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A dam swung down from Bolt, pausing to run a hand over the mustang’s nose, his fingers tracing the lightning bolt. “Great job, Prince,” he murmured. Like him, Bolt seemed to understand what it meant to have two names — the one the world used, and the one whispered in trust.

He offered the lead rope to the welcoming ranch hand who’d nodded at him earlier.

“Sorry, man. I think I’m in trouble. Mind cooling him down for me?

” A quick glance at Clara Mae told him she wasn’t thrilled about his bareback stunt — but it wasn’t her judgment that made his pulse race.

Thomas’s girlfriend stood just yards away.

With one word — his real name — she could ruin everything for him and Peter.

Sure, he could explain that Thomas’s — his — middle name was Adam, but Clara Mae had already seen past his attempt at fooling her.

It wouldn’t take but a simple reminder that his father had agreed to buy Bolt for fifty dollars more than the butcher would have paid, assuring Clara Mae that his middle son would tame the wild mustang.

Anxious, Adam tipped his hat to Clara Mae in respect, then took a step toward Lala.

To his relief, Lala hadn’t moved from the opposite side of the fence.

Probably one of Clara Mae’s rules for guests and owners.

A good rule, he knew. A thousand pounds of charging muscle with no emergency brake was a recipe for disaster.

Horses couldn’t stop on a dime. If a child or even an adult walked in the path of a horse anxious to return to his stall, it’d be bye-bye, tourist .

Clara Mae stepped in Adam’s path. “Oh no you don’t! I told you last time not to mess with that girl.”

Adam did have an emergency brake, it seemed. He froze, confused for a heartbeat. The brown bear that could have flattened him years ago flashed through his mind. Thomas had always been fast on his feet — Peter, too. Adam was a thinker. He thought before he shot — always.

Mess with that girl ? What did that mean? How did Clara Mae know about Thomas and Lala?

Before he could shake off his shock, Clara Mae pointed to the older hand. “Get Esmerelda’s horse.” Her gaze snapped back to Adam, sharp as barbed wire. “And you… Thomas . You and that lanky colt brother of yours, inside my house. Now.”

What was that called? A stay of execution ?

Or would he have had better luck with Lala?

It felt like a choice between the gallows and the firing squad.

Clara Mae’s order felt like his head would end up on a chopping block.

Lala firing questions at him didn’t seem as scary, especially now that he had a moment to compose himself.

Adam nodded to Clara Mae and headed for his truck. At the passenger side, he tapped on the window. Peter jumped — again.

“Come on, li’l colt!” Adam smirked at the nickname. Peter always wanted one. Seemed they were all getting new identities today. “Clara Mae wants to talk to us.”

Peter hopped down and shrugged on his coat. “You get the job?”

“Not yet.”

Instead of walking toward the back of the barn, Peter veered toward the front — toward the hands. And Lala.

Adam grabbed a fistful of his brother’s jacket, redirecting him. “This way.”

Peter twisted free. “Stop handling me. I’m not one of your horses.” He jogged ahead, putting a few yards between them, muttering, “So sick of everyone pushing me around…”

Adam trotted up next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Sorry, bro. There’s a… situation out there.”

Peter looked up at him. “What kind of situation?”

“Lala showed up.”

“Oh, man. That blows.”

“Yeah.”

“So where are we going?”

“Clara Mae’s house.” Adam pointed past a building with four windows and four doors as they rounded the backside of the barn. The long one-story building looked like a four-plex motor lodge. Quarters for four hands, he assumed. Did Clara Mae already have four hands?

When Adam rounded the other side of the barn, crossing a narrow, muddy road toward the house, another ranch hand stepped into his path.

He was younger than the older hand, but much older than the one he’d released Bolt to — and tall.

The olive-complected man with long curly black hair falling past his shoulders and a handlebar mustache that curled up from his broad mouth looked scary and fascinating all at once.

Arms crossed, the man gave both him and Peter a slow once-over.

“Take a picture, it’ll —” Peter started, but Adam pulled his baby brother close, silencing him.

He couldn’t stand that obnoxious jab Peter loved to throw around — the boy was a firecracker.

But Peter hadn’t heard all of Dad’s lessons.

Right now, Adam remembered one of the important ones: He who speaks first, loses .

Dad always said whether it was a negotiation or threat, it was better to keep your trap shut.

People might think you’re stupid — but better that than opening your mouth and removing all doubt.

“Peter,” Adam said quietly, keeping his eyes on the man. “We’re in his territory. He has every right to question us.”

The man finally smiled. “I’m Brett. Head hand. Bareback, huh?”

Adam shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to do. Didn’t think that wild stang was gonna let me throw a saddle on him.”

“You’re right about that.”

Clara Mae stepped into view, snapped her fingers in the direction of the hands’ quarters. “Brett, get that other hand of yours going.” She waved at the sky. “Ain’t even May yet, and locals are showing up left and right.”

Brett winked in Adam’s direction then walked back toward the narrow building. “Frank! Get a move on!” The man’s voice was deep and resonant, the kind Adam would expect to hear at a rodeo. Maybe that’s what he did for Clara Mae when she took her horses to sell.

Clara Mae shook her head, then motioned Adam and Peter toward her house again.

Adam trotted forward, pulling Peter in his wake. Clara Mae didn’t like for people — or horses — to fall behind. After all, that’s how he ended up with Bolt. If a horse wasn’t trainable, he ended up at the butcher. A shiver ran down Adam’s arms.

A few yards from the stoop, Adam released Peter’s hand and rushed past Clara Mae to open the door.

Clara Mae snorted. “Do I look like the kind of woman who needs a man to open the door for her?”

“No, Ma’am,” Adam said but held the door anyway. “But my father would have slapped my rear if I didn’t.”

Clara Mae nodded and stepped inside. She used the toe of one rubber boot to push off one then hooked the other boot on a wood box, tugging it off, then dropped the pair on a black mat.

“Take off your shoes, boys. I’ll find you some old rubbers to wear anyway.

Mud ’round here’s several inches deeper than that canvas crap you’re wearing. ”

Adam and Peter followed suit.

Clara Mae ignored the set of carpeted stairs that led to her upstairs house and pulled out a large key ring, unlocking a door beside them.

Adam and Peter stared forward, but neither moved.

Beyond the open door, a narrow set of stairs disappeared into pitch blackness.

Their parents — and later Thomas — had warned them about killers like The Candy Man , also from Texas.

And just recently, Adam had read about boys going missing in Chicago.

“Trust a horse, but not an ol’ woman like me,” Clara Mae muttered as she reached in and pulled a string, casting dim light over the tight stairwell.

“Ain’t no bogeymen down there — just a couple of cots and a wood stove.

” She didn’t wait for their approval, just clomped her way down.

“This here’ll be your lodgings. Simpler than the hands’ quarters, but it’s clean, and I don’t need two teenyboppers bunking near the likes of those men. ”

Adam nodded to Peter, then followed Clara Mae into the belly of the house.

Peter followed directly behind him, a hand on Adam’s back.

For all his brother’s fist-raising and backtalking, he was just as frightened as Adam was.

They were two teenagers being forced into the world.

Even eagles gave their young a little warning before they shoved them out of the nest.

Downstairs, Clara Mae tapped a socked foot against the concrete slab. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t have all day. I have a business to run. But we need to talk and get our stories straight before we go one step further in this little masquerade, yeah?”

* * *

Clara Mae hadn’t allowed Adam or Peter to take a nap — all hands were expected to work, regardless of the previous night.

She apologized for their loss but reminded them that working a ranch was a 24/7, 365 job.

It wouldn’t look right to the other hands to bring in two strays and not put them to work.

And there was plenty of work to go around.

After digging through a closet full of gear, Clara Mae suited them up in work clothes, rubbers, and short-brimmed straw hats — just enough to keep the sun out of their eyes.

The clothes were wider and longer than either of them needed, but Adam — and Peter, only because Adam glared at him when he started to complain — made do.

To his utter repulsion, Peter was assigned slop duty with Frank, Brett’s twenty-something cousin.

Unlike Brett, who exuded power, Frank looked like a beaten dog.

He resembled Brett, only scragglier. His long hair was oily and tied back with a rubber band.

No mustache, but he hadn’t shaved his patchy beard in weeks, judging by the length.

If the man had a tail, it’d be tucked between his legs.

Adam wasn’t sure Frank was the best person for Peter to be working with — but at least he didn’t look dangerous. Peter could probably wrestle him down if it came to that.