Enchanted by the Rodeo Queen
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Melinda Curtis
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HarlequinPROLOGUE
ADAM CLARK WAS only five, but he knew one thing better than his ABCs and his 1-2-3s—the legend of Merciless Mike Moody.
“He had a gun and a horse and a hideout on top of our mountain,” Adam told the new boys in town. They sat on the curb in front of the general store in Second Chance, eating Popsicles.
“Your mouth is red,” one of the boys said. He and his brother were mirror images of each other and not yet in kindergarten.
With only a month left in the school year, Adam was jazzed about being a first grader this fall. Kindergarten was baby stuff.
He wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Merc’less Mike robbed a stage.” Adam wasn’t entirely certain what a stage was but he didn’t let anything but a lick of his Popsicle slow his story down. “And he rode off on a big black horse.” Bigger than Dad’s big black horse Deadly.
Adam paused, trying to remember his dad’s face. He’d died when Adam was three, practically a baby. His mom was getting remarried now to Shane Monroe, the uncle of his Popsicle-eating friends.
“Drip,” one of the younger boys said, pointing to the red Popsicle juice on the ground between Adam’s brown cowboy boots.
Adam sucked on his melting Popsicle before going on with his story. “Merc’less Mike’s horse threw a shoe, so he stopped right there.” Adam pointed to the old smithy a few doors down. “And he yelled at my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandad to shoe his horse.” He counted all those greats—six of them—on the fingers of his free hand just like his Aunty Em had taught him.
Popsicle juice dripped on his fingers holding the stick. It took Adam a bit to lick them clean, although they were now stained red. Not that Adam worried about being messy when Aunty Em picked him up from school, like she’d done today. She was the one who’d bought them Popsicles and was now inside picking up their groceries.
Aunty Em was the best aunt ever. She was one of the toughest cowboys in Second Chance. A glance inside proved it. Someone from the Flying R was asking her advice, prob’ly about bulls. Bulls were the family business and important stuff.
“Look.” One of the little boys grinned at his brother, mouth rimmed with red. “My brother’s a mess.”
“Yup. We’re all a mess.” Adam got on with his story. “Merc’less Mike stabbed my great-great... Ah, you get the idea. He stabbed Old Jeb and raced up that hill.” Adam pointed across the road with what was left of his Popsicle.
Splat.
The last bit of red ice fell off the stick and to the ground.
“Darn it.” Adam stood, wiping his fingers on his jeans and his mouth on the neck of his T-shirt.
“The man on the horse got away?” One of the boys squinted at the mountain across the road. “He didn’t die?”
“He died, but not before he hid his gold.” Adam threw his Popsicle stick in the trash can. “And do you know how I know?”
Wide-eyed, the younger boys shook their heads.
Adam’s chest swelled with pride. “Because me and my mom and my new dad found it.”
