Page 24 of Adam's Rising

But he doubted it.

Clara Mae took pride in her ranch, which made him wonder again about the soiled wood chips left in the stalls and, worse, Bolt’s exposed ribs. Although possible, he doubted Bolt had refused to eat. Adam had learned early on that Bolt’s affections — partially — could be bought with a Granny Smith apple or sugar cube.

Adam inched open the door, then closed it with the same slow precision.

He scanned the ranch and the Talkeetna Mountains in the distance. The sun hadn’t officially risen, and yet soft golden light fringed the clouds where the mountain peaks met the sky. It was going to be another beautiful day.

Would the great weather mean that Lala would show up again? God, he hoped not.

Watching his back, Adam made his way to the stables. Technically, he was breaking his father’s — and darn near every other Alaskan’s — number one rule: don’t go outside without a gun, preferably a high-powered rifle strapped to your side. But no way was Adam going to be caught with that gun. The first chance he got, he would drop it in a crevasse.

He trusted Bolt to steer clear of danger. If his horse caught the scent of a predator, he wouldn’t venture near the fence, which was good for Adam. And Bolt could ride like the wind.

The moment Adam stepped inside the barn, nearly all the horses snorted agood morning. Adam made it a point to greet them all, familiarizing himself with their quirks. He hadn’t met every horse yesterday, but darn near.

He stopped in front of a stall. The nameplate read:Buttercup. Brett had taken some horses to the walker, so Adam hadn’t seen them all. Then, he’d worked in the other stable for a large part of the day.

The Palomino Tennessee Walker lifted her golden head and stared at him. She gave a full-body shake, her cream-colored mane fluttering like she was a model in one of Thomas’sSports Illustratedswimsuit issues. Thomas had laughed, telling Adam the photographers used giant fans to get that look. And here, this stunning horse achieved it all on her own.

“Buttercup,” Adam whispered. “Are youClaire’sButtercup? Do you remember me?” He pulled a sugar cube from his pocket — meant for Bolt — and held out his hand. The golden mare stepped forward, lowering her head over the stall like she’d been expecting him. “Yeah, you do,” he murmured. “I helped train you for Claire.”

His eyes misted.Claire… He hadn’t seen her since right before his parents died. She’d simply stopped coming to school. Adam stroked Buttercup’s sleek muzzle. She was well groomed — better than some of the other horses he’d seen.

“I can’t believe you’re here. Did Claire’s father sell you?” he asked quietly, remembering how protective her dad had been — especially when questioning why Adam’s father allowed his son to ride bareback.

He offered another sugar cube, then combed through her silky mane with his fingers. “If there’s time, I’ll take you out for a ride, gorgeous.” A loud whinny came from the last stall. Adam laughed. “But right now, I hear Bolt. He’s a jealous booger.”

Adam passed the other stalls, checking on each, but he didn’t take the time to chat with any other horses. Bolt had treated him well yesterday — he didn’t want to give him a reason to throw him.

“Hey, boy!”

Bolt spun away from the stall door, huffing.

“I got you a treat.” Adam held up a sugar cube.

His stubborn boy eyed him for a few seconds before deciding to forgive him for fraternizing with Buttercup, Adam assumed.

Bolt ambled to the door and shoved his head forward.

Adam rewarded him with several sugar cubes. “Here you go, baby. Ready to ride?”

He grabbed just a lead rope again. Eventually, he’d saddle him up, but he wanted to earn Bolt’s trust — and fatten him up a bit — first.

* * *

Like the previous day,Bolt took Adam on an adventurous ride, turning mere seconds before Adam ended up in the woods. Bolt loved to run, and unlike Adam’s land in Falcon Run, Clara Mae’s ranch, with its wide-open acreage, gave the wild stang room to burn off energy.

As the sun crested the eastern peaks, Adam guided Bolt to the barn. “Come on, boy. Let’s cool you down before the hands show up.”

Back in Bolt’s stall, Adam reached for the leather satchel he found in the tack room. He used the curry comb to remove loose hairs and any briars. Then he grabbed the dandy brush. He used short flicking movements to whisk out any dirt. He pulled out the body brush next, which was Bolt’s favorite.

Bolt ate while Adam brushed his coat.

“Are you not taking your vitamins, boy?” Adam inspected some rough patches and flaky skin. Bolt’s coat had always been sleek and shiny. He pulled a pick and coarse brush from the satchel. “You gonna let me clean your hooves? You know it always feels better afterward —”

The stable doors rolled open.

Adam held his breath, then realized he was allowed there. Heck, he was earlier than the other hands. That should please Clara Mae.

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