Page 12 of Adam's Rising

“You are a champion, Bolt!” Adam patted the side of his horse’s neck. “Never forget, you are Storm-Born Prince!”

The next turn was easy. Bolt had proven again that he was in charge, and Adam showed his spirited horse that he was okay with that.

Adam held on as Bolt led the way back to the barn.

As soon as they hit the dirt road, Adam felt Bolt’s muscles tighten.

“Whoa, boy… You know my one rule: never run to the barn. You know better. Let’s give our onlookers a show, okay? How ’bout prancing for these commoners!”

Adam held his head high as he loosened his grip, patting the side of Bolt’s neck.

Standing beside the ring, Clara Mae lifted her chin, arms crossed, acting unimpressed — but Adam caught the slight lift of her lips. She knew his secret — he was sure of it. But somehow, he was even more certain she’d take it to her grave if he asked.

The ranch hands’ expressions ranged from irritated to indifferent. The grumpy one looked maybe in his forties, with a receding hairline and a long salt-and-pepper beard. Next to him, a guy in his twenties — Native, probably Dena’ina or maybe Inuit — leaned back against the ring rail, nodding slightly.

On the other side of the ring, next to the dirt parking lot reserved for guests — if he remembered correctly from the last time he’d been there — a young woman hopped onto the lower railing. She yanked off her hat with one hand, then shielded her eyes with the other like a sun visor, her gaze fixed on him.

As Adam rode closer, her features sharpened into focus — dark brows, olive skin, long dark-blond hair, braided down both sides of her head into two long braids.

Adam only knew one girl who wore her hair like that, and that girl knew his past.

The moment their eyes met, his stomach roiled — was that the third time today he felt like he might puke? There was no mistaking the fire in her glare. Yeah, she’d seen him. And she most definitely recognized him.

Andshe’s…angry, he realized.She’s definitely angry.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Lala.

4

Adam 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 bebye-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.”

Adamdidhave 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.”

---