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A dam did his best to ignore the goings-on of Brett and Frank as they emptied their quarters, and then, Brett, of course, had to empty his office inside the barn that Adam hadn’t seen him enter once. Then again, maybe that’s why he’d rarely seen the man.

A scary notion crept in without his permission: What if Brett had been inside his office whenever he’d been talking to Bolt, or worse, Claire.

Worrywart ! he admonished himself. Life has enough troubles without inventing scenarios.

Since no parental figures who’d watched him torture himself with what-ifs his entire life were available, he figured he needed to remember and administer their teachings.

Adam continued mucking out stalls, longing for the day he could hang up the pitchfork. That day felt closer than ever.

After Brett and Frank were gone — and maybe George would take off, too — he and Rusty could bring on new hands, hired help who didn’t have bad habits from the old regime.

No wonder Adam’s father preferred working on his own, with just the horses. He was quickly learning that ranch life felt like some of those soap operas his mother had playing in the background as she shucked peas, canned tomatoes, or in the winter, plucked the eyes off potatoes.

Adam rarely saw her actually watching the programs, but he’d seen an occasional nod when she agreed with something or a lift of her head when she didn’t.

A stitch tugged at his heart for a second. He really missed his mother. Yeah, he’d learned so much from his father, but his mother had loved him so deeply. She’d been there every day of his life.

In fact, he couldn’t ever remember her leaving the cabin. Dad even usually did the grocery shopping off her list.

“Drop it on the back of the Haulster.” The command sounded like Brett’s resonant baritone.

Adam ducked his head, continuing to clean the stall. He really didn’t want to have a one-on-one confrontation with the man.

Clara Mae told him that she’d discovered the issues, so who was Adam to contradict her?

“Stableboy!” Brett called.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut. Damn . Was cursing silently still a curse , he wondered. He was starting to understand why adults cursed so much. Life could get hairy in seconds.

Deciding to ignore the remark that was about as far away from an endearment as a horse was from a zebra, Adam continued his duties.

Why had Brett called him Stableboy ? Was it a slur or — worse — had he heard Claire call him that?

“Thomas!” Brett bellowed. “Come here!”

He wasn’t his boss anymore, so did he have to obey?

Why cause trouble? He’d look guilty — or worse, scared — if he stayed hidden in the stall.

He never wanted — scratch that. He’d never look or feel scared again. Not in this life.

Adam stepped out of the stall, still clenching the pitchfork.

If Brett was shocked with his football move, he’d be blown away with what Adam could do with a pitchfork.

He might not look strong, but farm strong was a whole different kind of strong than Lou Ferrigno.

Brett crossed his arms, eyeing Adam up and down as if he were a gelding for sale.

“You’re a good kid. Hard worker, strong, and a damn savant with a horse.

Never could get that Mustang to warm up to me.

I’m gonna land on my feet. Always do. I’ll need someone like you.

I’ll pay you — your brother, too — top dollar.

Far more than the chickenfeed Clara Mae doles out. ”

Adam’s brain misfired like one of his old tractors. Was the man for real?

Claire’s smooth talker remark about Lala’s father popped into his head. Adam had pinned Brett as one of those slick carnival workers almost from the start.

Still… Another one of his father’s teachings landed fast: Never burn a bridge.

Adam wasn’t even sure if he’d known what his father meant the first time he’d said it, but he did now. Not that he would ever want a bridge to wherever Brett landed , but nothing good would come from causing a scene. Better to be gracious.

“Um, thank you, sir.” He’d almost added, but my father knew Clara Mae. New lesson he was learning on his own: Don’t supply any unnecessary information. He’d already said too much several times, pulling others into his current nightmare.

Brett waited a second, but when Adam didn’t say more, he finished with, “Okay, then.”

And that was that.

The man strutted off as if he hadn’t just been fired, grabbed another box from his office, plopped it on the Haulster, and drove off.

The confrontation he’d fretted over all day had turned into another job offer.

Adam went back to cleaning. It’d be nice if an owner would show up, then he’d have an excuse to do something else. Unlike Claire and him, it seemed many of the owners were fine visiting their horses weekly.

He wondered when Boyd would show up. He hoped he wouldn’t be around because dealing with a conman like Brett wasn’t that hard once you recognized a scam.

Even bullies like George no longer got to him.

A man who would rape a woman, though… Any woman, let alone his woman, Adam truly feared for how he might react.

Shuffling wood chips caught his attention. At least it was hard for anyone to sneak up on him in the barn. Years of his father and Thomas doing just that had conditioned him to stay on-guard.

Adam checked over the stall and saw Frank.

Great !

He hadn’t considered the stoner would show up. Not after he’d put the idiot on his back.

Yeah, he couldn’t stand for abuse on a woman, even one brandishing an electrified poker. If Clara Mae went after Adam with a cattle prod, he’d run. He’d never raise a hand to a woman.

“Whaddaya need?”

Frank crooked his head. “Just wanna talk.”

Adam swallowed hard while he was still inside the stall. Was Frank the dangerous one? Weren’t stoners usually like: Peace , Man !

Still gripping his pitchfork, Adam stepped out of the stall. “Yeah?”

Frank looked like a different man. Long gone were the farm clothes. Instead he had long bell-bottom jeans that nearly obliterated his shoes and a loose-fitting flowy top that looked like something Lala might wear.

Adam definitely wasn’t concerned. He was definitely a hippie. And they were supposed to be all about peace. Make love, not war. Right ?

The man stepped forward. “I sure as hell didn’t sign up to rot in this dump, so I’m glad we’re outta here.

” He rubbed the back of his head. “Not to hip on the knot you gave me, but whatever.” He tossed a look over his shoulder.

“I ain’t no snitch, either, but so’s you know.

Pete came sniffing around for some grass yesterday. ”

Adam narrowed his eyes.

Frank bent forward, lifting a hand. “ Weed ? Dope ? Whatever you squares call it.”

Frank mistook silence for stupidity. But Adam’s anger wasn’t for Frank — it was for Peter.

He knew Frank wasn’t lying. If he were, he would have called his brother Peter , as had been said repeatedly on Saturday. Only in the last year had Peter started introducing himself as Pete, like he wanted a new identity.

Adam wanted to wallop him — Peter, not Frank. He’d already done a pretty good number on Frank.

Here Adam was… practically forced to take on Thomas’s name and wonder if drug dealers would show up any second.

Meanwhile, Peter was out looking for the crap.

“So?” Adam finally said. Once again, he decided not to take the bait. Truly, he was glad Frank had snitched. He’d deal with Peter later.

No way would he give Frank the satisfaction of seeing him off-balance.

Frank sucked on his teeth. “Alrighty, then. Figured you’d like to know. Guess Brett was right about you.”

Adam didn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking either of them knew anything about him. He just stood there, waiting for the punk — he liked Rusty’s word — to hightail it off his ranch.

* * *

Adam waited long enough that Frank should have caught up with Brett before rushing to the rear of the barn.

The taillights of Brett’s big black truck bounced as the two finally left the ranch.

“Good riddance!”

Sheesh!

He still had Peter’s little scavenger hunt to address — he hoped Frank hadn’t given his brother any grass .

Crap !

The joint he’d found. It was still in his jeans pocket.

He laughed quietly. “Well, Peter will never find it.” He’d actually have to clean up, and that was about as unlikely as Brett offering him that fake job.

Adam watched as Clara Mae moved back and forth from one apartment to the next. He hadn’t seen any of the hands’ quarters, but they had to have more amenities than the basement. Besides, if he and Peter moved to one, it’d be easier for Adam to keep an eye on his brother.

Where had he been all yesterday?

Yeah, the kid could sleep. But twenty hours was even a lot for Peter.

Adam walked toward the quad units. “Need some help?”

Clara Mae stuck just her head through a doorway. “Yeah, find us some help. George just hightailed it out of here in the back of Brett’s truck. Knew that S.O.B… .” The rest of her sentence was garbled as she ducked back into the room.

George quit, too.

Adam’s day was looking up — scratch that. Last time he’d hinted to himself that things were looking up, he’d had to knock a guy on his back.

And he still needed to confront a fourteen-year-old kid looking for drugs.

Clara Mae stepped out of the apartment, yellow gloves up to her elbows.

Instead of asking for help, she pointed behind him. “You’re up, lover boy!”

Adam turned. Oh, that’s right. He still had to deal with Lala .

He’d never claim that things were looking up again, even to himself.

It was like that old wives’ tale… Whenever his mother spoke of good fortune — or something she hoped wouldn’t happen — she’d knock on wood — so the demons wouldn’t hear.

Lala sat on the fence separating the parking lot from the working ranch again.

At least she was following the rules. Well, probably only because she knew Clara Mae was looking.

He guessed Lala didn’t know that Claire was allowed to stroll in at five a.m., and saddle up her horse.

Lala hopped off the fence but quickly leaned back, one leg bent, her boot hooked on the bottom rail. She wore tight green corduroys and a red-and-white plaid shirt. Her hair was braided in her traditional Lala style, and she wore more makeup than he’d ever seen on one girl.

Like he’d told Claire, she was pretty. Thomas had said that she was hotter than a branding iron.

Adam didn’t see that. All he saw was trouble.

“Hi, Lala,” Adam said dully as he approached. Might as well get the pleasantries out of the way. “You here to ride?” He knew she wasn’t, and that frustrated him. It wasn’t fair to own a horse if you weren’t going to take care of it — physically and mentally.

She pushed away from the fence, rocking her hips back and forth. “Not today. I just wanted to come by and ask if you wanted to hang out.”

“Don’t have time.” Adam stepped past her, moving into the ring where she couldn’t follow.

He made a play of checking on the horses that were waiting to return to their stalls.

“Hey!”

He really didn’t want to be rude, but Thomas hadn’t seen Lala in nearly two years, so why did she think they were still an item?

Or had he? Maybe Thomas had seen her at night, after he and Peter went to bed. Lala had asked why he hadn’t called, she didn’t say how long it had been.

Still, she was dating Roger. And while Roger didn’t seem like Lala’s type, he was a nice guy.

Adam begrudgingly turned. “Yeah?”

Lala stuck out her already-plump bottom lip. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

Adam sighed. “Look, Lala. I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be rude, but I have a lot of work to do.”

“But… I… I thought…”

He walked back to the gate. At least she didn’t seem as upset as she was on Saturday. He considered what Clara Mae and Claire had said. Both women had made it clear that Lala was accustomed to getting her way. So, what happened if she didn’t? Was she dangerous?

Adam stepped through the gate and sat on the step they used when riders needed a boost. “You’re dating Roger. He’s a friend of mine.”

Lala stomped toward him. “I only started dating Roger because you said you were leaving!” She leaned against the gate. “But now you’re here.”

Craaaaaaap . When had Thomas told her he was leaving?

Lala took advantage of his shock and moved in front of him, instantly straddling him.

Adam moved to get up, but she locked both hands on the railing, effectively pinning him. Yeah, he could’ve shoved her off, but then she’d probably twist an ankle — or worse — and that would only make things messier.

Not wanting to be so close to her, he closed his eyes. “Lala, I’m working. Please get off me. You’re gonna get me fired.”

She huffed. “You won’t get fired. My daddy’ll buy the damn ranch if I ask him.”

Buy the ranch ? What did that even mean ?

“Look at me!” she whined. “I don’t want Roger. I want you. You were my first —”

He felt her breath on his face and knew what was coming next. He moved to push her back, but it was too late. When he opened his eyes, Claire and Peter were already running toward them.