Page 58 of Adam's Rising

Clara Mae laughed. “Let me know how that goes for ya!”

15

Claire slammed to a stop right near the porch, flinging herself out of the Cherokee while it was still rocking to a halt.

She wasn’t late. Alwaysrunninglate, sure. But even if it meant skipping a hairbrush, she’d fly out of the house to make it somewhere on time.

She blamed her parents — mostly her father — for that quirk. He’d gotten so frustrated waiting for her mother to get ready that eventually, they agreed on one rule: A.I.S.

According to her dad, being on time meant you respected the people waiting on you. But sticking to their ass-in-seat rule also meant that he couldn’t fuss at her mother.

If he called A.I.S. for nineteen hundred hours, and she was buckled in at 18:59 and fifty-nine seconds, he wasn’t allowed to complain.

Turn beet-red, sure. But rules were rules — he had to bite his tongue.

Sometimes, Claire would catch her mom standing at the door, watching while her dad sat stewing in the truck. Her mother would look at her watch, wink at Claire, then glide out the door. Her mother had trained him just as well as he’d trained her. More so, actually. Because while her dad still considered himself the head honcho, Claire knew who actually ruled the roost.

Claire slipped off her boots, then sprinted through the door. She needed to talk with Grams and get out of there before Duchess Lala exited her quarters.

“Grams!” She tossed the keys on the shelf, then took off for the kitchen.

Her grandmother woke up at four a.m., winter or summer. Didn’t matter if the sun was up or Claire had already taken over feeding the last of the animals.

Claire skidded on socked feet into the kitchen. “Grams!”

“Hush, Claire-bear. Your grandfather is still sleeping.” Grams looked up from her morning crossword puzzle, traded her pencil for the still-steaming coffee mug in front of her, then gave Claire her full attention. “Yes, dear?”

Claire chose a ripe banana from the bowl, then plopped down across from her. “I need you to do me a huge favor.”

Grams nodded for her to continue. She was too reasonable to just say yes without hearing the rest.

“Remember the family who trained Buttercup?” Claire whispered.

Grams lifted her head, probably due to Claire’s hushed words. “Yes. Belgardes. Seems there was one your age you specifically cared about… Ad —”

Claire lifted a hand, stopping her, but then nodded. “You mean Peter…”

“Yes. Peter,” Grams agreed, furrowing her perfectly shaped brows.

Yeah, Grams was a country girl, but her grandmother had been a hottie back in the day, the reason she’d landed a man nearly twenty years her junior after losing her husband.

Claire had never minded calling the man who was practically the same age as her parents Gramps because he’d always been good to her. Before Lala had moved up from the Lower 48, she’d never even considered that he was her step-grandfather. Lala had been the one who’d pointed it out repeatedly anytime she felt Claire forgot it.

The realization stopped Claire in her tracks. She’d never reflected on that side of Lala. But now that she thought back, Lala would demand Gramps’s attention when he was talking with Claire.

Was Clara Mae right? Was Lala the type of girl who’d take such offense at a boy breaking up with her that she’d seek revenge?

“Claire-bear?”

Claire blinked. “Sorry! I got lost in my head. It’s a quick favor, and…” She cringed. Her grandmother was as honest as the day is long.And the day is really long in Alaska right now, Claire thought. “It’s not like dishonest, it’s just…”

“If you have to say something isn’t dishonest, child, it probably is.”

Claire gritted her teeth. She hated to pull thetrustcard, but she knew her grandmother trusted her.

“Please, Grams. I promise I’ll explain, but I need you to drive me to school today — before Lala comes out here.”

Grams stood. “I’ll go get dressed.”

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