Adam

by Jennifer Ashley

  Kyle set his hat again, settling his right hand under the rope. He looked pale, but maybe that was just the light.

  After a long, tense moment, he gave the nod to open the gate.

  The Devil shot out, landing nearly on his chest a second later, his back end rising in the air in a gigantic buck. Down the legs came, like pistons driving into the ground. The Devil rose on his hind legs only long enough to replant his front ones to bring his back end up again.

  Higher and higher he rose, and Bailey was sure he’d go all the way over, dragging Kyle with him.

  Kyle’s hand remained under the rope like a rock, while his other arm rose to keep from touching the bull. But every time the bull came down, Kyle’s legs clamped around him again, his balance regained.

  The clock above the ring was running. One second passed, then two, then three. The crowd was on its feet, roaring for Kyle.

  The sound galvanized the White Devil who added sideways twists and spins to his bucks. He moved so fast he was a flash of white, except for the deadly gray spikes of his horns.

  Kyle hung on. His hat flew off, but Kyle’s concentration was all on the Devil, his legs in chaps moving with the bull.

  The clock kept on—five, six, seven, eight. Kyle passed the requisite time, but he hung on as the crowd went insane. Nine … ten.

  Way more than a record on the White Devil, and longer than most rides at all. A buzzer went off. Kyle kept on a few more seconds, then he let go, allowing the momentum of the next buck to vault him to the ground.

  He landed more or less on his feet, sidestepping a little to keep his balance. The Devil ran crazy, twisting and dancing. The clowns and wranglers dashed in to round him up, boiling apart when he charged them.

  Kyle got well out of the way, bowing and soaking up the adulation of the crowd.

  The White Devil didn’t want to leave. He evaded the catchers, running around and around the ring. Kyle joined the chase, and at last, seven guys got the bull pushed into a pen, where he bellowed and kicked until he got bored enough to quiet down.

  Kyle received a standing ovation. It had been a brave and wild performance. Kyle stood grinning, waving his retrieved hat, and loving it.

  Once Kyle finally walked out, his brother high-fiving him and Grace hugging him on the way, the ring went dark. Clint told the crowd to return in half an hour for Adam’s turn. Meanwhile, Adam’s team would prep.

  Bailey left her seat, and went to help them.

  **

  Adam had no idea what to expect. Ross, looking unusual in jeans and T-shirt instead of his deputy’s uniform, kept him away from the arena while it was being set up, but the sound of hammering both unnerved Adam and made him curious. What the hell were his brothers up to?

  At the half hour precisely, Ross checked his watch, then gestured Adam to follow him.

  The bleachers were full, people standing on top as well as lining the ring. The whole county had come to see Adam either triumph or fall on his face.

  Great. No pressure.

  When the lights came on, Adam experienced both relief and more nervousness. The crowd broke into a delighted cheer.

  His brothers had built Adam an obstacle course utilizing old-West set buildings that they often used in their exhibition shows. The configuration was sparse—a storefront there, a corral over there, an overturned wagon, a water trough, and other things scattered about to suggest a movie set on an old Hollywood Western. In the window of the schoolhouse front at the opposite end stood Faith, wearing a sunbonnet.

  Clint’s voice came on over the loudspeaker. “A peaceful day in the sunny town of Riverbend a hundred and fifty years ago … or was it?”

  The far gate opened, and in rode Adam’s brothers, dressed all in black, black masks on their faces. They wore duster coats and had six-shooters on their belts.

  “Can our hero, Adam Campbell, save the damsel in distress? Or will the evil Black-Hat boys take him down?”

  Grant whooped. He, Tyler, and Carter started around the ring, their fluid movements menacing. Tyler drew his gun and shot a blank into the air.

  So. They were going to both test his skills and make fun of him at the same time.

  “And just to make things a little more interesting …” Clint said.

  The lights dimmed. Adam heard a whoosh, and suddenly every structure in the arena was outlined by flame. Two flaming hoops lit in the middle of the ring, the bluish gas-fed fire dancing high.

  Adam pushed Buster’s nose away and glared at Ross. “What the hell? Who decided fire was a good idea?”

  Ross returned his look without expression. “Grant. Well, Grant … and Bailey.”

  Bailey?

  Adam had ridden through plenty of controlled flames on movie sets, many far more intense than this. He’d stood near explosions that came close to singeing all his hair off, had ridden a motorcycle through giant balls of flame. Didn’t matter that a lot of moviemakers these days used CGI to enhance shots, they needed a decent shot in the first place, plus the studios Adam regularly worked with liked to keep things as real-looking as possible.

  But that had been before he’d been burned, had vivid memories of his clothes in flames, the heat appalling, and Dawson dead before his eyes.

  And Bailey had decided this was a good idea?

  Of course she had. She’d wanted Adam to face his worst fear. He could imagine Grant agreeing it was a good idea, and taking off with it.

  Adam felt the heat that had consumed him, smelled the terrible odor of burning metal and flesh, heard the horrified shouts …

  Aw, come on, the voice of Dawson sounded in his head. You’re not afraid of a little heat, are you?

  So Dawson had said at the beginning of every stunt, even as he and Adam went carefully over all the safety issues and fallbacks.

  Do it for me, Dawson went on. Make me proud, kid.

  “We’re starting the clock at 90 seconds,” Clint boomed over the loudspeaker. “Can he save the girl in time?”

  “I’ll get you for this,” Adam growled to Ross. His baby brother only grinned, though he did look a bit uneasy.

  Adam mounted Buster, the horse for once not offering to bite, kick, swat, or coat Adam with drool. He seemed eager to get on with the fun. Adam settled into the saddle, Ross checking the cinch for him and retightening it. Finally, Ross patted Adam’s leg and gave him a thumb’s up.

  The gate swung open, and Adam rode in. Tyler yelled again, and then his three brothers charged him, fire swirling in their wakes, and started shooting at him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Adam knew exactly how to do a take in a Western movie, how to make it look real, and how to get it done efficiently.

  Unfortunately, so did his brothers. They were coming to teach him a lesson.

  Adam swerved Buster to miss Tyler riding straight at him, pistol firing. Make it look good, Dawson whispered to him, then his voice drifted away and the noise of the arena returned.

  This was a show to all the people looming around the ring. What they didn’t understand was that to stunt riders, every bit was entirely real.

  Tyler shot again. A light beamed from the end of the pistol—if it touched Adam, he’d have to behave as though a true shot had hit him. Carter had come up with that idea a while back, to add more realism to their Wild West shows, for the audience’s enjoyment. Thanks a lot, bro.

  Adam was ducking down behind Buster’s left side, still in the saddle but clinging to the horn and pommel, even as Tyler’s shot went off. The light winked harmlessly overhead, where Adam’s torso had been.

  Once Adam was past Tyler, he straightened up, pulled out his own pistol, and shot his brother in the back.

  “Ow, that hurts,” Clint’s voice boomed. “Right between the shoulder blades.”

  Tyler reacted accordingly. He made a big show of jerking in the saddle, then falling back, going off over the horse’s rump, his arms flung out to his sides. Tyler hit the dirt and lay still. His horse, loose, raced around the ring
, stirrups flying.

  Adam reached the first storefront. He had to ride around that, evading Grant and Carter coming at him on either side, then jump Buster over the high water troughs. His brothers were driving him where they wanted him to go, toward the flaming hoops, and the wagon on its side, burning merrily. Anything to keep him from Faith waiting at the end of the run.

  Carter came right at him, his eyes over the mask glittering meaner than any real bandit’s ever could. He’d have scared the shit out of lawmen out here a hundred years ago, and some of the bandits too.

  Adam counterattacked, urging Buster on. Carter swerved at the last minute, the sudden move forcing Adam to turn straight toward one of the rings of fire.

  The other side of the hoop was clear. All Adam had to do was jump through, ride around to Faith, and he was done with this stupid test.

  Just jump through fire. That was all.

  Buster didn’t care, but he picked up Adam’s nervousness. The unspookable horse shied as Adam rode him toward the hoop, the whump of flames on the wind unnerving.

  Oh, just do it. Dawson came back, sounding disgusted now. Your grandmother could make that jump.

  Another thing Dawson had loved to say.

  For you, buddy, Adam said silently, his jaw tight.

  He gathered himself in, calmed Buster, and dove for the hoop.

  It was done so fast, Adam never felt the heat. He was through the fiery hoop and on the other side, galloping up the middle of the ring before he could be afraid.

  Bailey wasn’t so crazy after all.

  Not that his brothers were going to let him off so easy. Both circled around, cutting right in front of him, so he had to back Buster in a rapid flurry of hooves. Buster reared, then came down running.

  The brothers shot at Adam, and he ducked right then left to shield himself.

  “Ten seconds,” Clint said excitedly. “Can he make it?”

  Carter swerved to block Adam again, but Adam anticipated and cut Buster to the left. Buster almost rolled with the sharp turn, but it caused Carter to overshoot, his horse charging to the other side of the ring.

  Grant decided to show off a little. He leapt to his feet on the saddle, moving in perfect rhythm with Bobby beneath him, both his pistols out.

  Adam would have made it. Grant was clowning, opening himself up to Adam’s shots, and Carter would take a few seconds to regroup. That was all he needed.

  The crowd was roaring, urging him on. Faith jumped up and down on her box behind the window. “Come on, Uncle Adam!” she yelled.

  With a giant bang, one of the burning hoops exploded. The gas that fed it must have overheated or fire had run back up the line, or something.

  All Adam knew is that the giant circle of flame expanded—a bright, hot inferno—and Grant, still standing on Bobby, rode right into it.

  Bobby swerved in terror, dashing for the darkness of the edge of the ring, and Grant fell into the heart of the flames.

  Everything moved in slow motion. Adam saw Grant fall, tucking himself together for a roll to safety. Behind him, Carter turned, saw, and swung back on his reluctant horse. Tyler came alive, leaping to his feet, all three brothers making for Grant.

  Grant hit the ground hard, taking it on his shoulder, but Adam didn’t see him come out of the flames. Carter’s horse pivoted and tried to bolt, fear of the fireball driving him back. Tyler ran for Grant, but the fire wouldn’t let him near. Outside the ring, firemen were coming, led by Ross, but too slow, too slow.

  Grant staggered up, his duster on fire. He struggled to throw it off, but flame still clung to him, and he fell to his knees. Carter was off his horse, running, but too far away to reach him.

  Adam heard a high-pitched scream at the rail. He saw Christina there, her hands to her face, watching in panic. Beside her was Olivia, frozen in shock. Bailey was next to them both, her gaze fully on Adam.

  Bailey’s and Adam’s eyes met, locked. Bailey gave him the barest nod.

  Buster would run at anything, and run true. Adam pointed him in the direction of the fire, dropped the reins, and rode him hard.

  When he came to where Grant had fallen, Adam slid his feet free of the stirrups, flung himself from the saddle, caught his brother, and propelled both of them through the fire and out into the dry dirt beyond.

  Grant was limp, half conscious. Adam kept rolling with him, Adam on Grant, then Grant on Adam, then both of them landing side-by-side, Grant facedown.

  The deadly flames were off Grant’s clothes, but Adam got to his knees and beat the sparks on his brother’s back and legs until they were out.

  Then he rolled Grant over, frantically checking his vitals. Grant coughed, his chest heaving from the oily smoke.

  Adam paused, his hand over his brother’s heart. “You all right? Can you hear me?”

  Grant nodded, coughing again. “You try to give me mouth-to-mouth,” he said, voice raw, “I’ll shoot you for real.”

  Adam collapsed. He put his hands to his face, and Adam, who never allowed himself to cry, let tears of relief leak from his eyes.

  Behind him, firefighters were putting out the blazes. The other hoops and the fire around the buildings were dark, someone obviously able to cut off the gas to them, but the first hoop still burned merrily, as did the bales of hay the explosion had reached.

  The clock had long since buzzed, signaling the end of Adam’s challenge. The crowd was worried, watching, speaking in murmurs.

  “Help me up,” Grant said. “We gotta show them I’m all right.”

  “You’re not all right,” Adam said. “For one thing, half your hair is gone.”

  “What?” Grant put a shaky hand to his head, but Adam pulled it down by his loose sleeve.

  “Don’t touch. I’ll get you up, and then to an ambulance.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Adam climbed to his knees. He got his arms under his brother’s and pulled them both to their feet.

  So he’d done for years and years, ever since the first day Adam had stood Grant upright on his baby feet and told him he could walk.

  The brothers faced the crowd, side by side. Grant took one step away from Adam, and waved.

  The cheering was thunderous. Faith had come off her platform and was racing toward them, the sunbonnet gone. Carter intercepted her and swept her into his arms. Tyler halted next to them, panting and panicked, propping up Grant’s other side. Ross was there too, leading in the paramedics.

  The five of them stood, brothers together, with Faith, while the crowd went on and on in their adulation. Faith waved both hands, secure in her father’s embrace.

  Bailey was at the rail, smiling hard, a light from above haloing her face. She caught Adam’s eye, and her smile widened, just for him.

  I love you, she mouthed. Or Adam thought she did. Then the paramedics swarmed them, and Adam turned away to take care of Grant.

  **

  The bar was jumping later that night. The festival shut down at eleven, and would start up again tomorrow. Christina, though she didn’t have to work, was there with Bailey and the rest of the regulars.

  Adam would leave tomorrow for Los Angeles.

  The thought had been swimming at the back of Bailey’s mind all day. In spite of the distraction of the festival, the worry over Grant, and her guilt of her part in it, the one thought she was trying to avoid—and wouldn’t leave her—was that tomorrow, Adam would be gone.

  He came in around midnight, with Grant. A shout went up when the pair entered. From what Bailey had gathered from texts from Adam, Grant had been treated for some second-degree burns and released. She’d supposed he’d go home and recover, but there he was, walking next to Adam and Tyler like nothing had happened.

  Grant had lost most of the hair on one side of his head, and he’d obviously shaved back the rest. The buzz cut showed off his handsome face, which had escaped too much damage, and made him look like a bad-ass biker. More than one woman noticed this and kept her gaze on him.

  Wom
en’s gazes followed Adam too. And Kyle, who was there with Ray, Ray’s arm around Christina.

  “Bailey.” Adam reached her while Grant moved to speak to his adoring public. “Talk to you outside?”

  The bar had hired a live band tonight, and they slammed out fast-paced music in the corner. They were good, but no way could anyone have a conversation in here.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Bailey began as soon as she and Adam were well out into the parking lot. The bar was packed tonight, but they managed to find a relatively calm space beyond the line where drinks could be taken.

  “You do?” Adam gave her an unreadable look. “I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I’m winging it.”

  “I never meant for Grant to be hurt. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

  Adam’s brows came together. “What? That wasn’t your fault.”

  “The whole thing with the fire. I encouraged them to do it. I thought it would knock you out of your shakes. I should have known—”

  “Bailey.” Adam’s voice cut through hers. He’d been burned slightly, a welt on his good cheek and one on his neck. “These are my brothers you’re talking about. Wasn’t a thing you could have said to stop them.”

  Bailey chewed her lip. He had a point—the original idea had been Grant’s. Carter and Tyler had expressed misgivings. Bailey had said that a controlled and safe stunt would get Adam used to doing them again. The brothers had taken that theory and run with it. They’d done plenty of safety checks beforehand, but as Grant had explained to her when she’d first wanted to begin stunt riding, shit always happens.

  “I’m still sorry,” Bailey said.

  “So am I. But it’s done, and it could have been worse. Grant’s in there soaking up the attention.”

  “Yeah, I saw that,” Bailey felt a smile come. Grant was good at turning bad situations to his favor. “In that case, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  For answer, Adam stepped to her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.

  Heat spread from his hands, as though he’d absorbed the fire in the ring and was radiating it back to her. The kiss went on, Adam taking her strength, but lending her his.