Page 34 of Adam's Rising

Obviously hearing that it was dinnertime, Vizzy — the old ornery goat, as Grams called him — charged out from one of the no-longer-used stalls. Claire backed out of his way, knowing the old coot loved to ram into her. She was pretty sure he wasmostlyblind, which, of course, was better than beingmostlydead.

The old thing caught the tail of her shirt, so she snatched it out of his mouth. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Vizzy.”

Before feeding the ravenous quartet, she grabbed a handful of pre-bagged supplements for Buttercup. Over the past year, she’d grown more and more concerned about how they were caring for the horses.

Rusty did a decent job grooming her, but the feed quality had gone downhill. Earlier this winter, when she’d changed her riding schedule and showed up at feeding time, she’d nearly barfed.

Still, it wasn’t like she could haul hay back and forth herself. So she started showing up even earlier, cleaning out the icky stuff and adding supplements Mr. Belgarde had recommended. Maybe now that his sons were working at the ranch, they’d call out the cheapskates. Grams paid good money to board Buttercup.

Fez tried to crawl headfirst into the cat food bag as she scooped out their dinner. She nudged him back, then carried the scoop — more like three cups — to their tins. Not that it mattered. They tore into their dishes, only to crash into one another’s halfway through.

Finished with the no-longer-feral cats, she grabbed a bucket of grain and headed toward the chicken coop.

As always, she scanned the fence and the woods beyond. Gramps had drilled into her that crepuscular hours were the most dangerous times to tend livestock. He’d always told her to feed the chickens well after sunrise, and to be back inside long before full dark. But Alaska light played tricks in spring. Even though it was still daylight, her visibility was nothing compared to a wolf’s or a bear’s. And bears coming out of hibernation were hungry and unpredictable, often prowling for an easy meal.

She rounded the barn, eyes sweeping the shadows at the tree line, where a predator might already be watching. The wind had picked up through the day and, now, microbursts sent leathery brown aspen leaves spinning across the lawn like tumbleweeds in an old western. No matter how hard she tried, she could never round them all up. Once the snow came, the wily sprites got trapped — only to haunt her come spring.

After feeding the chickens, Claire bolted the door, then hooked the empty pail outside the coop —snap!

Holding steady, she quietly shifted the rifle forward, then slowly turned.

“Hola!”

Claire smacked a hand to her chest. “Lala! I told you not to do that! I might have shot you.”

“Oh, Claire-Belle, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” Frustrated, Claire sidestepped, but Lala matched her movement. “What are you doing?”

“I made dates for us tonight.”

Claire huffed and looked down at Lala’s shoes. “Not interested.” She walked in the opposite direction quickly enough that Lala missed her movement, then marched toward the house.

“You have to make up with Boyd,” Lala called behind her. “He’s Roger’s best friend!”

“Not in a million years!” Claire laughed, then took off toward the house. With Lala’s wedge sandals, she’d never keep up. If Grams and Gramps weren’t home, she could lock her out, like Lala liked to do to her.

As appealing as the notion was, she couldn’t. Claire was born in Alaska — Lala was from California. The girl couldn’t find her way out of a Kmart.

But Claire could lock her out of her bedroom.

“Claire!” Lala shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

Locking her out was sounding better.

“Where have you been?”

With that, Claire turned. “You know, Lala, just because you’re a couple of years older than me, doesn’t make you my mother.”

Lala fisted her hands and put them on her hips. “I didn’t say you could take my Blazer.”

Claire sighed. “You were sleeping. You always sleep all day on Sunday…” She looked at the driveway, making sure Grams and Gramps hadn’t come back from their friends’ house. “… so you don’t have to go to church.”

Her cousin narrowed her eyes.

“Chill,” Claire said, using one of Lala’s favorite words. “I’m not telling them. But it’s only a matter of time before Gramps figures out you can’t have cramps every week.”

Lala walked closer. She removed her hands from her hips, but then crossed them over her chest. She stared Claire up and down. “You went riding? I told you I wanted to go riding today.”