Adam

  One day, about a month after Bailey had started work, Grant had put her on Buster to teach her how the horses were trained to buck.

  Buster bucked all right, dead on cue, and Bailey had hung on fiercely, riding him until he’d finally unseated her. She’d landed on her ass in the soft dirt of the arena, as Buster had galloped away, stirrups and reins flying.

  Grant had run to help her, but Bailey had sprung up, laughing and excited, and asked if she could do it again.

  Grant had sat her down and told her about the dangers, and that if she wanted to do trick riding, she had to be calm, not giddy. It had taken a while for Bailey to come down from her high, but for the first time after years of anxiety, anguish, and outright unhappiness, Bailey had felt reawakened and renewed.

  She understood why Adam was not happy with her, especially now that he was busted up, grieving, and in a lot of pain. But she sure as hell was not going to let him take this away from her.

  Under her, Buster sped across the long stretch of ground beyond the arena where they’d been practicing. He ran straight and sure and at a steady speed. He knew his job.

  Grant rode up behind her on a horse called Bobby. Buster paid no attention. He liked to run, and he knew the other horses wouldn’t give him problems. They didn’t dare.

  Grant was pulling alongside now. The move they were practicing was for Bailey to vault from her horse to his, knock Grant from the saddle, and ride off with his horse.

  Bailey watched Grant until he was beside her, stride for stride, then he pulled a little way ahead. He gave her the signal—a slight jerk of his fist—to tell her he was ready.

  She leapt. Grant was in perfect position. Bailey used Buster’s momentum to push herself off and get her legs over the back of Grant’s horse.

  She knew she’d leapt too hard even as she did it. Bailey slid over Bobby’s sleek rump and kept going, heading for the ground and Bobby’s pounding hooves.

  As soon as she felt her balance desert her, Bailey went with the motion, letting herself fall, as Grant and Tyler had taught her. She hit the ground, but she was ready, tucking her limbs in and rolling, protecting her head.

  She came to a dusty stop a few yards away, her hat gone, Texas grasses tickling her nose.

  Bailey lifted her head, brushing dirt and dried grass from her face. Damn. She’d been trying to get this move right, and she’d been so close.

  Buster was running happily off to the horizon, while Bobby and Grant circled back. Grant’s boots landed next to Bailey as Bobby’s front legs, his white socks dusty, stopped in front of her. Grant bent down, hand on Bailey’s shoulder.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine.” Bailey climbed to her feet, using Grant’s arm as a lever to pull herself up. She brushed off her jeans, feeling chagrined. “I screwed that up. Sorry.”

  “You missed; you fell. It happens. Try again?”

  Bailey ran her hands up and down her arms, shook herself out, and waited to see if she felt any pain. None came, except for what would be bruises later.

  “Yep,” she said.

  “You ride back,” Grant said, tossing her Bobby’s reins. “I’ll go after his royal highness.”

  With a nod, Bailey took the reins, accepting Grant’s boost into the saddle. Grant turned around and started across the grasses as fast as his cowboy boots would let him. “Buster!” he shouted. “Get your ass back here!”

  Bailey turned Bobby and rode to the arena. Buster would run, but he’d come back. He always did—when he felt like it.

  Bailey let Bobby take a steady but slow pace, rewarding him for the good gallop he’d done. In the large ring ahead of her, Tyler worked another horse on the longe line. Carter came out of the house up the hill; Faith had missed the bus this morning, so Carter was driving her to school.

  Carter lived here, having moved back when Faith’s mother had showed up on his doorstep eight years ago, shoved Faith into his arms, and disappeared. He’d looked for Faith’s mom, but never found her, and after a time, he’d been happy to give up. Finding the woman might mean having to give up Faith to her, and Carter, after his initial shock, had fallen in love with his daughter and become fiercely protective of her.

  The other brothers had moved out and back in several times, depending on their circumstances. Currently, Ross lived in a small house in town, near the sheriff’s department. Grant, who’d been living here since his breakup with Christina, had recently bought a trailer a few miles down the road. Tyler had been living with a girlfriend until they’d broken up a month ago, and he’d moved back home. Tyler, who loved the ladies, was in danger of going through every woman in the county—he’d have to start repeating soon or move to a city. Of course he’d lost a girl he loved to tragedy when he was very young, probably the reason he’d never settled down.

  The Campbell’s ranch house was big, added on to once the training business had started making money, improved again when Adam had begun pulling in bigger fees for his movie work.

  As kids, the boys had shared several big bedrooms—these days each brother had his own little hideaway in the house, with a suite for Carter and Faith.

  Now Adam had moved back in. For how long?

  Adam was standing outside the ring, watching Tyler, as Bailey rode up. Tyler saw her coming, but he moved his attention back to the horse he was working, a filly he’d acquired a few weeks ago.

  Bailey slowed Bobby to a walk, letting him saunter along as she studied Adam.

  Adam might have crutches under his arms, and his face might be a healing wreck, but he stood straight and tall. His leg in its brace—bright blue plastic—was bent at the knee, but his head was up, his shoulders and back holding power. He didn’t try to hide his scars, though he’d put on a wide-brimmed black cowboy hat to shield himself from the late August sun.

  Adam turned his head to look at her, and the air burned between them.

  Bailey could have walked on with Bobby, taking him into the covered arena beyond to cool him down and wait for Grant. But she for some reason pulled to a halt next to Adam and slid from the saddle.

  The fall had stiffened her, and her leg bent as she landed. She stumbled, biting back a swear word.

  A firm hand caught her beneath the arm and kept her on her feet. Warmth shot through Bailey as Adam held her with a strength his injuries hadn’t been able to take away. He bent his head to look into her face, the brim of his hat darkening his eyes to cobalt.

  He said nothing, only gazed at her, while Bailey tried to steady herself, his grip not letting her fall.

  Bobby nuzzled Adam’s shoulder. Adam couldn’t hold on to the crutches and Bailey and move from the horse at the same time, so he released Bailey to give Bobby’s nose a stroke.

  “I saw you fall,” Adam said, his look stern. “What happened?” His voice was gravelly, commanding.

  Bailey tried to shrug, but her shoulder hurt. “I miscalculated. I missed the horse but hit the ground.”

  Adam’s brows slammed together. She expected him to shout at her as he had last night, to tell her how stupidly dangerous stunt riding was. Instead, Adam lifted his hand and brushed it across Bailey’s cheek.

  Chapter Five

  Adam’s touch was hotter than sunshine. His gaze was on her face, where Bailey’s skin stung—she must have scraped herself in the fall.

  Adam’s fingers moved, brushing, incredibly gentle. When he’d steadied her, his grip had been hard; now his touch was feather light.

  Bailey should pull away, say she was all right, walk Bobby to the covered arena or back to find Grant. But she couldn’t move.

  Adam continued to brush her cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face. Just as Bailey began to lean into his touch, he moved his hand to her shoulder and then down her long sleeve. Bailey always made sure her arms were covered when she rode with the brothers, knowing most of the time she’d end up on the ground. Adam’s hand was warm through the fabric, as though the barrier between his skin and hers didn’t exist
.

  The horse in the ring thundered past, cantering at the end of the line Tyler held. Adam jerked, and his gaze flicked to Bailey’s. They shared a long look, Bailey flushing, Adam’s eyes unmoving.

  His hand fell away, back to the crutch. “Dirt,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “Yeah.” Bailey rubbed more dust from her sleeve.

  “You want to be a stunt rider, you’ll be covered with it,” Adam said, voice hard. “And bruises. And blood.”

  Bailey finished brushing herself off and put one fist on her hip. “If you’re going to tell me it’s no job for a woman, I’ll yell at you. There are plenty of stuntwomen out there.”

  “I know,” Adam said. “I’ve dated a few. We compared injuries.”

  Bailey had a sudden flash of Adam, naked on a bed, another woman drawing her fingers over his flesh as he told her what part of himself he’d hurt and how he’d done it. The woman would purr as she showed him her scars in return.

  Something burned in Bailey’s gut. “There you go, then,” was all she could think of to say.

  “Doesn’t mean you should do it,” Adam said. “The women I knew didn’t last very long. They got hurt too bad and had to retire, or they got sick of the dumb-ass dangerous things directors wanted them to do. That’s the life, Bailey.”

  “I never said I was running out to Hollywood to dive off buildings,” Bailey returned. “I heard you took a twenty-story fall and barely made your landing bag. Your mom was kind of green in the face for a whole week after that.”

  Adam flushed, which made his scars stand out. “Someone repositioned the airbag when I was climbing to my mark. That’s another thing that happens—you prepare all you can, and then some asshole nearly kills you. That’s also the life.”

  “Didn’t see you running home, though, to reassure her.”

  Adam took a step closer, his crutch brushing Bailey’s leg. Bobby, still held by Bailey, watched with equine interest. “I’m here now. I made it. You might not.”

  “So, you’re saying it’s all right for you to nearly be killed and make your whole family worried sick, but I can’t learn a few simple stunts, because it upsets you?”

  His look turned to a glare. “’Scuse me? Where are you getting that from? It’s fucking dangerous—doesn’t matter who’s doing it.”

  “I got that from your diatribe at the dinner table last night. Yelling at your brothers for trying to hurt me.” Bailey lifted her finger, pointing it at his face. “It’s my choice, Adam. Not your brothers’. Not yours. We all decided it was your meds talking, and to leave you alone. But what you said wasn’t fair.”

  Adam’s flush deepened, but he decided to grow angry instead of apologize.

  But then, the great Adam Campbell had never apologized. People did things for him because he was good-looking, charming, and had those gorgeous blue eyes. That’s why Bailey had run to him the last month in high school, saying she’d help him graduate—asking nothing in return.

  “My meds are to keep me alive and fix me,” Adam growled. “My point was that you’ll end up like me, and that’s a stupid place to be.”

  Bailey knew exactly what he meant—he’d been deeply hurt, had lost a friend, and didn’t want to watch others go through that. She was the one who should apologize, tell him she understood, be nice to him.

  That was tough, though. She’d been the nice girl all the way up until she’d come home a day early from a conference and found the woman she thought was her closest friend snuggled in bed with her husband.

  “Or you could trust your brothers to take care of me,” Bailey said. “You could trust me.”

  Adam took another step toward her. He was close enough for the brim of his hat to shade her face. “Sweetheart, what I learned in the last ten years was that I trust myself and no one else. I’d have been dead a while ago, if I hadn’t.”

  Nice was heading off to the horizon to catch up with Buster. “I see. We should all do what you say, because you’ve proved yourself?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Adam was a head taller than Bailey, and when he stood this close, his warmth was all over her. His eyes were like chips of the sky, but glittering now, full of rage with a darkness behind it.

  Bailey drew a breath, flustered but determined not to show it. “You know, don’t you, that if it hadn’t been for me, you’d have had to spend another year in school and missed your golden opportunity to go out and throw yourself off horses, buildings, moving cars …”

  Adam’s anger flickered as incredulity took its place. “What, now I owe all my success to you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Adam stared at her a while longer, then something like amusement entered his eyes. “Well, you grew a pair, didn’t you, sweetheart? Threw away your geeky glasses and got some stones.”

  “Seriously?” Bailey looked straight at him, no wavering. “Stones? And stop calling me sweetheart. I’m not one of your Hollywood floozies.”

  “Floozies.” Adam’s amusement grew. “Is that what you kids call them these days? I called them actresses—actually I called them by their names.”

  Bailey clenched her hands. The last thing she wanted to talk about were the women Adam had gone out with. He’d gotten photographed with a beautiful starlet—or two—on his arm quite often. Gossip magazines showed pictures of him escorting these ladies to clubs, parties, award ceremonies, and wherever. Adam always looked good in the photos. In a tux, with his cowboy hat, he was devastating.

  “I’m sure you did,” Bailey said, unable to think of anything wittier. “Anyway, I have nothing to do with your life out there—or your life here. Anymore. Whatever.”

  Adam’s humor vanished, the dark anger rising again. “Good. You don’t need to be in that life, or with me, one of the walking dead.”

  Bailey knew she should turn around and storm off. That’s obviously what he wanted her to do. Or admit she didn’t know what she was talking about, that Adam was right about everything, and duck her head, turn away, and go.

  She stood her ground. She continued to look Adam right in the eyes, though it was increasingly difficult to do it. Adam wasn’t a pushover, never had been. Years of putting himself in danger had made him more unyielding than before.

  They might have stood there for the rest of the day, while the sun beat down on them and dust from the ring coated them, if Grant hadn’t come riding up on Buster, the recalcitrant horse found.

  “Ready to go again, Bailey?” Grant asked.

  Tyler had walked to the edge of the ring, sun glinting on hair that was a lighter shade of brown than his brothers’. “She will be as soon as Adam stops being a shithead.”

  “Adam’s fine,” Bailey snapped, suddenly irritated with them. They needed to cut Adam some slack. “But, yeah, I’m ready. I’ll get it this time.”

  Adam didn’t say a word. He simply held her with his gaze while Grant dismounted, until she turned around, took Buster’s reins, and mounted him, this time refusing Grant’s leg-up.

  Adam was still watching her, nothing weak about him, as she turned Buster, nudged him forward, and guided him once more out to the open fields.

  **

  Five weeks later …

  Five weeks of healing plus grueling physical therapy and painkillers and doctor’s visits—Adam essentially had to live three days a week in Austin to go to the specialist his mentor, Mark, had set up for him.

  Carter, surprisingly, was the one who ended up ferrying Adam back and forth. While Carter got along the best with Ross, there had always been a little friction between Carter and the two oldest Campbell brothers. Grant and Adam were close, best friends, didn’t matter how far apart they lived from each other, but Carter had been hard to get to know.

  Adam admitted he hadn’t let Carter into the twosome when he’d first arrived. But then, Carter had been unhappy, resentful, and difficult, only gentling himself for Ross, who’d been ten when Carter had come to live with them. Carter had protected Ross, walking h
im to school, keeping him safe from bullies, not minding his incessant questions and little-kid prattle.

  Adam had left home before he and Carter had grown into adults—Carter had been a snarling sixteen-year-old the autumn Adam had moved to California.

  Carter had calmed down a lot, Adam had seen during his visits home, especially since Faith had come along, but Adam had never really connected with him fully. Even now, during the two-hour drives from Riverbend to Austin, he and Carter didn’t talk about much, mainly sticking to topics like the horses, Faith, and who’d moved into or out of town while Adam had been in Los Angeles.

  Regardless, Adam liked the chance he had now to hang out with Carter as a brother, the two of them no longer antagonists. Not that Carter was all touchy-feely. He spoke his mind, and whenever he thought Adam was being a dickhead, he said so.

  When Adam finally was released from physical therapy and had his meds cut down to acetaminophen when he needed it, he celebrated by going out to Riverbend’s one bar. It was officially named Sam’s Tavern, but the entire town simply called it The Bar.

  Carter drove him again. Olivia stayed home with Faith and told the boys to go have fun. Adam looked forward to drinking an actual beer, spending time with his brothers, and catching up with old friends.

  Old friends who weren’t Bailey. Adam had gone through the five healing weeks avoiding her as much as possible. Easy enough, with him in Austin so much. At one point, Bailey had taken off to New Mexico with Grant and Tyler to do a movie shoot for one of the small studios the brothers did contract work for. Adam worried like crazy the whole time—even though Grant had assured him that Bailey wasn’t doing any dangerous stunts, only helping with the horses and doing background riding.

  Still, Adam was much relieved when she returned, happy and sunburned, tired but excited by the experience. He’d watched her from afar as she’d helped the brothers unload the horses, before he’d taken off for Austin again.

  Carter, as usual, said little tonight as he drove the five miles from the ranch into town and through it to reach the bar. The sun was going down, touching their faces and the old scars on Carter’s arms from where drug dealers used to torture him. Carter had never revealed all that had happened to him, but Olivia had not let up until Carter had explained the scars. The dealers he’d worked for had tested the sharpness of their knives on him, as well as cutting patterns into his skin that meant he belonged to them. The scars had faded somewhat, and Carter hadn’t talked about them since.