giggles ceased. Silent now, she fiddled with the vent.

“Are you cold?” he asked quickly. Stupid ! Why did you laugh at her ?

“No,” she said softly. “Just checking out your truck.” She reached for the radio knob. “Can we listen to music… to get ready for the show?”

“Sure…”

Claire turned up the volume, and the marine forecast recording was playing. “You going fishing?”

“Nah, I was listening to the weather.”

“Like I said… a couple of old folks. Most Alaskans are, I think.”

Adam didn’t guffaw at her remark this time.

In many ways, he was like a little old man.

He had to be. He’d been parentless at fourteen.

And even though Thomas had always been there, he had been the referee between him and Peter.

He’d also done more than his fair share around the house.

Not only his father’s duties, but also his mother’s.

Since Thomas had taken on the role of provider, Adam had taken over nearly every other household responsibility to keep their family clean and fed.

Claire fiddled with the radio, stopping on a pop station. “I love this song! Crazy how talented all the Gibb brothers are” — she peered up at him —”but Andy’s my favorite.”

Adam’s fingers found the crack on the steering wheel’s resin cover. He picked at the spot while listening to the lyrics of Shadow Dancing .

He felt Claire’s eyes on him. Was he supposed to respond with He’s my favorite, too ? He wasn’t sure. He’d never been on a date.

“Yeah, he’s pretty good,” Adam offered. Wait ! Why had she looked up at him when she said out of all the brothers, Andy was her favorite ?

“Oh… Sorry,” Claire said. “I forgot.”

She turned the knob, checking the other stations, but there weren’t too many they could get from Anchorage.

Adam was confused. “You just said you love that song.”

“I do, but I just remembered you like rock music.”

“I do?” As soon as his voice went up in inflection, he coughed and repeated, “I do. But I like pop, too.”

She was thinking of Thomas, again. Not him.

Adam reached for the knob, his hand grazing hers. “Please turn it back to the station you liked.”