Page 14 of Adam's Rising

Clara Mae hadn’t allowedAdam 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.

The best part of Adam’s new job — he got to meet the horses one-on-one. As Clara Mae had predicted, owners showed up to ride one after another. Brett called out a name, and Adam quickly found the horse and saddled it. George, the older hand, or Rusty, the Alaska Native, would then lead the horse to one of two outdoor riding arenas if the riders were younger or inexperienced — or the two-mile galloping track for more advanced riders. With more than 150 acres, Clara Mae even had a trail that weaved along the river and through the woods, though that one was used mostly for guided tourist rides.

Around noon, with the first wave of owners gone, Brett sent everyone to wash up, then directed them to a weathered picnic bench out the back door of the barn.

At one end of the table sat a roll of brown paper towels, a loaf of Wonder bread, and a couple of knives stuck deep into jars of Skippy peanut butter and Welch’s grape.

If Adam didn’t keep his mouth shut, he was sure drool might stream out like an untied shoestring. He hadn’t seen peanut butter in months — and Welch’s? That was a treat above and beyond even peanut butter. Even when money was okay, their family usually bought the watery store brand that barely tasted like jelly, let alone grape jelly.

Peter dropped down at the end of the bench and rested his head on folded arms. The other ranch hands paid him no mind as they muscled in to make sandwiches.

Adam stood back, waiting his turn, hoping there would be something left for Peter and himself.

Brett sidled up next to him, shoving something cold into his hand. “Don’t wait long. Them scavengers’ll come back for seconds.”

“I won’t, Sir.” Adam looked down at what Brett had put in his hand, a Yoo-hoo. “Heck, yeah.”

Brett winked and handed him another one, nodding to his brother. “These’re on me. You’ll have to earn future bottles.”

“I will, Sir.”

Brett nodded. “I believe you will.” And he walked off.

The man probably didn’t eat with the other hands. Clara Mae said they were responsible for preparing their own breakfast, but she provided sandwich fixin’s for lunch, and then supper would be served promptly at seven o’clock every evening except Sunday. Sunday, they were expected to make their own meal.

Before making sandwiches, Adam knelt next to his baby brother. “Peter, look.”

Peter tilted just his head to the side. A streak of tears cut through high cheekbones dusted in brown dust.

Adam held up the ice-cold bottle of Yoo-hoo and whispered, “Your favorite.”

Peter sniffed, but then sat up, turning his body toward Adam, so the others didn’t see him. He accepted the bottle, then stared down at it.

Adam realized immediately and took it back, hoping what he’d seen Thomas do with a Budweiser would work. He hooked the metal cap against the edge of the table, held the bottle neck firmly with one hand, then gave a quick smack with his other hand, and the cap popped off. He checked the rim for chips, then handed Peter the Yoo-hoo, repeating the process with the next one. He clinked his bottle against Peter’s then downed a swig before eyeing the sandwiches again.

“Hey!” Adam hopped up when he saw George poised to make a second sandwich. “I’m next.”

George snarled. “Looks like you’re busy playingPat-a-caketo me.”

Adam darted around the table, sidling beside the older guy, who’d already picked up the loaf of bread. “Isaid, I’m next. My brother and I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Snooze you lose, buddy boy.”

Adam snatched the bag out of the man’s hands. “I ain’tsnoozedonce today. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

The other hands chuckled.

Adam pulled out four pieces then tossed the loaf at the man, who fumbled, nearly dropping the bag.

“George, you klutz!” Rusty barked. “If you drop that bread before I get a second serving, I’m raiding your stash!”

Adam moved on to the peanut butter and jelly, making a sandwich each for Peter and himself. They didn’t need seconds; they needed sleep. Peter would sleep for twenty hours if allowed, which he often did on the weekend instead of helping out. Adam assumed that the hard work was why he was crying. He wasn’t used to hard work. He’d been too young when Dad and Mom were alive, and Thomas gave up asking him to do anything difficult because of all the whining.

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