Adam

by Jennifer Ashley

  It was Saturday night, the bar full. Everyone in town came here if they didn’t head out for the cities or to the lakes over the weekend.

  Adam walked with Carter from Carter’s pickup through the maze of vehicles toward the thump of music. Darkness now coated the sky, the lights of the lot and the bar bright against the night.

  Adam had long since abandoned the crutches, but he still walked with a slight limp. That would go away with more work, his physical therapist told him, but he had to put up with it for now.

  Adam’s face was another matter. He couldn’t hide the mottled scarring the fire and then the grafts had left unless he wore a bag over his head.

  As he walked into the bar through the crowd, he saw people look at him and away, embarrassed to be caught staring at his ruined face.

  Well, they’d have to get used to it. This was what Adam looked like now. He hated it, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Hide in his room the rest of his life?

  Christina Farrell, dispensing drinks behind the bar, looked up when Adam and Carter came in. She sent them a huge, warm grin, grabbed the rope of the ship’s bell that had hung there for decades, and clanged the bell enthusiastically.

  “It’s Adam!” she yelled as everyone in the bar turned toward the clamor. “Let’s hear it for Adam Campbell!”

  A cheer went up, along with whoops and yells, as beers and drinks were lifted his way. Adam started to relax. They weren’t condemning him, or reveling in his misfortune. His old friends were welcoming him home.

  Adam waved in thanks as he pushed his way to the bar and slapped both hands to the top of it. “Gimme a beer,” he said to Christina. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, so keep ’em coming.”

  Christina renewed her smile as she pulled the tap to fill a glass. She had the same curly dark hair as Bailey, though she wore it short, and she didn’t hide her ample curves behind long-sleeved button-down shirts and jeans. Her tight white tank top and cutoff shorts hugged everything she had.

  “You’ve had a rough time, Bailey says.” Christina slid Adam the full glass, the head not too tall, not too skimpy. “You doing okay?”

  “Better,” Adam said. A hell of a lot better. He no longer felt as though he’d fall over dead the moment he stood up. Bodily, he was healing. In his mind, not so much.

  “Everyone thinks you’re awesome,” Christina said, wiping condensation from the wooden bar top. “We all thought about getting you a card, but figured you wouldn’t like that.”

  “My friends know me well,” Adam said.

  And yet, so many faces from his childhood were gone. This was ranching and farming country, and if the land couldn’t pay, farms were sold or just went bust, and people moved to the cities or to the oil towns out west of here, looking for work. Austin and Midland grew while Riverbend shrank.

  Adam put the regret of that aside as he lifted his beer and set it to his lips. Tickle of foam, stream of liquid into his mouth, the savory taste of wheat, the bite of hops. Damn, how he’d missed it. He closed his eyes, swallowing, and took another long, luxurious sip.

  Christina laughed at him. “You going to drink it or buy it lingerie?”

  Adam gave her a faint smile and set down the mug. “It’s been a hell of a recovery. Hell of a crash.”

  “I heard. I’m sorry.”

  Adam shrugged. He closed his eyes for another sip when laughter floated to him—feminine, sexy laughter that had imprinted itself onto his heart years ago.

  Adam turned his head and saw Bailey. His mouth, which he’d opened to put more beer into, stayed that way.

  He’d just been thinking about Bailey’s concealing shirts and pants, but she wasn’t wearing those tonight. Her legs were sleek and curved under a thigh-hugging skirt; her arms were bared by a tight little shirt with cap sleeves. The dim light glistened on her dark hair, which she’d pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the entire loveliness of her face.

  She was at one of the pool tables, cue in her hand, laughing up at a man with black hair and green eyes. As Adam watched, his blood growing hotter by the second, the black-haired man slid his arm around Bailey’s waist, leaned down, and kissed her on the lips.

  Adam was off the barstool before he realized his feet had hit the floor. He grabbed Carter as Carter turned from friends to join Adam.

  Carter gave Adam a narrow-eyed stare, glancing down at Adam’s fingers locked around his biceps, but Adam didn’t let go.

  “Tell me,” Adam said, his jaw so tight he feared it would break, “what the fuck is Bailey doing here with Kyle Malory?”

  Chapter Six

  Carter jerked himself from Adam’s grasp. Adam knew Carter was holding himself back from punching his older brother in the face, reining in his temper with effort. Spoke a lot about the change in Carter—in the old days, Carter would have simply punched.

  “She’s going out with him, because Christina is going out with Ray,” Carter said, words clipped. Ray was Kyle’s older brother.

  Adam forgot about his beer and the simple enjoyment of it. “When the hell were you going to tell me about this?”

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks.” Carter scowled at him. “And anytime anyone brought up Bailey, you changed the subject. Your own fault.”

  “Shit.”

  As Adam watched, Bailey pulled away from the kiss before it got too hot—she had always been modest. Then she stunned Adam senseless by bending over to take a shot at the pool table, her skirt molding to the finest ass in the bar.

  Adam stared at it until he realized he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He made himself turn away to the bar. “Christina!”

  Christina came back to him, smiling like a good hostess. “Another already? You haven’t finished the first one.”

  Carter, who’d followed, broke in. “He’s going to ask you about the Malorys,” he said with a growl. “Like it’s his business.”

  Christina lost her smile. “Come on, Adam. You know how I felt about Grant, but it just didn’t work out. It was a painful decision for us, so no, I don’t want to talk about it. Ray and me have been friends a long time. Kyle and Bailey too. It’s nice for me—I get to spend more time with my sister.”

  Adam hadn’t been worried about Christina and Grant, though surprised they’d broken up and sorry the relationship had ended. Grant still hadn’t told him about it, being very prickly on the subject.

  Adam realized that Christina had no idea that he’d only been thinking about Bailey—thinking about her as though what they’d shared all those years ago had meant something.

  Again, shit.

  “Don’t be mad, Adam,” Christina said. “You know I love all you guys, and I want us to stay friends.”

  “What?” Adam realized he was glaring at her. “No, no. It’s cool. It’s … Don’t worry about it.”

  Christina gave him a nod, looking relieved. She started to turn away, then she stopped and pinned him with a sharp stare. Adam sipped his beer, willing her to go, but she kept watching him. Finally her face softened, she smiled to herself, and turned to serve a man farther down the bar.

  Carter had taken his beer and left Adam, to find his friends. He hung out with guys he’d known a long time, who were not necessarily fans of the Campbells. Olivia had never forced Carter to make certain friends and leave others alone, but let him fall into relationships that suited him. The boys he’d taken up with in school were like him—seeking to figure out where they belonged in the world. They weren’t bad guys, just rough around the edges and suspicious of close families, probably because they’d never been part of one. Carter was now, but he never forgot what it was to be an outsider.

  Tyler had just arrived, and was already flirting his ass off with a young woman who gave him coy looks. Coy, my ass. She’d be in bed with Tyler before midnight.

  To hell with it. Adam took up his beer and walked over to the pool tables, trying not to limp too much.

  Bailey was in the middle of taking another shot. She looked up,
saw Adam, and her cue slipped. Balls rolled all over the place, but none found pockets.

  “Adam.” Bailey straightened up, flushing. “You look … better.”

  “Thanks,” Adam said dryly. “I can walk upright. How y’all doing?” The group around the table consisted of Malorys—Kyle and Ray, and one of their cousins from Lampasas—plus the cousin’s date, and Bailey.

  Ray gave Adam a nod, neither friendly nor unfriendly, but Kyle looked Adam up and down. “Adam. Man, you really did a number on yourself.” His look was sympathetic, but also curious for the details.

  Kyle and Adam had been rivals since the first grade. They’d competed with each other to be the best rider, best athlete, best fighter, the best in everything … except academic achievement. Their teachers claimed the two competed to be the biggest screw-ups in town, and they hadn’t been wrong.

  Even at six years old, Adam and Kyle had fought over women. Mindy Walters, a blond and beautiful first-grader had the two boys coming to blows the first day of school. Neither Kyle nor Adam would have known what to do with a woman if they’d caught one, but both knew they had to be the one who walked Mindy to her bike and carried her book bag. Mindy had grown up to become a famous round-the-world photojournalist, leaving Riverbend far behind. Rumor had it that she was gay, but she’d been their first conquest.

  Not their last. Adam and Kyle had tried to out-macho each other over every woman since. Except Bailey. Not in high school, anyway. Only Adam had discovered the beauty behind the shyness of gorgeous Christina Farrell’s little sister.

  Now Bailey had blossomed, and Kyle had moved right in.

  Adam gave a nod at Kyle’s assessment of his injuries, but he looked Kyle right in the man’s too-green eyes. Guys shouldn’t have eyes like that—all the Malory men did—and women were all over them for it.

  Kyle caught the challenge in Adam’s gaze, and his horrified but slightly superior sympathetic look faded. He understood. Didn’t matter that Adam looked chewed up and spit out. The rivalry was still on.

  If Bailey had caught the exchange, she said nothing. She continued talking as though she and Adam hadn’t snarled at each other the last time they’d had a conversation, five weeks ago, and hadn’t spoken much since. “You’re done with the physical therapy, right?” she asked. “Everyone will be glad to have you home more.”

  “Yeah, Carter’s getting tired of driving me around,” Adam said. If she wanted to be all friendly, he could play too. “I’ll have to get me a truck or something, so I can drive myself.” The thought of driving made cold sweat trickle down his back, but he’d have to get over it.

  “Tyler and Grant will be glad to see you riding again,” Bailey went on, still giving him that false little smile. Too bad any smile made her beautiful. “The Fall Festival is coming up.”

  The Fall Festival was a county fair with a small-scale rodeo held every year in late October. It involved exhibition riding and competitions in roping, cattle cutting, and bull riding as well pleasure riding classes for the amateurs and kids. The Campbells had been in every Fall Festival since Adam could remember. So had the Malorys.

  The Campbells showed off their trick riding every year, which was how they’d been discovered. The Malory boys were champion bull riders, and this was also their chance to show off. The Fall Festival was supposed to be for friendly competition, but the Malorys and the Campbells always played to win.

  Since Adam was better, the town would expect him to join his brothers in the exhibition riding. That is, if Adam didn’t race back to California now that his physical therapy was done and the doctors had cleared him to work.

  That was his choice—go back to the life that had killed Dawson, or stay here and be a local hero on horseback.

  He wanted to throw up. Maybe he shouldn’t have been too quick to grab a beer.

  The idea of climbing on a horse and jumping and whirling around until he was dizzy made him as clammy as the thought of driving again. People claimed the brain erased the immediate trauma of an accident, blotting the memories, but Adam remembered too much. Spinning, fire, shouting, the horrible noise as everything fell apart …

  The next thing he knew, Bailey was next to him, shoving a pool cue into his nerveless fingers.

  “I’m losing,” she said, looking up into his face. “Why don’t you take my place?”

  She was covering for him. Adam realized he’d stopped moving, stopped breathing, and now the air rushed back into his lungs. Kyle and Ray were watching him—looking for weakness? Or wondering whether they’d have to call an ambulance?

  Bailey’s soft eyes said, Trust me. Hold on to me, and I’ll get you through this.

  She’d said more or less the same thing years ago, when Adam asked for her help. She’d become very defensive of him, furious with others who called him a waste of good talent, a disgrace to his mother and family, or just a plain dumb-ass. She’d gone to bat for him, and hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that because of her, he’d been able to take his dream job out in glitter-land.

  Adam swallowed. He gripped the cue and took another long breath. “Sure.” He pulled his gaze from Bailey with difficulty and pinned it on Kyle. “Eight ball? What are the stakes?”

  Kyle wanted to say Bailey. Adam saw it in the other man’s eyes. Also She’s with me, so suck it.

  Bailey might be with Kyle now, tonight. But tonight wasn’t forever.

  Kyle shrugged, pretending he didn’t care. “Hundred bucks?”

  “Make it two hundred,” Adam said. “And hold on to your ass, because I’m gonna kick it.”

  “Talking don’t make it real, Campbell.” Kyle gestured to the table. “Be my guest.”

  Ray started collecting balls, grinning as though enjoying himself hugely. Why not? He’d stolen Grant’s girlfriend and was now watching Kyle steal Adam’s. The Malory brothers were getting, as Adam’s mom liked to say, too big for their britches. Time to take them down a peg.

  Adam waited for Ray to set all the balls in the triangle, then he positioned it himself, removed the rack, placed the cue ball, and shot.

  The cue ball smacked into the cluster with a crack like a gunshot, and balls burst across the table. Two solids fell into pockets, and Adam straightened up. “Like I said, hold on.”

  He moved to shoot again, highly aware of Bailey standing at the corner of the table, that skirt beckoning his gaze. She had grown up, that was for sure, all curves, nothing hidden.

  Kyle went to stand next to her, his cue upright between them. As Adam worked the table, that cue and Kyle got closer and closer to Bailey. Kyle didn’t give a rat’s ass, Adam saw, who won. The man had Bailey, all that mattered.

  The distraction made Adam play less well than he should have. One shot had his solid balls lined up against a long rail, the cue ball in an awkward position behind them. He might click one in if he hit it just right, but he’d have to lean lengthwise along the table to do it.

  He lowered himself to the table, positioning his cue between fingers that were callused in places, smooth from burns in others.

  He had the shot, but as he drew back, his bad leg folded under him. He’d had problems with cramping at the stupidest times, and now was one.

  Adam slipped. His cue tapped the white ball, which rolled a few halfhearted inches and stopped. He ended up mostly on the table, his cue clattering to the floor, his right leg not working, his nose on the felt.

  Two soft hands landed on him, and a wash of feminine scent brushed him. Not perfume—the good smell of Bailey.

  “You all right?”

  Her voice was his lifeline. A long time ago, when Adam had been leaning on his truck, the last vehicle in the school’s parking lot, knowing he had to go home and tell his mom he was on the verge of flunking out, a younger version of the same voice had come to him. He’d had his arms folded on the truck’s closed door, head bowed, Adam ashamed and unhappy and not knowing what to do about it.

  Adam? the sweet voice had said. You all right?

&
nbsp; Yeah, he’d said. Yeah, I’m fine.

  Bailey had known better. I can help you. She’d stammered a little, nervous. If you want. I’m good at math. I could maybe teach you …

  He’d turned around and seen an angel. Not the nerdy girl other kids made fun of, with her sloppy clothes, heavy hair, and thick glasses. She hugged her books to her chest, which was probably why Adam had never noticed what a rack she had. The brown eyes peering at him through the glasses were wide, honest, and caring.

  Instead of blowing her off or growing insulted, Adam had grabbed on to the line she’d thrown him. Sure, he’d said, as though it were unimportant. Doing anything right now?

  And took her home with him. They’d sat on the porch of his mom’s house and opened the books. Bailey had come over every day after that, patiently teaching Adam math, and then English and history and anything else he’d struggled with.

  Adam remembered the day the numbers in the math equations had stopped dancing around and settled down into something he understood. He’d jumped up, euphoria flooding him, enlightenment in his grasp. He’d wanted to shout and punch the air, but instead he’d grabbed Bailey and kissed her.

  And his eyes had been opened. He’d kissed her thoroughly, there on the porch where they’d been alone, pressing her against a post, his hands on her waist, then her back, and finally, her breasts. Her first kiss, he could tell, but her enthusiasm for it was better than cool experience.

  The next day, when the family went out, leaving Adam behind to study, he’d sneaked Bailey into his bedroom. He remembered uncovering her layer by layer—lush breasts, lickable legs, sexy ass, her warm smile lighting her eyes.