Adam

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Just about.” Adam told her a truncated version of his argument with Kyle in the bar’s parking lot and Kyle’s throw down, eliminating the part about their contention over Bailey. “We haven’t worked out the details, but it’s going to be best man wins.” He rested his arm on a rail, pretending not to lean his weight on it.

  Bailey studied him with steady eyes, which were brown like the richest chocolate. They’d looked even better last night, half closed in pleasure.

  “PTSD,” she said.

  Adam snapped himself back to the present. “What?”

  “P—T—S—D.” Bailey repeated each letter slowly. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Or something near enough like it. You were in a bad accident, and you blame yourself for it. You almost died, but you survived, and your friend didn’t. It’s something you have to face.”

  “Trust me, I face it.” Adam’s jaw was tight. “I wake up every day and face it. You’d have loved Dawson, Bailey. He was the wildest, most partying guy I ever met, and at the same time, the kindest man I knew.”

  His eyes stung. No, this couldn’t happen. Not out here, in front of Bailey, when his brothers could walk by at any time. They’d find Adam leaning on the rail, bawling like a baby, and they’d feel sorry for him.

  “You have to let yourself grieve, Adam,” Bailey said.

  She wasn’t admonishing. She just said it.

  “Yeah? What the hell do you know about grief?” Adam heard the harsh words come out, but he couldn’t stop them. “I lost my dad when I was ten. I had no idea how to deal with that. I couldn’t cry and lock myself in the basement—I had to be the man of the family. I had responsibility. Same as now. I’m part of a business that my actions could lose, which will cost my mom her home, everything she’s ever known. My brothers can handle it, but my mom shouldn’t have to worry like this anymore. I can’t fall apart.” His scarred hand clenched the rail, whitening the skin around his knuckles. “I can’t. Not now.”

  “I’m not telling you to fall apart,” Bailey said in an even tone. “I’m telling you to let yourself grieve, to miss Dawson. He deserves that.”

  “Bailey, will you stop with the counseling shit? I got enough of that crap in L.A.”

  “No.” She gave him a scowl, not moving an inch. Adam remembered that about Bailey—her shy, timid exterior hid a backbone of steel, a determination that put to shame the most hardened men he knew.

  She went on. “I do know about grief. Catching my husband in bed with another woman kicked my ass. I grieved for a long time, missing the bastard at the same time I hated him. I didn’t miss him—the person he revealed himself to be—I missed what we’d had. The fun, companionship. I’d relied on him, confided in him, told him things I couldn’t share with anyone else. All that was taken from me in two seconds. For a long time after that, I didn’t want to think or feel. I didn’t have anyone to talk to, not really. I know there were plenty of people who thought it was my fault—he’d never have gone to her if I’d been keeping him happy, right?”

  Bailey’s fists were clenched, her eyes swimming with tears, and yet, she stood there and told Adam what had hurt her deeply, ripping the lid off what she’d kept buried.

  Adam didn’t like the barrier between them. He climbed smoothly up and over the railing, happy his leg didn’t protest too much. He landed in front of her, boots sinking a little into the thick dirt, and she took a startled step back.

  Adam followed that step. “Where does he live? Your ex? I’m going to go kick the living shit out of him.”

  Bailey shook herself out of her sad place and gave him a look of impatience. “Is that your answer to everything? Hitting it?”

  “Pretty much. Makes me feel better, anyway.”

  There it was—Bailey’s smile, flashing warmth through the gloom. “Well, I’m not going to tell you. You don’t need two lawsuits.”

  “Hey, I’ve been living in California. Everyone sues everyone there, all the time. It’s like a state pastime.”

  Bailey folded her arms. “What do you want from me, exactly? What do you want me to do?”

  Adam looked her up and down, once again comforted by her nearness. It crept up on him, that comfort. Stealth comfort, Bailey-style.

  “What do I want from you?” Adam let himself smile. “Hmm, how about you in a warm shower, me soaping you down, then getting on my knees, licking between your thighs …”

  Bailey’s face was scarlet. “Adam!”

  “Sweetheart, you can’t stand there looking all sexy and being nice to me without my brain going where it’s going.”

  “I’m not sexy. I’m covered in horse sweat, and a little bit of horseshit.”

  Adam burst out laughing. He’d thought he’d never laugh again, but around Bailey, anything was possible.

  “Sexy’s not about what you look like,” he said. “It’s about what you are. And what I want from you is to be inside you. Finding out what you like. Giving that to you. But mostly just being inside you.”

  He liked how she gaped at him, the lush lips he wanted to kiss parted, moist. She’d never had any idea how beautiful she was, and that shithead she’d married hadn’t helped. Adam wanted to punch him for every second of pain he’d caused Bailey, and then some more just for the hell of it.

  He went on. “What I need you to do is get me back up on a horse. I’ve tried to come out here before, grab a horse, and ride off, but I can’t. I pick up a saddle and start shaking. I can’t figure out why, because I was on a motorcycle when I banged myself up, not a horse. But it’s like I can’t do anything I did with the stunt business, from riding to jumping off a wall. Was all I could do to climb the fence just now. You understand what I’m saying? You gotta help me. I don’t know anyone else who can.”

  Bailey’s blush lessened as he descended into pathetic begging, and when he finished, she regarded him in surprise. “Seems like there’s a lot of people around who could help you. Your brothers. Your friends. Faith.”

  “I can’t tell them. They’d say they understood, but they wouldn’t. Not really. Carter, maybe with the crap he’s gone through, might, but he’d just tell me to suck it up. And he wouldn’t be wrong.”

  Bailey frowned. “You’re still not telling me what I can do that they can’t.”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re prettier than my brothers. Come on, Bailey. I can talk to you like I can’t talk to them. It’s always been that way.”

  “Always?” She stuck her thumbs into her waistband and cocked her head. “I don’t know. In high school, you never talked to me at all. Years at the same school, and you never even said hey to me in the hall. Then one day, you’re smiling at me, saying, sure, you could use my help. All the sudden you think I’m the smartest girl in school, your only hope. Giving me that handsome Adam smile, enticing me into your bedroom … I’m thinking nothing’s changed.”

  That little tilt of her head, the assessing look, was heating Adam’s body. He pointed a finger at her chest. “Sweetheart, you were the one chasing after me in the parking lot, telling me you could help me pass my classes. My guardian angel come to life, I thought when I looked at you.”

  Her eyes lost their teasing light. “Save it, Adam. You charm your way into getting whatever you want, and you know it. I’ll help you, all right? But you didn’t have to come out here and sweet-talk me into it. You only had to ask.”

  “I did ask. I ran to your house last night, making a big-ass fool of myself asking. Like I’m doing now.”

  “No, you looked at me with your hot blue eyes and seduced the hell out of me. It’s what you do.” Bailey gave him a severe look. “Fine. I’ll be your trainer. I’ll get you riding again and into fighting shape to face Kyle. But I’m going to be a ball buster. All right? I’m not going to give you any slack for being cute.”

  Adam put his hand to the left side of his face, brushing his scars. “You call this cute? That’s gone forever.”

  “Being attractive isn’t about what you look like. It’s what you ar
e. Isn’t that what you just said to me?”

  Adam lifted his hands in surrender. “All right. Enough talk. Can we get on with this before I lose what little nerve I have left?”

  Bailey’s smile blossomed again. “Sure,” she said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on.” She turned and walked toward the open barn, giving him a sexy little come-hither wiggle with her shoulder as she went.

  Adam followed, because he knew by now he’d follow her anywhere, didn’t matter where she wanted to go.

  **

  Bailey haltered the horse she thought would work best and led him out of his stall, handing the lead rope to Adam. The wide, airy, high-ceilinged barn smelled of dust, hay, and horses, the best smell in the world, in Bailey’s opinion.

  Adam took the rope but eyed the horse in disbelief. “Buster? You want my first day back in the saddle to be on Buster?”

  As if in answer, Buster tried to bite him. Adam, long-experienced, evaded his teeth and pushed the horse’s nose away. “See that?”

  Bailey shrugged. “He doesn’t bite me. He knows I’ll bite him back.”

  Adam’s gaze sharpened. “Seriously? I think I’d pay to see that.”

  “He and I understand each other. But he’s the best horse to help you get your riding legs back. He’s a shit on the ground, but once you’re on, he’s unspookable.”

  “Whatever you say,” Adam conceded, but skeptically. “Let’s go.”

  He led Buster out of the barn to the area where horses got tacked up. Adam looped the lead rope around a hitching rail, sidestepping as Buster tried to swat him with a back foot.

  Adam fetched the saddle and bridle from the tack room himself while Bailey stood aside and watched. Adam’s hands shook a bit as he positioned blanket and saddle a little forward on Buster’s withers, then slid them back into place. Buster did his trick of sucking in a big breath while Adam fastened the cinch, but Adam knew how to poke at him until he let it out again.

  Adam unhooked the rope from the halter, holding Buster by the forelock as the halter came off. In the next second, he was sliding the bridle over the horse’s head, the halter hanging from his arm.

  Buster had the glint in his eye he sometimes got when they tacked up—I can bolt right now, just to prove I can.

  Adam growled as Buster started to move, and settled the bridle into place. Buster didn’t want the bit—he never did—and clamped his teeth stubbornly together. Adam stuck his finger and thumb into the corners of Buster’s mouth to make him open it. Buster eventually did, retaliating by letting a stream of drool flow over Adam’s arm.

  “I got two words for you,” Adam said. “Glue factory.”

  Buster didn’t look worried. He was one of the best stunt horses they had, and he seemed to know it.

  Bailey struggled to keep the grin off her face while she watched. She didn’t say so, but Buster’s antics had made Adam forget to be afraid. He was growling and swearing instead, the haunted look for now erased from his eyes.

  It came back, though, when Adam handed Bailey the empty halter and led Buster out to an open area to mount.

  Adam stilled next to Buster—who whacked Adam with his tail—holding the reins as his limbs stiffened.

  “I don’t know, Bailey,” he said. “At least I got this far.”

  “Nope.” Bailey folded her arms. “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

  Adam gave her his eye-crinkling smile. “You know, you’re sexy when you’re bossy.”

  “Nice try. Put the reins over his head, and get on that horse. I’ll give you a leg-up if you need it.”

  “I haven’t needed a leg-up since I was three. And then only because I was really short.” Adam’s words were light and quick, hiding the tremor in his voice.

  He took his time lifting the reins over Buster’s head to rest them on his neck. Buster had to make a show of trying to bite again, but less enthusiastically this time.

  Adam put his left hand still holding the reins on the front of the saddle, made to lift his foot to the stirrup, then suddenly bowed his head and rested his forehead on the seat.

  “Bailey,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Damn it. I’m having a hard time breathing here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bailey went quickly to him, speaking in a soft voice, her heart beating hard. “You’re all right. You’re home, Adam. You’re with me.”

  She stood right behind him, his back to her chest. Adam raised his head, but he stood still, and she felt his chest expand as he took a long breath.

  “I know,” he said. “It’s just …” He took another deep breath. “I don’t know how I’m going to get up there.”

  “Here.” Bailey caught Adam’s jeans’ leg at his left ankle and raised his foot to the stirrup. Adam gave her a startled glance, but before he could argue, she put her hands on his backside and pushed. “Up you go.”

  His ass was fine, and she had a hard time taking her hands off it. Adam swung his right leg over, settled into the saddle, and glared down at her.

  “That’s not how you give a leg-up,” he said.

  Bailey smiled. “It’s how I do it—with you.”

  “Wipe that grin off your face. If you give anyone else a boost like that, I’ll kill him.”

  “Nope. Only you. Now walk him to the covered ring.”

  Adam gave her an irritated look but turned Buster and headed him for the long, covered ring where the brothers trained for their acts. The huge roof let them ride even in the rain and also protected them from the brutal sun in the summer.

  Buster walked slowly, as though wanting Bailey, on foot, to keep up. Adam sat well, despite his injury, his body knowing how to ride. He was fine physically, but the bleak light in his eyes worried her.

  They reached the ring and Bailey opened the gate. Adam turned Buster in, looking up at the roof as though he’d never seen it before. Buster moved to the rail and started around, familiar with the routine.

  Bailey shut the gate, moved to the middle of the fence, and climbed up to sit on the top rail. “A couple times around to warm up,” Bailey called. “He hasn’t been off his butt all morning.”

  Adam lifted his hand to show he’d heard, and kept Buster going at his quick walk.

  Watching Adam in the saddle was a treat. He’d been riding his whole life, and it showed in the way he moved with the horse, relaxed and easy but upright and alert. His jeans stretched over hard legs and a tight backside; his shirt molded to a well-honed torso. His black hat, which he kept in place even under the arena roof, only enhanced the picture of the long, tall, hot Texan.

  “Pick him up,” Bailey said after Adam and Buster had gone around a second time. She almost forgot to give the order in the pleasure of watching Adam’s body at work.

  Buster moved into a jog on his next step. If Adam had signaled him, it had been so subtle Bailey missed it, which was as it should be. Either that or Buster heard her—he recognized a number of voice commands.

  Rider and horse began moving in what looked like a lazy pace, but Bailey knew they were going well. “Bring him up the middle,” she said after they’d gone around a few times more. “We’ll put him through some easy moves, to get you used to it again. All right?”

  Adam didn’t answer. He rode Buster straight up the middle of the ring the long way, then guided him to circle right or left at Bailey’s order. She worked them at a trot then a lope, Buster changing his lead as he switched direction at Adam’s command.

  Bailey remembered sitting in the stands at the Fall Festival and at rodeos, watching Adam ride and falling in love with him. He’d been energetic and still at the same time, moving lithely with his horse, his quiet expertise filling Bailey’s fantasies.

  Nothing had changed. Man and horse moved together in the ring, gliding, turning. Adam sat quietly, one hand loose on his thigh, while he expertly reined the horse and guided him with his body.

  Bailey wasn’t falling in love with him again, she’d already fallen. Hard—as
though she’d been tossed from a horse and lay on the ground, winded and dirty.

  Adam was going fine now, riding Buster in figure eights and more complicated patterns, again at the jog, then slow lope, then picking up speed at an extended canter. Bailey would never have believed that Adam had lost his nerve if he hadn’t told her, in a voice so full of despair she knew he wasn’t faking it.

  He’d come to her to help him regain his confidence. Once he had it back, he’d be packing his bags and running off again to his movie life.

  And why wouldn’t he? Adam’s talents were in high demand, he made a lot of money, and he had a ton of friends out in California, plus a mentor who looked out for him. His lawyers would deal with the lawsuit, and Adam would be on top of his game again. Out of Bailey’s life and back to his own.

  She was sitting here helping him leave her. Bailey could have refused, but that meant letting Adam decide to hide for the rest of his life and not deal with his pain. No, wait, he wouldn’t hide—he’d find someone else to help him and never forgive Bailey for letting him dangle.

  Either way, Bailey lost.

  She thought of the raw pain she’d seen in Adam’s eyes when he’d come to her last night. For God’s sake, you’ve got to help me.

  Bailey couldn’t turn her back on him, and she knew it.

  “Looking good,” she called. “Want to take him out on the trail? I’ll get a horse and come with you.”

  Adam turned Buster and rode him straight at Bailey. When he halted alongside her, she saw that his face was wan and drawn, his eyes fixed, sweat beading on his skin.

  “No,” he said, voice tight. “I’m barely doing this. I want to throw up.”

  Bailey looked at him in surprise. “But you looked great out there.”

  “I know how to ride. I mean, my body does. It took over. My brain is months behind. If I do anything but ride around in pretty circles, I’ll lose it. No way am I going to beat Kyle at anything by the Fall Festival. I’m screwed.”

  Bailey had only seen Adam afraid once in his life, and that had been when he’d gotten the news he might not graduate. Then it had not been so much fear but shame and uncertainty. This was rock-solid terror.