Page 45 of Adam's Rising

He hotfooted toward the house — never smart to run across an Alaskan ranch or any stretch of unknown land at night. One misstep equaled a twisted ankle or worse.

A throat cleared near him, stopping Adam in his tracks.

Then came a softclick— and Adam’s heart pounded, again. But instead of gunfire, theclickwas followed by a bright beam of light aimed directly at his face.

Adam held his hands to his forehead, hoping the gesture would serve two-fold: block the onslaught of light and show he was unarmed.

Waiting, he silently prayed the next sound he heard wasn’t therat-a-tat-tatof a machine gun.

Adam blinked a few times, but didn’t chance moving.

“You’re early, kid.”

“Rusty,” Adam exhaled the man’s name. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

Rusty laughed. “Bejesus? Kid, how old are you?”

Adam gulped. “Eighteen.”

“Ain’t no way on God’s green earth you’re eighteen. Unless you were abducted by one of those alien spaceships back inLeave it to Beaverdays, then dropped in my time.”

“Hah!” Adam’s vision cleared enough to see Rusty on the back of the Haulster. One hand held the heavy-duty rubber flashlight, the other gripped a rifle. His long hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, hung around his shoulders. Sleek and shiny, like he’d just washed and blow-dried it, Adam thought about making a joke that he looked like one ofCharlie’s Angels. Since the man had been so gracious, he decided against the jab. No sense pushing his luck.

Rusty nodded toward the long road where Claire’s taillights had just vanished. “You weren’t kidding about being a gentleman with good intentions.”

“Scout’s honor,” Adam said, trying not to smile.

Rusty snorted. “You’re lucky Clara Mae likes you. She was fired up. Took me ten minutes and half a pot of coffee to calm her down. Now, you gotta do me a favor.”

Adam walked over to the rig. “Anything, man.”

Rusty hopped off the back. “Get in. We’re gonna go see Clara Mae. Since you know Boyd, you’re gonna help get his ass thrown out of here. His attack on Claire was the last straw.”

Adam slid onto the bench seat, the vinyl stiff and creaky beneath him. “With pleasure.”

Rusty climbed into the driver’s side, set the rifle between them, and turned the key. The beast roared to life like a lion disturbed from sleep. Rusty thrust the gear into first, and the cart popped forward like thelionwas ready to charge across the African plains. But the old thing was all roar and no action. It rumbled and dipped over the gravel road, creaking as it moved at a snail’s pace.

“I can crawl faster than this thing!” Adam shouted over the peal of the engine.

Rusty shook his head, eyeing Adam. “Yeah, but a bear or wolf won’t come within a hundred yards of this beast. And you can’t outrun a bear, kid.” Rusty touched the gun resting between them. “Where’s your gun?”

Adam twisted his mouth. “Don’t have one.” He’d never been a good liar. The second Rusty asked where his gun was, the .38 buried in his backpack popped into his head. Technically, it wasn’t his gun; it was his father’s. But his prints were on it, and that gun had brought down several men. He’d be a goner if the police hooked him up to a lie detector. He had to get rid of that gun.

“Kid,” Rusty said, shaking his head. “Clara Mae says you gotbrains and boots, born right here in Alaska. But any Alaskan-bred moron over the age of eight knows better than to step outside after dark without a high-powered gun on their back.”

Adam stayed quiet as the Haulster bobbed its way to the house.

Parking outside Clara Mae’s door, Rusty lifted the rifle, snatched up the flashlight, and hopped out.

Adam followed at a quick pace but held position at the man’s five o’clock. Seemed safer if Clara Mae’s anger had boiled over since Rusty last plied her with coffee.

The front door swung open, and there was Clara Mae’s double barrels again.

Yeah, Adam’s father taught him to always have a gun handy, but these folks seemed to go a bit overboard. Had the machine-gun-carrying drug dealers visited them at midnight, too?

Sheesh!

Rusty shook his head. You can drop the fire broomstick, Clara Mae. You knew I was out there, watchin’ your ranch.”

---