Page 27 of Adam's Rising

Buttercup was her last real connection to her parents. Yeah, she had Grams, but her grandmother wasn’t able to do much.

Every time Claire rode Buttercup, it was like her father was riding beside her. Her mother, too, though she hadn’t ridden much, said that the bouncing was too much at her age.

The ranch hand who called himselfThomasstrolled back into the stall, ready to tack up Buttercup.

Normally, Claire would help. She was quite capable of saddling her own horse. In fact, she’d begged Grams to let her keep Buttercup at the house. But nope. Her step-grandfather — Gramps, since she was three — said that he was too old to keep full livestock. Other than a handful of chickens, an ornery old goat, and three cats that kept the rodent population down, the farm her grandmother had inherited produced little more than eggs.

Claire watched the ranch hand’s techniques, which, no surprise, were identical to how he’d taught her. True, Thomas and Adam’s father was a horse trainer, so he certainly taught both of them, but nope — she shook her head — she couldn’t see anyone but Adam…

“What’s wrong?” asked the hand.

She snapped up her head, confused. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You shook your head. Did I do something wrong?”

Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes. “No, of course not. I was just thinking about something.” She stepped next to Buttercup, stroking her muzzle. “Looks great — as always,” she added, but he just dipped his head again.

“All set.” He lifted the lead rope, walking Buttercup out of the stall and through the barn. “You’re experienced, right? You doing the full loop today?”

Claire smiled. “Yep. Been riding since I was seven. I’ve had Buttercup for four years. Your father trained him — remember? Well, you weren’t around the horses much; that was your brother.” She stared up at the eaves, watching the barn swallows fly in and out. “What was your brother’s name again?”

“I have two.”

“That’s right. Your youngest brother was a couple of years younger than me. Peter.” She laughed. “He was funny.” She looked up at the sky as they exited the barn. “What was your middle brother’s name again? He was in my grade, but he was so shy.”

“Adam,” he said, eyes down as he walked and stroked Buttercup’s golden mane. “She’s a great lady. Can’t go wrong with a Palamino Tennessee Walker. She’s definitely special,” he said softly.

Her breath caught at his tone. He wasn’t just talking about Buttercup. Not with that soft voice. “She definitely is,” Claire agreed.

Rusty left Shirley in the riding ring and ran up to them. “Hey, Claire. You should have told me you decided to ride. I would have —”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Claire’s cheeks warmed like she’d been caught sneaking out. She waved at Shirley — a necessity — then focused on Rusty again. “I just decided since it’s so nice out, and…” She stumbled on the new hand’s supposed name for a second. “Thom… as was there, so I asked him.”

Rusty looked back at Shirley. “I’ll be right back.” He took the lead rope. “I’ll take Claire from here.”

The boy dipped his head, then turned and jogged off without comment.

Confused, Claire looked from Rusty to the new hand, who’d already made it back to the barn. Then she caught Shirley’s eye again. Even horseback riding, the prissy girl dressed in a baby blue cardigan, dress pants, and pearls. Claire wondered if she even owned a pair of jeans. But mostly, with the girl’s 1950’s attitude, she wondered why she and Lala were even friends.

Shirley flashed her signature close-lipped smile and yanked on Snowball’s reins. Unfortunately for Shirley, she pulled back on both, so instead of veering left, as Claire assumed she intended, the horse flung his head forward against the bit, trying to relieve the pressure — lurching Shirley off balance in the process.

Claire turned away quickly so that Shirley wouldn’t know she’d witnessed her blunder. Already, the girl would give Lala an earful. No need to make her angry.

“Thanks, Rusty,” Claire said as they approached the riding loop. “I can handle Buttercup from here.” She didn’t need a step stool, as he always offered.

He wrapped up the lead rope and handed Claire the reins.

Claire took hold of the worn leather straps, grabbed the horn, dug her left boot deep into the stirrup, then swung her right leg over Buttercup’s broad back.

She breathed in deeply, appreciating the spring morning. As much as she loved riding, Adam’s pretense and Rusty’s reaction to him baffled her. She’d thanked Rusty for his help with Boyd the previous evening, but had he expected more? He’d always been kind, and he didn’t give her the heebie-jeebies like some of the hands. Still, his protectiveness was concerning. Yeah, she was sixteen, as he’d pointed out the previous evening, but she would be seventeen in a few weeks. And while Boyd had been a royal-class ass last night, he was only eighteen.

She entered the track and clicked twice, letting Buttercup know she was ready to ride. The horse picked up her pace, but kept her gait at a gallop. She wouldn’t run unless Claire asked.

As beautiful as the day was, Claire couldn’t clear the buzzing in her head.

Why was she ninety-nine-point-nine-percent sure that the boy everyone else called Thomas — including her cousin, who had actually datedThomas— was the boy she’d loved since kindergarten?

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