

Small Town Superhero

The Small Town Superhero Series Book One

By Cheree L. Alsop

Copyright © 2017 by Cheree L. Alsop

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN

Cover Design by Andy Hair

Editing by Tristi Pinkston

www.ChereeAlsop.com

ALSO BY CHEREE ALSOP

The Silver Series-

Silver

Black

Crimson

Violet

Azure

Hunter

Silver Moon

The Werewolf Academy Series-

Book One: Strays

Book Two: Hunted

Book Three: Instinct

Book Four: Taken

Book Five: Lost

Book Six: Vengeance

Book Seven: Chosen

Heart of the Wolf Part One

Heart of the Wolf Part Two

The Galdoni Series-

Galdoni

Galdoni 2: Into the Storm

Galdoni 3: Out of Darkness

The Small Town Superheroes Series

Small Town Superhero

Small Town Superhero II

Small Town Superhero III

Keeper of the Wolves

Stolen

The Million Dollar Gift

Thief Prince

When Death Loved an Angel

The Shadows Series

Shadows- A Book in the World of Shadows

Mist- A Book in the World of Shadows

The Monster Asylum Series

Book One- The Fangs of Bloodhaven

Book Two- The Scales of Drakenfall

Girl from the Stars

Book 1- Daybreak

Book 2- Daylight

Book 3- Day's End

Book 4- Day's Journey

Book 5- Day's Hunt

The Dr. Wolf Series

Book 1- Shockwave

Book 2- Demon Spiral

Book 3- The Four Horsemen

Book 4- Dragon's Bayne

The Pirate from the Stars

Book 1- Renegade

The Prince of Ash and Blood

The King of Ash and Blood

The Emperor of Ash and Blood
To my husband, Michael Alsop,

Who shares my love of motorcycles and a good adventure.

To my family for farmer values,

The joy they bring to every day,

And for their belief in heroes,

Both super and in real life.

I love you!
Chapter One

A LUNCH TRAY HIT the back of my head so hard lights exploded at the edges of my vision. I turned, out for blood, but my arms were pinned behind me.

"You dropped something," a boy with red hair said before he shoved a hamburger patty in my mouth.

I bit his finger and he yelled, then slugged me in the stomach. His thugs, two stocky students who looked as if they had repeated their senior year a few times, held me up with merciless grips. I searched the lunchroom for anyone willing to even the odds a bit, but students carefully avoided any outward show of attention to the fight. A teacher near the back wall glanced up and met my gaze, then lowered her eyes to the clipboard in her hands.

So much for backup. I could handle them myself. Being the captain of the MMA team at home hadn't come without its share of extra training. I was about to drop to my knees and punch one of my captors in the groin, then take out the knees of the other so I could focus on the redhead, when a pair of eyes met mine. Cassidy shook her head minutely, her eyebrows pinched together with worry. The realization that she didn't want me to defend myself surprised me enough that I forgot to breathe with the redhead's next blow to the stomach. I doubled over in pain. An elbow in the back dropped me to the floor.

"Next time, remember that the Bullets eat first," one of the cronies growled in my ear. He stepped on my hand when he walked past the lunch line. I stayed curled in a fetal position until I could pull in a breath. It took several more gulps to fill my lungs completely.

I opened my eyes to see a row of feet shuffle past. Boys and girls filed by to get their food as though seeing a fellow student get beaten before lunch was a regular occurrence. A hand touched my shoulder. I sat up gingerly and Cassidy helped me to my feet. We walked slowly from the lunchroom.

"Nice place," I commented dryly. My stomach ached and I was glad they attacked me before lunch so I had nothing to throw up.

"It was bound to happen," Cassidy replied. At my sideways glance, she let out a frustrated breath. "The Bullets harass all the newbies. Magnum likes to make an impression."

A snort of laughter escaped me. "Their gang is the Bullets and the leader goes by Magnum? That may be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

When Cassidy glanced behind us, her face carried true fear. "Shhh. They might hear you."

I stopped. She took a few more steps before she realized I wasn't beside her. "Cass, what kind of a school lets a gang beat up new students?"

Her eyes widened. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into a side hall, then looked around to make sure no one was watching.

"This is ridic—"

Cassidy cut me off. "Kel, you're going to have to trust me on this. The Bullets are bad news. Stay clear of them. Don't make eye contact, don't laugh at them, and whatever you do, don't fight back or you'll make yourself a target."

"I'm already a target," I replied, but my tone was tempered by the worry in her voice.

"They'll forget about you now that you know who's in charge."

"Aren't the teachers in charge?"

She gave me a look as if my statement was completely ridiculous. "Seriously? Didn't you have gangs in California?"

It was my turn to give the "you just said something really stupid" look. "Of course. It's California. But they were a little more creative with their names." She dropped her gaze. I let out a loud breath and attempted to appease her. "All right, I won't mess with the _Bullets_."

She chose to ignore the way I mocked the title and smiled. "Promise?"

I nodded.

She grinned and her dimples showed. She pushed back the stray blonde strands that escaped her braid. "You're gonna like it here. Just give it a chance."

"I will."

She pursed her lips and looked me over. "You still hungry?"

The thought of entering the lunchroom again in time to see Magnum pick on another victim made a knot tighten in my aching stomach. "No, thank you."

"There are other places to eat," she said. She pushed open a side door and I blinked at the rush of sunlight that flooded through.

A brown-haired wisp of a girl hurried up. "You goin' to Chaser's?"

Cassidy grinned. "Kel, this is Sandy. Sandy, my cousin Kelson."

Sandy held out her hand and I shook it. "Pleased to meet you," she said. "I've heard a lot about you." She looked at Cassidy with a grin. "You didn't say he was cute."

Cassidy rolled her eyes. "You can come along or stay. Kel hasn't been to Chaser's, and we've both lost our appetite for school lunch."

"I know," Sandy replied. She looked down as an embarrassed blush crept up her cheeks. "I saw." I wondered if there was anyone at school who hadn't seen. Sandy caught my look and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry; we've all been there."

I frowned. "Magnum's gang harasses girls, too?"

Both of them nodded. Sandy swallowed as if the memory was still fresh. "They try to be fair. Girls pick on girls and the guys pick on guys."

"How is that fair?" I asked. Cassidy gave me a warning look and I let out a loud sigh. "Fine. Where's this Chaser's?"

"This way," Sandy replied. She skipped ahead of us up the sidewalk where several other students already walked. "Their burgers are great," she called back over her shoulder.

***

I RODE THE BUS to my aunt and uncle's house. They owned trucks, but according to Uncle Rick, they were needed for more than sitting in a school parking lot. I missed my motorcycle. At least as a senior, I could sit in the back of the bus; Cassidy was a sophomore and had to sit amid paper airplanes and testosterone-fueled sixteen-year-olds who channeled their energy into catcalls and crude jokes.

Her two younger brothers, Jaren and Cole, got on the bus at Sparrow Middle School. By the time we left the elementary, every seat was filled. Only the bus driver's steely gaze could calm the chaos. One look in the mirror that hung above his seat and the entire bus would fall silent for at least ten full seconds before the cacophony started up again.

I stared out the window at the passing fields boxed in by sagebrush-filled ditches. I didn't know how to get out of the town of Sparrow. I couldn't go home. Mom had made it perfectly clear I wasn't wanted there. Dad's family had never quite warmed up to us, so I was stuck with Aunt Lauren and Uncle Rick until Mom could stand the sight of me or they kicked me out on my own.

I rested my head against the window and let the world outside run together in a blur. The steady hum of the tires against the road lulled the whirlwind of thoughts that swirled through my mind. I saw my sister, her hair so blonde it was almost white and her eyes the blue color of her favorite sweater she wore until there were holes in the elbows—and even then we couldn't make her throw it away. She laughed, her dimples deep like Cassidy's, with laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. I swore she was born with laugh lines.

The bus hit an uneven patch of pavement, jolting me back to the present. I blinked and took a breath, pushing the thoughts down where they wouldn't hurt so badly. Twenty minutes of relentless screams, shrieks, giggles, and the talking of pent-up, hyperactive kids later, we stopped at the dirt road that led to the Ashby house. I had never been so happy to set foot on the ground again.

The bus pulled away in a cloud of exhaust. Cole and Jaren took off in a race to the only house at the end of the half-mile lane. Cassidy pulled out a cell phone and dialed Sandy, then proceeded to chat with her about all the things they had already talked about at school. I followed the siblings slowly down the road.

Alfalfa swayed in the fields on either side of the dirt path. Barbed-wire fences boxed rectangles of the waist-high hay. Purple flowers peeked out among the dark-green leaves and bees buzzed happily from flower to flower. Similar fields stretched in each direction to the base of the dark-blue mountains in the distance. The unbroken expanse made me feel strangely claustrophobic.

I was used to business buildings, industrial towers, apartments, shopping complexes, and department stores crowding out the sky wherever I looked. Sidewalks and pavement dominated while well-manicured patches of grass and trees gave relief to the concrete architecture. I grew up dodging strangers and avoiding bicycles, not moseying along a dirt road in fresh air and sunshine. It should have been blissful; instead, I felt further from home than ever.

A bell tolled, its ringing loud and clear in the crisp evening. "Gotta go," Cassidy said to Sandy. She hung up the phone and called over her shoulder, "Better hurry; it's time to work."

"Work?" I asked, surprised. "We just got done with school."

She threw me a sympathetic smile and began to jog. I shook my head and ran to catch up to her. "So you go to school all day, then work at the farm until what—six or seven?"

She laughed. "Until it's too dark to see the rows," she replied. "Farming's not a nine-to-five. You'll see."

When we reached the house, I threw my backpack with hers in the mudroom, then crossed the hall to the kitchen. She grabbed two apples from a bowl on the counter and tossed one to me, then we followed the boys to the backyard.

Uncle Rick was waiting near his blue truck. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he had forgotten I existed and had only now remembered the bother of his sister-in-law's son who had been thrust upon them without warning. "Cole, Jaren, go with Parker to tend the cows. Give the second herd an extra ration of barley; they're looking a bit skinny." Cole saluted his dad like a soldier before both boys jumped into the back of a faded red pickup. The boy at the wheel looked barely old enough to drive. I wondered why the Ashbys let their kids ride in the bed where there weren't any seatbelts.

"Cass, you're moving bales; rain's comin' and we need them stacked."

Cassidy stuffed a straw cowboy hat on her head and climbed into the back of her dad's dark-blue flatbed truck.

"What about me?" I asked when Uncle Rick turned away.

He glanced back. "Can you do anything?"

My fingers curled into fists at his tone. I gritted my teeth before I said anything that would destroy the only home I had left. "If you show me," I said in carefully spaced words.

He shook his head. "I don't have time to be teachin' a city boy when there's rain comin'. You shouldn't be here anyway; you should be back with Sarah."

Angry tears stung my eyes at his statement. The words escaped me before I could stop them. "You don't think I'd rather be home with Mom? I know she's alone, and I know all she thinks about is Zoey. She doesn't want me there because I remind her of what happened." I was shouting, but couldn't stop. It was the first time I had said my sister's name aloud since it happened. I blinked quickly to keep the tears from falling and disgracing me further. "That's all I think about too. I need to keep busy and there's nothing out here. I've got to do something."

My chest rose and fell with the exertion of my words. I dropped my eyes, aware of what I had just said. I fought to control my breathing. I loosened my fingers, ignoring how badly I wanted to hit something.

"We could use some help haulin'."

I glanced up to find Uncle Rick watching me. "What?" I asked.

"The Crosby boys are rippin' the back nine and we've got bales on Creek Field that need haulin' to the Quonset before rain sets in."

I wasn't sure if his words were English. "I have no idea what you just said," I replied.

Cassidy giggled from the back of the truck. Her father shot her a look and she dropped her eyes, but the grin didn't leave her face.

Uncle Rick let out a sigh. "Just get in."

I climbed in next to Cassidy, and Uncle Rick gave a whistle. A black-and-white dog shot out from the corner of the red barn and leaped onto the back of the truck with us. It settled in the middle of the bed as if it rode there all the time.

"This is a strange place," I said quietly.

Cassidy smiled again. "Welcome to Sparrow, city boy."

The engine roared to life and the truck lurched forward. I grabbed the roof of the cab so I didn't fall out. Cassidy stood behind the cab with her hat in one hand and the other resting on the truck's hood. She looked at home as the truck bounced along the dirt road, then turned down a path that was barely more than two tire trails. Tall weeds brushed the bottom of the truck and swayed on either side.

Uncle Rick turned near a dry riverbed where huge bales of hay sat scattered through the field. The sweet scent of cut alfalfa filled the air. I took a deep breath and let it out.

Uncle Rick climbed from the truck. "You'll drive the old ton and Cassidy will take the Ram. I'll load the bales, then follow in the tractor to the Quonset hut so we can unload them."

He turned away without giving me a chance to reply. I glanced at Cassidy, who watched me as though excited to see my reaction to my job. "You're old enough to drive?" I asked because it seemed like the least laughable thing I could say.

"I've driven tractors since I was twelve. Everyone does around here. Sheriff Bowley only cares if we're on the freeway." She let out an unfeminine snort. "'Course, he let Beau off scot-free when he ran into a tree a month ago. That's 'cause he's the quarterback and would be suspended; no one wants to mess with the school's winning record."

I lifted an eyebrow and she laughed. "Football's big out here. You'll get used to that."

A horn honked and Uncle Rick gestured from the cab of a big green tractor. He raised the forks and drove them into the side of a bale.

"Better jump in the truck," Cassidy said. "He'll load it with ton bales first. The brakes are shoddy, so you'll have to stomp on them while he stacks the hay."

Uncle Rick raised the bale and drove toward another one. I climbed into the old white truck Cassidy pointed to and waited. She jumped onto the driver's seat of a shiny blue Ram that looked brand new. I knew it wasn't a mistake that had me in the rust bucket with peeling paint and a flatbed of wood that hadn't been varnished in years while she sat in a monster of a truck. Sparrow was the first city where I had seen such vehicles, and they ran in abundance. Maybe Sparrow had the corner on the market where they were concerned.

The truck lurched forward. I jumped, then glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see Uncle Rick lower the double-stacked ton bales onto the bed of the truck and begin to push them forward. The truck rolled with the force. I stomped on the brake as Cassidy instructed; the truck shuddered when the hay was pushed all the way to the cab. The bales rocked for a moment and I worried they would crash down onto the cab and smash it flat. I imagined headlines about a city boy who didn't have the sense to leave a truck before being smothered by alfalfa.

Luckily, the bales stopped rocking and Uncle Rick went back for another load. I flipped on the radio, found nothing but country music, and turned it off again. My leg ached from pushing the brake to the floor, but I didn't dare let up. Six ton bales rested on my truck before Uncle Rick began to load Cassidy's. Hers held eight, a fact I was sure she would find time to point out later. Uncle Rick then left the field and motioned for us to follow.

I turned the key, but nothing happened. Cassidy pulled up in her shiny truck and motioned for me to roll down the window. "Give it some gas when you turn the key, but not too much or you'll flood it."

I pressed on the gas pedal and turned the key again. The engine rumbled to life and continued rumbling in uneven thrums. "Follow me," Cassidy yelled above the sound. "You'll have to crank the wheel hard because there's no power steering, but take it easy on turns so you don't drop the bales."

She drove forward and left me to figure out what she meant. I pressed on the gas and the truck obediently rolled forward. The second I hit a bump in the field, the bales began to rock from side to side. I slammed on the brake and felt them all shift forward. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I waited for the bales to settle. When I looked up, I saw that Cassidy had crossed the field and was waiting for me on the weed-choked dirt path that made up the road.

I gritted my teeth and stepped on the gas again. The truck moved over the uneven ground with the grace of an overweight hippo. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white as the bales lurched uneasily on the truck bed. I expected them to land on the cab and crush it flat at any moment.

Cassidy grinned at me when I reached her truck, then she drove forward as if eight ton bales weren't any cause for concern. Of course, her new truck probably had shocks. I turned the wheel to drive on the road, but the truck kept going straight. I stomped on the brakes and felt the bales rock, but ignored them and turned the wheel further. It was only after I cranked the steering wheel all the way around and then some that the truck began to turn.

I repeated Cassidy's words in a poor imitation of her peppy country drawl. "You'll have to crank the wheel hard because there's no power steering." I rolled my eyes even though there was no one to see, and drove gingerly down the road after her. It occurred to me that if driving bales of hay was so hard, I didn't want to know what else Uncle Rick did.

Cassidy turned onto a flat expanse of dirt with a big, curved metal structure in the middle that I assumed was the Quonset hut Uncle Rick spoke about. He was waiting in the tractor near the hut. Grateful we were almost done, I cranked the wheel hard and stepped on the gas. The truck turned quicker than I expected and bumped over ruts in the hard-packed dirt. The bales began to rock.

I slammed on the brakes and they rocked even harder. The entire truck swayed back and forth slowly and then faster like a dog shaking its wet coat. I clutched the steering wheel and glanced at Cassidy in time to see her eyes widen. I ducked, certain I was about to be smashed to death by alfalfa. Who knew farming could be so dangerous?

Instead of falling on the cab, the last two bales tipped off the truck and tumbled to the ground, bursting their strings and spilling hay all over in the process. The truck bounced up with the decreased weight, and what was left of the shocks gave a creak of protest. I straightened up slowly and dared a glance at Uncle Rick. His jaw was clenched tight as if he held in choice words despite the fact that no one would hear them over the rumble of the tractor engine.

I climbed out of the truck. Cassidy walked up and handed me a pitchfork, then turned away without a word. I let out a sigh and began raking the hay together.

Chapter Two

THAT NIGHT I COULDN'T sleep. A quick search of the Ashbys' cabinets revealed nothing I could take to help. I never thought I would appreciate Mom's ready supply of sleeping pills, but I could definitely use something to take away the thoughts that refused to leave me alone. I lay on the small cot in the back of the living room for an hour trying to talk myself into sleeping, but every time I closed my eyes, the shadows of the fire in the fireplace danced across my eyelids and brought back memories worse than any nightmare.

I gave up and pulled on my shoes, then stared at my cell phone near the lamp. It was my only link to Mom, the way she would contact me if she needed to. The screen showed zero calls and no messages. I forced down the urge to throw it into the fire and left the house. There were no streetlights on the outskirts of Sparrow, but the moon and stars lit the lawn and fields beyond the house bright enough that no additional light was needed.

A quick patter of paws crossed the grass, then the black-and-white dog touched my hand with his nose. I studied the animal for a moment in uncertainty. With a sigh, I set a hand on his head. He stood perfectly still as though afraid I would take my hand away if he moved. A begrudging smile crossed my face and I petted the dog. His tail waved from side to side.

Zoey was the one who liked animals. Mom never let us have a pet, but there had been a stray cat at the warehouse and Zoey insisted we take tuna fish whenever we went there. Where she heard that cats liked tuna, I had no idea, but the animal was always happy to see her. My heart clenched at the thought and I moved my hand from the dog's head. He padded a few feet away as if he understood.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and studied the stars. I had never seen them so bright. Each one shone as if it were the only star in the sky, a spot of light so brilliant in the black velvet canopy it was easy to imagine other beings on different worlds staring back at me. I wondered if the stars' light reached the heavens; I dropped my gaze and glared at the dark ground instead. I kicked a tuft of grass and debated whether to go back inside.

A light on the black horizon caught my attention. I hadn't noticed any other houses, but the light was steady. I glanced back at the Ashby house; it sat silent and brooding in the night. I crossed the yard in the direction of the light. The dog fell in a few paces behind me. I told myself he wouldn't listen if I told him to go home, but I secretly appreciated his companionship.

The house sat even further from the small city of Sparrow than the Ashby house. I wondered why anyone would choose to live so far from civilization. My footsteps sounded hollow on the dry dirt. The soft pad of the dog's paws behind me did little to lessen the emptiness in my chest.

The night felt vacant without the endless rush of traffic and street life I was used to. I hadn't seen a taxi since Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren picked me up at the airport, then drove us the extra three hours to Sparrow. Roads and buildings gave way to mountains, which eventually dissolved into scrub brush and dry land. I was amazed they could grow anything in such an arid place, but the miles of fields around me told of years of carefully tended crops.

The light went out just before I reached it. I almost turned around, but another light higher in the house flipped on and someone began shouting. Family fights were nothing new to me. Cops came to our apartment complex weekly to break up violent spouses. When families lived paycheck to paycheck, stress built until someone couldn't handle it anymore. I knew from experience.

A dog barked at our approach, but it was chained to a kennel. I glanced at the animal that followed me. He seemed unconcerned, so I continued into the yard. A tree grew against the house with low-swept branches, offering the perfect cover. I waited, unsure what I expected.

The front door opened and a girl hurried out. She was halfway down the porch stairs when a man stormed out after her. "I'm not done talking to you, young lady."

"You're not talking, Dad. You're yelling," she replied. A look of regret immediately swept across her features.

The man took another step forward, and she stumbled backwards down the stairs to get away from him. Her ankle twisted beneath her, but if it hurt she didn't show it. She stood back up and waited as if accepting whatever would come.

The man paused with his chest heaving, then shook his head and stomped back inside. The girl let out a breath of relief. She rubbed a hand across her weary eyes, then pulled a rubber band from her pocket and swept her waist-length brown hair into a ponytail. There were no tears in her eyes at the confrontation like I would have expected to see after the anger in her father's voice and the amount of shouting from the house. Instead, a fierce light of determination showed in her eyes and in the way she clenched her jaw. I had never seen such a look on a person.

She took off the glasses she had been wearing and set them on a porch step, then jogged over to where the dog was chained. "Let's get out of here, Buck," she said in a quiet voice.

The dog's paws shuffled in excitement while he waited for her to unchain his collar. She started for the south side of the yard and he pranced beside her, then remembered our presence. Buck turned and barked in our direction. I was surprised to feel the dog beside me lean against my leg. I set a hand on his head. "This way, Buck," the girl called. She began to jog. The dog gave up barking and loped to catch up with her.

I stood there for a long time. I would have been creeped out to find some stranger watching my house in the middle of the night, but I stayed, wondering if the girl would return and if anyone in the house cared that she was gone. The lights had turned out completely and the house sat in darkness. It made no sense for me to worry about the girl. I didn't know her and families fought all the time, but the fact that the lights stayed off bothered me.

The night sky was touched in dusky gray by the time I heard her footsteps return from the dirt road. The dog followed behind with his tongue lolling. She chained him up and the animal lapped eagerly at the water in its bowl.

"Good boy, Buck," she whispered, patting its head. She jogged up the stairs and into the house. I left the tree and was almost across the yard when the door opened again. I froze and watched the girl walk halfway down the steps. She bent and picked something up, then turned, the fading moonlight glinting off her glasses. She went back inside and shut the door behind her.

By the time I returned to the Ashby house, I was tired enough to sleep the remaining three hours of the night and the next day as well. The fire had burned to low embers which haunted my thoughts less. A quick check showed no one had called my phone. I threw my shirt over it, fell on the cot, and dreamed of endless nights in which I was the wind, blowing the alfalfa in circles.

***

SOMEONE TOUCHED MY SHOULDER. "Kelson, time to get up," Aunt Lauren said.

I opened my eyes and blinked at the bleary dawn light that filtered through the checkered curtains of the living room. A clock stuck to a replica of a cow skull above the fireplace showed that it was six o'clock. "School doesn't start until eight," I said.

"There are chores to do first," Aunt Lauren replied gently. "We all pitch in and the work gets done faster."

I sat up and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes.

Aunt Lauren hesitated, then sat on the worn sofa across from me. "How are you doing?"

I grabbed a shirt from my duffle bag and slid it over my head, then glanced at the other shirt covering the cell phone on the lamp table. I gritted my teeth and shoved both back into the bag. "Fine."

"Kelson."

The understanding in her tone cut me to the core. I couldn't meet her eyes. As long as I told everyone I was all right, it would be true if I didn't think about it long enough. "Fine" was the easy answer. "Fine" was the answer everyone wanted to hear. I swallowed and met her eyes. "Aunt Lauren, I'm fine. Thank you for taking me into your home."

She looked like she wanted to press the matter. Then she gave a sympathetic smile and nodded. "You are welcome here for as long as you need." She rose and smoothed the pillows on the couch, then said, "There're muffins on the stove and fresh milk in the fridge. You can meet us in the barn when you're ready."

I grabbed my toothbrush and a new change of clothes from the duffle bag and made my way to the bathroom down the hall, grateful my cousins weren't using it as it was the only bathroom in the house. I took a five-minute shower, changed into clean clothes, and attempted to comb my hair. It was brown like Dad's, and stuck up with cowlicks in several places that made it hard to do anything more than run some mousse through with my fingers and leave it alone. I hoped the bedhead look had already reached Sparrow.

I threw my duffle bag behind the couch and grabbed a muffin on my way to the backyard. The black-and-white dog sat by the barn door with his head on his paws. His tail gave a short wag when I approached. I caught myself before I bent down and patted his head. I didn't want to give the animal the impression that I liked him.

I found Cassidy, Cole, and Jaren in the barn doing various chores. Cassidy forked hay to the three horses while Cole and Jaren watered the animals. Uncle Rick sat with a bucket near one of the fat Holstein cows. The soft hiss of milk on metal met my ears. Uncle Rick looked up when I entered the barn.

"I was wondering when the rooster would wake you," he said. I fought back a smile at the thought that Aunt Lauren wouldn't approve of being called a rooster. Oblivious of my thoughts, he stood and stretched, then indicated the cow. "Your turn."

I looked distrustfully from the stool to the udders and back to Uncle Rick. "I'm not sure if milking's my thing."

Uncle Rick grinned and pushed his cowboy hat further back on his head. "Only one way to find out."

He took me by the shoulders and steered me to the small three-legged stool near the cow's hind foot. "Just work your fingers down. Bess's a good milker. She shouldn't give you any trouble."

I sat down and glanced self-consciously at Cassidy. She had finished feeding the horses and was now brushing one with a piece of bristly plastic that fit on her palm. She kept a hand on the animal so it knew where she was as she worked around its belly and legs. I took a deep breath, then instantly regretted it; the early morning barn smell of manure, oats, and hay laced with dew filled my nose. I tried to fight it, but a sneeze followed before I could move away from the cow.

Bess let out a noise that was a cross between a surprised moo and what I swore was a laugh before she kicked the milk bucket and spilled the contents of Uncle Rick's work onto the cobbled floor of the barn.

I glanced at Uncle Rick, then back at the floor. My cheeks burned at the frown of consternation on his face. Everyone in the barn was silent for a moment.

"Maybe Kel has hay fever," Jaren said quietly from the corner.

"My friend Darrel has hay fever, and his eyes swell up real bad when he mows," Cole piped in with all the enthusiasm his ten-year-old self could muster. He accidentally sprayed one of the horses with the hose he was using to fill up the water. He laughed when the animal kicked the fence an inch from where he was crouched by the bucket.

"Tend that water, Cole," his father said in a tone of disapproval. The kid grinned as he moved to the next bucket, completely unconcerned about his father's anger. Uncle Rick turned back to me. "I'll finish with Bess. You take Blackie."

I moved to the next cow. This one was black with a white stripe down its nose and was definitely in need of milking. I sat gingerly on the stool. "Your cow names are really unique," I said in an attempt at humor.

Uncle Rick gave me a bland look from the side of his cow and Cassidy snickered behind me. I hoped she would let it drop, but I knew her better than that. "What would you name them?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then pointed to each of the three cows and said, "Hamburger, Barbecue, and Tri-tip. This black one's Barbecue because of her color." I chuckled, then realized I was the only one laughing.

Cassidy stared at me while both boys hid their grins as if certain their father wouldn't approve. I met his flat look again. "For your information, Kelson, these cows have been in our family for five years and they'll be here at least double that if we take care of them. They're Holsteins, which are dairy cattle, not beef cattle, so the names you picked are not appropriate."

Convinced he would find a way to turn anything I said into a shot against the family, I shut my mouth and tried to milk the cow as Uncle Rick had directed. The second my hand touched the cow's udder, she kicked out and caught me in the leg with her back hoof. I yelped in pain and fell off the chair.

"What happened?" Uncle Rick asked. He towered above me faster than I thought the man could move. He glanced from me to the cow; I became aware of Cole's laughter.

"Barbecue doesn't like you," the boy said.

This time a smile creased Uncle Rick's lips, then disappeared before I was sure I had seen it. "You'd better go have Lauren look at that. I don't want you late for school."

I scrambled to my feet and limped toward the door. Cassidy patted my arm. "I'll finish your milking," she said before I left. Laughter rose from all four of them before I reached the back door to the house.

"Everything all right, dear?" Aunt Lauren asked when I entered the kitchen.

I ignored the pain and forced myself to walk normally. "Nature calls," I said.

She nodded and I made my way to the bathroom. I sat down on the edge of the tub and lifted my pant leg to find bruises already starting around my ankle. I swore softly and stood back up, then winced. The farming life definitely wasn't for me.

Chapter Three

"HOW'S YOUR LEG?" CASSIDY asked while we waited for the bus.

"Fine, thanks," I replied in a dry tone.

She laughed. "Dad loves his cows."

"Apparently."

The bus pulled up and I hobbled to the back seat. The vehicle jerked forward before I could sit and my backpack fell to the ground with all the contents spilling out. I gathered my belongings together, muttering words I'm not sure anyone in Sparrow even knew, then threw the backpack on the seat, certain the day was going to be a total disaster. When I sat down next to it, I realized someone had taken the seat across the aisle.

The girl from the house I had walked to last night sat with her knees against the seat in front of her and her nose buried so deep in a book, I could barely see her features. I leaned forward without realizing it and her eyes flicked to me, then back to her book. I turned away in embarrassment. Apparently I had a habit of staring at her in the light of day as well.

I kept my gaze glued firmly out the window, but something about the girl kept my attention. Her eyes were the kind of hazel with green irises and gold around the outside. The sight of them stuck in my head. She wasn't pretty, per se, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her clothes a mismatch of obvious hand-me-downs, but there was something intriguing about her.

I glanced at her again and was happy to find she had turned toward the window where she wouldn't catch me staring. I had an excellent view of her profile. I normally didn't study people, but I was stuck on a bus for another fifteen minutes with nothing but farmland beyond the windows; I'd had my fill of farmland.

The girl had high cheekbones with the well-tanned skin I saw on the farm kids all over school. Apparently attending school all day and working outdoors until the late hours of the evening was a great recipe for healthy skin. I knew several Goths in California who could use the tip. Freckles were scattered along her nose, and a dimple in her cheek showed even when she didn't smile.

Her glasses were broken. The metal frames had been carefully fitted back together on the side closest to me and a streak of Super Glue was evident along the glass. The school bus bounced over a bump and she glanced my way. I studiously avoided her gaze, pretending to be interested in a thread hanging out of the chair in front of me. When I looked back, she was settled deep within her book once more.

_The Call of the Wild_ was clearly embossed on the cover. It didn't bear the barcode and plastic tape of library books, so I guessed she owned it. The spine looked worn, as if she had read the book many times. I sat back, surprised about her choice of literature. I took her for a _Pride and Prejudice_ type, or maybe one of those obsessed with the current vampire trend. Perhaps she had to read the book for school.

When I disembarked the great yellow wannabe Twinkie, Cassidy and Sandy were waiting for me.

"Cass told me about the cows," Sandy said. She laughed, showing braces banded with the school's colors of black and yellow. The combination made her teeth look like they were rotting.

"I'm sure she did," I replied. I rolled my eyes, and Cassidy grinned.

The girl from the bus walked by with the book still held in front of her. She magically managed to miss the railing that split the school's cement stairs in two and drifted up them, oblivious to the world around her.

"Who's that?" I asked before I could second-guess my question.

Cassidy followed my gaze. "Madelyn West? She's our neighbor."

She looked back at me curiously and I replied as smoothly as I could, "I wanted to ask her about the book she was reading."

"You don't seem the bookish type," Sandy said. I knew I didn't imagine the wistful hint to her tone.

"I doubt you've ever opened a book," Cassidy agreed. She lowered her eyebrows in mock suspicion.

I swung my backpack over my shoulder. "I've opened a book, Cass. The phone book."

Sandy laughed as if my lame statement was the funniest thing she had ever heard. Cassidy pushed her shoulder. "No one uses the phone book anymore," she said. She set her cell phone to silent and shoved it in her pocket. "That's antiquated."

"Oh, look who's using big words," I replied.

She shot me a look. "That's what happens when you open books. You use . . ." She paused, her brows pinched as she concentrated. "Gargantuan words." She gave me a look of triumph.

"Was that the biggest one you could think of?" I asked.

She stuck her tongue out and hurried into school with Sandy.

I paused at my locker and managed to open it after the second try. I tossed my backpack inside, grabbed a notebook and my English textbook, then shut it in time to see students running down the hall.

"Hurry, we'll miss it," a boy said to a girl as they rushed past.

Curious, I followed them down the hall to join the mass of students at the end. I pushed my way through and found Magnum and his thugs picking on two scrawny students who looked like they belonged in biology instead of on the receiving end of Magnum's fist. He slugged one of the boys again, breaking the kid's glasses, then shoved him in a locker. The second boy followed closely behind.

"Doubt the newbies'll mess with the Bullets," a girl nearby said to her friend. "Of course, they didn't look the type to bother Magnum anyway."

"Everyone bothers Magnum," the other girl replied.

They both looked up suddenly, as if afraid they would be overheard. Magnum and the Bullets were too busy laughing about their triumph to notice. I felt a brief impulse to drive a fist into Magnum's stomach the way he had to me in the lunchroom, take him down with an elbow in his back, twist his arm so the bones locked and any movement meant pain, then make him apologize to the kids in the lockers.

I envisioned the movements I had trained hard to make fluid and natural. The technique would be a bit more brutish than my usual style, but I didn't mind taking a page from Magnum's book. I might even add a few of his groupies to the mix.

It took me a moment to realize I gripped my notebook and English book so hard that my knuckles were white. I remembered my promise to Cassidy and willed my muscles to relax. Students began to drift away now that the excitement was over. Magnum left with five guys trailing behind.

The will to fight against injustice thrummed through my veins with a ferocity that surprised me. I was never one to stand up for weaklings, but I had also never seen so many people just watch while one of their own was tormented. It rang discordant in my heart. Zoey would never have allowed such a thing. I closed my eyes and willed the ache in my heart to go away.

When I opened my eyes again, the hall was empty. A quiet tap sounded within one of the lockers. "Hello?"

I let out a loud breath and opened both lockers. The boys squinted at the light, then stepped out shakily.

"Thanks," one croaked out.

"At least he forgot the wedgies," the other said.

"You mean he's done this before?" I asked.

The first boy nodded. "He does every year. He forgets we're not new."

I wanted to hit something. The locker the first boy just vacated made an easy target. I slammed my fist into it before asking myself if it was a good idea. The thin metal dented so the locker didn't close properly.

The two boys stared at me with matching looks of surprise and a hint of fear. I wasn't built like Magnum—a bulldozer with guns who looked as if steroid use was probable—but I wasn't a pushover, either. I lifted weights and had been captain of the Mixed Martial Arts Club at my last high school.

I knew Magnum targeted me in front of everyone in the lunchroom because he wanted to ensure I wouldn't be trouble. What I couldn't decide was if folding had been a good idea. Maybe the students I freed wouldn't have spent time in the lockers if I had stood up for myself—then I remembered the teacher with the clipboard in the lunchroom. It was one thing if students didn't stop a fight; it was another when the teachers looked the other way. If Magnum's gang had the school under wraps, I might have been suspended. Who knows what Uncle Rick would make me do with a few free days on the farm?

I glanced at the dent in the locker door, then at the two boys who looked fairly close to my age. "You guys juniors?"

They both nodded.

"What are your names?"

"I'm Sam and this is Jared," the first boy said.

"The Bullets beat up kids like this every year?"

They nodded again and Jared gulped noisily. "I, uh, they like to remind everyone that they're in charge."

"Why are they in charge?"

The students looked at each other as if debating whether I was crazy. I smoothed the crumpled sheets of my notebook. "Look, I just don't like bullies, that's all." I indicated the locker. "Sorry if I scared you. I don't understand how that gang can have so much power over this school."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "It's not only the school," he said. At my look, he rushed on. "They own the town. Sparrow answers to the Bullets."

I looked from one to the other incredulously. Jared nodded in affirmation of Sam's words. The bell rang. I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to clear my frustration.

"We'd better get to class," Sam said. I nodded and they both started down the hall, then Sam paused. "If you. . ." He swallowed, then smiled weakly when I nodded for him to continue. "If you could do that," he pointed to the dented locker, "to the Bullets, perhaps this town wouldn't be so scared of them."

He disappeared around the corner with Jared close behind. I stared after them for several seconds until the second bell rang and I realized I was late. I took off running in the other direction, my crumpled notebook in one hand and the English book the other.

Chapter Four

A ROAR OF MOTORCYCLES filled the air as we lined up for the bus after school. The sound sent a rush of longing through me as Magnum and the Bullets rode around the corner. I counted thirteen motorcycles—a mixture of cruisers, a few street-converted dirt bikes, and two bullet bikes. The sound of their engines combined was enough to make me want to leave Sparrow and go back to California, where my CBR waited beneath a piece of canvas.

The Bullets circled the school once as if to remind the students and teachers who owned them. Then they drove down the road in a tight V formation instead of staggered like most bikers did. A few other students rode motorcycles home, but they were single or in pairs. It was obvious Magnum made sure their dominance was well noted within the town. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and climbed onto the smelly bus. I fell on the backseat and resigned myself to another boring ride.

Madelyn didn't ride the bus home. I told myself I only thought of her because she was a tiny bit interesting in a ride made duller by gray rain clouds that hung low over the town. I had never been a person to complain that gloomy skies made me melancholy, but it was hard to stay positive at the sight of fields overhung with heavy clouds. Plus, seeing Magnum's bikers made the pain of being away from home extra sharp.

Cassidy called Sandy again the instant her feet hit the road, and the boys took off running. I followed slowly until Uncle Rick rang the bell, then I jogged with Cassidy to the house. I grabbed an apple for myself off the counter and waited with the rest of them out back for my orders.

Uncle Rick sent Jaren and Cole to burn ditches. Giving a ten- and twelve-year-old access to fire sounded like a bad idea no matter how contained it was, but Uncle Rick said the oncoming downpour reduced the risk of it rushing out of control. Cassidy was sent to the Ram to haul hay again, but when I followed her, Uncle Rick called me back.

"I'm sorry I dumped the hay," I said when I reached him. "I'll drive slower this time."

Uncle Rick took off his cowboy hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. I didn't know people still used handkerchiefs. "Son, you cost us two hours of work pitching the spilled hay into the truck, and I also had to feed some of my best crop to beef cattle."

I didn't see the problem besides the two hours part. It must have shown on my face because Uncle Rick rolled his eyes. "We're selling the cattle in the spring. We save the best hay to fatten them up before we sell them." At my blank look, he let out a breath. "I got you a job with Jagger at the junkyard. He's gettin' old and can use the help."

I stared at him. "You got me a job at a dump?"

"A junkyard. It's where they throw broken cars and stuff." He waved a hand toward Cassidy's truck as she drove away. "I don't have time to train you, and I've got enough help with my kids and the Crosbys. This way, you can earn a bit of money and help my brother." He sighed and chuckled as though at an inside joke. "Actually, he's my half brother. Used to live further south, but moved here when I mentioned the junkyard was up for sale. He's an ornery old cuss, but he's kin. It's a good job."

I had an opinion about that, but I refrained from stating it. My ankle still smarted from the cow and I couldn't deny the fact that I had dumped the hay. "How do I get there?" I asked quietly.

"I'll drop you off on my way to the Quonset. Cass'll pick you up later tonight when you're done."

I nodded without a word and climbed into the cab of his blue truck. It took a minute of searching, but I found the other end of the seat belt and buckled it. Uncle Rick climbed in and gave me a strange glance, then started the engine. The black-and-white dog jumped into the bed of the truck like he had the day before, reminding me that for some reason, everyone rode in the back of trucks in the country instead of the perfectly suitable passenger seat. I slumped and stared out the window, sure I was never going to figure this place out.

Uncle Rick drove a few miles out of his way to drop me off in the middle of what looked like every car and tractor part imaginable strung out along a field. Piles taller than Uncle Rick's tractor surrounded the field. As we drove through, I saw half a Corvette in one stack and spotted the other half crunched almost beyond recognition near a pile of tires that had been faded by the sun.

Uncle Rick stopped near a small wooden shack in the middle of the lot. "Enjoy," he said as if he would be the one enjoying the fact that I worked at the junkyard.

I mumbled "Thank you" and climbed out. The dog in the back hesitated for a moment as if debating whether to follow me, then Uncle Rick turned the truck and the dog settled again in the middle of the bed.

I watched them leave and listened to the truck after it rounded the final pile of debris and disappeared from view. The door of the wooden shack swung open with a creak of protest. A loud crack sounded, followed by a puff of dirt at my feet. My breath caught in my throat and I jumped, turning to see who was firing at me.

A portly man with sparse gray hair and a long beard laughed. He held a rifle in the crook of his elbow and leaned heavily on a cane. "Tat's ta funniest thing I've seen all day," he said, chuckling. He indicated the junkyard. "And as ya can tell, ta comedy's rich here."

I didn't know how to respond to a crazy man with a gun. He must have guessed my apprehension because he turned the gun so I could see a strange canister on top of it. "Air-powered paintball gun. Sheriff don't let me walk 'round armed since the Taylor kid broke in and I almost shot 'im." He winked. "'Course, that's what guns're for, right?"

"I thought so," I replied cautiously.

He grinned. "Right ya are." He motioned me forward. I complied, against my better judgment. He squinted when I reached the single stair to the shack's slanted porch. "You the boy Rick called me 'bout?" He scratched the few strands of hair on his forehead. "'Course, I don' know why else you'd be here, 'less you like bein' shot with paintballs."

I shook my head. "Not my favorite thing."

He grinned, showing a few very crooked teeth. "Not mine either. We 'ave somethin' in common."

I glanced around at the junkyard. "Sir, if I may ask, why do you need me here?"

His grin widened. "You'd better call me Jagger. Too many 'sirs' and I might start takin' airs. Ain't nobody need that." He stepped down from the porch, using the cane I now noticed was a crowbar. He hefted it to indicate the yard. "If'n you haven't noticed, this place is a dump." His eyes twinkled. "It's time ta get organized."

I looked around in disbelief. "You want to organize the junkyard?"

He shook his head. " _You_ want ta organize the junkyard. It's what I'm payin' ya for."

I made a mental note to thank Uncle Rick for finding me a job worse than farming.

"You can start 'round back. Beware of Mick. He doesn't take kindly ta strangers in his junkyard."

I took a step forward, then turned. "Is Mick a dog?" At the man's nod and expectant expression, I took the bait. "And your name is Jagger?" He grinned. "Nice," I replied. I walked around the back of the shack, convinced I had stepped into some sort of twisted dimension when I entered Sparrow.

***

THE FIRST THING I saw was a huge doghouse that occupied a corner of the tiny yard of scant crabgrass behind the shack. A form stirred inside. I couldn't imagine what kind of beast needed a house that big, but I wasn't excited to find out. There was no chain that I could see keeping the dog from attacking me. I heard claws on wood and braced myself.

A form flew from the doghouse and charged my ankles. I backed up in surprise at the tiny Chihuahua who snapped at my shins as though he truly meant to tear out my throat if only he could reach it. I laughed, which angered the tiny dog even more. He gave a series of yips that would probably terrify a squirrel, but only increased my relief that I faced a rat instead of a Hound of the Baskervilles.

"Get in 'ere," Jagger called from the back door.

I thought he meant me, but Mick immediately trotted up to the shack. Jagger grinned. "I 'ope he didn't scare ya."

"Only until I saw him," I replied.

He gave me a salute and shut the door again with Mick inside.

I shook my head and began my self-guided tour of the junkyard, sure I would come to know every inch of it if Uncle Rick had his wish.

***

I HAD ALMOST MADE a full circuit of the debris when a tire caught my attention. It was upright, and closer inspection revealed a fender and a muffler. I pulled off a moth-eaten tarp to expose an ER-6n. Dirt coated the red paint and the chrome was tarnished, but the motorcycle was the most intact vehicle I had seen in the junkyard besides a unicycle on one of the piles.

I almost sat on it just to remind myself how it felt. The call of the wind past my helmet and the power a twist of the throttle could summon almost made looking at the junked-out motorcycle unbearable. I threw the tarp back over it and found my way to the shack. A knock at the door sent Mick barking in a fury. When Jagger answered, it was obvious I had awakened him.

"Yeah, what's up?" he asked, rubbing his eyes blearily.

"I was just wondering where you wanted me to start."

He waved a hand in the general direction of the junkyard. "Out there."

I waited, certain he would explain, but he didn't. When I continued to stand on the porch, Jagger's forehead creased and his eyes almost disappeared in his hearty face as he thought. He finally nodded as though he had come to a great conclusion. "The tires."

"You want me to start with the tires?"

He nodded. "It's as good a place as any, I s'pose."

I sighed. "I suppose so."

He tossed me a pair of gloves. Mice had eaten through two of the fingers. "Watch out for spiders. Black widows love tires."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, trying to sound civil.

He gave a half-hearted salute and shut the door again. I studied the junkyard with the knowledge that I was being employed to do busy work that would keep me out of Uncle Rick's way. Fine. If I was supposed to organize tires, I would organize tires. I crossed the yard and got to work.

Chapter Five

THE NEXT DAY, MADELYN wasn't on the bus again. I slumped against the window and shut my eyes in an effort to forget my second failed attempt at milking. Of course, given both attempts the day before might make this the third. Barbecue not only kicked the bucket over again even though I made sure my hands weren't cold when I tried to milk her, but she swatted me in the face with her tail that was covered in a substance I didn't want to think about. I spent an extra twenty minutes in the bathroom scrubbing while Cole sat outside the door and laughed.

English class went quickly because the book we were reading, _Farenheit 451_ , was one that had intrigued me at my other school. The thought of firefighters of the future burning books and suppressing the freedom of thought by wiping out old ideas was fascinating. I didn't know if it was my current dislike for authority or the thought that the dissenters were the ones who actually held the truth that kept my attention, but at least the class went by quickly.

When the bell rang, I followed the throng toward second period music history. Mrs. Franklin had just begun describing Johann Sebastian Bach's influence on future composers when the intercom buzzed.

"Mrs. Franklin?"

The teacher paused with her red dry-erase marker held in the air. "Yes, Ms. Narrow?"

"Please send Kelson Brady to the office." All eyes turned to me. I gave an inward sigh.

"Will do; thank you, Ms. Narrow." Mrs. Franklin turned to me. "Take your books, Mr. Brady. That way, you'll have them if you aren't able to return."

I grabbed my notebook and worn history of music text that had a big treble clef on the front someone had colored red and turned into a cartoon devil. Mrs. Franklin had apologized when she gave it to me, but apparently it was the last textbook not being used. Inside, I found several drawings that demonstrated the talent of the artist, if not his or her maturity level.

A very round woman in a pink suit and cat-eye glasses smiled cheerily at me when I entered the office. Her name tag proudly proclaimed her to be "Ms. Narrow," complete with a smiley face sticker.

"I'm Kelson Brady," I told her.

She nodded. "Of course. Principal Dawson is expecting you."

Her words gave me the first shred of concern. I had been to the principal's office a few times at my past school, but I always knew the reason. I walked slowly down the hall to the office she indicated.

A man in a sleek black suit with a red politician tie sat behind a tidy desk with a small statue of a bulldog at one corner. He was making notes in a file I was surprised to find had my name on it. I tapped on the open door. "Uh, Principal Dawson?"

He looked up, then glanced down at the younger picture of me taped to the file. He rose from his desk with a smile and a hand out. "Mr. Brady, I presume?"

I nodded and shook his hand. He indicated that I should sit at one of the two straight-backed brown chairs facing his desk. I took the one closest to the door.

He sat back down and smoothed his tie. The man didn't look like my last principal. Principal Sanders had the harassed appearance of a man who started each day with the knowledge that he would be handling delinquents and drop-outs during school hours, then spend the evenings calling mothers and questioning if they knew their children had been spray-painting cars instead of going to school.

Principal Dawson, on the other hand, looked like a nominee for National Principal of the Year. His graying hair was combed to hide only the slightest hint of baldness, his upper lip bore a mustache even Tom Selleck would have been envious of, his suit looked like it was pressed every day, the two pens on his desk were perfectly parallel, and he leaned back in his chair with just the right air of authority and friendliness dictated for a proper principal/student relationship.

"It's always a pleasure to welcome a new student to our school," he said.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "It's an interesting school," I said noncommittally.

He nodded as if that was to be expected. He glanced down at my file. "My only concern is that you transferred mid-semester." He looked at me. "I've been reviewing your marks from your previous school. Did someone there help with your work?"

A fist gripped my heart. I nodded and forced my face to be expressionless. "My sister."

Mr. Dawson picked up the file and began flipping through it. "She didn't move with you?"

My stomach hurt. I swallowed the knot in my throat and lied. "She stayed in California with my mom."

He nodded, and a slight frown crossed his face. "Your grades are passable, but barely. I suggest that you work extra hard on your studies so you aren't required to participate in summer school to graduate."

I tried to keep the anger out of my voice when I replied, "Yes, sir."

He looked up at me for a moment, then smiled. "Welcome to Sparrow High School, Kelson. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I rose and mumbled "Thank you," then stalked from the office.

"Have a great day," Ms. Narrow called after me.

I lifted my hand in a half-hearted wave, but didn't look back. My face burned and I clenched my fingers around my school books so I wouldn't ball them into fists. I needed to hit something. I hated Sparrow, I hated farming, I hated the junkyard, and I hated being so far from California and my motorcycle. Most of all, I hated being away from anyone who cared the least bit about me.

The little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that there weren't many of those left.

I was about to punch a locker in reply when arguing voices broke through my train of thought. I paused by a double set of doors in the middle of the school.

"I don't think that's really necessary, do you?" a woman's voice protested.

"I don't think drama's really necessary, do you?" came the reply. I recognized the voice immediately. Magnum's drawl was echoed by several laughs.

The sound of metal on wood followed.

"Mr. Fisher, I don't think this is a good use of your time."

"Call me Magnum," he replied with true anger in his voice.

I opened the door to find a small auditorium complete with about twenty rows of tiered seating and a stage at the bottom. Magnum and several of the Bullets were in the middle of ruining a set for a play. Magnum had a can of blue paint and was drizzling it over an armchair that had been turned into a throne.

The teacher, a small woman with short black hair and glasses, clutched a stack of papers to her chest and watched him, her face pale and eyes wide. About ten other students stood around in overalls and T-shirts. I guessed Magnum's gang had interrupted them as they were painting the set. They looked frustrated at the gang's destruction of their work, but knew better than to interfere.

"I'm sorry, Magnum," the teacher replied hastily. "It's just that my students have worked hard on these sets, and—"

"Since when can students paint for school credit?" Magnum cut her off. "In that case, we should all get about three or four." He laughed and tipped the can of paint upside down on the chair.

"Credits?" the teacher asked in a voice that shook slightly. The fear in her tone sent a tremor of rage down my limbs.

"Of course," Magnum replied. He turned to the other members of his gang. "I feel we can do about four credits' worth of painting here, don't you?"

At his prompting, several other Bullets picked up cans of paint and began splashing them on the students and sets.

"Magnum, that's enough!" the teacher protested.

I wanted to help her. I was tired of seeing bullies walk all over people. It was enough to watch him shove Sam and Jared into lockers, but to see him bullying teachers, too? I wanted to stop him, but if Cassidy was right and he recognized me, the Ashbys would be in trouble.

I glanced around and spotted a series of switches on the wall by the door. I pulled them down and grinned when the entire auditorium flooded in shadows.

"What the?"

"Who turned off the lights?"

"Mauser, watch out with that paint can," Magnum growled.

"I don't have a paint can," the boy replied.

An emergency light flickered in the back, lighting the area in gray shadows. I ran down the stairs and was on the stage before anyone could move. I yanked a can of paint from one boy and poured it on Magnum. He let out an angry yell and swiped his arms through the darkness. I ducked and slugged him in the stomach, then elbowed him in the back when he bent over in pain.

I grabbed another boy's arm, then spun and ducked, pulling him across my back so he fell on top of Magnum. An emergency light flickered on near the curtains. It wasn't bright enough for them to see my face, but enough to alert them that they were under attack. Luckily, the drama team was smart enough to cower near the back of the stage; only Magnum's gang stood like deer in headlights as they tried to figure out what was going on. Uncle Rick would be proud of the wilderness analogy; I wondered what he would think about me fighting.

One of the Bullets picked up an aluminum extension rod and swung it at my head. I ducked, then caught the backswing under my arm and yanked the rod forward. He slammed into my waiting fist and fell to the floor, holding his nose.

I spun with the rod and swept two more boys' legs out from under them. A girl let out a yell and charged across the stage toward me. I blocked her raised hammer with my forearm, then tore it from her grasp and turned her with a carefully levered sweep of a foot so she fell onto the growing pile of gang members.

"Get him, Saw," one burly boy growled to another.

"Got it," the other boy replied. He cracked his knuckles, and I rolled my eyes. They really should have been on the drama team.

Both boys charged at the same time. I dodged to the left and spun low to sweep the legs out from under the first boy. The second grabbed me in a bear hug from behind. I bent my knees to loosen his hold, then head-butted backwards. He let out a yell when his lips were smashed by the back of my head. I elbowed him in the stomach, followed by the groin, then swept around with my right foot and tripped him.

Saw made it back to his feet. He looked at his friend on the ground and his eyes widened, then narrowed. "You'll pay for that," he said. A form rose by his side. A detached part of me noted that it was Magnum; by the anger glinting in his eyes, he was out for blood. At least two sets of footsteps crossed the stage floor behind me. I was surrounded.

I took in a slow breath. My heart pounded, but it was from adrenaline, not fear. I might have been outnumbered, but I was in my element. Being captain of the Mixed Martial Arts Club didn't come without its hurdles. There were just a few more hurdles here than I was used to facing alone.

I let out the breath and turned to avoid Magnum's first punch. I grabbed his fist and used his momentum to throw him into a Bullet behind me. A haymaker caught me in the back of my head as I turned, but it was a glancing blow. I spun and slugged the boy in the chest so hard that he staggered back into a panel of wood painted to look like a wall. I blocked a blow with my elbow, then chopped a boy in the throat. The blow wasn't hard enough to crush his Adam's apple, but it left him gasping and out of the fight.

A fist caught me in the ribs. I kicked as I turned and caught the assailant along the back. He fell forward into a girl with spikey hair and sent them both sprawling. Magnum charged at me with a hammer in one hand and a knife in the other. The glint of the blade in the emergency lighting reflected the anger on his face. Apparently he wasn't used to being beaten.

He swung with the hammer first. I jumped back and felt it brush past my T-shirt. He swung again, but I was faster and kept just out of reach. Outraged, Magnum threw the knife. It spun with deadly momentum straight for my head. I ducked and felt it graze the top of my unruly hair before it stuck in the wall behind me.

I stepped in and landed two quick, hard punches to his chest, followed by a haymaker to the jaw and then the stomach. When he bent over, I kneed him in the face and he fell to the ground.

I stared at him, my chest heaving as I fought for breath. He let out a groan. The rest of the Bullets stood or sprawled in various stages of pain. The drama team still huddled near the wall with their teacher in front, a brave little lady who tried to stand up for her class but had been bullied by a student who owed her his respect, not his disdain.

On impulse, I picked up a can of bright yellow paint and poured it over Magnum. The action was petty and childish, but I couldn't help the flicker of amusement I felt at painting him the color of a coward. I tossed the can to the ground and walked away. No one in the auditorium moved as I made my way up the rows of chairs to my books, then ducked out the door.

I grinned all the way back to music history. Fighting Magnum's gang was perhaps the stupidest thing I had ever done, but it felt so good to take a stand for once that I didn't care. I paused at a trophy case and checked my reflection to make sure I didn't have paint on my face, then slipped into Mrs. Franklin's class. She had her back to the students as she wrote "pinnacle of Baroque style" across the board.

I took my seat in the back of the class and set my notebook and textbook on the desk. The notebook was a crumpled mess. I smoothed it out with the thought that if the day kept up the same way, I was going to need a notebook fund.

"Psst," someone to my right whispered.

I turned to see Madelyn sitting in the desk next to mine. She held out a white square of cloth. Really? Two handkerchiefs in two days? Sparrow must have the corner on the market.

"What's this for?" I whispered back.

"Your knuckles," she replied. She gave my left hand a bland look. "They're bleeding."

Startled, I looked at my hand. Sure enough, the knuckles were torn and red. I quickly wrapped the handkerchief around my hand and glanced up to see if Mrs. Franklin had noticed. "I'd better Google this to make sure I spelled it right," she muttered mostly to herself as she pulled out her cell phone, looking suspiciously at the name "Giovanni Battista Sammartini" she had written on the board.

I turned back to thank Madelyn, but she was copying down notes and didn't appear to notice me anymore. I wondered how someone could be so nonchalant about a bleeding hand—then I noticed the discolored circle around her eye. She had applied makeup to cover it and did a fair job, which made me wonder if she had done it before. Perhaps violence wasn't so foreign to Madelyn.

I turned back to copying notes. Principal Dawson's words hung over my head. I was determined to graduate and not spend my summer retaking classes. My knuckles ached, but it was nothing compared to the laughter that rose in my throat when I thought of the fight. Maybe Magnum would change his gang colors to yellow, if they had gang colors. I wasn't sure they were up to such high standards.

The intercom toned again just before the end of class. This time, three short beeps indicated that the message was for the whole school, not just our class. Ms. Narrow's voice was slightly less peppy as she said, "If there is anyone with information pertaining to a fight and vandalism of the small auditorium, the information is vital in apprehending those responsible. Consider it your duty as Bulldogs to stand up for your school and see that the guilty party is punished for their behavior. That is all."

I glanced at Madelyn. She was reading her history of music text and appeared not to have heard the message. I let out a breath of relief and stood when the bell rang. I tried to thank her again for the handkerchief, but she was out the door before I even had my books gathered.

Chapter Six

CASSIDY DROPPED ME OFF at the junkyard before she returned home to help patch a hole in the barn roof that had leaked during last night's storm. I crossed the lot to the pile of tires I had gathered from the numerous mounds around the lot and began sorting them. Jagger came out a while later with Mick at his heels. The little dog apparently accepted the fact that I was going to be around for a while because he barked twice, then sat on the porch step and glared as if to tell me that I wasn't to go beyond that point.

"You definitely organized those tires," Jagger said with a hint of surprise.

I looked back at the stacks arranged by size and what was left of their tread. A small glimmer of pride rose in my chest at the thought that I had exceeded his expectations.

"But I'd rather 'ave the stacks over by the entrance so's we can start a perimeter fence. Can't have thieves thinkin' they can 'ave whatever they fancy."

The glimmer of pride vanished. My shoulders ached from carrying the tires the day before. I smothered a groan of protest at the thought of hauling them across the lot. I pulled off a glove and rubbed the back of my neck. "Jagger, what's with the Kawasaki bike you've got back there?"

"You mean the red one?" I nodded, and he smoothed his beard with one hand. "She's a beaut, that one. Sheriff Bowley brought her in a few years back after some sort a drug bust. I tried ta keep her in good condition, but it's been a long time since I've looked under the tarp."

He gave me a sideways glance. "You know, Keldon—"

"Kelson," I corrected.

"Right, Kelson." He cleared his throat. "Junkyardin' isn't exactly a lucrative business."

"You don't say," I replied. I glanced around meaningfully in the search of the desperate hordes of customers waiting to purchase abandoned car parts.

He chuckled. "That tongue a yours is gonna get you in trouble someday."

I nodded. "I think someday is sooner rather than later."

He grinned. "Anyway, you cheeky sot, what I was tryin' to say was I don't know how much my brother said you'd be paid, but I doubt I've enough to cover it 'less I can interest you in a radiator for a 1986 Merkur." He raised his eyebrows up and down enticingly.

I shook my head. "Never heard of it."

He let out a snort. "Very rare. You don't know what you're missin'."

I shrugged.

His eyes twinkled. "That leads me to the motorcycle."

My heart slowed. "You mean . . ."

He nodded. "I can't pay ya in cash, but I'll give you the bike if ya keep working this 'ard."

The offer was very tempting. "What about the sheriff?"

"Huh?" Jagger looked confused.

"Won't he recognize the bike?"

He shook his head. "That was years ago, and you could give et a new paint job. I'm sure I 'ave a few cans 'round 'ere somewhere." His eyes lit up. "You could organize those, too."

I put up my hands. "All right, all right. One thing at a time. The tires are going to take me a century to move again."

Jagger pursed his lips as if holding in a laugh. "You mean you carried them all over 'ere?"

I scowled at him. "Was there a better way?"

He pulled a key out of his pocket and tossed it at me. "All you have ta do is ask."

I caught it and followed him to the side of the shack where a small lean-to had been built out of two-by-four scraps. He pulled the door open to reveal a shiny green four-wheeler. At my look, he shrugged. "City fundin'." He went back to the house with a chuckle. Mick gave me one more warning bark, then followed him inside.

***

I WASHED THE HANDKERCHIEF in the sink four times that night, but couldn't quite get the faint blood stain out of the white cloth. I finally gave up and hung it up to dry. I was grateful no one at the Ashby house noticed my swollen knuckles. It wouldn't do for them to find out I was fighting. They would probably send me back to California.

I sat at the far end of the oblong kitchen table and listened to the farm talk at dinner.

"Good job on the roof, Cass. It should hold up for a few more storms at any rate," Uncle Rick said. Cassidy beamed at the compliment while I wondered about a place where girls were raised knowing how to repair barn leaks. Uncle Rick turned his attention to Jaren and Cole. "Irrigatin' starts tonight. I'll be at Ben's, so it's your job. His Arab mare's ready to foal and she always has trouble."

"I'll take the first shift," Jaren said.

"No, I've got it. You got it last time," Cole replied. He threw a roll at his brother. It hit Jaren in the forehead, then landed in his mashed potatoes with a splat that sent gravy onto Aunt Lauren's plate.

"Now, boys, you'll take turns. I know nobody likes the early morning changeover, but it's got to be done," she said as she mopped up the gravy with her own roll and then took a bite.

"Jaren, you've got the one o'clock. Cole, set your alarm to four." Uncle Rick glanced at me, then away.

"How's your job at the junkyard?" Cassidy asked, oblivious of her father's frustration over my apparent uselessness.

"Good," I replied shortly. "Organizing tires."

Uncle Rick let out a laugh that he tried to turn into a cough.

"Tires are nice," Cassidy replied innocently. "I'm glad you're helping Uncle Jagger out. He's getting old."

This time Uncle Rick choked for real. "Old?" he sputtered. "He's only got three years on me!"

Cole laughed and Jaren cracked a smile. Aunt Lauren patted Uncle Rick's arm. "Now. honey, she didn't mean it like that. You know Jagger can use the help."

"He doesn't do anything," Uncle Rick muttered. He shot me a look, then proceeded to smother his steak with steak sauce.

I finished eating and helped Cassidy with the dishes, then retreated to the living room. The fire danced in the fireplace, casting shadows on the opposite wall that looked like demons reveling in the glory of night. I listened to the family finish their nightly routine and turn in. There were hugs, wishes for a good night's sleep, and laughter when someone tripped in the bathroom. A warm silence settled over the house, broken only by the quietly crackling fire and the occasional bark of a dog at the next farm.

My heart ached at all that was missing in my life. I longed for someone to care enough to wish me goodnight. It wasn't that the Ashbys didn't care about me; it's just that I didn't fit into their routine and the simple actions that made them a family. I was an outsider, tolerated because my mom was Aunt Lauren's sister. They weren't cruel; it was just easier to pretend the problem didn't exist than to address it directly. I wondered how long I had before they asked me to leave.

***

I TOSSED AND TURNED until midnight, then gave up trying to sleep. One could only count so many sheep or relive a fight so many times before it got old. Even the thought of Magnum painted yellow failed to chase away the melancholy that filled me. I pulled on a shirt and tried not to glance at the blank face of my cell phone on the end table. Talk about adding insult to injury.

I stormed out of the house and into the cool night. For the first time, the brush of the breeze against my face and the smell of alfalfa from miles around were reassuring in their simplicity. I took a deep breath and started walking. A few seconds later, the black-and-white dog fell in behind me. I wondered if he had trouble sleeping too.

I didn't realize where I was headed until the house loomed out of the darkness. Three of the windows were still lit, casting the tree in dark shadows. I leaned against it and the dog settled near my feet. Madelyn's dog barked at us for a few minutes, then eventually grew bored and gave up.

"See anything interesting?"

I jumped half a foot and hit my head on one of the branches. Madelyn let out a small laugh, then covered her mouth and watched me almost solemnly from the other side of the tree. I rubbed my head and gave her an embarrassed look. "I wasn't trying to spy."

"Most people stare into windows at night innocently," she replied. "Especially after walking almost a mile to reach the aforementioned house."

I couldn't tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. I stuck out my hand. "Hi, I'm your creepy new neighbor."

She laughed, then put a hand to her cheek as if it hurt.

A sudden surge of protectiveness welled up in me. I had never felt such a need to take care of someone. The feeling surprised me. Zoey was the caretaker of our family, not me. Before I knew what I was doing, I had brushed the hair from her cheek and held my palm to her soft skin. "Who hit you?" I asked quietly.

She looked as caught off guard by my actions as I felt. Her body tensed as though she didn't know whether to run away or stay. I had the distinct impression that she was seldom touched without pain.

I dropped my hand and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," she replied almost too softly for me to hear.

"It's not," I said.

She laughed, a quick, light sound. "I'll survive, Kelson."

My heart did a funny little flip when she said my name. I didn't know she knew it. I suddenly remembered the handkerchief and pulled it out of my pocket. "Here—I tried to clean it the best I could. It might be stained. Sorry."

She took it with a little smile. "I'll bleach it; no problem." Her dog gave a bark from across the lawn.

Something dawned on me. "Hey, why didn't my dog bark at you when you snuck up on me?"

She crouched and patted the dog's head. "First of all, you were the one doing the sneaking, if I remember correctly." She was right, so I didn't argue. "Second of all, Jake knows me. We're longtime friends."

"So guard dogs only guard against strangers? That's a flaw in their system."

She shook her head, and her long brown hair tangled in a branch. "Jake's not a guard dog. He's a Border Collie, which is a herding dog."

I untangled her hair. "What does he herd?"

She stood up. "Thanks. He herds cattle."

I gave the dog a skeptical look. "He's a tenth the size of Uncle Rick's cows."

"You don't believe me?"

I shook my head mostly to give her a hard time.

She grinned and jogged across the yard.

"Where are you going?" I called, surprised.

She unchained her dog. Buck darted toward us. Just when I was convinced she had sicced him on me to show me that herding dogs really could be guard dogs, Jake ran forward and they pranced around like old friends.

"Come on," Madelyn called.

She stood near the edge of the yard. I jogged across the grass and the dogs followed close behind. Buck licked at my hands when I stopped. I shoved them in my pockets.

Madelyn's eyebrows drew together. "What's wrong? Don't like dogs?"

"I'm not exactly an animal person," I replied uncomfortably.

"Jake doesn't agree," she said. She pointed to the dog that now leaned casually against my leg.

I took a step back and he stood up.

Madelyn started jogging again. "Pick up your feet," she called over her shoulder.

I blew out a breath of frustration at her confusing actions. Buck took off after her and Jake pranced around me like he wanted to herd me to follow them. "Fine," I told the dog. "But only because there's nothing else to do out here."

I ran after her, and when I caught up, I huffed, "I'm not much of a runner."

"Good thing we're just jogging then," she said with a laugh.

I shook my head and she smiled. She didn't look the least bit tired, and I was already winded. It was one thing to train for MMA. It was another to haul tires all evening, even with a four-wheeler, and then go jogging at midnight along a dirt road with a near stranger and two dogs who acted as if a nightly jaunt was the perfect activity. I decided my best defense was to keep quiet and reserve my strength for the run.

Madelyn took a trail between two fields, then dipped down a wash. We followed the dry creek bed west until the sandy ground began to show signs of moisture. Madelyn ran back up the bank and we jogged through a small stand of scruffy trees. I was extremely grateful when she slowed to a walk. I tried not to gasp for air, but my lungs were screaming and my ribs were upset at the few stray punches I had taken in the auditorium.

The dogs stayed behind us as if they had traveled this path often and knew what was expected of them. "Hold on," Madelyn said. She peered through the last stand of short, twisted trees, then a smile spread across her face.

It wasn't the small, practiced smile she used at school or when we talked outside her house. This smile made her face glow like the light that shone down from the stars and the sliver of the moon that lit our path. It made the gold of her hazel eyes alive and bright and softened the curve of her jaw, which I realized she usually clenched—something I could relate to. With the smile on her face, her hair free and catching in the night breeze, and the gentle moonlight playing along her skin, I realized she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

"Do you want to see them?" she asked as if she had said the question already and was repeating herself.

I blinked and tried to bring some sanity back to my thoughts. "Uh, yes. Definitely."

She backed away from the bushes and I took her place. I was nervous about what I would find. I was sure she had explained it, but in my sudden lapse of focus, I had missed it. I peered cautiously through the branches.

A pond sat in a wide dip beneath the trees. Larger branches reached over the water, casting shadows that swayed among the moonlight. White forms drifted gracefully across the surface. I realized they were geese, pure white geese with black beaks and long, slender necks. Hundreds of them dotted the water.

"What are they doing here?" I asked quietly.

She peered through the branches close enough to me that I could smell the vanilla scent of her hair. "They're snow geese. They land here each year during their migration. No one knows about this place, as far as I'm aware."

The thought was a sobering one. This girl beside me had a secret place, and she showed it to me for no reason I could fathom. From what I had seen, I suspected she didn't let many people close to her. The hauntingly beautiful scene before me was no doubt the destination of her night runs.

I stepped back. "Thanks for showing me."

A wistful expression filled the depths of her eyes when she looked back toward the geese. "They fly almost three thousand miles from their home. Can you imagine leaving everything you know like that?"

I nodded, and a light of understanding crossed her face. "Why did you leave California?" she asked.

I held my breath for a moment. I wanted to tell her. I really did. I just couldn't bring myself to say the words. I dropped my gaze.

She set a hand on my arm. The touch of her fingers on my bare skin made it tingle. "It's okay, Kelson. You don't have to tell me," she said gently.

I blinked and let the breath out through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry," I said, unable to meet her gaze.

Her hand slipped from my arm. My skin felt warm where she had touched it. "I understand about family secrets. Yours are safe with me."

I nodded. She leaned against me. I lifted my arm and she ducked under it. It felt so natural to stand there watching the geese with Madelyn beside me. I hadn't been much for dating back in California. We hung out in groups, but seldom broke off into couples. It was strange to find someone comfortable enough with me that we could stand and watch birds glide across the water and not have to say anything.

The first blush of orange touched the horizon when we made our way back to Madelyn's house. She waved a silent goodbye and I walked back home with Jake at my side. Something had changed inside me. I didn't know what it was, but after the events of the past few days, I didn't feel the same. When I stepped inside the Ashby house and saw no calls or messages on my phone, it didn't bother me quite as much as it had the night before. I settled down on the cot and fell into the first restful sleep I'd had in a month.

Chapter Seven

I MILKED BARBECUE SUCCESSFULLY the next morning. I made sure my hands were warm, took care not to sneeze, and kept a hand on the cow's side when I sat down so she knew I was there. Cassidy cheered when I sat back and hefted the bucket of milk. It seemed a small thing compared to the amount of frustration over the last three days, but even Uncle Rick gave a nod of approval. We ate cereal for breakfast with the milk, and I might have been biased, but it was the best cereal I had ever eaten.

I took my usual seat in the back of the bus and was watching the road when we pulled up to the next house. Madelyn climbed in. She shot me a smile as she slid into her seat, but kept her face carefully averted and pulled out a book the second she sat down.

"Psst," I whispered, trying to catch her attention.

She smiled again, but refused to look at me.

Foreboding rose in my chest. I dropped all pretenses and moved across the aisle to sit next to her. "Look at me, Madelyn."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then lowered her book and turned to face me. A bruise colored her cheekbone too dark to be hidden by her generously applied makeup. Appalled, I touched her cheek. She shied at my fingers on her skin and turned her face toward the window.

"Did your father do this?" I asked in a rough voice to hide the dismay I felt.

She didn't deny it.

"Why?"

She kept silent and I thought she wouldn't talk to me. Then she whispered, with her face still toward the window, "Because I was out too late last night."

I sat back, stunned. It was my fault. She had been hit by her father because she stayed out too late with me. Of course, he probably didn't know she had been out with a boy. I couldn't imagine what he would do if he knew that part.

"I'm sorry," I forced out. "It's my fault. You wanted to show me the geese." My final words were harder to say, "I'll stay away."

She shook her head and turned back to me. "Don't," she said. The simple word was pleading and defiant, her own quiet act of rebellion.

I hesitated, then nodded. A smile spread across her face, the secret smile she hid from the world when I wasn't around. I couldn't help but smile in return.

School was uneventful. I looked for Magnum and his gang at lunch, but they were nowhere to be seen. When I walked past the small auditorium, the drama teacher was there with her students repainting the sets. I felt bad for the big splotch of yellow on the floor, but I figured the damage would have been much worse if I had let the Bullets finish the job. At least the sets could be repainted; they weren't destroyed like Magnum had planned.

I waited for the bus afterward and was surprised to find that I was one of only a few high school students waiting for a ride home. I began to wonder if something was wrong when Cassidy jogged up with Sandy close behind.

"There you are," Cassidy said in a huff. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Nobody goes home on Thursday."

"But I need to work," I replied, confused.

She shook her head. "Even Uncle Jagger knows that Thursday afternoons are for the students. No one works on Thursdays."

"Why Thursdays?"

Cassidy shrugged. "Friday nights are for dating or evening work, and the weekend is for farming. Thursdays are the afternoons we have all to ourselves."

I was missing something. "Then what do we do?"

She and Sandy shared a conspiratorial look. "Come on; we'll show you."

They linked their arms through mine and proceeded to steer me toward the back parking lot. I realized I looked pretty silly between my cousin and her friend, but they were having so much fun that I decided to humor them. The lot was full of pickup trucks; apparently cars were a scarce commodity in farm country. It was the objects in the backs of the trucks that caught my attention.

Motorcycles of every make and size sat in the truck beds. I stared at dirt bikes, street bikes, and a few crossovers that looked as though they were the results of home upgrade jobs. Students milled around talking and laughing, but soon everyone piled into the backs of the trucks around the motorcycles.

"Where are they going?" I asked.

"Where we're going," Cassidy replied. She jumped into the bed of a green truck and motioned for me to follow. Sandy scrambled up beside her, and several other students I didn't know joined them. I glanced back in time to see Madelyn climb in a gray spray-painted truck with a bunch of other girls. They tolerated her presence, but none of them were overly enthusiastic. She seemed to echo the feeling as she leaned close to the cab and folded her arms around a book clutched to her chest.

"Get in or stay behind," the driver of Cassidy's truck yelled at me. "Make up your mind."

"Get in!" Cassidy said.

I climbed in and sat near the cab. The driver followed the trucks in front of him and soon the cavalcade headed east through town, then turned off on a sandy trail.

"There's another way," Cassidy yelled over the noisy diesel engine. "But it takes a lot longer—hence the trucks." She banged on the side of the old green truck and the driver honked in response.

The trail dipped, then rounded a corner to reveal the back side of a factory. Pipes stuck up from long, low white buildings. The wooden structures looked gutted, their wide doors pulled open and their insides empty of everything but pavement. The pipes were rusted and the wood was in desperate need of new paint; it looked as though the factory hadn't been used in years.

"What is this place?" I asked as the driver of our truck pulled in beside the many others.

"An old coal power plant. It was shut down when the natural gas plant was built in Enson."

Motorcycles were wheeled down ramps and lined up on the pavement. A thrill of excitement ran up my spine at the sight of so many bikes waiting to be ridden. Boys and girls set up chairs and broke out drinks while others brought out items to sell. Apparently several student entrepreneurs had a good business going at the factory.

"Odds on Snipe," Magnum called out from in front of the bikes. The girl with the green hair who had attacked me with a hammer in the small auditorium raised her hand to the audience. Cheers went up and I saw several hands exchange money.

Magnum yelled, "Riders ready." He raised his hands and motorcycle engines revved. I stepped closer, unable to stay away from the action. "Go!" Magnum yelled. He threw his arms down and the drivers took off.

The motorcycles gunned around the corner of the factory, then began a series of loops through the paved interior. Sections of the buildings had been cut away to give the spectators a better view of the race. White paint along the pavement marked the race track. The crowd yelled and cheered, shoving each other and betting as distances increased.

The motorcycles shot past us. "They'll do two laps," Cassidy yelled. "Then there'll be a break and the next heat will start in about ten."

"This is awesome," I said, unable to contain my enthusiasm.

She grinned. "I thought you'd like it!"

Sandy grabbed her arm. "Justin and Pete are waiting for us."

Cassidy gave me a searching look. "I'll be fine," I reassured her. "Have fun."

She shoved her phone in my hand. "Call Sandy if you get bored. She's number two on the speed dial."

Sandy pulled her arm again and both girls disappeared into the crowd. I slid the phone in my pocket and turned back to the race.

It ended a few minutes later with the green-haired girl in first. Magnum slapped her on the back and several other Bullets took cash from the crowd.

I wandered among the students. Madelyn sat with some girls in the shade of a truck. A chemistry book lay open on the pavement between them. I waved at her when I walked by, but she was busy writing something in one of the girls' notebooks and didn't notice. I found my way to the tables and moseyed among them. Several held hot dogs and chips, a variety of drinks—both alcoholic and not—home-baked cookies and cupcakes, and an assortment of candy, while a few enterprising students sold riding gloves, helmets, face shields, and full-length riding outfits.

I was admiring a black leather jacket and pants when someone bumped into me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Magnum said in an unapologetic tone. Two Bullets stood on either side of him. I fought back a smile at the sight of Magnum's bruised nose and the black eye on one of his thugs. "Admiring my gear?" he asked.

I shook my head and turned to walk away.

"Wait—stay," he said. A sudden piercing light showed in his eyes. "Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before, newbie?"

I shook my head and tried to walk away again, but he held my shoulder. "There's no time like today to try," he pressed. His boys fell in on either side of me and I had no choice but to follow him. He led me to where the next riders were preparing their bikes.

"We have a new contestant!" he shouted. The crowd cheered in response. He shoved me toward a crossover motorcycle that looked like it had seen better days, but still looked far newer than I would ever trust with an inexperienced rider. "Take my old practice bike."

"But I don't know what I'm doing," I protested.

He grabbed a helmet from his table and pushed it on my head. "Just don't use the throttle and brake at the same time and you'll be fine."

"Which one's the throttle?" I asked. The riders around us laughed.

Magnum looked up the row and shouted, "Odds are for Colt. I'll take bets against the newbie." He leaned over the bike. "What's your name?"

"Kelson," I replied quietly through the helmet.

"Okay, Keldon's never ridden a motorcycle before. I'll take bets on if he makes it to the doors," he yelled. The students surged forward, and money and small items began to change hands.

I looked down the row. The other bikers met my gaze with mixed expressions of humor and challenge. I made a show of trying to start the motorcycle, then let it die. The rider next to me laughed and pushed up his visor. "Shift it to neutral; you're in first. It won't start in first with your kickstand down."

At my blank look, he motioned for me to hold in the clutch. He then leaned over and kicked the gearshift up a notch with his right foot. "Now hit the starter."

I hid a smile as the bike rumbled to life.

"That bike's a bit touchy on the throttle," the biker said. "Let it out slowly or you'll whiskey throttle it."

I nodded and slid my visor down. The other bikers revved their engines. I tried to stop smiling, but it felt too good to be on a motorcycle again. At least I could give the audience a good show.

Magnum leaned over to me as he walked by. "The odds are pretty heavy against you. Win this race and I'll split the winnings. You could make a grand if you even finish."

I nodded and pretended to look nervous. He grinned and raised his arms. "Riders ready." I shifted the bike into first and let it die. The audience laughed. I fumbled it back into neutral and started it, then made a show of carefully raising the kickstand before stepping the gearshift back down to first.

Magnum shook his head, then lowered his arms and yelled, "Go!"

The other bikers took off. I revved the throttle high, then let the clutch go fast enough that the motorcycle lurched forward. I made a show of holding on for dear life as the bike wobbled after the others. We turned a corner and the audience faded from view.

I reveled in the moment. The crossover was a fast one, as beat up as it was. I could have caught up to the stragglers, but I had something else in mind. I kept a slow pace behind them and wobbled when we came back into view of the students. If I didn't want Magnum to know I could ride, I had a few choices on epic ways to go down. I decided to choose the one that would cost him a bit in the pocketbook and pride. It was definitely going to hurt—at least Magnum had been kind enough to provide a helmet.

The other bikers took the corner near the audience with a practiced ease. I leaned over as if I knew what I was doing, then revved the throttle and let the tires skid out from under me across the pavement. The bike slid on its side with a loud, angry screech along the empty space between the track and the waiting trucks. I hit Magnum's display table, then let go of the bike just before it slammed into his big black Ford that looked more like an Army assault vehicle than a farm truck.

The impact was harder than I planned. Bike parts crashed around me and the table landed upside down next to my head. My helmet hit the pavement and I blacked out.

"Kelson, Kelson!" Cassidy's voice brought me back.

I opened my eyes to find that someone had removed my helmet, and I lay with my head pillowed on some gear.

I blinked at the intensity of the sun setting behind Cassidy. Then her face came into focus with a crowd of students behind her. When my eyes met hers, a relieved smile spread across her lips.

"Did I win?" I croaked out.

"You're an idiot!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks," I replied. I sat up slowly and held my pounding head.

Magnum and the rest of the Bullets were staring open-mouthed at the destruction. I peered between the throng of students to the scratched and dented side of the truck. Magnum looked from the destroyed motorcycle to me. His eyes widened in fury and he stormed across the space between us, shoving students aside to get to me.

Before I could move, he grabbed the front of my shirt and lifted me from the pavement. "What's wrong with you?" he shouted.

If my wits had been better collected rather than in the fog of a probable concussion, I might have reacted by taking him down with a punch to the jugular, another to the stomach, and a sweep of a foot, but I was grateful my body was slow to respond. I gestured vaguely toward the wreck. "I told you I didn't know how to ride."

"It's your fault, Magnum. Let him go," Cassidy yelled. She pushed the gang leader away. "You could have killed him."

"It's his own stupid fault," Magnum argued, letting me go. "He got on the bike."

"You forced him to," Sandy replied, jumping to my defense. "It's your fault he wrecked your dumb bike."

I searched the crowd and was surprised to see other students nodding in agreement. I found Madelyn among them. She lifted her eyebrows as if I had just done the stupidest thing she had ever seen. I agreed completely.

"Kelson, your leg," Cassidy exclaimed.

I looked down to see blood pooling on the pavement. Crap. I lifted my pant leg and found a gash running from just below my knee to my ankle. It was deep and bleeding like crazy.

"You need to go to the hospital," Cassidy said. She grabbed a pile of clothes from Magnum's overturned table and held them against my leg. Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins from the wreck. The wound didn't hurt, but I knew it would soon.

"We can take him in my truck," a boy with black hair said.

"Thanks, Jeremy," Cassidy replied.

They helped me to my feet and I limped to the green truck we had taken to the factory. Sandy opened the tailgate and I sat down, then swung my leg around.

"You sure you don't want to ride up front?" Jeremy asked.

I shook my head. "I don't want to get blood all over your truck."

He laughed and shut the tailgate. "Too bad it's not Magnum's," he said.

I looked at him in surprise. He nodded his head toward the crowd that surveyed the damage to the black truck and motorcycle. "It's nice to see him get served once in a while."

"It was an accident," I said.

He grinned. "I don't think anyone would wreck a motorcycle like that on purpose. I mean, you've got to have some sense of self-preservation, right?"

Cassidy climbed into the back of the truck and sat near me. "I called Mom and Dad. They'll meet us at the hospital."

I groaned. "Is that necessary?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. "I don't think the hospital will stitch you up without a parent present, and they're the closest you've got."

"Don't remind me," I muttered under my breath.

"Hospital ride!" Sandy called. She jumped in with us, and several other students I didn't know followed. Soon, a crowd of students was sitting on the truck bed as Jeremy drove us all along the bumpy road back to town. Several other trucks followed ours.

"Why is everyone coming along?" I asked Cassidy quietly.

She laughed. "That was a pretty amazing wreck, Kel. Not much exciting happens in Sparrow. They probably want to know how many stitches you end up getting. You're lucky to be alive."

Several of the students around her nodded. I grinned in an effort to liven things up. "But hey, I rode my first motorcycle!"

That brought a laugh from them.

"Not well," a skinny kid with patched-up jeans said.

"Yeah, I don't know if I'd call that _riding_ ," a girl with frizzy black hair replied. "But it was awesome. Mind if I . . . ?" She motioned for me to move the cloth from the wound. I lifted it, and blood oozed all over. She snapped a picture with her phone. "Thanks—my brother would love to see this. He had to work."

It was a strange feeling to be the center of so much attention, and for something as stupid as crashing a motorcycle. I really could have been killed. The part that scared me was that I wasn't sure if I cared. Jeremy's words echoed in my mind. 'You've got to have some sense of self-preservation, right?'

When we pulled up to the hospital, Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren met us in the parking lot. A nurse had a wheelchair waiting. She lifted the cloth covering the gash and put some clean bandages on top of it instead.

"Awesome!" Cole said when he saw the wound.

"Now, Cole," Aunt Lauren chided.

Uncle Rick and Jaren helped me down from the truck and into the wheelchair. I felt like an invalid as the nurse wheeled me toward the long stucco building.

"What happened?" Uncle Rick asked Cassidy.

She walked in front of me like the proud owner of a prized pooch. When she glanced back, I gave a small shake of my head. She grinned and answered, "Kel tried to ride a motorcycle."

Cole burst out laughing. Uncle Rick glanced back at me with a look of what appeared to be approval in his eyes. Was he approving of the mess I had made of myself, or the fact that I tried to ride a motorcycle?

"Cole, it's not polite to laugh," Aunt Lauren said. She gave me a worried look. "I'll call your mother and let her know what happened."

I was about to tell her not to bother when the nurse spoke up. "I need one parent to come with me. The rest of your family and friends have to wait in the waiting room. We'll let them know when you're done."

Friends? I glanced back to see about twenty students following us. They laughed and shoved each other, joking around as if my wreck truly had been the highlight of their week. Cassidy grinned at me. "Told ya; Sparrow's a boring place."

"Guess you just needed me to liven it up," I replied.

She ruffled my hair, then disappeared down a side hall with the rest of the group following behind.

I tried to put my hair back in order, then gave up. I figured with the gaping wound down my leg, nobody would be looking at my hair anyway.

The nurse wheeled me into a wide emergency room where several other occupants already waited. A quick glance showed one man with a rag over his hand and two fingers missing, and another holding a bloody cloth to his forehead. My stomach rolled and I was grateful when the nurse pulled a curtain around the bed to create a small room. "Guess we're at the bottom of the totem pole," I said.

Uncle Rick leaned against the wall. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You tried to ride a motorcycle?"

I let out a breath. "Stupid, I know."

He shook his head. "You got off pretty well."

I laughed, despite the pounding in the back of my head. "You think this is pretty well?"

He nodded. "Better than some." At my curious expression, his forehead creased and he glanced at the floor. "Want to hear a story about your dad?"

The thought made my heart ache, but I nodded.

His gaze took on the distant look of someone watching the past. "The first time I met your dad, he and your mother had been engaged for about a month. Lauren was sure her sister had found a dud." He glanced at me. "I mean, he proposed to her on a scoreboard during a college football game."

I knew the story. His love of sports was why I avoided them.

Uncle Rick let out a breath. "Anyway, when your parents came over, your dad brought his motorcycle." A small smile crossed his lips. "It was Corvette red and when he gunned the engine, it roared like a lion."

I knew the bike. My mom had a picture of them on it together in front of a drive-in theater. She threw it away after he split, but I found it in the garbage can and kept it in the drawer next to my bed. I was afraid I would forget what he looked like. When I moved to Sparrow, I left it behind.

"So he asked me if I wanted to ride it." Uncle Rick gave a wry smile. "I'd ridden four-wheelers and dirt bikes before, but nothing above a thousand cc's."

"What'd you do?"

He grinned, and I saw Cassidy's smile on her dad's face. "I rode it, of course. At least, I tried." He rubbed his forehead, his eyes tight with the memory. "I gunned it, trying to show off to Lauren, whiskey throttlin' it within five feet of starting."

"Were you hurt?"

He winced. "My pride, mainly. I had to go to the hospital because I was stupid enough to think I didn't need a helmet. They diagnosed me with a concussion and a cracked tailbone." He chuckled. "I had to sit on a pillow shaped like a donut for a month."

I laughed. The image of hardworking, serious Uncle Rick sitting on a donut pillow for a broken tailbone sounded a lot worse than my accident. Laughing made my head hurt. I settled back on the bed and covered my eyes with my arm to shield them from the glare of the neon lights.

"You all right?" Uncle Rick asked.

The kindness in his voice cut through walls I wanted to keep up. I gritted my teeth. "Fine. Just have a headache."

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "About California—"

His words were cut off when the nurse walked through the divider with a blue-scrubbed doctor. He looked at my leg, then glanced at the nurse. "I'll inject a local. Scrub out the gravel and prepare it for sutures."

He proceeded to inject several places around the gash. I swore the injections hurt worse than the wound itself. The doctor then left me to the nurse's care. Luckily, her fingers were nimble as she pulled small rocks and several shreds of my pants from the wound. "We don't want you to get an infection," she said. I tried not to move. Uncle Rick read my expression. "Maybe yours is worse," he said.

I nodded in agreement and kept my hands balled into fists as she flushed it out, then left to get the doctor. I settled back on the bed and willed the moment to be over. If Uncle Rick still wanted to talk about California, he kept silent out of mercy. The doctor came in a while later and put in thirty-eight stitches. I was exhausted by the time he finished.

The nurse wrapped the wound and gave us several extra packages of bandages. "Keep it dry," she said. "Make an appointment in ten days to see if you're ready to have the stitches out."

I rose and limped carefully to the door. When I walked into the waiting room, most of the students had gone home.

"Wow, you took forever," Sandy said.

"I wasn't at the top of the injury list," I replied wryly.

"How many stitches did you get?" Jeremy asked.

I was surprised he hung around, but the smile he threw Cassidy answered my question. "Thirty-eight," I replied.

"Couldn't talk the doc into a full forty?"

I laughed. I liked the guy, and it was obvious Cassidy did as well. She stayed near him as though relishing every moment they had together. "Thanks for the ride," I told him sincerely.

He shrugged. "No prob. If it was up to Magnum, you'd probably still be bleeding to death."

Aunt Lauren looked at me sharply. "The Bullets were involved in this?"

I tried to avoid her gaze. "It was Magnum's bike I wrecked." At her worried look, I put up a hand. "He forced me to ride it, honest."

She looked from Sandy to Cassidy and Jeremy. Everyone nodded. Aunt Lauren shook her head. "I hope this doesn't come back to haunt us."

"Don't worry, Mom," Cassidy replied. "I don't think Kel will be back on a motorcycle for a long time." She grinned and I returned the smile, but I didn't comment either way.

We sat on the chairs while Uncle Rick filled out some paperwork at the front desk. I stretched out my leg gingerly. The nurse had cut my pants up to the knee. It hung tattered on either side of the bandages. "Guess I'll need a new pair of pants," I mused.

"You should still wear them. It could be a statement," Jeremy suggested.

Cassidy laughed. "Maybe everyone will do it."

I smiled at the thought. "I couldn't do that to Sparrow. Besides, I'm not the type to start new fads." I looked around. "Where are Jaren and Cole?"

"The Crosbys picked them up. There's always work to do," Aunt Lauren replied.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to five. "Let's head out," Uncle Rick said.

I rose and limped toward the door. "Do you mind dropping me off at the junkyard?"

Uncle Rick's eyebrows rose. "I think you've earned a night off."

I shook my head. "There's something I need to do."

He nodded, and I know I didn't imagine the approval on his face when he held open the door.

"If it's all right with you, Mr. Ashby, I'd be happy to take Cassidy home," Jeremy said. He glanced furtively at Cassidy's parents.

Aunt Lauren and Uncle Rick exchanged a telling look. Aunt Lauren smiled despite Uncle Rick's stony glare. "That would be fine, Jeremy."

Cassidy linked her arm through Jeremy's with a pleased smile.

"What about me?" Sandy asked in a slightly whiny voice.

"You're welcome to ride with us," Jeremy said.

Sandy grabbed Cassidy's arm and the three of them raced toward the truck. We followed slowly to Uncle Rick's Ram. Aunt Lauren climbed in and I followed so I sat near the door. Jeremy tapped on the window. I unrolled it and he handed me a bag with dark cloth inside. "Thought you'd want that back," he said. Sandy honked the horn and he smiled. "Girls."

"Good luck," I said.

He laughed and jogged back to the car.

The ride to Jagger's was quiet. I glanced at my aunt and uncle, wondering if they were angry about going to the hospital instead of working on the farm, but neither said a word. Aunt Lauren had her hand on Uncle Rick's knee while his arm rested around her shoulders. They looked casual, as if they rode everywhere that way. I leaned against the door and watched them.

I wanted what they had. After seeing what my mom and dad went through, my thoughts on marriage and relationships were all messed up. I never knew what I missed before I saw Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren. They fit, like the stars and the moon, or the geese on the lake last night. I knew it was silly, but somehow seeing them together felt right.

I had never wanted such a thing before. Maybe it was my aching head or the pain medication; it was easier to accept that my thoughts weren't in order than to admit I wanted something so profound in my life. Perhaps the hardest part was debating whether I deserved it.

Chapter Eight

MICK CAME RUNNING OUT when we pulled into the junkyard. Jake jumped down from the back of the truck and trotted to meet him. I hadn't even realized the dog was riding back there. Maybe the pain meds really were messing with my thoughts. The dogs circled each other stiff-leggedly, then Mick jumped at Jake and they both took off around the junkyard.

I eased out of the truck and waved. "Call us when you need a lift," Uncle Rick said. He whistled and Jake came tearing back across the lot. The dog jumped without breaking stride and landed in the back of the truck. I waited for them to pull away before I pulled out the bag I had hidden under my shirt.

I hadn't realized what Cassidy had held on my leg to slow the bleeding until Jeremy handed it to me. I pulled out the black riding outfit I had been admiring on Magnum's table. I wasn't a klepto, but I didn't feel the least bit guilty about hanging on to it. I just needed to find out if Jagger had a washing machine.

Jagger shoved the door to the shack open. "I didn't expect ta see ya here," he said. "Thursdays're usually saved for the high schoolers."

"I got as much enjoyment out of it as I could," I reassured him.

I limped toward the porch and he gave a crooked smile. "I guess you did. I heard 'bout that wreck of yours."

Something to his tone made me turn. He grinned as though he knew a secret. My stomach clenched. "What about the wreck?"

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Well, it jus' seems to me that someone who'd jump on a bike and do fair well wouldn't wreck it so bad 'less it was on purpose."

I stared at him. "You think I did this on purpose?" I asked, gesturing to my leg.

He shrugged with a spark in his eyes. "I think someone with a grudge an' smart as you might find a way ta make a bully pay without seemin' to. That's all." When I didn't answer, he continued, "If'n you didn't come 'ere to work, what brought ya back ta this humble piece of junk collectin'?"

"I thought I'd work on the bike today."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Thought ya might say that." He motioned and I followed him around back.

To my surprise, the motorcycle sat tarp-free and somewhat clean in the dim lighting.

"She needs a coat a' paint, but I cleaned the carburetor, changed the spark plugs, and adjusted the timin'. She'll run."

A thrill of excitement ran through me at his last comment. I smoothed a hand over the seat. It was in surprisingly good condition, thanks to the tarp. Jagger crossed the porch, then came back with a helmet in flat black. "I knew I 'ad one around 'ere somewhere. Took me a while to dig et up."

The helmet was an older style, but the visor was tinted dark, which I liked. No one would be able to see who I was. A pair of black gloves sat inside the helmet. I smiled and handed Jagger the bag. "Do you have a washing machine?"

"What's this?" He pulled out the riding gear and his eyebrows rose appreciatively.

"A product of my eventful afternoon at the factory," I replied.

"You don't wanna throw this in a washin' machine. I'll spot clean it and 'ang it on a line."

At my raised eyebrows, he grinned. "What? Ya think I lived in a junkyard my 'ole life?"

I laughed. "I guess I never thought about it."

He tapped a finger on his brow. "I've some ambitions left. You just wait 'n see."

I grinned and swung a leg over the bike. It felt perfect. The paint was scratched and rusted in places and the chrome was dull with tarnish, but the frame was sturdy.

"I put new tires on 'er." He chuckled. "Thanks to you, they were easy ta find."

I knew the tires. Dual compound with enough grip left for wet or dry riding. They fit the bike perfectly. I turned the key. The engine purred to life and the throttle responded immediately. I revved the engine, tempted to kick it in gear and test it out, but my leg ached enough to remind me that it might not be the best idea. I climbed off the bike with a grateful smile. "You do good work."

He nodded. "I know."

"Any ideas on paint?"

He grinned. "Thought you'd be wanting ta get her out quickly. I don't think Sheriff Bowley'd recognize her if'n she wasn't red."

He pulled a box from the porch and dropped it at my feet. I picked up several cans of flat black paint. "Thought matchin' the helmet'd look good."

It would work perfectly for what I had in mind. I nodded and picked up a screwdriver. "Guess I'd better start taking it apart."

"I 'ope you're not plannin' on leaving me outta the fun," Jagger said. I glanced at him and he shrugged. "Not much else ta do 'round 'ere."

I couldn't argue against an extra pair of hands. We set to work in comfortable silence. The sun set completely and darkness owned the lot. We worked by the light of several flood lamps Jagger had rigged along the back porch roof. His array of tools was impressive. For a junkyard, it was very well stocked.

"How's life at the Ashbys'?" Jagger asked after about an hour of quiet work.

My first impulse was to shy away from the topic, but after all Jagger had done, I felt like I owed him an honest answer. "It's kind of them to let me stay at their house." I hesitated, remembering Uncle Rick's attempt to talk at the hospital. It had been obvious since the beginning of my stay that he felt like I didn't fit into their lives. From the look of disapproval for the farm jobs I failed, I definitely didn't meet his expectations by far.

I stared at a bolt in my hand, but didn't see it. "I think Uncle Rick's ready for me to go home." My throat tightened at the thought. I swallowed, but the knot wouldn't go away. I blinked angrily, refusing to let the burning in my eyes turn to tears. I continued quietly, "But I'm not sure where home is anymore."

Jagger was silent for several minutes with his eyebrows pinched together and gaze tight. He removed a bolt and pulled off the engine cover, then set it carefully on a piece of cardboard. When he finally looked at me, it was with the stark expression of a man who had seen too many things that were wrong in the world. That look made me realize for the first time why he might have chosen to work alone at a junkyard.

"Son, this place ain't much, but if'n you ever need a home, you can always come 'ere."

I stared at him. Every emotion I had felt that day crashed together. Rage, elation, pain, frustration, and the desire to make things different than they were combined to fill my chest with a giant hole, a gaping void of defeated hope. I didn't know who I was anymore, and my place in the world felt unnecessary at most. I was floating, but Jagger offered me a place I could call my own when I was lost.

I couldn't speak, but Jagger didn't require it. He worked for several minutes, then began to whistle a hearty tune. Mick gave up his vigil on the porch and settled down next to Jagger with his head on his paws.

***

I RODE HOME THAT night on the four-wheeler. Jagger said it was ridiculous to call the Ashbys when he had a perfectly good vehicle sitting idle in the lean-to. I think he understood that the less indebted I felt toward the Ashbys', the easier it was to stay there. The bumps along the road made my leg ache, but it was nice to feel a little independent even if it was on a four-wheeler in the middle of nowhere.

The Ashby family surprised me with their concern when I arrived. Aunt Lauren made me rest on the couch with my leg elevated on a pillow while I ate beef stew and rolls loaded with honey butter in the living room, a usually off-limits location for food.

Cole hovered around the end of the couch when he was done eating. "Do your toes hurt?"

"No."

"Does your knee hurt?"

"No."

"How 'bout your hip? Does your hip hurt?"

I smiled. "My hip's fine. It really was just my leg."

"Can I see it?"

His eager tone made me laugh. "I have to keep it wrapped so it doesn't get infected."

"If it gets infected, will they cut off your leg?"

"If they cut off my leg, you can keep it."

He grinned and darted out of the room, no doubt to come up with plans on how to get my leg infected.

Aunt Lauren came into the living room shaking her head. "Sorry, Kelson. He should let you rest." She picked up my empty plate.

"He'd make a good police interrogator," I said, checking to make sure I hadn't spilled any crumbs on the couch.

She smiled and looked fondly down the hall where her son had disappeared. "He'd prefer to build things."

"Well, he has plenty of ideas."

She nodded. "Can I bring you anything?"

I shook my head. "Thank you."

She smiled and headed for the door.

"Aunt Lauren?" When she paused, I said, "Thank you for letting me stay here and for taking such good care of me. I don't mean to cause trouble."

She gave me a warm smile. "You're not any trouble, Kel. You're a growing boy. Out here, that means trips to the emergency room. We've had plenty of those between Jaren and Cole." She walked through the door and left me alone.

I glanced at the phone on the side table. A message flashed on the screen and a surge of uncertainty filled me. I let out a slow breath, then unplugged the phone and brought it around so I could read it.

Lauren said you were in an accident. Are you all right? Mom

A text message. Mom heard I wrecked a motorcycle and got stitches and she asked how I was doing by texting? I was tempted to throw the phone behind the couch, but something kept me from being so rash. I held it in my hand for what felt like an eternity, debating what to do. A low fire crackled softly in the fireplace. I studied the flames, wary of the way they beckoned with warmth created by devouring everything within reach.

Finally, I sighed and typed, _Thirty-eight stitches in my leg. Feeling fine. I wore a helmet_.

My heart hammered strangely in my chest as I waited for a response. It came several minutes later.

_I was worried about you_. Then a few minutes after that, _I miss you_.

I stared at the last three words. I missed Mom more than I dared to admit. My careful nonchalance with my situation in Sparrow depended on me not dwelling on life in California and what should have been. I shied away from thoughts of what used to be the way Cole avoided green beans. Mom's simple statement threatened to crack my carefully constructed indifference.

_I miss you too_ , I typed.

I plugged the phone back in and threw a shirt over it before I regretted the text. I wiggled my toes. My leg ached. The nurse had instructed me to stay off it as much as I could, but texting with my mom made me restless. A pair of hazel eyes and a breathtaking smile surfaced in my thoughts. If anyone could take away my depression, it was Madelyn. I wanted to see her again, if only for a minute.

I waited until everyone was asleep, then limped outside and started the four-wheeler. Jake jumped up at the sound and ran beside me. The dog never appeared to tire, and seemed just as happy as I was to get out. While I might not have been fond of the animal, his presence was one constant in my upside-down life. We traveled down the road toward Madelyn's, a road I was swiftly becoming familiar with.

I turned off the four-wheeler just outside the boundary of their yard and limped across the lawn.

"You know you're supposed to stay off that leg."

I turned with a smile and found Madelyn sitting in the tree near the house.

"Are you stalking me?" I asked.

She climbed down and crossed the grass toward me. Her dog, Buck, followed close behind. "Funny. I could ask you say the same thing."

I relaxed. There was something about Madelyn that stripped me bare and made me feel like I didn't have to put on a show or pretend to be someone I wasn't. She tipped her head to the side and gave me a teasing smile that was heightened by the light of the half moon above. "I suppose we won't be running."

I grinned. "Not unless you want to redo all my stitches."

She smiled. "I'm a fair hand with a needle."

"I'll keep that in mind." I motioned toward the four-wheeler. "I thought I'd take you for a ride instead." The dogs bounced around as if they understood what I was talking about. Jake bit at Buck's ear and the dog nipped his tail as if they were puppies instead of seasoned farm dogs. I hesitated and glanced at the house. "Unless you're worried it'll make your dad upset. I don't want you to get hit again. It's not right."

She shook her head, her gaze following mine to the house. "He's already asleep. I need to get away for a ride."

"I'm happy to help," I replied with my most charming grin.

"Do you know where you're going?" Madelyn asked, watching me with an answering shadow of a smile.

"No clue; I figured you could be my GPS."

She laughed. "That might be the worst pickup line I've ever heard."

"I've got worse," I reassured her.

"Then I'd better stick with you. There's no telling who you're going to catch with lines like that."

"I appreciate it," I replied.

She laughed again and climbed on the back of the four-wheeler. I eased my leg over, then started it up. Going to Madelyn's was definitely the best decision I had made that day. I was already feeling better.

I drove us back to the goose pond, but had to park above the wash because it was too steep and narrow for the four-wheeler. I debated whether to risk limping down, but Madelyn wouldn't let me. "You don't have to impress me, Kelson Brady. I saw the way you rode that motorcycle."

I laughed and my head gave a throb to remind me that I had forgotten to take my pain meds for the evening. "If you weren't impressed by that, I've got nothing for you."

She smiled her warm smile. "Good. That's the way I like you."

Her words sent a thrill through me. I sat on the grass near the bank of the wash and stretched out my leg.

Madelyn joined me and we watched the stars. "You know," she said after a while, "You drive the four-wheeler pretty well."

I glanced at her. "Is that a problem?"

She shrugged. "I guess it just makes a girl wonder how you were so bad on a motorcycle when you drive a four-wheeler like you were born on one."

My mouth fell open. "I, uh, four-wheelers are geared differently, and—"

She laughed and held up a hand. "I'm just kidding, Kelson. You don't have to get all defensive. If you choose to wreck a motorcycle, that's your own decision." She gave me a sideways glance. "Although crashing Magnum's bike into his truck probably wasn't the wisest choice."

I made a show of wincing. "Yeah. I'm still paying for that one."

"You know he won't forgive or forget," she said.

I was counting on it. If I could make myself a target, perhaps he would leave the other students alone. I knew it was a foolish plan, but it was also the beginning of something that sent a rush of excitement through me even as my leg and head ached from my actions.

Chapter Nine

COLE BROUGHT ME A crutch the next morning. "Mom says it'll help keep the weight off your leg." He grinned. "I got it when I tried to ride Bess. She spooked and ran me into a fence. Mom was so mad."

"At the cow or you?"

He rubbed his short brown hair. "Me, mostly. I guess I should'a known better."

Madelyn sat next to me on the bus. It was a small thing, but it made the long ride into town one hundred percent better. We joked about midnight rides and spying on geese. Once, I looked up to find Cassidy watching. She gave me a thumbs-up, then ducked down and giggled with Sandy in their seat at the middle of the bus.

When we reached school, I found that the accident wasn't far from anyone's mind.

"Dude, the way you ran into that truck was awesome!" a boy with spiked hair said. He gave me a high five as he passed us in the hall.

"You really need to learn how to drive," a girl with glasses and curly blonde hair admonished. The two girls with her giggled.

"He's cute," one said to the other when we went by.

Madelyn laughed. "Looks like you're becoming quite popular. I might cramp your style."

I shook my head. "Don't make me deal with this alone."

She stopped by a classroom. "I've got calculus. See you in music history," she said with a sympathetic smile.

I glanced back at the students who watched me as if waiting for me to do something equally as stupid as yesterday. "Calculus sounds tempting," I said.

She smiled and waved me away. "Enjoy your fame, Kelson."

I rolled my eyes and she laughed.

***

CASSIDY AND SANDY AMBUSHED me outside fourth-period western history.

"The whole school is talking about your wreck and how mad Magnum is at you," Sandy said.

"It wasn't his fault," Cassidy replied. She grabbed my backpack. "Come on. We're going to Chaser's."

There were enough students watching us to make getting away for lunch sound like a good idea. "Only if Madelyn can come," I replied.

Cassidy's eyebrows rose; she and Sandy exchanged a look and they both giggled. "So Sparrow is looking up?" Cassidy teased.

"Maybe," I replied noncommittally.

She laughed. "Come on. I'll bet she's in the library."

They dragged me to one of the places in the school I had yet to visit. When we barged through the doors, the librarian, a lady with long blonde hair and a kind smile, put a finger to her lips in a reminder that we had entered a place of sacred solemnity. I wondered if laughing would desecrate the holiness of the books. I was sure Madelyn would disapprove of my joviality toward something she valued, so I nodded just as soberly to the librarian.

Cassidy and Sandy split up and checked the dozen rows of books. I opted for the couches and tables at the back that made up the study area. The familiar sight of long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pair of glasses, and a book with well-thumbed pages made me smile. I snuck up on Madelyn from behind and covered her glasses with my hands. "Guess who," I whispered in her ear.

She fought back a smile when I jumped over the back of the couch and landed next to her. My leg gave an angry throb and I winced.

"Should have remembered the stitches," Madelyn said.

"Guess I'm not used to them yet," I replied.

She gave me a searching look.

"What?" I asked, intrigued.

Her lips pursed together. "I took you for the stitches type. You don't take care of yourself very well."

"I'm not usually that reckless," I said defensively.

A smile touched the corners of her lips and I realized she had been teasing me. "I think you're more reckless than you realize."

I laughed. "Probably."

"There you two are," Cassidy said. She grabbed Madelyn's hand and pulled her up from the couch. "Come on, Maddy. We're going to Chaser's to escape Kel's many admirers."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Cass."

Madelyn looked entirely surprised at Cassidy's show of friendship. Cassidy took Madelyn's book and linked their arms together as if they were long-time comrades. Madelyn shot me a look of apprehension over her shoulder. I grinned and followed them with Sandy close behind. At least I wasn't the only one caught up by Cassidy's enthusiasm.

We piled into Sandy's beat-up blue Jeep. "Are you old enough to drive?" I asked doubtfully.

Sandy glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, then adjusted it so she could see out the back. "Barely. I turned sixteen last month." She grinned, revealing the full spectacle of her black-and-yellow braces.

"With those school colors, we should have been the bees or something," I commented as I climbed into the backseat.

Sandy laughed and shook her head. "Bulldogs are tougher."

"Have you seen a bulldog?" I asked. I glanced at Madelyn, who sat beside me looking very amused at the conversation. "They're bowlegged and short. Tell me a hornet wouldn't hurt you faster."

"They may sting," Sandy replied with the smug attitude of one very secure in her school pride. "But once a bulldog bites you, it doesn't let go."

Madelyn nodded. "They used to use them in bullfighting rings, which is how they got their name."

Cassidy and Sandy both looked at her. Cassidy grinned. "You do learn something new every day."

Sandy sighed. "Too bad I don't learn anything at school."

Both girls laughed.

Madelyn lifted her eyebrows at me. I grinned and sat back, happy at least to have her beside me.

We piled out of the Jeep and found an empty booth near the back corner of Chaser's. The waitress skated up. She had long, curly black hair tied back with a red ribbon. "Hey, Cass," she exclaimed when she saw who we were with.

"April!" Cassidy jumped up and threw her arms around the girl. "How are you doing? I haven't seen you in like, forever!"

April let her go and rolled back a few inches. "Doing great. Evan's with Mom. She watches him when I work." She winked. "It's better than daycare, that's for sure."

"Absolutely," Cassidy replied.

April took our orders, then skated off to the next table.

"Man, she looks good," Sandy said.

Cassidy nodded. "April got pregnant last year and had to drop out," she explained for my benefit. "She has the cutest little boy, and I hear she's taking night classes to get her GED."

"That's awesome," Madelyn replied. "It'd be hard to juggle school, a baby, and work."

Cassidy nodded. "She's amazing. It's so great to see her again!"

She began to tell the long, detailed story of how she and April first met in kindergarten. Then the doors swung open with a bang and the Bullets walked through.

Magnum's eyes shifted around the room, then they landed on April. "We need a table," he stated.

Her eyes widened and she gestured. "We have a couple of booths open. Maybe—"

Magnum walked past her to the first table. "Move," he growled.

The five students who occupied it grabbed their hamburgers and corn dogs and hurried over to a booth.

"Then she dropped her crayon, and I . . . Kelson, are you listening?" Cassidy asked.

I shook my head, and she turned to see what held my attention. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the Bullets. "Great. The Mafia's here."

Magnum sat at the head of the table. April looked frazzled as she took his order. "I'll take a triple stack and fries," he said. "And put it in quick. We're hungry."

"Y—yes, Magnum," she stammered. She skated toward the kitchen. Magnum swatted her backside when she rolled by. She glanced back with a red face, but didn't say anything.

"That's not right," I said quietly.

Madelyn set a hand on my arm. "Let it go. Everyone's used to the way they act by now."

"But that doesn't make it appropriate," I pointed out.

Cassidy watched us with a smile dawning on her face. I tried to ignore the way she tipped her chin to show Sandy where Madelyn's hand rested.

"There will always be bullies," Madelyn said.

"There are bullies, and then there are the Bullets," I replied. "Bullies hurt your feelings. Since I've been here, I've seen the Bullets demean teachers, pick on new students, destroy school property, and now harass waitresses. The problem is, they have strength in numbers."

"And you don't," Cassidy said. When I opened my mouth to argue, she shook her head. "No one else will stand up to them. I told you what they do."

I blew out an exasperated breath. "They seek revenge."

"They burn houses," Cassidy replied quietly. She looked more serious than I had ever seen her as she leaned across the table and whispered, "The last time someone stood up to them, they burned his house and harassed his parents until the whole family left town."

I sat back, surprised. It seemed like a bold move for a high school motorcycle gang. "Why doesn't the sheriff do something?"

"They couldn't prove it was the Bullets who set the fire, but everyone knows," Sandy replied, whispering as well.

A boy with purple hair and a red shirt skated out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks. He was almost past the first table when Magnum stuck out a foot and snagged his skate. The boy crashed into a booth and his drinks splattered everyone at the table in a downpour of sticky soda.

The boy looked back to see who had tripped him, then his eyes widened and he stammered to the students in the booth. "I—I'm so sorry. Y—your food is on the h-house. I'm so clumsy. I—I shouldn't be skating."

He tried desperately to mop up the spilled soda with a small white towel. "This is my b—bad," he said.

The students at the booth knew better than to blame the Bullets. Instead, they directed their anger toward the waiter. "You better get us our food quick, or we'll complain to Mr. Moorley," a boy who looked like a linebacker for the high school football team said.

"Y—yes, Barry. I'm sorry. I'll get this all c—cleaned up," the waiter stuttered.

April skated out with an armful of towels. She must have seen what happened, but she didn't give Magnum's table a glance. "Here you are, Oliver. This should help," she said. She pulled small wipes of the type usually given with ribs or wings from her half apron and handed them around the table. "I'm so sorry for the mess," she apologized to them.

Barry looked somewhat mollified. "It's okay, April. I just don't have a spare shirt."

"You could go shirtless," she replied with a wink. "I know nobody would complain."

Barry grinned, and the relief on Oliver's face was plain as he retreated to the kitchen.

"They're out of control," I muttered.

Cassidy and Sandy exchanged a worried look while Madelyn kept silent.

By the time we left Chaser's, two more waiters were tripped by the Bullets, and the gang got up and left without paying. Their table was a mess of chicken bones, ketchup squirted in piles, drinks turned upside down with quarters inside for the tip, and food on the ground from their impromptu food fight.

Oliver came out to help April clean up the mess. I left April an extra-generous tip and noticed that the others did the same. "They won't make her pay for the Bullets' food, will they?" I asked when the door shut behind us.

"Not sure," Sandy replied. "Mr. Moorley's not the friendliest man, but even he knows not to mess with them."

I climbed into the Jeep feeling unsettled and restless. Madelyn sat silently beside me, her eyes on the window and a concerned expression on her face. When we reached the school, she thanked the girls for inviting her, then disappeared down the crowded hallway.

"She's not much of a conversationalist," Cassidy commented.

"Cass," I said with a hint of warning.

"What?" she replied lightly. "I'm just pointing out a fact."

"Another fact is that you talk enough for all four of us," I said.

She shrugged and didn't let my words bother her. "You're just jealous that I have interesting things to say." Sandy nodded in agreement.

I was about to reply with something I would regret when the bell rang and saved me.

"See ya after school," Cassidy said with her usual grin before she and Sandy hurried down the hall.

I watched after them, feeling suddenly very tired. A thunder of engines heralded the Bullets' return to school. I limped inside and wondered if not doing anything at the diner had been the right move.

Chapter Ten

THE BIKE PARTS WERE dry, so Jagger and I put it back together in between my organization of car headlights. The flat black paint had dried perfectly. Assembled, the bike blended with the night except for the few pieces of polished chrome that reflected the light from the porch.

Though it was late by the time we finished, I couldn't resist the chance for a ride. I started the engine and smiled at the way it turned over smoothly and rumbled like a lion. Jagger handed me the helmet without a word. There was a light in his eyes as if he wished he was the one on the bike.

"Open her up easy," he yelled over the engine. "It's been a while."

I nodded and nudged the gearshift down. The bike rolled forward in response to the throttle. The transition was smooth when I shifted up into second and drove out of the junkyard. The sweet spot in the throttle was easy to manage and responded readily. I smiled and pulled down the shield on my helmet to protect my face from the plentiful bugs and debris that always seemed to be blowing around Sparrow.

It had been way too long since I had ridden a motorcycle. I relished the rush of the wind and the hum of the tires over the road. The stars shone bright overhead and the partial moon hovered near the mountains. For the first time since I moved, peace settled over me like a cloak.

The lights of town drew closer. I knew I should turn around. The motorcycle wasn't licensed and I didn't want my first run-in with Sheriff Bowley to result in an impounded bike, but the road was smooth and I couldn't bring myself to listen to reason.

I drove down Main Street, careful to keep the bike just under the speed limit. I was about to turn around when I noticed motorcycles parked outside a small mom-and-pop convenience store. I recognized Magnum's blue CBR and my heart slowed.

On impulse, I pulled in behind the store and parked my bike in the shadow of the garbage bin where it wouldn't attract attention. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the black riding outfit Jeremy had unintentionally stolen for me.

The jacket was made out of leather, but was thin enough that carrying it around didn't make the backpack too bulky. The pants were thin but appeared waterproof and pulled on easily over my jeans. I lowered my dark shield and walked to the corner of the store.

Through the window, I could see Magnum and his gang gathering snacks by the armful. The store owner, a bald man with glasses and a pinched, worried face, stood behind the counter and watched the gang with a resigned frown. Magnum grabbed a six-pack of beer from the cooler and two bags of chips to go along with his donuts, a few candy bars, beef sticks, and a pair of sunglasses. He met up with the others near the front. Each of his companions carried similar armfuls.

They were about to leave when I stepped through the door. "Are you planning to pay for those?" I asked. My voice resonated through the helmet, strong, but muffled, so they wouldn't recognize it.

Magnum's eyes narrowed. Two Bullets, big, burly guys who looked like the only way they were still in high school was if they had repeated a few grades, stepped forward to protect their leader.

"We weren't planning on it," Magnum said evenly.

"I suggest you reconsider your plan," I replied.

Magnum's lips cracked into a humorless smile. "Unless I'm mistaken, you're the one standing between the Bullets and our intended exit."

I laughed inside as I replied, "If you're going to leave without paying, you'll have to go through me." It sounded like a scene from a B-rate Western. I pictured them with pistols and cowboy hats. They definitely would have made a great outlaw mob—at least then their gang name would make sense.

"Gladly," one of the brawny thugs replied. He grabbed a bottle of beer from his six-pack and threw it at my head. It shattered against my helmet. Everyone paused and stared at the boy.

Magnum smacked him in the back of the head. "You idiot, he's wearing a helmet! You can't hit him in the head."

Embarrassed, the boy grabbed another bottle of beer and threw it at my chest. Surprised, I dodged out of the way and it shattered the glass door at my back. Everyone gawked at the damage, and then the Bullets rushed me.

I dodged a punch and slugged one boy in the stomach, then spun and elbowed another in the back. I dropped and swept their legs out from under them. One fell through the shattered door while the other tripped up two more members of the gang. I blocked a kick with my forearm and drove a punch to the attacker's groin while still holding his leg, then spun him to block a wild swing from one of his comrades.

Someone threw a haymaker and I ducked so his fist hit my helmet. The sound echoed in my head and my ears rang. I stepped back, but was shoved forward and met a punch to the chest. Magnum swung for my ribs. I blocked his punch and slid a chop up his arm to his throat. He backed off, gasping for air. I was about to follow him when a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind and lifted me off my feet.

He threw me before I could react. I crashed into a row of shelves and they collapsed to the ground, spilling their contents all over the floor. The guy picked me up again and threw me bodily into another stack. Pain flared up my leg. The shelves fell over and brought another set down as well. I climbed back to my feet and bull-rushed my attacker. My helmet slammed into his stomach and he fell into his friends.

The store clerk was shouting. I heard the sound vaguely above the angry yells of the Bullets. I blocked two punches, ducked to avoid a third, and blocked a kick with my elbow. I then slammed a haymaker into one jaw, caught a punch, and turned with it to throw the spikey-haired girl into one of the brawny boys. Then I dropped to a knee and chopped a tall, skinny boy in the groin. I turned on my knee and kicked out to bring three of them down.

I rose back to my feet and surveyed the tangle of arms and legs that made up the Bullets. One guy with now-broken designer glasses and a tattoo around his bicep pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the ground. "Let's get out of here," he said.

I searched for Magnum, but he was already gone. The rest of the gang stumbled through the broken glass door and fled the convenience store. My leg ached. I favored it as I looked at the mess the store had become.

"Thanks a lot."

The dry tone of the owner's voice sounded loud now that the gang was gone. I glanced at him.

"It was thirty dollars' worth of food." His expression was grim and he ran a hand across his bald head in agitation. "Now look. I have to rebuild my shelves and clean up twenty times that amount in destroyed perishables." He blew out a breath and gave me a small, wry smile. "I appreciate what you tried to do, but sometimes we need to accept that the current situation isn't as bad as it could be."

The Bullets roared off on their motorcycles. I watched them through the shattered door as they disappeared into the night. "But it could be better," I said, fighting to catch my breath. The helmet visor had fogged from the exertion; I fought the urge to open it and wipe it clean.

The owner gave a humoring chuckle. "Maybe so. But I have a broken shop to put to rights before tomorrow."

His accepting tone flooded me with guilt. I turned to find him attempting to sweep the mess into a pile. I held out my hand without a word. He studied me for a second, then gave me the broom. The steady swoosh of the rough fibers complemented the chink of glass and the dull thud of plastic as he filled a garbage can. We both mopped up spilled juice and applesauce, and he sprayed the floor down with the air of someone who took pride in the cleanliness of his shop.

Together, we lifted the shelves and he hammered those that had been damaged back together. While cleaning, I kept my helmet and jacket on, aware of the security cameras that sat in the two ceiling corners opposite the front door. The store owner cleared his throat when we were almost done.

"You might want to get that looked at."

I followed his gaze to a trail of blood that was leaking from my leg and down my shoe to the floor. I knelt and pulled my pant leg up enough to see bloody patches through the bandages. My encounter with the shelves must have torn some of the stitches. "I guess sticking around will only undo the cleaning we've done," I said wryly. My stomach rolled at the thought of going to the hospital to get the stitches repaired.

"Looks like it," the man said in an unreadable tone.

I stood and walked toward the door.

"Wait a minute."

Trepidation filled my chest. I turned slowly, worried he wanted to call the authorities about the fight. Instead, I found him holding out a box of gauze and another of bandages. "You might need these."

I accepted them with a gloved hand. "Thanks."

I crossed to the door. "Sorry about the glass." We had swept it up, but replacing the shattered door would carry the majority of his expense.

He waved it away. "Glass is repairable. You gave me something to think about."

I watched him silently, aware that he saw only his reflection when he looked at my dark visor.

He hesitated, then walked up to me with a hand held out. "Thanks."

"For what?" I asked. I shook his hand slowly.

"For your help. It takes courage to stay behind and clean up a mess you had a hand in making. You could've run away, like they did."

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "Running away isn't my style." The words sounded cheesy as they echoed in my helmet, but it made him smile as well.

"Maybe the Bullets will learn something," he said.

"I doubt it," I replied.

He laughed and waved me away. "Go take care of that leg. I've got this."

I left the convenience store feeling older and more foolish at the same time. I should have known better than to fight the Bullets where they could cause property damage. They wouldn't shy away from destroying things others cared about. The part that bothered me was that I hadn't considered the consequences of the damage until we were done. I vowed to have better timing if I chose to confront the Bullets so that others didn't pay for my actions.

I climbed on my bike in the shadows and slowly passed the convenience store entrance. The owner raised a hand when I went by and I gave a short wave, then rode into the night. Darkness flooded around me, pressing my thoughts back in the steady hum of the motorcycle's engine. It definitely wasn't the only time in my life when the greatest peace I found was on the back of a motorcycle. I gave myself to the ride and let everything else fade away.

***

I KNEW I SHOULD go to the hospital, but the thought of neon lights and needles made me light-headed. Plus, the fact that Uncle Rick would have to drive up and authorize another medical treatment wasn't a pleasant one.

Instead, I traded my motorcycle for the four-wheeler at the junkyard and drove to Madelyn's. I parked it in the bushes at the edge of her property and limped to the porch. I hesitated at the door. I had never knocked, and after her father's reaction to her being out late, I didn't know how he would feel if there was a boy asking for her. Buck barked from his kennel, but he knew me and the sound was only halfhearted.

I limped around back and studied the windows. A familiar form brushed by the one in the right-hand corner. Madelyn had her long brown hair loose around her shoulders, and she paused by the window long enough to set her glasses on the sill.

I debated whether my luck would run better knocking on the door or climbing the tree with a bleeding leg. I chose the latter and eased myself slowly up the branches. The tree was big and old. The branches barely sank under my weight as I worked my way toward the window. I sat down gingerly and tapped on the glass with one finger.

The figure through the white curtains paused, then hurried over to the window. Madelyn's face appeared and her eyes widened when she saw me. She pulled up the pane.

"Kelson, what are you doing up here?" she demanded in a loud whisper.

I lifted my pant leg and showed her the still-bleeding wound. "The hospital's overrated."

She grabbed my arm and helped me inside. I sat on the window seat and tried not to smile at the way she studied me with her hands on her hips.

"What did you do?"

I grimaced. "I think it's better if I don't tell you."

She blew out a breath in exasperation. "Kelson, you've got to take better care of yourself." She left the room and pulled the door shut behind her.

I looked around, painfully aware that it was the first time I had ever been in a girl's room that wasn't my sister's. I shied away from the thought.

I was immediately aware of one thing. Madelyn didn't have any pictures of family or friends on her walls. From her trips on the bus. I figured she was an only child, but I expected friends, parents, cousins, pictures of girls laughing and playing, and other things that showed friendship and fun the way my sister's had.

Along with books on every available surface, organized but covering everything, there was a poster of a frazzled cat on one wall and a mirror with a T-shirt draped over it on the other. The wall had been painted a soft rose color, and her bed was perfectly made with about a dozen pillows on top of it. A pair of worn blue slippers peeked out from beneath her dresser, and the partially closed closet door revealed clothing hung up by color.

I rubbed my forehead. Instead of Madelyn's room revealing who she really was, it just left more mystery in her wake.

Madelyn came back in carrying thread and needles, rubbing alcohol, rags, antiseptic ointment, and additional bandages. She set everything on her bed and glanced at me. "I don't normally bandage strange boys in my room."

"You reserve your time for the ordinary, boring ones?"

She smiled. "If you see one, let me know."

I laughed quietly. "This strange boy appreciates it."

She gave a slight frown, the worry in her eyes showing how nervous she really was about working on my leg. "Don't say that until it's over. I've never done anything like this before." She hesitated. "You want to sit on the bed?"

I patted the wooden surface of the window seat. "I'd better stay here. This'll be easier to clean up later."

She nodded and poured rubbing alcohol into a small bowl, then set a threaded needle in it. "I washed my hands," she said without looking at me.

"If I die, I doubt it'll be from an infection."

"More likely from Magnum," she replied.

I looked at her, wondering how much she guessed about my current situation. She appeared not to notice and pulled the needle and green thread from the rubbing alcohol. I drew my pant leg up high and began to unwind the bandages. My stomach turned over at the sight of the sewn wound interspersed with gaping, bleeding holes. I looked away.

"Queasy stomach?" she asked in a voice that sounded a touch tighter than usual.

"I'm not used to seeing my own blood, apparently," I replied through tightly gritted teeth. I refused to lose my lunch in her bedroom. It was bad enough coming to her to be stitched up, let alone defacing her clean, if not revealing, bedroom.

"I took you for the always injured type," she said.

"Ha-ha," I replied humorlessly. "Sparrow's hard on my health."

She stood next to the window seat for a moment. When I glanced at her, her face was white and her jaw was clenched. She met my eyes. "I don't think I can do this."

I pushed back so I lay along the window box and turned my face toward the window. "Sure you can. Just pretend you're mending Buck's collar or a pillow or something."

"A pillow that bleeds?" she asked quietly.

I put an arm over my face. "I won't make a sound, I promise."

"And if I cry?" she asked in a pitiful attempt at humor. The honesty in her voice gripped my heart.

"Then I won't feel like such a sissy when I do," I replied without looking. I clenched my hands into fists.

I heard her kneel down, then a soft hand touched my leg as she wiped the blood away with a rag. I listened to her take in a breath, then let it out in a rush. Pain flared as she worked the needle through my skin. A squeak escaped me. "At least I can be manly about it," I said in a rough voice.

She kept silent and continued sewing. Sweat broke out across my skin. My fingernails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists tighter. I took in short, rapid breaths that barely filled my lungs. The pain was excruciating. I began to doubt the credibility of action movies where the heroes stitched themselves up without so much as blinking.

In my manliness, I must have passed out. I came to at the brush of Madelyn's fingers on my cheek as she set a cold rag on my forehead.

"You all right?" she asked, her brow pinched with worry when my eyes met hers.

I nodded and sat up slowly. She kept a hand on my arm and helped me scoot back against the wall. She had rewrapped my leg and cleaned away all traces of blood from the window seat. My leg throbbed, but it was easier to handle without having to look at the gaping wound. "Thank you," I said.

She gave me a searching look. "That's something I never want to do again."

"Me either," I agreed.

She gave a small smile. "Next time, you're going to the hospital."

"I'm hoping there's not a next time." She gave me a look of disbelief and I laughed. "Okay, next time I'll go to the hospital."

I eased off the window seat and slid down to sit on her beige carpet.

"You've got to go," she said. "My dad will kill you if he finds a boy in my room."

"I'll go," I said. I tried to suppress the shakiness in my arms and legs. "I just need a second."

She nodded and sat down near me with a concerned expression. Her hands rested awkwardly on her lap as if she didn't know what to do with them. I gathered my courage, then reached out and took one of her hands in mine.

She waited a moment, then pulled her hand free. Rejection rang through my heart.

She dropped her head so her hair hid her expression from view. "I can't."

"Can't what?" I asked. I tried to suppress the bitterness I felt at her refusal. "I'm not asking to do more than hold your hand."

She nodded, then I heard her sniff. The realization that she was crying struck me hard. "Madelyn?"

She refused to look up. She wiped at her face and her fingers came away damp. I steeled my nerves and tipped her chin up slowly. "Madelyn, talk to me."

She closed her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks. I didn't know what to say. I had never watched a girl cry with such silent heartache. "Madelyn, please," I whispered. "You're not alone."

She sobbed and pulled up her knees. She wrapped her arms around them and buried her face from view. Her shoulders shook. I scooted around next to her and put an arm behind her back. She leaned against me as she cried. I didn't speak. I wasn't sure what to say and I didn't want to pry, but she needed someone. I would be there for her as much as she would let me into her world.

"Somebody hurts me," she said in a voice just above a whisper. Her shoulders shook as if it took all of her strength to tell me.

Adrenaline ran through my veins at her words. I wanted to protect her. My hands balled into fists. "I know your dad hits you," I said gently.

She shook her head. "It's somebody else," she said. "I can't tell you who."

Concern filled my chest. She was strong. I had seen her black eye, and when she spoke of it, she didn't show this kind of emotion. It was a different kind of pain. The thought made my stomach clench. "Madelyn, I need you to be honest with me." She nodded after a moment, but refused to lift her face. I swallowed. "I don't know how to say this," I whispered. I took a calming breath. "Does this person touch you without your permission?"

I thought she would laugh. I hoped she would. When she nodded, it sent a knife through my chest. Quiet Madelyn, silent on the bus, no friends at school, and living a life of solitude at home where someone hurt her and she was helpless to avoid it.

"Who is it? Madelyn, I need you to tell me."

She shook her head. "I can't," she said, her voice stronger this time. "It won't make a difference."

Anger flooded through me at her words. "Maddy, if someone does something to you without your permission, you have every right to stand up and defend yourself. No one should be able to hurt you."

She stood up. "You'd better go. I shouldn't have said anything."

Alarmed, I pulled myself to my feet, using her window box and resting my weight on my good leg. "I didn't mean to pry," I said. "I just worry about you."

She looked at me—really looked at me. The gold that encircled her green irises glowed in the light of the lamp beside her bed. It felt as if in that moment she looked through me to my soul. I was laid bare and vulnerable, a mere child when I wanted to be a man in control of the things that happened around me.

She crossed the two steps between us and then her lips were against mine. Her taste flooded my mouth and her fingers caressed my jaw and tangled in my hair. The kiss was gentle and sweet. It filled me with the need to laugh and shout at the same time.

I let out a slow breath and kissed her back just as gently. The moment flooded with a thousand heartbeats and I reveled in the touch of her hand on the back of my neck. When we parted, her taste lingered on my lips. She touched her own as if aware of the same thing. A smile hinted around the shadows of her mouth.

"You'd better go, Kelson Brady."

I nodded and limped back to the window. "I'll be back, Madelyn."

She smiled her full, warm, glowing smile. "I know you will."

I eased out the window and worked my way slowly down the tree. I hit my leg on one of the branches and was about to let out a stream of curse words, but I remembered that she watched me and I smothered the pain with the thought of her kiss.

Chapter Eleven

WHEN I FINALLY PULLED up to the Ashby house that night, I found Uncle Rick waiting in the kitchen. The sight of his form hunched over the table made me want to sneak in the front door, but I gritted my teeth and limped inside, determined to take what was coming like a man.

He looked up at me with a pointed expression. "Have a good night?"

I nodded.

He watched me quietly for a moment, then returned to the papers beneath his hands. I realized he was working on bills. Maybe he wasn't waiting up for me after all. "You know, Jaren and Cole have never given me cause to stay up this late. Even Cass knows her curfew."

I leaned against the cabinet and crossed my arms. "Sorry, Uncle Rick. It won't happen again."

He chuckled. "Kel, my mom dropped my curfew when I turned sixteen. She said I'd just be sneakin' out anyway and it'd be easier not groundin' me every weekend."

His logic appealed to me. I waited to see what conclusion he would come to.

He frowned at the papers in front of him. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not your mom, or your dad either, wherever he's at." He balled an envelope in his fist. "I think maybe you need your mother." My heart clenched as he continued, "I'm sorry for what happened to Zoey, and I understand getting away from it all, but you're obviously not happy here and I don't even pretend to know what you're going through."

My leg ached. I sat down on the chair across from him and leaned my face in my hands for a few moments. Exhaustion from everything that had happened during the day caught up to me. I let out a weary breath. "I may not be happy here," I said quietly. "But I don't think I'd be happy anywhere right now." I glanced up and met his eyes. "At least here I can do something instead of sitting around in the apartment reminded of the fact that she's not there."

He studied me in silence for a few minutes. When he nodded, a weight lifted off my shoulders. "You can stay for a while longer, but Lauren worries about you when you miss dinner and disappear for the entire night. Try to be here once in a while so she knows you're all right."

I nodded, more touched than I had words to say. I rose and limped to the hallway door.

"How's the leg?"

I fought back a smile. "A bit sore, but it'll get better."

He nodded and turned his attention back to his bills.

I limped to the living room and found a new pair of plaid pajamas waiting for me. I had never worn pajamas in my life, but Aunt Lauren's consideration made me smile. I changed into them and settled on the cot. My cell phone showed no messages. I sent Mom a quick "good night" text and closed my eyes.

***

ORANGE AND RED DANCED up the wood with frightening speed. It ate the fibers as though the fire was a ravenous beast. The wood was old and broken down by years of neglect. The last of the white paint had peeled away long ago. Everywhere I looked, fire raged out of control, maddening in its haste and merciless in what it devoured.

"Kelson!"

I jerked awake. Sweat soaked the plaid pajamas and my blankets were twisted and lying on the floor. Cassidy looked at me with shock and surprise. I realized I was holding her arm. I let it go and sat up.

"You were having a nightmare," Cassidy said.

I nodded and rubbed my face with my hands.

Cassidy sat down beside me. "Mom told me to wake you up. You slept in." Her voice softened. "Are you all right?"

Zoey's voice rang in my head over and over again. I pushed up from the cot and limped toward the bathroom. "I'm fine. Tell Uncle Rick I'll be out right away."

Cassidy sat there until I closed the bathroom door. I leaned against it and let out a heavy breath. Why did the nightmare have to feel so real? The nightmare _was_ real, the voice in the back of my mind reminded me.

I pushed the thought away and showered quickly, careful to wrap my leg in a plastic bag like the emergency room doctor had instructed. I dried it off as soon as I got out and rewrapped it. The skin was tender where Madelyn had sewn the new sutures. I would have to take out my own stitches because her green thread would be too obvious. I pulled on a fresh pair of pants, a dark-blue shirt, and ran a hand through my hair.

It was then that I noticed my knuckles. A closer inspection showed them to be swollen from the fight in the convenience store. I shook my head. How did I get myself into these things?

I limped back into the kitchen.

"Good morning, sunshine," Aunt Lauren said. She was a morning person through and through. Plates of scrambled eggs and pancakes sat in the middle of the table; it was obvious by the pile in the sink that the others had already eaten. Apparently Saturdays meant straight to work instead of the necessary intermission of school. I loaded eggs between two pancakes and took a bite.

"Delicious," I said with my mouth full.

Aunt Lauren smiled. "Guess you have to eat and run. I'm glad you got some rest."

I remembered Uncle Rick's words and swallowed my food. "I'm sorry I didn't come home for dinner. I promise I'll be home tonight."

She shook her head. "Nobody will be home for dinner tonight." At my look, she smiled again. "It's the Homecoming football game. Everyone will be there."

"You mean Uncle Rick actually takes time away from farming to watch football?" I asked incredulously.

She laughed. "Even Rick. It's the highlight of the month for Sparrow, and the Bulldogs are looking good this year. Trust me—you won't want to miss it."

I chose not to go into my dislike of team sports with her. Instead, I loaded another set of pancakes with eggs, then paused by the door. "Should I go to the junkyard, or does Uncle Rick need help on the farm?"

She thought about it for a moment. "I really don't think Jagger works on weekends. He'd probably die of shock if you showed up. But I know Rick could use help with the cows. It's time to move the herd to the southern fields."

Her suggestion made me uneasy. I wanted to prove that I wasn't a lazy city kid, but I wasn't sure herding cows would do it. My last few experiences with the animals hadn't been that promising. I gave what I hoped was a natural smile. "Thanks, Aunt Lauren. Breakfast was delicious." She waved at me and I went into the mud room to pull on my sneakers.

I found Cassidy waiting when I reached the yard. "Here," she said. She tossed me a straw cowboy hat similar to her own.

"This is dangerous," I replied, catching it.

"How so?" she asked curiously.

I put the hat on my head. It fit well and kept the sun out of my eyes. "You're tryin' to make this city kid look like he fits in with you farm folk," I answered in an imitation of her drawl. "Not sure it'll work."

"Well, Kelson Brady, you might have to look in a mirror. You look like you belong out here," Cassidy replied her best city accent.

We both laughed. I followed her to the truck. "Your turn," she said, sliding across to the passenger seat.

I stared at her. "There's no way I'm wrecking Uncle Rick's truck. I've got enough against me as it is."

"Good," Cassidy replied. "Then we'll be fine." She waited for me to climb in.

"I'm not going to be able to shift with my leg," I protested, trying to find any way out of it.

"This is an automatic. No shifting required." She grinned. "Just drive, city boy."

I rolled my eyes and turned the key. The engine rumbled. I was about to go when Cassidy said, "Wait for Jake. He's been wandering around all morning. If we leave him when we herd cows, he'll never forgive us."

I laughed. "You talk about that dog like he's got hopes and dreams of his own."

"Why wouldn't he?" Cassidy replied. She leaned over and honked the horn. The dog darted around the corner of the house and jumped into the back of the truck. He wagged his tail as though to say "I'm all set,", and his tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"If a dog's born to herd, he dreams about herding. The best way to keep an animal happy is to let it live to the measure of its creation."

I glanced at her.

"What?" Cassidy asked, sounding self-conscious.

"You sound like you're twenty years older all of a sudden," I replied.

She laughed and pushed my shoulder. "Just drive. Leave the philosophizing to me."

"Will do," I agreed.

We pulled alongside Uncle Rick's truck a few minutes later. The boys were already on horses rounding up the straggling cows at the far end of the pasture. Uncle Rick waved us over. I ducked under the barbed-wire fence alongside Cassidy. We dodged several cow pies, then I missed my footing and stepped squarely in one. It squished over my shoe.

"You need cowboy boots," Cassidy said with a laugh. She scraped the bottom of her flat sole on a clump of grass. "Easier to clean."

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied with a roll of my eyes. She grinned.

When we reached Uncle Rick, he motioned to two horses tied by a rusty gray trailer. "Take Ansel and Chewbacca to the wash. I saw a few cows out that way earlier. Make sure their calves come along, if they've got any."

Cassidy swung up on the black horse, Ansel, as easily as if she were climbing on a bike. I cautiously eyed the shaggy brown horse she had left for me.

"Come on," she urged. "Dad'll want to get going soon."

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted sheepishly.

She climbed down from Ansel and took me around to the left side of the horse. "Put your left foot in the stirrup, hold on to the pommel, and swing on. Don't worry; I won't untie him until you're set. Chewie's an old softie. He'll be easy on ya."

I did as she instructed. Swinging onto the back of a horse felt like the dumbest thing I had ever done. Considering my recent history, that was saying a lot. The animal stomped a hoof and I grabbed the pommel for balance. When I finally had my feet in the stirrups, Cassidy tossed me two strips of leather and climbed back on Ansel.

"Now guide him with the reins," she commanded. She showed me how her horse turned left when she pulled the leather that way, then did the same in the other direction. "You stop by pulling them both back at the same time, and you can back up if you keep the pressure steady."

I tried to do the same thing, but Chewbacca just sat there.

"He's lazy," Cassidy said. "Give him a kick."

"Like this?" I asked. I tapped the heel of my good leg against the horse's side. He started to follow Ansel.

"Perfect!" Cassidy exclaimed. She urged her horse faster, and Chewbacca trotted along behind her.

I bounced around in the saddle, fully aware that I wouldn't be able to walk by the time we were done if she kept trotting the horses. "Hey, Cass," I called out. "Slow it down. I'm paying for it in places you don't have to worry about!"

She turned Ansel back and laughed at the way I was jostled with every step. "Look," she said. "Stand on the balls of your feet in the stirrups. Your knees will cushion the steps and save your dignity."

I grinned and did as she showed. While it hurt my leg a great deal, it also eased the bouncing. "Thanks." I glanced back to find Uncle Rick watching us. I couldn't tell if his expression was one of exasperation or humor. I gritted my teeth. "Let's go get those cows."

Without warning, Cassidy kicked Ansel into a gallop and my horse followed. I clung to Chewbacca's pommel and reins until I realized that it was much easier to ride at a gallop than a trot. I used my stirrups as she showed me and felt somewhat comfortable in the saddle by the time we eased to a walk and rode down the wash.

Sure enough, two brown-and-white cows with two little calves rested in the shade of a thorny tree.

"Hup, cattle," Cassidy shouted.

The cows looked at her with docile brown eyes and chewed their cud as if they couldn't care less that two riders had come for them. Cassidy urged Ansel closer and slapped one of the cows lightly on the flank with her reins. "Move it!"

The cow gave a moo of protest, but ambled up the wash with one of the calves close behind. The other cow followed without any urging. Cassidy directed Ansel up the bank after them and Chewbacca was about to follow, but I heard something and pulled his reins back tight to keep him there.

Another little moo sounded. I looked around the thorny tree and saw a small calf tangled in wire on the other side. "Cassidy!" I yelled. She turned her horse as I slid off Chewbacca. I looped his reins around the tree, then ducked underneath.

"Maaaa," the little cow bawled.

"It's okay, little fella," I said gently. "I'll get you out of here." I tried to pull at the wire around its hooves, but it was wrapped tight. "No wonder your mama didn't want to leave," I continued in a soft tone to keep it from moving. "She was watching over her little one."

"Kelson, what are you doing? If Dad—" Cassidy stepped around the tree and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my goodness!"

"I can't get the wires off. They're wrapped too tight."

"I have cutters in my saddlebag. Hold on a minute."

The little calf looked so forlorn. I petted the soft, curly hair on top of its head and marveled at its big ears. It turned its head and licked my hand with a long, wet tongue. "Ew!" I exclaimed, wiping the drool on my shirt. "Thanks for that."

"Here you go," Cassidy said.

I took the pair of wire cutters and began working around the hooves. After four snips, I was able to unwrap the wires and set the little creature free. It stumbled to its feet and gave a louder moo. The mama cow at the top of the wash answered.

"Can you carry him over?" Cassidy asked.

Worried about hurting the animal, I gathered the calf carefully in my arms and ducked back under the tree branches she held up for me. It felt strange to hold something so fragile and young, but as soon as its mother came into view, the little calf kicked out with a strength that surprised me, eager to be back by her side. I set the animal on the ground and it gamboled up the bank to its mother. She licked its face, and it began to drink eagerly.

"I wonder how long he's been stuck." Cassidy mused. "He looks weaker than his brother. We'll have to herd them slowly."

"Uncle Rick won't mind?"

She shook her head. "You saved the calf's life, Kel. We would have left him and he'd have starved to death."

The thought made me sober on our slow trek back to the herd. Uncle Rick rode a gray horse out to meet us. "Taking your time?" he asked when he drew near.

"Kel found the black-and-white one under a Russian olive tree with his hooves wrapped in wire. I missed him entirely," Cassidy explained.

Uncle Rick looked down at the calf that now walked happily beside its mother and brother. He gave a nod of approval. "Good job, Kelson. It's not often a cow has twins, so there's the chance they get left behind. Good catch."

I grinned. It was a good feeling to be in the right for once. It was definitely something I could get used to.

We rode slowly behind the herd as Jaren led it down a dirt road. Jake ran in front of us, herding the cattle and keeping them on the road instead of straying into the growing fields on either side. It took every moment of the dog's time, and it was amazing to see how hard he worked. He darted off after each wandering cow and herded them back with either a stare or a nip at their heels. If they refused to listen, a bark would get them moving. He cut our work in half, if not more. I couldn't imagine how much time it would take if we had to use the horses to chase down every stray animal he brought back. A dog like that would be priceless to a farmer.

Cole rode ahead and opened a fence to a pasture on the south side that was spread with sparse grass and weeds as far as I could see. "Hup, cattle," Uncle Rick called. He angled his horse along the road so the cows had no choice but to turn into the gate. Jake nipped a few he felt weren't going fast enough. The cows mooed in protest, but they obeyed and moseyed into the pasture. It amazed me how comfortable I felt in Chewbacca's saddle. The horse was content to grab a few mouthfuls of grass along the side of the road while we waited.

I watched the mother cow with her twins as she found a patch of sun-warmed dirt on the other side and settled down to chew her cud. The black-and-white calf jumped around with his red-and-white brother. I couldn't help but smile; they reminded me of a pair of kids playing together.

Uncle Rick shut the gate behind the last one and secured it with a loop of wire. "Well done," he said. He squinted at the sun. "I think we have time for ice cream in town before the game."

Everyone shouted in excitement. Cole and Jaren spurred their horses into a run up the dirt road. Cassidy followed close behind and overtook them both. "You're not going to join the race?" Uncle Rick asked.

"Are you kidding?" I shook my head. "I just learned to stay on this thing. I'm not about to push my luck." Besides, my leg was killing me. Riding a horse after redoing stitches definitely wasn't within doctor's orders. But I wouldn't complain. I did something right, and by the look on Uncle Rick's face, he was actually happy to have me around for once. I eased my foot out of the stirrup and let my leg hang while the horses walked back to the trailer.

Chapter Twelve

AUNT LAUREN WAS RIGHT; everyone in Sparrow had turned out for the Homecoming game. Aunt Lauren and Uncle Rick took seats next to Jagger, who looked like he had actually trimmed about an inch off his belly-length beard for the event. He waved at me and I waved back before I followed Cassidy and Sandy to the student section. I looked around for Madelyn, but couldn't find her in the audience.

Cassidy caught me searching. "The Wests usually don't show up. I'd be surprised if she found a ride." She looked thoughtful, then nudged me with her elbow. "We should invite her next time for your sake so you'd at least have something to enjoy."

"I like football," I said, but it was obvious to both of us that I really didn't.

"Who's the one in the middle throwing the ball?" Cassidy quizzed.

I rolled my eyes. "The quarterback, Cass. It's not that I don't know anything about football—I just don't like it."

She shrugged and sat back. Sandy returned to our seats carrying three hot dogs and sodas in cardboard trays. "Geesh," she said, handing them out. "You'd think the Bullets were starving, the way they're raiding the Snack Shack."

I followed her gaze. It was easy to spot Magnum and his gang harassing two servers working at the snack booth near the end of the bleachers. Anytime somebody ordered, they grabbed the food and ate it so the cooks had to make up two sets for each person.

"I'm sick and tired of the way they treat people," Sandy said in a huff. "I'm just glad Toby didn't charge me double for these."

Frustration surged through me at the Bullets' actions. I took a big bite of my hot dog, then pretended to choke on it.

"Are you all right?" Cassidy asked, alarmed. She pounded on my back.

I nodded and swallowed. "I'm just going to run to the restroom," I said, coughing.

She took my soda and hot dog, then moved back so I could skirt around her. I hurried down the stairs and turned the corner. All the while, I kept my eyes on the Bullets and the poor harassed servers in the booth. Magnum snatched a pretzel from one girl's hands before she could give it to a customer. The server argued with Magnum and I heard her state clearly that it was her last one. Magnum laughed and took a big bite. The server turned with tears in her eyes to explain to the customer that there were no more.

I stormed into the bathroom, angry that anyone could treat a fellow student that way. Apparently, my little lesson in the convenience store hadn't been enough. I wanted to teach them something in front of the school. Perhaps a little humiliation would do them good. I leaned against the bathroom door in futile fury when I spotted a crumpled costume near one of the stalls. A closer inspection showed it to be the Bulldog mascot costume. By the sounds of things, the wearer wouldn't be out of the stall anytime soon.

My shirt was blue and white, but my light jacket was black and nondescript. I grabbed the costume and pulled it on, then slipped the jacket over the top. I hoped they were at least smart enough to put two and two together and realize I was the same person from the other night. I stuck the bulldog head on and paused. My vision was limited and the bulky head made my movements slower. I would have to be careful.

I pulled open the door and walked out in the Bulldog outfit. The floppy feet and big paws made me feel like a walking stuffed animal, which I guess was exactly what I was.

"Hey, Bruno," one boy said when I passed.

A girl held out her hand and I slapped her a high five with my paw. Nobody questioned the mascot as I made my way to the concessions table, where one of Magnum's tall cronies had taken the cash box and was holding it out of a server's reach while the other Bullets laughed. I grinned inside the mask; I was going to enjoy this.

I pretended to trip and crashed into the crony. The cash box flew up and landed on the ground. I climbed back to my feet and managed to trip the Bullet again so that he fell into the table of condiments and landed on the ground with relish on his head. I picked the cash box up in my awkward paws and handed it back to the server. "This is yours, I think," I said in a wry tone. I hoped my voice was muffled enough by the costume that Magnum wouldn't recognize it.

The server took the box and hurried back inside the snack booth as if he feared for his life.

"What's up, Bruno?" Magnum asked. He shoved me from behind. "Are you a bulldog or some misdirected Robin Hood?"

"Depends," I said. I stumbled forward into one of the other Bullets, who turned me around and shoved me back. "Would that make you a cowardly thief, who picks on those less fortunate?"

Magnum stared at me for a moment in surprise, then swung a fist at my costumed head. I blocked the blow and punched him in the face with a bulky paw. Everyone around us fell silent for a moment as if shocked to see the mascot defend himself. I grinned inside the costume.

"I get the feeling you're not the usual Bruno," Magnum said. He checked his nose for blood, but the paw was padded enough that there wasn't any.

I stepped back so I could see if he tried to punch me again. "I get the feeling you're sharper than you look," I replied. "Although picking on concession workers makes you look as much an idiot as a bully."

He growled and rushed at me like a bear. He grabbed me around the middle and I fell over backwards. I kicked out when I hit the ground and sent him flying over my head into two other Bullets. I rolled to avoid a kick to the ribs, then jumped back to my feet in time to block the punches of two more attackers.

I drove my padded fist into a stomach, spun and elbowed another person, then tripped a boy with a red Mohawk. The green-haired girl tried to hit me in the groin, so I caught her wrist and spun her into Magnum. He threw her aside toward one of the others and pulled out a butterfly knife. He flipped it open, then held out his other hand to the Mohawk boy. "Colt, your knife."

The boy quickly pulled the knife from his pocket and tossed it to Magnum. He caught it and spun it open. "No more games," the Bullet leader growled with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"Oh, so that's why you're called Bullets," I replied. "You use knives."

His eyes narrowed and he came at me. I jumped back to avoid a swipe for my stomach, then ducked and felt one of the knives embed in my costumed head. I was immensely grateful there was a good half foot of padding between me and top of the head.

Two Bullets picked me up from behind. I kicked back and caught one on the shin, then turned and kneed the second in the groin. Two others grabbed me and I pretended to fall back, but turned at the last second and landed on my knees, swiping my arms backward and knocking their legs out from under them. I jumped to my feet and blocked a kick from the girl with spikey hair, then grabbed her leg and backed her into two other Bullets.

I turned and blocked another knife swipe from Magnum with my padded arm. My jacket and the costume were cut, but it didn't reach my skin. Angry at the cheap shot, I chopped both arms down on Magnum's knife hand. He dropped the blade and I kneed him in the stomach. When he doubled over, I did a spin kick and brought my full weight down on my heel on top of his back. He dropped to the ground with a huff of air. The other Bullets backed off. I glared at them with the rage that was roiling through me; I forgot about the fact that they couldn't see my face.

"The Bullets are through in Sparrow," I said. My chest heaved from the exertion of fighting in a thick costume. "You can't bully citizens and students without retaliation; you've gotten away with it for too long."

I walked away. It took every ounce of courage I possessed to turn my back on the four still-standing, though somewhat bruised, Bullets who were helping the others to their feet. I felt every eye in the stadium on me. A quick glance around showed that our fight held every person's attention. Even the referees on the field had paused to watch the outcome. Apparently, it wasn't every day that the mascot took on the town gang.

Knowledge that I was in serious trouble if the Bullets regrouped and came after me hung heavy in my mind. I jogged to the far end of the field, then disappeared behind the stands. I took the small alley between the gymnasium and school and quickly changed out of the mascot outfit, then left it by the gym doors. With only a minor tear to the one arm, the mascot outfit was still in pretty good shape.

I slipped through the parking lot to Uncle Rick's truck and shoved my black jacket beneath the seat, then hurried back to the restroom. I was under the pretense of washing my hands when I heard the toilet flush in the last stall the real mascot occupied. "Your costume's by the gym doors," I said over the bathroom stall before I left. I fought back a grin as I walked up the stands to where Cassidy and Sandy sat.

I took my hot dog from Cassidy and began eating. Then I noticed her flustered expression. "What?" I asked. "Did you want me to get you guys another one? Magnum might kick my butt after the motorcycle incident, but—"

"Kelson, were you in the bathroom this whole time?" Cassidy demanded.

I nodded. "Something about Aunt Lauren's eggs this morning hasn't been sitting right with me. Please don't tell her. I'd hate—"

"Kelson, will you listen to me?" Cassidy almost shouted.

I gave her my most innocent expression. "What's wrong, Cass?"

Sandy saved me from her anger. "Someone beat up the Bullets while you were in the restroom. They're not bugging the Snack Shack anymore."

"What?" I feigned surprise and looked in the direction of the concessions stand. Sure enough, the Bullets were gone. Several other people were pointing in the same direction and talking.

"Someone beat up the entire gang?" I asked in a tone of heavy doubt. "No way."

"Way," Sandy replied excitedly. "And he was wearing the Bulldog costume."

I let out a snort of disbelief. "No. That has to be some sort of joke. Nobody could take them on alone; no one would be stupid enough to."

Cassidy spoke up with a huff. "Kel, it was real. We saw him. Everybody saw him. I'll bet the Bullets are killing him right now."

I nodded. "Probably. That must have been humiliating."

Cassidy sat back with a full smile on her face.

"What's that for?" I asked.

She grinned. "I've never seen anything so funny. I'm sure it was recorded by about a hundred different cell phones, so at least we'll be able to show you—" Her phone beeped, cutting her off. She glanced at it and laughed. "What do you know? Chelsea's way ahead of me."

She held up her phone and showed me a still frame of a slightly fuzzy Bulldog mascot. She pushed play and I saw the entire fight from the third person. It was strange to see the mascot as he fought the assailants and realize it was me taking them down with such ruthless-looking efficiency. Even in the costume, the moves looked dangerous and precise, the moves of a fighter, not the attempt of some fumbling student.

"Man, I wonder if that was Bruno," Sandy breathed when the fight was over.

As if on cue, the boy in the bathroom came running out wearing only boxers. Several members of the audience laughed.

At the same time, the teacher I recognized from the lunchroom on my first day came hurrying over with the mascot costume in her arms. I realized I had forgotten to remove the knife from its head.

All the students on our side of the small outdoor stadium watched Bruno's scream of horror at his mutilated mascot costume. Students around me laughed as they recorded the encounter, but I felt a surge of relief. At least if Magnum saw the video, he couldn't blame the attack on Bruno.

I sat back in my seat and watched the game. For the first time, I found myself enjoying the tackles and runs, the passes and kicks.

I wondered if Dad would have wanted me in football. The thought had been the one thing keeping me out of all sports but martial arts growing up. Fighting let out my frustrations and I didn't feel Dad's absence over my shoulder because he had never been a supporter of MMA. My life would have been a lot simpler if I had gone along with his wishes.

Chapter Thirteen

THAT NIGHT, CASSIDY TRIED to talk me into going to the Homecoming Ball. "I won't be any good at dancing," I told her with a pointed look at my leg.

"Hey, there's finally someone here who's old enough to drive legally, and I'm going to take advantage of it," Cassidy shot back with her usual grin.

I looked at Aunt Lauren for help, but she was all for it. "Oh, go have a good time. It'll be good for you both to get out." She tossed me the keys to Uncle Rick's blue Ram.

"I should probably drive something a little less new," I protested.

Aunt Lauren laughed. "If you scratch it, blame it on Cass. He'll never get mad at his little girl."

"Hey!" Cassidy protested. Then she shrugged with a smile. "It's true."

She directed me to Sandy's house, and the girl practically flew out when we pulled up, wearing a blue sequined shirt and white pants.

"New clothes?" Cassidy asked. "When did you go shopping?"

"After the game," Sandy replied. "I told my mom I had absolutely nothing to wear and made her take me to Allison's."

"Why didn't I think of that? Whoa!" Cassidy exclaimed when I turned up the road to the high school. "Where are you going?"

"To the dance."

"We have a few more stops to make," Sandy said with a grin.

Cassidy pointed me down another road and we pulled up to a home where a girl with short blonde hair and a cowgirl hat ran out. Then Sandy directed me to three other houses. Soon, the truck was filled with excited, giggling girls who piled out when we reached the high school and loudly demanded to dance with me the instant we entered the gym.

I searched desperately for Madelyn, but she was nowhere to be found. "Come on, Kel," the blonde said, pulling me toward the dance floor.

"He hurt his leg, Chantelle," Cassidy replied, swooping to the rescue. "He's just the chauffeur today."

"Oh, man!" Chantelle complained. "I thought you'd be an easy date."

"Sorry to disappoint you," I replied, but I threw Cassidy a look of extreme gratitude. She smiled back.

"Can you believe that fight?" a girl with bright red hair said to Cassidy.

Sandy and Chantelle came closer. "It was amazing!" Sandy said. "I've never seen Magnum beaten by anyone, let alone someone in a mascot outfit."

Chantelle giggled. "He must have been so embarrassed."

"All I can say is that he had it coming," Cassidy replied. "It's about time someone cut the Bullets down a notch."

Everyone threw uneasy glances over their shoulders, but the gang was nowhere to be seen. As we walked through the crowd, I heard other students talking excitedly about the game.

"And did you notice," a tall, skinny boy said to his date, "before the fight, we were losing by twenty-one points. After the fight, the Bulldogs scored on every drive and won the game forty-two to twenty-one. Whoever was in the mascot outfit was a good luck charm."

I tried to remember back. I didn't know what the score was before I put on the costume, but the team had scored a lot after the fight. A smile spread across my face that I couldn't hide.

"What's gotten you all cheery?" Cassidy asked.

"I'm sure Kelson was just as glad to see Magnum get beat up since his head's on the chopping block," Sandy pointed out.

Cassidy rolled her eyes. "I wish you hadn't missed the fight. The bathroom could have waited. Mom's eggs aren't that bad."

"You should give her some of my mom's salsa," Sandy commented before I could come up with a reply. "She uses green peppers, bell peppers, tomatoes, onions . . ." Her voice faded away as she and Cassidy wandered off to find their other friends.

I took a seat near a table spread with refreshments and watched the dance floor. It seemed everyone was in a great mood after the game. Three more groups of students walked by relaying the details of the fight, and two sets of girls were watching it on their phones. Even the teachers seemed happier, letting down their stern façades and joking with the students. The parents who were chaperoning danced on the floor instead of monitoring the dancers. The thought that perhaps I had added to the mood had me smiling again.

Cassidy brought me over a cup of punch and some cookies. "Thanks for the ride," she said.

"Anytime," I replied. I ate the cookies, but knew from previous school experience not to drink anything. I was contemplating whether I should go get more cookies when a commotion at the far end of the gymnasium caught my attention. Students moved quickly away from the doors and voices rose above the music. I fought back a grimace at the sight of the Bullets working their way through the crowd.

"You'd think after their humiliation at the game, they'd give it a few days to quiet down before showing their faces," a boy behind me said to a girl with curly blonde hair.

"They never give up!" I muttered quietly.

The Bullets strutted across the dance floor, heedless of impeding the spinning dancers. One boy ran into Magnum and turned to snap at him for getting in the way, but when the boy saw who he hit, he shut his mouth and pulled his date off the floor without retaliating.

It was interesting to watch the way the students acted around the Bullets. Everyone cleared a path like traffic did for a cop car with the lights spinning. It seemed as if the students had a radar for Magnum's presence and their goal was to steer clear of wherever the Bullets ended up. No one wanted to catch Magnum's attention.

He stopped by the punch bowl just as Cassidy, Sandy, and their other friends were dishing up small plates of cookies, tuna fish on crackers, and frogeye salad.

"Don't you think this punch is a little bland, Snipe?" Magnum asked the green-haired girl.

"Definitely," she replied. She poured something from a flask into the punch bowl.

One of the teachers on duty saw them and hurried over. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Livening things up," Magnum replied. "This party's a little dull."

The teacher moved to grab the punch bowl, but Magnum glared at him and held it down. "What do you think _you're_ doing, Mr. McConough?"

"Making this place safer for the students," the teacher replied. "I'll not have our Homecoming dance turned into a fiasco."

"Oh, a fiasco," Magnum replied. "Why don't you speak English?"

Cassidy and her friends stopped talking. Everyone around the table watched the argument with an air of uneasy expectation. I moved slowly toward them with my cup of punch.

"Maybe it's time for you to leave," Mr. McConough said.

Magnum's eyebrows rose and he looked at the other Bullets in surprise. "Did you hear that? I think it's time for Mr. McConough to be escorted out. Why don't—"

"Hey, Cass," I said loudly. I tripped on her foot and fell into Magnum, splashing red punch down the front of his tuxedo. I looked up into Magnum's enraged face.

He pulled me up by the front of my shirt. "What on earth are you thinking?"

I fought back a smile. "That I'm glad I didn't rent a tuxedo tonight. A little overdressed, don't you think?"

His eyes widened and he threw me into the table. It flipped forward and the punch bowl went flying straight at the Bullets, covering all of them in the spiked drink. Magnum stormed over to me and I held up my hands. "I didn't mean to, honest," I protested. I hated sounding like a coward, but it was worth the price. "It was an accident."

"Like the way you smashed up my bike and truck?" he demanded.

I nodded innocently. "I told you I'd never been on a motorcycle before. I didn't know what I was doing."

He looked like he wanted to pound me to a pulp. He raised a fist and I tried to keep from glaring at him.

"Mr. Fisher, what's going on here?" Principal Dawson asked.

Magnum spun at the sound of his name. When he saw the principal, he calmed down a bit. "Just shootin' the breeze with Keldon here," he said.

Principal Dawson's eyes narrowed when he looked at me, as if he was trying to remember where he knew me from. He finally nodded. "That would be Kelson," he said, proud of his memory. He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. "Looks like you need a bit of cleaning up." He glanced at the Bullets. "You fellas as well. Perhaps you should take a trip to the restrooms and cool down."

I nodded, but I knew better than to confine myself in a small space with the punch-covered Bullets. As soon as I stepped out the door, I hurried to the end of the hallway and disappeared around it.

"You'd better run, Kelson," Magnum called. "We're not finished yet."

I slipped back into the gymnasium about a half hour later and was glad to see that the Bullets had gotten tired of harassing students and teachers and left. Mr. McConough filled up a new bowl of punch, then carried a cup over to me and took a seat nearby. "I don't know if that was on purpose, but if so, it was the gutsiest move I've ever seen."

I accepted the cup and sipped it while watching the students dance. "Thank you for the punch. The last batch looked a bit well-used."

Mr. McConough choked on his punch and sputtered a laugh. "Yes, it did."

"Does everyone know how to line dance here?" I asked him. The last two songs had been country-themed, and the sparse floor was now filled shoulder-to-shoulder with dancers.

Mr. McConough nodded. "They teach it in elementary school." He glanced at me. "Not your style?"

I shook my head. "I grew up in California. If you danced, you were shot."

He laughed. "Kelson, is it?"

I nodded and he held out a hand. We shook and I sat back feeling much better about my interference with Magnum. Playing both sides of the fence was hard, but the more I made Magnum think me a cowardly target, the less he would guess I was the one who was trying to stop them.

Chapter Fourteen

I FELL INTO BED exhausted that night. I was tempted to take the four-wheeler to Madelyn's, but my leg throbbed angrily by the time I sat on my cot, and my body screamed at me for all the unaccustomed horseback riding.

I glanced at my phone and was surprised to see a message flashing. I picked it up warily and hit the voicemail button. It rang and I entered my password. My mom's voice filled the phone.

"Kelson, I miss you. I thought it would be easier without you here, but I find now I'm missing you both instead of only Zoey. I know it wasn't your fault, and it was wrong of me to blame it on you. Lauren said you're doing well and helping out. Thank you for being the tough one in all this. You're a good son." She paused as if she wanted to say something else, then she said, "Good night."

I deleted the voicemail and stared at the phone. Mom's words ran through my head. "It was wrong of me to blame it on you." "Thank you for being the tough one in all this." I rose from the cot and set the phone back on the end table, then limped to the door. All thoughts of staying in for the night fled. Memories from last night's nightmare threatened to swarm me. I had to get away.

I climbed on the four-wheeler and drove toward Madelyn's house. Jake followed faithfully behind. He had to have been at least as tired as I was, if not more, given his efforts at herding, but he didn't show it as he loped gracefully beside the four-wheeler.

I stopped at the edge of her property like I always did, but instead of waiting for me, Jake darted ahead. I heard Buck's playful growls. He was untied, which meant Madelyn was outside. I limped toward the house.

"You're looking a little worse for wear."

I turned with a smile at the sound of her voice coming from the shadows of the tree. It was amazing how such simple words—demeaning words, really—could make my heart dance away from the cares and worries that drove me out into the night. I didn't realize until that moment how much I had missed Madelyn. I had searched for her at the game and dance to no avail. Now that I was near her, I felt complete and relaxed again.

"I _feel_ a little worse for wear," I admitted. I eased down to sit at the base of the tree and looked up at her.

She was barefoot and her toes dangled just out of reach. "Enjoying the farming life?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Oh, so much," I replied. "I can't even begin to describe it."

She laughed quietly, a musical sound that made me smile without realizing it. "I think farm life is doing you well, Kelson Brady."

I straightened my leg out. Most of the pain wasn't coming from the stitches—it was coming from the part of me that hit the saddle a million times before I learned to ride. I winced. "Are you sure about that?"

She was silent a moment as she scrutinized me. I felt a bit self-conscious under such close consideration. She finally nodded. "A farmer's tan, dirt under your fingernails, manure on your shoes, and the impression of a cowboy hat in your hair. Yep, I'd say this life is good for you."

It was my turn to laugh. "You can't see all that. You're too high in the tree and it's the middle of the night. You're just guessing."

"But it made you laugh," she said with a note of triumph.

I grinned. "It did." I reached up and pulled on her toes. "Come down here."

She obeyed and climbed down the tree as if she had lived in branches her entire life. She settled next to me and I was surprised to find how comfortable I felt with her head against my chest and my arm around her shoulders. I hadn't realized the night was cool, but the side she was on definitely warmed quickly. "I missed you today. I looked for you at the Homecoming dance," I said into her hair.

"I missed you too," she replied, her voice soft. "I've never been to a dance."

I looked down at her. "You're kidding, right?"

She shook her head. "I've never been on a date. It's hard with . . . things that go on here." She toyed with a fraying thread that hung from the edge of her shirt and it was obvious she didn't want to talk about it.

I caught the thread and rolled it between my fingers. "I'll bet you could fix that. I hear you're pretty good with a needle."

I felt her smile against my chest. "I am, aren't I?"

"Maybe you should be a doctor."

Her shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. "I would love to."

The emptiness in her tone left little hope to her words. "But?"

"But I'm not getting out of Sparrow. There's no way," she replied quietly.

"Sure there's a way." I looked down at her in surprise. "Maddy, you're brilliant. You could get out on a scholarship easy. You're taking all the AP classes and I know your teachers would give you rave recommendations."

She shook her head before I finished speaking. After a moment of silence, she said, "It's not that I can't get out—it's that I won't."

I realized by her tone that there was something deeper that I didn't know. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and held her close. "Why not?" I whispered gently.

I didn't think she was going to tell me. Crickets chirruped around us and the call of an owl echoed off the tapestry of night. Stars winked from their midnight bed and the grass beneath the tree was basking in swirling light and shadow that looked as if it had been painted by a master hand. Above it all, I heard Madelyn's breathing and felt her sigh against my chest. Her shoulders bowed slightly as she said, "I can't leave my mother. She needs me."

The heaviness of her words attested to the burden she carried. I ran a finger down the back of her hand, tracing the veins and tendons to the tips of her fingers. "What's wrong with your mother, Maddy?"

She was silent, then said, "She's quadriplegic. She got bucked off a horse three years ago and broke her neck. Dad can't do everything for her, so I take care of her when I'm not at school." She paused. "That's why Dad gets mad at night. He drinks when she goes to bed. It's his way of coping. He really is a good father." She said the words in a rush like it felt good to tell someone.

I didn't know what to say. I had never known anyone with a parent who was paralyzed. I wasn't sure what their care entailed, but it was obvious Madelyn spent most of her time with her mom. I tried to think of how I would feel. "I'm sure your mother appreciates everything you do," I replied softly.

She nodded. "I know she does. She tells me she does. It's just . . ."

"You feel trapped?" I guessed.

She nodded, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I don't want to sound selfish. I want to be there for my mom. I love her so much and I know she loves me. I am so grateful for all she did for me before her accident, and I'll never be able to do enough to repay her."

I wiped the tears away. "It's all right, Maddy. You're a good child and your parents are lucky to have you," I whispered.

She sniffed and was quiet for a few minutes, then she said, "I like it when you call me Maddy."

I smiled. "I was hoping it didn't bother you. Cassidy said it the other day and it just fit."

She looked up at me. "You have a neat family."

I nodded. "They're good to me. I don't know if I'm good for them."

She laughed and leaned against me again. We watched the wind whisper across the grass, creating endless swirls and whirls in the dark carpet.

"Why are you in Sparrow?"

The question was soft and gentle. The words didn't deserve the sharp stab of pain they evoked, but the memories felt fresh and raw, piercing and shrill. A high-pitched ringing sounded in my ears. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the way my heart pounded, but Madelyn moved her head down and set her ear against it.

"It must be something awful," she breathed, her words heavy with compassion.

I bit my lip. It was the only way to keep the emotions at bay, create pain to fight pain. I tasted blood and blinked quickly against the burning in my eyes. I wasn't going to tell her. I didn't want to tell anyone. Nobody should know what I did and what happened.

"It was all my fault," I said past the knot in my throat. My words were tight, a whisper when I hadn't realized I said anything at all.

Madelyn kept still, listening and holding me as much as I held her. Her fingers brushed gently down my arm. I felt a memory of blisters along my arms and legs, and burns covering my back. A shudder at the remembered pain ran down my spine.

"Zoey is," I swallowed, " _was_ my sister. She was a junior in high school and a year younger than me. We lived in a rough part of California where half the city was high rises and the other half was low-income housing. When Dad left . . . " That admission was painful. I didn't know if I'd ever said the words out loud. We had skirted around it for four years.

I took a breath. "When he left, Mom worked night and day, but couldn't make ends meet. We moved to a little apartment lost in miles of concrete and closely packed buildings, the kind where dirty toddlers cried on the steps and drugs raids occurred almost every day. Zoey and I were left to our own means."

I didn't know what drove me to tell Madelyn, but once I started, I couldn't stop. I pushed the hair back from my forehead. "We found an old abandoned warehouse, one of the thousands scattered through the city. It was our place, mine and Zoey's. We went there after school and hung out until it was time for Mom to get home from work. Then I had an idea."

My words twisted, filled with the hatred and self-loathing I felt for my actions. "I decided we should have a party. The warehouse was huge and empty. It seemed like the perfect place."

I saw shadows in my mind, figures dancing to music from the car someone had parked in the warehouse and left thumping with all its doors open. Alcohol flowed readily from kegs and bottles. A profusion of snacks provided by the girls were spread on empty crates and planks turned into tables. Students sprawled on the rickety stairs to the second level Zoey and I usually avoided. But she was up there with Jeff, a friend of mine who was pushing the bro code by hanging out with my sister.

"Someone lit a bonfire. It was under control in an old metal garbage bin, but then a drunk idiot decided to throw his unopened beer in the fire. Someone else panicked and tried to get it out before it exploded. He tipped the bin and fire ran all over the alcohol-soaked floor."

It moved like snakes in a dozen different directions, trailing streamers of red, orange, and yellow that ate into the worn wood. The laughter of the boys and girls turned to screams when they realized what was happening. They scattered like mice surprised by a cat.

I could only stare. It was a nightmare, shadows racing along the walls, the scent of alcohol and the still-thumping beat from the car that burned in the middle of the warehouse echoed eerily in the smoke. It was a disaster, and I had started it.

"Kelson!"

My muscles twitched and Madelyn held me closer. I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt her brush the tears gently from my cheek. "Zoey called my name." I choked. Smoke hung heavy in the air, clawing down my throat, threatening to consume me the way the fire ate at my clothes and skin. "I couldn't find her." The tears wouldn't stop. "She was upstairs, but the stairs were gone. A beam fell from the ceiling and landed on me, crushing me to the floor. My head was hit and the fire was burning all around me. I was disoriented and couldn't move."

I remembered the wail of the fire engine sirens when the trucks pulled up outside the warehouse. Firemen burst through the sliding doors. One of them grabbed the beam, then two and three. When they lifted the burning beam off me, I wouldn't let them hold me down. I had to get to Zoey. She was calling my name over and over. The firemen pinned my arms behind my back. I fought them off. I was tackled to the floor. I couldn't breathe. The smoke was too thick.

"They dragged me away," I said, sobbing. "I tried to find her, but they wouldn't let me go." My back ached where the beam had fallen on it and burned the skin. They had cut off my clothes in the ambulance. There was little more than black tatters left of my favorite 49ers shirt, the one Zoey gave me for my birthday.

"She kept calling my name, and then her voice just stopped and all I could hear was the sound of the roof collapsing." I covered my ears, but it did little to shut out the groan of timbers and the pop of flames as they ate through the thick wood. When they collapsed, sparks and flaming embers flew through the air like miniature shooting stars. In the middle of shock, I wished on the stars that Zoey would be safe, that she would fly out of the warehouse and land safely next to the ambulance. She would tell me the party had been a bad idea.

"How long were you in the hospital?" Madelyn asked quietly.

"A week for minor burns, smoke inhalation, and the blow to the head from the beam. The burns hurt, but it didn't feel like enough." I looked at her. "I wanted to hurt more, for my bones to burn and my skin to be as charred and wretched as I felt. Those who looked at me saw the one who let Zoey and Jeff die. I know my mom did."

It was in her eyes every time she looked at me. She stopped visiting the hospital, and I took a taxi home the day I was released. A few days later, she called her sister Lauren.

"So Sparrow is your second chance."

I stared at Madelyn. "There are no second chances for what I did." I rubbed the tears from my eyes. "There is no forgiveness and no making it better. I'm a lost cause; no miracles will set me free because they died." My voice rose and I clenched my fists. "They died and I lived. I should have been the one who died."

Silence filled the shadows beneath the trees. After a few minutes, Madelyn took one of my clenched fists in her hands. She rubbed my sore knuckles and tight fingers, easing the fury that ached in my chest by providing the one thing I didn't deserve. Love.

I buried my face in her hair. She leaned against me and held my hand. "I don't know why you care about me," I whispered. My voice broke with heartache.

"I could say the same thing about you," she replied with her own tremor of sorrow.

I put my arms around her and hugged her as tightly as I dared. "You are the only spark of light in my life. I don't deserve anything as wonderful as you."

She sniffed and spoke through her own tears. "I'd say you must be crazy to think such things, but after hearing your story, I know why a person like me, so bleak and without anything to offer, could attract someone like you."

"You mean someone without a future or hope of redemption?"

She gave me a watery smile. "I mean someone who stole my heart and who gives me something to live for when I feel ready to give up. These nights with you have added a new dimension to my life, something bright and exciting, something I didn't know I could feel anymore." Her voice cracked and she fell silent.

I held her in my arms, both of us broken in our own way. Her pain was deep and fathomless, caused by someone who had stolen her innocence and left a shell where her soul had been. I was a raw, gaping, self-inflicted wound, festering and angry but unable to heal. We needed each other. Even when we didn't speak or probe into the hurt, we needed another heart that beat with the same echo of confusion about a world where terrible things happened, where boogeymen existed and fires devoured loved ones.

Holding her in my arms, I could remember that kindness existed, that there was someone to love and live for after my world had been taken away. Madelyn gave me hope, and I loved her for it. Her arms tightened around me and she put her head against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I smoothed her hair, and something like a prayer of gratitude rose from my soul.

I wasn't the type to pray. I hadn't been even before the accident, but afterward there was no point and no hope. I gave myself up as lost when I woke up in the hospital and knew that Zoey was gone. Yet here, with Madelyn's trust and her soul shining through her gaze, a flicker of faith was restored like a healing balm. If she could survive what she had gone through and continue to be the wonderful, amazing person I knew, perhaps I could make something of myself as well. Maybe I could make a difference.

Chapter Fifteen

THE ASHBYS WENT TO church Sunday morning. I politely declined when they asked if I wanted to join them, and they didn't question or press me. I appreciated their consideration. I cleaned up what was left of breakfast and drove the four-wheeler to Jagger's with some leftovers.

He accepted the breakfast with zeal. "Been a while since I've ate someone else's cookin'," he said with his mouth full of over-easy eggs, bacon, and French toast.

"Aunt Lauren's a great cook."

"Excellent," he agreed.

He motioned for me to take a seat at his small plastic table. Mick hadn't approved of my entrance into the shack, and he doubly didn't approve when I took the proffered seat. His yapping filled the room until Jagger sent him to the bed. Then the little dog sat with his head on his paws and glared at me. I was grateful dogs didn't possess the power of Darth Vader or I would be dead.

"Had a thought," Jagger said around another bite.

"About what?" I asked.

He washed down the mouthful with a swig of beer. "Well, I was at the football game t'other day, 'member?"

I nodded. Something about his tone made me wary.

"I was recallin' the fight with Magnum. Ya know the one I'm referrin' to." At my nod, he gave me a look that was suddenly sharp and clear, the gaze of a hawk at the sight of a careless mouse. "Whoever wore that mascot outfit 'ad a limp."

A fist tightened around my heart. I dropped my eyes from his shrewd gaze and studied a brown stain on the plastic tabletop. I tried for a casual response. "Yeah? What of it?"

"I also heard the Bullets were attacked a' Joe's store ta other night by a kid in a black outfit on a black bike. Know anyone fittin' that 'scription?"

He had me and we both knew it. I dropped the pretense. "If you want the bike back, you can have it. I'm just tired of that gang walking all over this town like they own it."

"They do own it," Jagger replied. "They 'ave a hand in every pocket and a tie in everythin' that happens 'ere. They hold all the power and they know it."

The frustration I had been fighting filled me. "Then how do I beat them?"

Jagger gave me a wry smile. "Not wi' padded paws and humiliation. That'll make ya a target quick."

"Maybe that's the goal."

Jagger lifted a shaggy eyebrow. "If they're lookin' for you, they'll leave everyone else alone?"

"Something like that."

Jagger reached down and pulled a package from beneath the table.

"Open it."

"What is it?" I asked warily, eyeing the brown paper bag.

Jagger rolled his eyes. "Jus' open it."

I did as I was told and pulled a black vest from the bag. It took me a moment realize what it was. "A bulletproof vest?"

"A ballistic vest, made out a Kevlar and thin enough ta fit b'neath that black outfit you wear." He gave me a serious look. "If you're insistin' on stirrin' up the Bullets, you're gonna find yourself at the wrong end of a knife or gun sooner rather than later. I won't say a word to your aunt 'n uncle if'n you promise to wear that vest every time ya go after that gang."

"Where did you get this?" I watched him closely, sure I had missed something about his history that had to do with the CIA or Mafia or something.

He merely shrugged. "It's amazin' what you can get now a'days off the Internet."

"You don't have the Internet," I stated with a quick look around the pre-wireless-era shack.

He grinned, showing his crooked teeth. "Nope, but Sally do at the bar, an' she show me how ta' order."

I laughed. "You're sweet on Sally."

Shock lit his face like a Christmas tree. "Sally looks like ta' hind end of a horse got mixed up wi' a rabid cougar."

I shrugged. "Sounds like love to me."

A very faint blush colored his cheeks. "Shut it, son, and promise me you'll wear et."

"I promise," I replied.

He set something else on the table, a black backpack that looked sleek and well made. "You'll be wantin' somethin' to carry it in."

I set the vest in the backpack and zipped it up. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothin' and start bringin' me more of your aunt's cookin'," Jagger replied.

I grinned. "It's a deal."

Chapter Sixteen

MADELYN SAT NEXT TO me on the bus the next morning and her hand slipped into mine. I smiled and was about to tease her about such an outward show of affection when Sandy flew onto the bus and dove into Cassidy's seat, waving her cell phone. "Look at this!" she demanded loudly. They were five seats up from us and though I couldn't see what she was showing Cassidy, my curiosity was piqued.

"What do you suppose they're so excited about?" I asked Madelyn.

"Probably the guy who attacked the Bullets at the Homecoming game," Madelyn replied.

My heart stuttered and I stared at her. "What?"

"It was all over the school newsletter. Don't the Ashbys have the Internet?"

I shook my head with a long-suffering sigh. "Uncle Rick says it's a fad."

She smiled. "Well, Martin Carrison writes the school bulletin and he posted pictures of the mascot beating up the Bullets at the game, and also of a man dressed in black taking them all on at Joe's Country Store. Apparently he thinks the two are linked. He's calling the man the Black Rider."

"Not very original," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

She shook her head. "He needs to watch more superhero movies. Tell him that when you see him next."

Alarmed, I asked, "Why would I see him?"

She watched me like she knew something was wrong, but couldn't figure it out. "Because he's taking pictures for the yearbook today. Everyone will see him."

"Oh, right." I tried to change the subject, but it stuck in my mind. "If this Black Rider fought at the store, how do you suppose Martin got a picture of it?"

"He's Joe's grandson. Apparently there was a security camera, and his grandpa gave him access to the footage."

I sat back in the seat. "That makes sense." I couldn't decide how I felt. My goal was to take the Bullets down a notch or two, not become the city vigilante.

At school, rumors were flying. Everyone was talking about the Black Rider. The only time voices lowered was when Magnum or any of the other Bullets were around. Even the teachers mentioned it in class. It seemed everyone agreed something had to be done about the Bullets, but no one knew where to start.

"This Black Rider has it made," a boy with blue dreadlocks said in chemistry class. "He can take them on and they can't retaliate against his family."

"But if he's found out, anyone he knows will be in trouble," a girl from the seat behind me replied.

"Maybe he's done—maybe he won't try to stop them again," a mousy boy with big ears answered from the front row.

"What good would that do?" Dreadlocks demanded. "He's got to finish what he started."

"Maybe he's not here anymore. He could have been just passing through Sparrow," Melissa retorted.

That shut them up, but I heard Dreadlocks whisper, "I hope not."

***

"YA GOING OUT RIDIN' tonight?" Jagger asked when I finished piling bumpers near the entrance.

"Not sure," I replied. I pulled off the tattered gloves and cross the lot to his shack.

He followed me. "Ya probably should."

I studied him. "You know something I don't?"

He nodded and a faint touch of red colored his cheeks. "I been to Sally's for lunch and she said there's talk of a party tonight."

"Cass never mentioned anything."

He shrugged. "Sally's gal Trista is a cheerleader. She'd be knowin'."

If Cassidy was planning to go, there must be a reason she hadn't told me. Perhaps since I was on Magnum's bad side, it was safer for them not to have me along. I was a target for his bullying, and that made them targets as well. I needed to make sure Cassidy and her friends were safe.

I nodded. "Guess I'll be riding."

Jagger took the gloves, then paused on his porch. "Watch out for ta' sheriff."

I gave him a steady look. "Why should I be worried about the sheriff?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "He was askin' 'round here about the motorcycle. Seems he recognized it from Joe's security camera."

"There are thousands of bikes like this."

A slight frown formed between Jagger's eyebrows as he tried to look completely innocent, but failed entirely.

"What?" I asked, weary of his game. "I'm missing something, aren't I?"

Jagger nodded, looking slightly abashed. He stared at the floor. "That bike 'as a custom exhaust that don't come stock. I forgot ta mention it; 'parently the sheriff din't forget."

"Great." I walked back to the tire pile where I had hidden the bike. The last thing I needed was the sheriff thinking I was working against him.

I stared down at the bike. I could show up at the party without the motorcycle—I could just check on Cassidy and her friends, then leave if they were all right. I only needed to make sure Magnum and the others weren't giving them a hard time.

It was a losing argument. Even though I could take the easy way out, something drew me to the motorcycle. I needed to ride, and I needed to show Magnum that I was still around.

I pulled on my black riding gear, helmet, and gloves, then revved the engine. A smile settled over my face. The sheriff, the party, my nightmares—everything drifted away with the familiar rumble of the motorcycle. I kicked it in gear and drove out of the junkyard.

I followed Jagger's directions and knew I had found the right house as much by the number of trucks on the street as by the address. Apparently everyone knew where everybody else lived in a small town like Sparrow. Stereos thumped and students spilled around the house in droves. It seemed everyone at school besides me had been invited.

I pulled up to the front of the house and waited. I wasn't sure what the best course of action was, but Magnum's blue CBR and a dozen other motorcycles lined the property. I turned off the engine and was about to go in without a plan when several students on the porch noticed me. They pointed and spoke to their friends, and then everyone piled out the door. I felt a strange impulse to laugh. I wasn't one to seek attention, but apparently, as the Black Rider, I had found it.

Magnum's eyes flashed when he appeared at the door. He stormed down the porch steps with the Bullets following behind. A crowd of students trailed after them, jostling and whispering to each other. Cassidy and Sandy stood on the porch with their friends.

"Looks like you decided to take a break from harassment," Magnum said when he drew near.

"Can't say the same about you," I replied.

He kept silent for a moment, and then a threatening smile spread across his face. "I was hoping you'd show up."

Foreboding rose in my chest. "Why's that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I wanted to see if you were any good on that thing."

I studied him carefully. "How did you plan to find out?"

"A race at the factory," he replied. "You know the place?"

I nodded. The thought of another race there made my heart pound, but I knew I had to be careful. "Why would I race you when I can just beat you down now?"

He pulled something from his pocket. A set of keys jingled in his hand. "Principal Dawson's pretty fond of his '57 Chevy. He put a lot of work into restoring it. It'd be a shame if, say, someone set it on fire."

My heart tightened. "If I race you, I get the keys?"

He shook his head. "If you win, you get the keys. You lose, and you can watch the thing go up in flames."

I kept silent. I couldn't let him set the principal's car on fire and I wasn't much for trash talking, but the thought of racing at the factory with the chance to prove, even just to myself, that I could beat Magnum was more than I could have hoped for.

"So?" Magnum pressed.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant while my heart sped up at the idea. "Sounds like you haven't given me much of a choice."

"To the factory!" Magnum shouted.

Cheers went up and everyone scrambled for the trucks. I took off down the road. Adrenaline rushed through my veins at the thought of the race while my mind argued that it was a bad idea. I turned on the dirt road and glanced back to see the other bikes following. Street bikes weren't meant for dirt and rocks. My tires spun and threatened to skid out from under me, but I managed to keep it steady. I pulled up to the factory and waited at the starting line. The other riders pulled up a few minutes later. They revved their engines while we waited for the trucks to arrive. My heart thundered in my ears.

Magnum pushed back the visor on his blue helmet. "Hope you know what you're getting in to," he said just loud enough above the sound of the engines so that only I could hear him. I kept my visor down and just nodded. "When everyone gets here, we'll do two laps—two _full_ laps," he said. "Any cheating and you'll be called out for the coward you are. Beat me, and you get the keys to Principal Dawson's car. Lose," he grinned as if it was inevitable, "the Bullets will chase you out of town and no one will stop us."

I revved my engine in response. The trucks pulled in around us to form a half circle at the starting line. Students piled out and everyone looked as excited as I felt. Shouting and laughter filled the air. I studied the tire marks on the pavement. I had never completed a full circuit around the track. I would have to tail the others until the second lap just to make sure I knew the course. Even then, my bike couldn't beat Magnum's CBR through sheer speed. I hoped luck was on my side.

All thirteen of the Bullet members waited on their motorcycles at the starting line. It seemed everyone was determined to beat the Black Rider. The commotion of the crowd rose; excitement shone on faces and students shouted to each other over the roar of the engines. Everyone jostled for a good place to view the race. Students lined up in the backs of trucks and on the makeshift tables. I found Cassidy in the crowd talking excitedly with her friends. I let out a slow breath and turned my attention to the race.

A girl with long blonde hair strode to the front of the line. She took off her white cowboy hat and waved it in the air. "Riders, ready!" Engines revved and some riders spun their tires. It was a waste of traction, so I wasn't tempted to show off. A roar rose from the students. They were cheering. A smile spread across my face at the chant of "Black Rider, Black Rider" they repeated over and over again.

I touched the throttle and felt the engine hum beneath me.

"Go!" the girl shouted. She threw her hat in the air and everyone surged forward.

I rode as close to Magnum's bike as I dared. Riders inched up around us, but it seemed no one would pass their leader while he and the Black Rider fought for the lead. We took the first turn to the left low enough that our knees scraped the cement, then we darted into the wide warehouse doors and raced across the smooth floor.

The second turn took us up a low ramp, across a stretch of metal set between two roofs, then down a shallow set of stairs with a sharp turn to the right. Magnum must have realized I was following his cues because he faked to the left, but I kept a close eye on the bikers behind me and continued straight. A glance back showed that the left track would have left me in a dead end of rotten timbers.

Magnum hunched down, took another low left, and then I saw the starting line ahead. The first lap was almost over. Magnum was cautious around corners. I didn't know if he was worried about laying his bike down or tired of wearing holes in the knees of his jeans, but I could beat him at the corners. Confident, I downshifted and gunned ahead.

Just before I reached the trucks, Magnum kicked my back tire. My bike skidded toward the crowd of students. They pressed back, but there was no chance they would get out of the way in time. I leaned on the handlebars and kept the front wheel aiming around the corner, then rolled off the throttle and revved it again. The bike righted itself and I let out a frustrated breath as I fought to pull ahead of the other Bullets to reach Magnum again.

He glanced back and his eyes narrowed when he saw me closing the distance again. He cut a corner and I followed, then he jerked right on a different course than the one we took for the first lap. Magnum drove up a flight of cement stairs. I gritted my teeth and popped the clutch, then gunned it and flew up after him. The roar of the other motorcycles echoed as they continued along the regular track.

My sense of direction told me the finish line was north. I turned left when I reached the roof and gunned it across the flat surface. Magnum headed down another ramp and hit the ground a few feet in front of his gang. There was a straightaway past two warehouses and then the turn to the finish line.

I made what could have been the most foolhardy decision of my life. I rode past Magnum's ramp. There was a pile of boxes and wood debris at the end of the roof. The second warehouse's roof was a few feet higher than the first. I downshifted and the bike surged forward. I popped the clutch and the front tire jumped, then I revved the back tire and flew up the debris.

In the brief seconds I was airborne, I saw the crowd of students far below. Some had hands to their faces; others were cheering. All I heard was the growl of my motorcycle's engine just before the tires hit the roof. I sped across the aluminum with my heart thundering in my ears. What on earth would I find on the other side of the roof to slow my descent?

This roof sloped slightly downward. There was no lip to jump or debris in the way—only a straight fall to the asphalt below that I hurdled toward without any way of stopping. I made a split-second decision and braked hard enough to send up smoke from my back tire before I popped the clutch again and brought the front end in the air. My only hope was to land on the back tire. Impacting both from that distance would definitely jack me up.

I hit the end of the roof. Time slowed. The engine rumbled and I saw the blurred forms of the other bikers as I descended. I balanced on my pegs and prayed that the helmet Jagger gave me would hold if I biffed it entirely. My heart gave two loud beats, then I hit the ground with my weight centered on the rear wheel. The front tire landed and I skidded to a stop just past the finish line facing the oncoming riders. My heart thundered in my chest and my breath came in short bursts.

I was grateful the dark shield hid my face from view when the crowd of students burst into cheers. I had not been in control of the situation at all. I should have taken the ramp, or I should have wrecked the landing. I vowed never to do that again.

Magnum slid to a stop a few feet from me and pulled off his helmet. He looked from where I sat on the bike to the rooftop. His eyes were wide and he looked as if he, too, was trying to control his breathing. It had been a hard race.

"You're insane," he said.

"That was awesome!" someone from the audience shouted. Cheers rose again in deafening thunder.

Magnum gave a nod of approval. "That was incredible." He held out his gloved fist.

Surprised, I bumped knuckles with him.

"So we're heading back to Maggie's, if you want to join us," he offered.

My mouth fell open and I was glad he couldn't see it with my visor down. I collected myself and shook my head. "Thanks, but I've got things to do."

"Like saving the world from bullies?" he asked, only half-teasing.

I tried to keep the smile out of my voice when I replied, "You should try being nice sometime. You might like it."

A laugh escaped him and he tossed something in the air. I caught the keys and put them in my jacket pocket. I glanced at the crowd. I wasn't much for showing off, but after that ride even I felt like I should milk the situation for what it was worth. I grinned beneath the helmet and waved at the students. The crowd roared in response. It was a strange feeling to know that so many people approved of me without knowing who I was.

My eyes fell on Cassidy and Sandy, who were pressed in with the front row. Cassidy was studying me as if I was familiar, but she couldn't figure out why. Then her gaze settled on my shoes and her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open in shock. I had to have the one farm-girl cousin in the country who would recognize a pair of worn-out black sneakers. Great.

I would have to deal with that later. I took a deep breath. With everything that had happened, it couldn't hurt to make a good exit. I popped the clutch and drove out of the factory on a wheelie. I felt somewhat foolish because the ride had been complete luck, but I also felt a glimmer of hope at Magnum's response. Perhaps I could make a difference for Sparrow after all.

Chapter Seventeen

I HAD JUST LEFT the dirt road when red-and-blue lights flashed behind me. For a second I was tempted to gun it and outdistance the officer, but a voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I was trying to improve Sparrow, not give the town a fugitive to go with its gang problem.

I pulled to the side and shut off the engine. I kept my helmet on, but knew the officer would probably make me take it off. Trepidation filled my chest at what would happen after that. I glanced back and felt my foreboding double. The car behind me said "Sheriff." I faced forward and waited for whatever fate he would decide.

The car door opened and shut, then the crunch of boots on gravel sounded loud in the moonlit night. "I thought I'd catch up with you sooner or later." The man spoke in a slow drawl, his words evenly spaced and hiding any expression.

He stopped by the side of the motorcycle and I glanced at him. Sheriff Bowley sported a flat-rimmed brown hat, and had a short-trimmed brown mustache and beard. He wore a tan shirt with his badge over his heart and a patch bearing his department information on the shoulder. His tie was perfectly straight and his shirt looked like it was freshly pressed. I was glad to see he wasn't the type to wear sunglasses at night to intimidate the local hooligans. "Jagger said you're a good sort," he said.

I shrugged. "I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just don't think the Bullets should have the run of Sparrow."

He pushed back his hat. "That makes two of us."

I studied him for a minute through the dark shade of my visor. Tinted visors really weren't made for night riding, but given the circumstances, I was grateful for it. "Was I doing something wrong, Sheriff?"

His mouth pressed into a firm line that looked like it was hiding a smile. "That's questionable, don't you think?" When I didn't answer, he said, "I watched the security tapes from Joe's. Even though you guys destroyed the place, he doesn't want to press charges. He said he's hoping the Bullets will learn their lesson."

"What do you think?" I asked quietly.

He gave a snort. "I'd say this town has more to worry about than Magnum's gang."

His tone sent a thrum of warning through me. "What do you mean?"

He glanced at the ground, then turned his attention to the black velvet sky. "I shouldn't involve you in this, and I wouldn't if I had any other choice."

"I'm already involved, Sheriff," I answered.

A grim smile broke free and he gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Don't say I didn't try to leave you out of this."

"I'm asking to be involved."

He let out a breath, then said, "Magnum's mixed up with some pretty deep stuff. He's in over his head and I think he knows it." He glanced at me. "There's a gang from Nevada trying to run drugs and weapons, using Sparrow as a drop point. Magnum's become their contact. We know something big is going down soon, but we don't know exactly where or when. I need someone on the inside who can get the information and pass it back to us."

I fought down a laugh at the thought of myself as his inside man. Magnum couldn't stand me. If he knew I was the Black Rider, he'd probably beat me to a pulp and leave me at the bottom of a wash somewhere. Getting inside information from the Bullets wouldn't work, but the sheriff was right to be concerned. Sparrow couldn't handle drugs running through it. It was an innocent, quiet town and deserved to stay that way.

"I'll help however I can," I said quietly.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and gave it to me. "Call me at that number if you hear anything suspicious."

"Yes, sir." I slipped the card in my jacket.

The sheriff turned to go, then paused. "You're not to run interference or try to break things up yourself, you hear? I don't want anyone getting hurt in this if I can help it."

A thought occurred to me. "Sheriff?" He crossed back to the motorcycle. "There's more to the Bullets than meets the eye. Why doesn't anyone put a stop to what they do?"

He thought about it for a minute—truly thought about it with his arms behind his back and his head bowed. When he spoke again, there was a deep heaviness to his tone. "Members of the Bullets were once Sparrow's golden boys. Magnum was our backup quarterback, and several of the others were stars on various teams."

"What happened?"

"They got out of control. They had the ear of the town and eventually they grew to like the fact that everyone would bend over backwards to accommodate them. It's not that they started out rough; losing Kyle changed them."

The pain in his voice caught my attention. "Who's Kyle?"

"My son." His voice cracked and he rubbed his eyes, then took off his hat and held it in his hands. "Kyle was the quarterback for the high school team. He started the Bullets. It was a joke at first—a motorcycle gang that rode around after school and hung out. They were—are—good kids." His voice dropped and he kept his gaze on his hat. "Then Kyle died in a motorcycle accident. They were racing a train and he jumped the tracks, but the train was too fast."

I didn't know what to say. I tried to put what I knew of the Bullets with what the sheriff said. They were bullies and walked over the town as if they owned it and despised it at the same time, but in truth, the Bullets were a gang of friends embittered by the loss of their leader. I had seen how Sparrow revered football and what its students meant to the town. No wonder nobody tried to interfere.

"I should have stopped them when they started running out of control, but by the time I tried, it was too late. Now I just hope Sparrow doesn't pay for my negligence."

I could picture the sheriff reprimanding his late son's best friends. It must have been difficult every time he saw them ride because he would also see the missing gap his son used to occupy. How could someone live with such a reminder of their loved one every day?

At the sight of the pain in the sheriff's eyes, I began to understand why my mother sent me away, and why I had left so readily. I couldn't live in that apartment with signs of Zoey everywhere, and Mom couldn't look at me without remembering her.

I set a hand on the sheriff's shoulder. "They're still good kids, and there's still hope for Sparrow. We'll stop the drop."

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Do what you can, but be safe. I don't want any more lives on my hands."

He blamed himself for his son's death. Could he have prevented them from riding that day, or somehow stopped them from racing the train? I didn't know, but the pain on his face echoed the cold grip around my heart. I vowed to help him avoid the grief of seeing Sparrow fall to ruin.

"I'll do my best, Sheriff." I remembered the keys. "Oh, before I forget." I pulled them out of my pocket and handed them over. "This was the price of the race at the factory. Magnum stole the keys to the principal's car and said he'd torch it if I didn't race him."

"You won?" The sheriff failed to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

I grinned beneath the helmet. "Someone had to."

He tipped his hat in a very John Wayne type of gesture and walked back to his car. I started the engine, happy to be on my way. The night spread out before me as black and quiet as a canvas waiting for a breath of life in color and light. I drove slowly, aware of every detail in view of my headlights. I was grateful for the ability to ride, for wide, expansive places the likes of which I had never traveled before, and for people who believed in me, even if I wasn't sure what there was left to believe in.

***

"HEY, CASS," I SAID when I parked the four-wheeler and walked across the moonlit front lawn.

"Hey, Cass?" she demanded. "Really? Just 'Hey, Cass'? What do you think you're doing, Kel?"

I put up my hands. "All I want is to go to bed. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, I believe it," she replied hotly. "Racing around on rooftops has to wear you out."

I glanced around to make sure we were alone, then sat on the porch next to her. I stretched out my sore leg and glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "All right," I said. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

She stared at me in amazement. "Told me what—that you're the Black Rider everyone's going crazy about? That you take on the Bullets single-handedly and ride a motorcycle like a maniac with a death wish?" Her voice softened a bit. "That you tried to save old Joe's store by taking them all on by yourself, or that you attacked the Bullets with paint cans to save the _Beauty and the Beast_ set? Kelson, you're the town hero."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't go that far."

She gave me a bland look. "You fought them in the mascot outfit. That was pretty awesome."

"I felt like a kung-fu teddy bear," I said with a chuckle.

She laughed. "You looked like one, too, if that's any consolation."

I grew sober. "But things are getting dangerous. I have to be careful."

She nodded. "Tell me about it. I've never seen anyone ride a motorcycle like that. Magnum and the others couldn't stop talking about it at Maggie's party. Like, a hundred people recorded it on their cell phones, and everyone kept showing different footage. My heart almost stopped when I recognized your shoes."

I scuffed my toe on the wooden porch. "Who knew these things would get me in trouble?"

She shook her head. "I won't tell anyone."

"Not even Sandy?" I pressed.

She paused. "Sandy would love to know. You should see the way she drools over your pictures on Martin's bulletin. She would absolutely—"

"Tell the entire school," I finished.

She paused, then nodded with a sigh. "Yeah, she would."

"And Magnum would chase your family out of town and burn your house and fields. I've heard how it goes."

She nodded again. "I won't tell anyone, I swear." She glanced at me. "But you owe me one."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said with a smile. I pushed up gingerly. "But for now, I'm getting some sleep."

She grinned. "You deserve it, Black Rider."

I pulled her up and we went inside. I sat on the edge of my cot for a moment and thought about Cassidy's words. There was a bit of relief in knowing that someone else kept my secret. I felt a little lighter. If something went wrong, at least she knew I was trying to do good.

I fell asleep that night without nightmares, lulled by the endless chirp of crickets and the harmony of the wind brushing past the windowsill. A cow stirred in the barn and gave a half-hearted moo, and then silence fell over the Ashby house.

Chapter Eighteen

MADELYN'S EYES WERE RED when she stepped onto the bus the next morning. She took the seat across from me and stared out the window. "Madelyn?" I called, trying to get her attention. "Maddy?"

When she didn't turn around, I scooted next to her. I touched her shoulder and she jumped. She turned around, her face pale and eyes wide. I had never seen anyone look so scared. "It's just me, Maddy," I said, holding up my hands.

Recognition swept across her face and she leaned against my chest. Her shoulders trembled when I put my arms around her. "What's wrong?" I asked gently. "I've never seen you like this."

She shook her head without looking up, and I knew. "He's at your house, isn't he? The one who hurts you?"

I felt her shoulders tense and her entire body became stiff. I thought for a moment that she would push me away, but a second later, she melted into my arms and a sob escaped her that was buried in the shouts and laughter on the bus. "I can't go home. I won't."

"Don't, then," I replied, running my hand down her hair. Every fiber in my body screamed for me to find whoever made her so scared and teach him what becomes of treating girls poorly. "You can come to my house. The Ashbys won't mind. You'll be safe there." She listened as if she needed to hear reassuring words. I smoothed her hair down her back and debated what to do.

I lowered my voice. "Madelyn, you've got to tell me who's doing this to you." I heard my father in my words, stern and strict, not willing to give an inch. I had never used such a tone with anyone; it gave her no chance to argue.

She looked up into my eyes and my heart broke at the terror I saw in them. "I won't let him hurt you again, Maddy. I promise," I said in the same tone, hoping she would lower her walls and let me in. "You've got to trust me the way I trust you."

She hesitated, then gave a shallow nod.

"Did he hurt you yesterday or today?" I asked. My hands balled into fists. "I shouldn't have left you alone. I—"

She shook her head. "He hasn't come over yet," she said in a voice that was barely a whisper. "But he'll be there tonight." The tremor in her words made my rage rise into a fury.

"Who?" I demanded.

"My uncle," she whispered. "My dad's brother Mitch. He stays with us every few months or so on work leave."

"He arrives tonight?"

She nodded. A shudder ran through her body. "He acts nice, but he goes drinking at night before he comes home, then he waits for everyone to go to bed, and he. . . ." Her voice choked off.

"It's all right," I soothed. "You'll be all right. He won't hurt you again."

"You promise?" she asked in a small voice.

"I promise," I replied in a tone that left no doubt. I wasn't sure what I would do, but he wasn't going anywhere near Madelyn again.

***

THE SCHOOL HAD BEEN completely redecorated in gold and silver for the upcoming Senior Ball. Posters lined the walls inviting everyone to become "Royalty for a Night." The senior class presidency sat at a table near the office taking names and selling tickets for the dance.

"Are you guys going to the ball?" I asked Cassidy and Sandy.

Cassidy had kept her word, but I could tell it played on her conscience where Sandy was concerned.

"I'm just waiting for a boy to ask me," Sandy replied, studying the posters hungrily. "And I wouldn't mind if he was wearing all black when he did."

"Oh, Sandy," Cassidy replied with a laugh. She threw me a look that said keeping my secret was killing her. "You'd be happy to go with a frog."

Sandy nodded. "Especially at this ball, because he'd probably turn into a prince."

I rolled my eyes and was about to comment when a shoulder slammed into mine and shoved me against the table. I turned to see Magnum grin at several of his minions. "It's Bazooka, right?" I asked, feigning innocence.

His smile disappeared. "Magnum," he growled. He grabbed the front of my shirt. "You're always in the way, Keldon," he said with spit flying.

I wiped a drop of spittle from my cheek and shrugged. "It's Kelson, and sorry about that. I try not to take up much space."

He looked like he didn't know if I was being sarcastic or not.

Principal Dawson walked out of the office and spotted us. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Signing up for the ball?"

Magnum let me go and I smoothed the front of my shirt as Cassidy and Sandy exchanged wide-eyed looks. "Exactly, Principal Dawson," Magnum replied. He glared at the senior class president. The boy quickly wrote on two tickets and handed them to Magnum without asking for payment. Magnum shoved the gold-embossed tickets in his pocket and walked off without looking back.

Principal Dawson glanced at me, then looked away as if he had better things to occupy his time.

"Boy, that was close," Sandy said breathlessly. "I think he wanted to pound your face in."

"Would you have let him?" Cassidy asked. At my look, she shut her mouth.

"He would've had to let him," Sandy replied. "Nobody can stop Magnum. He's like a bull seeing red. And apparently Kelson's always wearing red."

We all looked at my shirt and then laughed at the irony that it was indeed red. "I may have to rethink my wardrobe," I said.

"Maybe black's your color," Cassidy replied. She grinned at my look and took off down the hall with Sandy close behind.

When I reached English class, students were showing different views of the race at the factory.

"You seen this one?" Andrew asked. He sat next to me and usually spent the entire class period giving Mrs. Carol a hard time.

I accepted the phone and watched the slightly shaky recording of the race. It was strange to see it from a different point of view. I watched us disappear around a corner and the crowd burst into talking. When we rounded the final bend before the starting line of the second lap, I watched as I revved the throttle, and then Magnum kicked my tire. The tires squealed on the pavement as I fought to maintain control. Everyone pressed back and the camera lost the view for a moment, then a puff of burned rubber showed and I sped back out of sight.

"Man, that was close," somebody said.

"Magnum did that," another student pointed out. "He kicked the tire."

"Don't say that to his face," a girl said, and several others gave nervous laughs.

The bikes appeared down the final stretch.

"Where's the Black Rider?" a boy called.

"I don't see him," a girl replied.

"Maybe he wrecked."

"Up there!"

"On the roof!"

The camera panned up just as my bike cleared the space between the first and second warehouses. I had a strange moment of split memory, seeing the crowd below as I landed on the second roof, and watching myself as I hit the aluminum and skidded down the side.

"He's gonna fall!" the one who held the camera yelled.

Smoke rose from the tires as I braked and popped the clutch. The front tire jumped into the air. Girls screamed when my motorcycle cleared the edge of the roof. I stood on the footrests looking calm and indifferent with my black visor. I appeared in control and collected as my back tire hit the ground. My bike skidded in a half circle just as the other riders pulled up.

"You're insane," Magnum said.

I handed the phone back to Andrew. "That's awesome."

His eyes widened. "Awesome? Really? It's totally freakin' amazing, that's what it is. Have you ever seen anyone ride on rooftops and jump down like that? No! Because it's a stupid thing to try. Anyone who did would wreck!"

"He didn't," I pointed out.

He shook his head. "He's unreal. The Black Rider put Magnum in his place on that ride."

I was about to reply when Mrs. Carol began class. Andrew sat back and raised his hand. Mrs. Carol sighed before calling on him. "Wouldn't it be a better use of our education if we all learned to use CliffsNotes instead of wasting our time reading?" he asked with an innocent expression.

"The point is to read," Mrs. Carol replied patiently.

"I'd be reading the CliffsNotes," he pointed out. "Besides, someone went to all that trouble compiling them. It would be a waste of their ingenuity to ignore such a valuable resource."

"You are still required to read _Farenheit 451_ , Andrew."

"But Mrs. Carol . . ."

***

THERE WERE THREE BARS in town. I checked each one and asked if there were any out-of-towners drinking that night. It was amazing how open with information the bartenders were for the Black Rider. Apparently being known through town had its benefits, and though I felt strange wearing my motorcycle helmet inside, the anonymity paid off when the bartender at the third bar pointed to a guy at a table in the corner nursing a beer and eyeing the waitresses.

"He comes in every few months for a week or so. By the end of the night, the girls are ready to send him packin'."

"Do you know his name?" I pressed.

The bartender thought for a minute, then said, "Morgan, or Murphy, or Mitch. Some M name. I'm pretty sure it's Mitch. I could ask one of my girls. He's always tryin' to get them to call."

I shook my head. "No, that's all I needed to know. Thank you for your help."

I turned to go, but the bartender said, "Uh, Black Rider?" He used the name cautiously.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." At my silence, he scrubbed a spot on the counter that was already clean. "The Bullets are out of control. I'd like to see 'em reined in before they're old enough to end up in here every night. They had futures before the sheriff's son was killed. They can still make it."

I didn't know how to reply. I wondered how many more people worried about the Bullets but didn't know how to act. I nodded. "I'm trying my best."

"You're doing somethin', and that's what counts," the bartender concluded. He glanced at Mitch, then leaned closer to me. "And if you take out some garbage while you're at it, ain't nobody gonna begrudge you."

I left the bar and circled around back. Apparently the bartender was serious about the girls sending Mitch on his way because he stumbled out the back door about a half hour later. He peered through the dark, then made his way toward a small gray car parked near one of the only working streetlights. A string of foul curses regarding the bartender and his waitresses ruined what was once a peaceful night.

The sight of him drunk and angry sent a surge of rage through my veins so hot I felt like my limbs were on fire. I pictured Madelyn's fear again and knew the terror that would shine in her eyes if Mitch showed up at her house. I wondered how many nights she had cowered in dread, knowing she couldn't leave her mother and unable to escape this living nightmare.

Hatred fueled my stride when I crossed to his car. He tried to open his door, but I pushed it shut.

"What d'ya think you're doin'?" he demanded, his words slurred. He turned and I hit him in the jaw. He flopped against the car and fell forward; I slugged him in the stomach, then again in the face.

"You like to molest little girls?" I shouted. "You like to hurt them?" I kneed him in the groin and he fell to the ground, then rolled onto his back, moaning. I bent over him. "You're a sick, selfish sack of garbage. You don't deserve to be in the same town as Madelyn." I must have watched too much WWF growing up because I dropped to my knees on his stomach.

He cursed and curled in a ball. I wanted to make every inch of him hurt. I wanted him to fear ever coming back to Sparrow again. I didn't want Madelyn to be safe just for tonight—I wanted her never to worry about her uncle again.

I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up. He stared at his reflection in my visor as I growled, "If you ever, ever come back to Sparrow, you won't get a beating—you'll get a burial. I can guarantee that." I slugged him again. He fell against the car and slid down to a sitting position.

"What are you doing?"

I turned with my fists up, ready to defend myself.

Magnum backed away with his hands raised. "Whoa. I'm just asking." He glanced at Mitch, then back at me. "I thought your vendetta was against my boys, not," another glance, "drunk losers behind bars."

I opened and shut my hands. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins and I wanted nothing more than to beat Mitch to a bloody pulp. The thought was disgusting and entirely against my normal way of thinking. I took a calming breath, but my heart pounded in my chest. "He rapes young girls, and one of them is my friend. I want to make sure he's never going to touch her again."

Magnum watched me for a minute, then turned to Mitch. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he crouched and grabbed the man by the throat hard enough to keep his attention. "Look at me," Magnum demanded. When the man refused to obey, he yelled, "Look at me!"

Mitch rolled his eyes in Magnum's direction.

"I am the law in this town," Magnum said. "I run the Bullets. Do you know who we are?"

Mitch nodded. It was clear by his expression he had heard of the gang.

"If you ever show up in Sparrow again, we will leave you naked in a burning field, do you hear me?"

Mitch nodded quickly.

Magnum leaned closer and spoke in a steady growl. "And if you ever hurt another young woman, I will personally neuter you and leave you crying on the sheriff's doorstep with a note detailing all of your crimes." His face was an inch from Mitch's when he concluded in a low, dangerous tone, "Do you understand?"

Mitch nodded quickly. Magnum pulled open the driver-side door and shoved the man onto the seat. "You're leaving town for the very last time," Magnum said.

Mitch shakily started his car and we both watched him drive off into the night. It was a strange feeling, standing side by side with my rival, bound by a similar enemy.

"Naked in a burning field?" I asked quietly when the car's taillights were out of sight.

"No matter what you've heard, I've never done that to a person." He paused, then said, "But for him, I would consider it."

I nodded. "Me too."

Chapter Nineteen

I WAITED AT THE corner with my lights off. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Magnum's blue CBR came speeding past. I followed him as he turned down a long, empty road. I stayed as close as I dared. Riding in the middle of the night with headlights off generally isn't recommended. Most newer bikes didn't have a headlight shutoff—only controls to change the light from bright to dim. Luckily, whoever rode this one before me thought it would be handy to have that capability and rigged it accordingly.

Magnum pulled up to a house with one working light on the porch. The other flickered like a bug zapper, but without the benefits. He parked his bike next to the sagging porch and walked across the front lawn, which consisted of crabgrass and what looked like scattered scrawny seedlings from the apple tree in the corner.

He hesitated at the bottom of the three stairs. I had never seen Magnum hesitate at anything. He took a steeling breath, then stepped over the first stair to the second. It groaned under his weight and the front door flew open.

"Where 'ave you been?" a tall, skinny girl with scraggly red hair demanded. "Dad's gonna lay into you. You were supposed to be home hours ago." She sniffed the air when Magnum walked past her into the house. "You been drinkin'? Oh, Dad's gonna have your hide. I can't wait to see if you get the belt, the board, or . . ." Her voice died away when the door shut behind them.

I sat on the motorcycle for a few minutes. I felt a pang of sympathy for Magnum, something I hadn't been prepared to feel. As I drove back to the Ashbys', I realized I didn't know anything about the people I was around every day. I criticized Magnum for making judgments regarding his peers, and yet I had done the same thing. I drove home slowly with the thought that perhaps there was more to the Bullet leader than I realized.

***

WHEN I GOT HOME, I expected to find the Ashby family getting ready to settle in for the night, but instead, Cassidy was jumping around the house in such excitement that Jake was barking in the yard. I tossed my shoes in the mud room and crossed to the kitchen. I had to laugh at the sight of Cassidy standing on the table with Cole hiding underneath. She held a piece of gold-colored paper in one hand and was waving it at her dad.

Aunt Lauren leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed and a smile of enjoyment on her face. "What's going on?" I asked her in an undertone.

She laughed quietly. "Cassidy just got asked to the Senior Ball. Now she's trying to convince Rick to let her go."

". . . And he's a true gentleman. He opens doors for me, carries my books, and he helps his parents on their farm," Cassidy said. "I know you'd approve of him."

Uncle Rick caught sight of me. "Kelson, what do you know about this Jeremy guy?"

"Now you're in for it," Aunt Lauren whispered with a teasing smile.

I fought back a sigh and stepped into the battle zone. "Well, he's at the top of my chemistry class—"

"He's a senior?" Uncle Rick demanded, cutting me off.

I shook my head. "No, he's just smart. He's a sophomore, but skipped ahead a few classes." Cassidy looked at me with pleading eyes. It was obvious how much this meant to her. "He really is a good guy. Zoey has good taste."

Everyone stared at me. My heart sank when I realized what I had said. My heart ached. I rubbed my eyes and let out a loud breath. "Cassidy has good taste. If there's any guy at Sparrow High she should go with, it's him."

Uncle Rick shook his head. "I just don't feel good about it. She's too young to be going to a dance with a boy."

"It's the Senior Ball," Cassidy pointed out. "It'll be chaperoned."

"Isn't it supposed to be seniors who go to the Senior Ball?" Uncle Rick asked, searching for a way out.

Cassidy shook her head. "No, they just sponsor it. Anyone can go as long as you have a date," she answered, emphasizing the last few words for Uncle Rick's benefit.

"You're too young—"

"Dad, I'm almost sixteen. Sandy's parents let her date last year."

"A decision I don't understand," Uncle Rick replied.

Tears showed in Cassidy's eyes and she blinked quickly. "Dad, Jeremy asked me out. This is the boy I've had a crush on for the entire school year. If I have to say no, I know he won't ask me out again."

Uncle Rick hesitated. He didn't want to let his little girl go with a stranger, but he couldn't stop her. I owed her one.

"If it helps, I'll keep an eye on her, Uncle Rick," I said before I could second-guess my decision.

"You're going to the ball?" he asked doubtfully.

I nodded. "I'll be there, and I can make sure Jeremy treats her like the princess she is."

His carefully constructed arguments were faltering under Cassidy's pleading anyway. I was offering him a way out without leaving her to the wolves.

He sighed. "Fine—you can go. But I want to meet this Jeremy boy when he comes to pick you up."

"Oh, thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cassidy exclaimed. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

He removed her arms with an embarrassed shake of his head. "You just make sure you take care of yourself," he said.

"Oh, I will. Don't worry," she reassured him.

She ran across the kitchen and hugged me next. "Thank you so much, Kel. You're the best!"

"Anytime," I replied.

I caught Aunt Lauren's smile and shrugged. She nodded and mouthed "Thank you."

"I've got something I need to do," I said. "Will you excuse me?"

I patted Jake on my way out the door. He wagged his tail and followed me to the four-wheeler. I drove to Madelyn's house and parked on the corner. This time, I marched straight up the steps and knocked on the door.

Madelyn answered it. Her eyes widened when she saw me. "Kelson, what—"

I kissed her and felt her lips smile against mine. "You don't have to worry about your uncle anymore," I whispered. "He left town quite unexpectedly and will never be back."

She stared at me.

"Who's at the door?" a gruff voice demanded.

"Uh, well," Madelyn began.

"I've got this," I reassured her. I stepped past her into the house.

A short hallway opened into a large living room. A man in a white T-shirt and dress pants sat on a couch watching a television set. A woman in a high-tech-looking wheelchair sat next to the couch. Both looked at me in surprise.

"Who's this?" Mr. West demanded.

"Dad, this is Kelson. He's the one staying at the Ashbys'—"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, cutting her off.

I crossed to the middle of the living room. My heart thundered in my ears. I felt more anxious than I did jumping off the roof on the motorcycle, which was saying a lot. I took a calming breath and made eye contact with them both. "Mr. and Mrs. West, I have come to ask permission to take Madelyn to the Senior Ball next weekend."

The room fell completely silent; even the television seemed to be against me. Whatever program they had been watching either had no sound at the moment or Mr. West had muted it. I didn't dare glance back to see which was the case.

"I don't think that's—" Mr. West began.

"Of course," Mrs. West said.

Mr. West looked at her. "But dear, we need Madelyn here in case—"

She made a little noise and a smile crossed her face. "She deserves to go."

Even though Mr. West looked like he wanted to argue, I could tell nobody contradicted his wife. With her sweet voice and caring smile, I could understand why.

He let out a loud breath and nodded. "All right, you may take her."

Madelyn gave my hand a little squeeze. She looked like she was in complete shock.

The phone rang, and Mr. West left the room to answer it. His footsteps sounded loud down the hall.

"Where are you from, Kelson?" Mrs. West asked.

"California, ma'am," I answered.

She looked at Madelyn with her eyebrows raised. "Ma'am? You found a polite one," she said.

Madelyn gave a small laugh. "I did."

Her mother winced and Madelyn hurried to her side. "Where does it hurt, Mom?" she asked quietly.

My heart was gripped in warmth at the way she knelt by her mother's wheelchair and spoke to her. I turned away to give them their privacy.

Mr. West came back in with a baffled expression. "Mitch is heading home."

"He is?" Mrs. West replied, looking surprised. "He just got here."

Mr. West shrugged. "He says he has some things he forgot to do, and he's not sure when he'll be back."

I met Madelyn's gaze. Her hazel eyes filled up with tears and she blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall. "Thank you," she whispered. I nodded, then glanced up to see Mrs. West watching us. She had a small but kind smile on her face, as if she guessed something was going on but didn't want to interfere.

"Thank you for your time," I said to Madelyn's parents. "I'll let you have your evening back."

"Night, more like it," Mr. West grumbled quietly. Mrs. West shot him a look and he sighed. "Thank you for coming over. It was good to meet you."

"The pleasure was mine," I replied. I wondered where on earth those words came from, but it was too late to take them back and risk sounding like even more of a pretentious idiot.

"Have a good night, Kelson," Mrs. West said.

Madelyn walked me to the door. When I opened it, she caught my hand in hers and looked at my bruised knuckles. "Kel, what did you, I—I mean," she swallowed, then whispered, "Thank you."

I wanted to tell her that no one should go through what she had and that her uncle deserved far worse than I gave him, but I remembered her parents in the next room. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. A blush ran across her cheeks at my forwardness; I cursed myself inwardly for proving yet again that I was an idiot. I tried to keep some dignity. "Nobody will ever hurt you as long as I'm around," I whispered. "You deserve to be treated like a princess." Nope, it was official; I had lost my dignity completely.

Madelyn smiled as if she guessed my thoughts. "You've made this night something I will always remember."

I laughed. "I hope that's a good thing."

A small laugh escaped her. "Definitely."

"Madelyn, your mother's tired," Mr. West called from the next room.

"I'll let you go," I said.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the lips. Her kiss was soft and gentle, a tender expression of gratitude for an evening of fear turned into one of relief and surprise. I kissed her back and warmth ran through my body at the touch of her hand on my cheek.

She stepped away, looking stunned at her own boldness.

"Good night, Maddy," I whispered.

She smiled her warm, heart-melting smile. "Good night, Kelson Brady."

When I reached the Ashby house, I couldn't remember how I got there. Jake padded beside me up to the door, his tongue out as he panted from the run he so obviously enjoyed. I petted his head.

"Good night, boy. Thanks for the company." I chuckled at myself. The dog didn't know what I was saying, but after all the time we spent together, it felt funny not talking to him before I shut him outside for the night. I closed the door and reminded myself that I didn't like dogs.

Chapter Twenty

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, I reached the table just as everyone was sitting down to breakfast. "I'm just saying that the Black Rider could do some good for this town," Jaren stated when I sat next to him.

Uncle Rick shook his head. "We don't need some hooligan causing trouble for Sparrow. Things are under control."

Jaren snorted in unusual defiance. "Sparrow's okay if you don't mind being told what to do and how to act."

A slight frown appeared on Aunt Lauren's face. "Jaren, this isn't like you. What happened?"

Jaren blew out an angry breath and stared at his plate of French toast and hash browns.

"He's mad 'cause Derek Fisher hit him yesterday," Cole said with a gleeful grin.

"Cole," Jaren snapped.

"Jaren!" Aunt Lauren said. "Why didn't the school call me?"

Jaren lowered his gaze. "I didn't tell the teacher. It was my fault. I stood in front of Derek in the lunch line."

The familiarity of the story sent a note of warning ringing in the back of my mind. "Fisher, as in, Magnum's brother?"

He nodded without looking at me.

"You didn't hit him back?" I asked.

"Kelson!" Aunt Lauren exclaimed.

Uncle Rick studied me. "Do you think that would have helped?" he asked in a level tone.

I looked down at my plate. "Sorry. I just don't like bullies." Cassidy laughed, then choked on a bite of her breakfast. I ignored her. "I've just seen it at the high school, too. The Bullets can beat up any student they want to. I'm just bothered to see Magnum's brother following in his footsteps."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, then Uncle Rick said, "I agree with Kelson. Standing up for yourself is the only way to keep from being walked over your entire life."

"Rick!" Aunt Lauren exclaimed. "I don't want my boys fighting."

"I don't want them to be seen as cowards, either," Uncle Rick replied calmly.

"How is fighting back any different from what the Black Rider does?" Jaren asked. When nobody answered, he continued, "That's my point. Maybe if one person stands up to the Bullets, everyone else will start to as well."

A horn honked. "The bus is here," Aunt Lauren said. She ruffled Jaren's hair. "It's a good thought. We can hope something good will come from all of this."

Jaren smoothed his hair on the way out to the bus. I would have given anything to hear the conversation that undoubtedly took place in the Ashby household after we left. I was anxious to hear how Uncle Rick really felt about the Black Rider. Maybe I would summon the guts to ask him when I got home.

Madelyn sat next to me on the bus. "Did you check the bulletin this morning?" she asked.

"The Internet's a fad, remember?" I replied, quoting Uncle Rick.

She laughed. "Oh, that's right. You're still living in the Stone Age. Good thing I keep up on the news for you."

"That's Farm Age," I said with a grin. "Why, what's up?"

"Apparently the Black Rider raced Magnum Monday."

It was hard to believe that was only two days ago. "Yeah, I saw at least a dozen videos of it at school yesterday."

"You should read Martin's speculations as to how the Black Rider could potentially make this town a better place to live," she said.

"If Magnum doesn't destroy it first," I muttered under my breath.

"What?" she asked. When I didn't answer, she shook her head. "Anyway, I'll bet Magnum's read it."

I looked at her. "What does that mean?"

She gave me a straight stare. "I mean Martin might be in trouble for writing such a persuasive essay against Magnum's influence in Sparrow."

"Does he flat-out say that?"

She shook her head. "Not in so many words, but it's implied."

"You want me to help Martin out?" I asked carefully.

She took my hand in hers, but kept her face averted. "Martin also wrote how the Black Rider beat up a known rapist and chased him out of town."

"How did he know—" I shut my mouth when I realized what I had just admitted to.

She gave me a sideways look. "Martin's dad owns the bar and spoke to the Black Rider that night."

I stared at her. "Martin is well connected." I cursed inwardly at the irony. How could one boy be related to Joe from the store _and_ the bartender from the other night? Fate was either working against me or had a wicked sense of humor.

She nodded. "Handy for a high school reporter." She studied the fake leather of the seat in front of us. "Martin's dad stood in the doorway and heard what the Black Rider told the man."

I rested my head against the seat in front of me and said quietly, "He apparently forgot to mention that Magnum showed up and helped the Black Rider finish the job before sending the rapist on his way."

Madelyn stared at me. "Why would he do that?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure."

She leaned against me and whispered, "Kelson, please promise me you'll be careful."

It would have been easy to promise, but after the race and the fights, I knew there was something else driving me. I couldn't care less if I got hurt, and sometimes I found myself hoping it happened. I blew out a breath and shook my head. "I can't promise that."

She was silent for a few minutes. The sound of the bus tires on pavement and the laughing and talking of the students on board blended together in a buzz of pointless noise. Zoey would have been worried about me and would probably tell Mom how I felt, but in Sparrow there was no one who knew me well enough to do anything that would make a difference. Nobody except Madelyn.

"Kel, look," she said quietly.

I glanced down at the arm she held out. Her sleeve was pulled up. I had never thought about how she always wore long-sleeved shirts even though it was the middle of summer. I stared at her skin. Small scars crisscrossed her wrist and up her arm. They were old and long-healed, but my heart still clenched at the sight of them. "You used to cut yourself?" I asked the obvious.

She pulled her sleeve back down. "I never went deep enough to reach the vein. I couldn't do that to Mom. It's just that sometimes when I felt trapped, it was the only way I could remind myself I was real and not just drifting along in some nightmare." Her voice fell to a whisper. "It's a desperate place where pain is your only indicator of reality."

Her words hit home hard. I followed her gaze to my bruised knuckles. She took one of my hands in both of hers and held it. "If you can't promise to be careful, at least think of me before you act. You've become the brightest light in my life. You've given me direction again. I love being there for my mother, and I'm so grateful for all that my parents are in my life, but I've been living in fear for as long as I can remember."

She blinked quickly and gripped my hand tight. Then she realized what she was doing and ran her fingers softly over my knuckles. "I have issues that are going to take me a while to get over—I know that. But I can start now." She took a deep breath, then smiled at me. "You gave me back my wings, Kelson. Don't destroy yourself trying to hide from yours."

I tried to ignore the pressure in my chest at her words. "I'm a bird now?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, and her smile made her eyes sparkle. "A black bird. Like a raven or a crow."

I laughed. "And you?"

She thought about it for a minute.

I shook my head. "I get to decide."

"Okay." She smiled under my scrutiny. Though the bus was full of students, it felt like we were the only two people for miles.

A thought occurred to me and it was my turn to smile. "You're a Towhee."

Her eyebrows rose. "A what?"

I grinned. "A Towhee. It's a little brown bird that lives in shrubs in California."

"Okay," she said, sounding confused. "How does that remind you of me?"

I closed my eyes and pictured my bedroom back in California. I took a steeling breath. "When they released me from the hospital, I went in my room and locked the door. I didn't come out except to grab food, and then my mom avoided me." I rubbed my eyes. "I felt so alone. I couldn't stand to walk around the house and see the reminders of Zoey and how I had failed her."

Madelyn rubbed my back gently. I thought of the fire that had burned through my shirt, marking my heart as thoroughly as it had my body. I saw my dark room, the blinds drawn and lights off. I even kept the light off in my fish tank in the corner. I couldn't cope with the fact that I was alive and Zoey was dead. I wanted to hide in the darkness forever.

"I was lying on my bed after about a week of being alone when I heard a little tap-tap-tap at the window." A small smile touched my lips at the memory. "I tried to ignore it, but it was persistent. I finally rose and opened the blinds. The sun was so bright after being in the dark that it was a few minutes until I could see, but when I could, there was a little brown bird looking back at me."

Tears began to burn in my eyes. I took a calming breath. "The little bird turned its head to the side and looked at me. I mean, really looked at me, as if it saw straight through me." As Madelyn did, and as Zoey had always been able to. "It tapped on the window again, and I swear I saw Zoey in its eyes telling me to stop wasting my life and get out of my room."

I turned to Madelyn and a tear leaked free. I wiped it away before anyone saw. "I walked out the door and ran straight into Mom. She sent me to Sparrow that day."

"And I remind you of a Towhee?" she asked softly.

I nodded and pressed my forehead to the chair in front of us. "When I saw you for the first time in your yard, your dad was yelling at you and you took Buck running." I saw the image clearly in my mind. "You looked so determined, like nothing could get through your walls. That look inspired me to fight and not give up, to live like Zoey's little bird told me to."

She hugged me tight. "I'm honored to be your Towhee."

"That's good," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Because the crows and ravens are taken."

She laughed. "Black's more your color."

That brought a smile to my face. The bus pulled up to the middle school and I watched Cole and Jaren get off. The fact that Magnum's younger brother was following so closely in his stead bothered me. I needed to do something to stop it before it got worse.

Chapter Twenty-one

SCHOOL LET OUT, AND students hurried down the hallways to their buses and waiting rides. I tossed my books in my locker and headed to the closest exit. I had a hand on the outside door when commotion from a classroom caught my attention. A shout of protest was followed by a low laugh I knew well. Magnum. A sign on the door to the classroom said "Yearbook." I gritted my teeth and pushed it open.

"I warned you to stop writing about the Black Rider," Magnum said. He and the Bullets had several notebooks and were tearing out the pages. A skinny boy with blond hair and glasses stood in the middle of their group with two more notebooks clutched tightly to his chest.

I took a chance. "Martin, I'm late on that article you needed for tomorrow's bulletin."

Everyone turned, and Magnum gave a predatory smile. "Keldon."

"Musket," I replied with an amiable nod.

His smile turned to a snarl. He crossed the space between us and grabbed the front of my shirt. "What article are you working on?"

I motioned for Martin to get out of the room while the Bullets were distracted. He shook his head quickly and indicated the notebooks they held.

"About the Black Rider," I answered. "He's remarkable."

"He's a coward who hides behind a helmet," Magnum replied in a growl.

"The world would be prettier if other people hid behind helmets," I said. I nodded toward the bruised faces of several of his gang members, bruises I had given them.

His grip tightened on my shirt and he dropped the notebooks in his other hand. Martin darted forward and scooped them up. "You have very bad timing," Magnum said.

I shrugged. "I suppose I should get a better watch."

His gaze tightened as if he couldn't decide whether I was being serious.

I shook my wrist and put it to my ear, but I had stopped wearing a watch years ago. "Yep. Definitely time to get another one," I said.

He let out another growl and threw me into a pair of desks. I hit the ground with a groan that wasn't quite faked. Martin paused by the door. I motioned for him to leave, and he ducked out with his notebooks in his arms.

Magnum grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me up again. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I must have bitten my lip when he threw me. "Do you enjoy picking on those who are weaker than you?" I asked quietly.

He glared at me. "I despise weakness."

"So you make yourself look stronger by targeting those who can't defend themselves," I concluded. I shrugged, which was a bit difficult with my shirt still balled in his fist. "That makes sense, I guess." I made a show of looking around. "So why pick on Martin in here where there's no one to see?"

"His articles are biased," a boy with a blue streak through his hair pointed out.

I made a show of thinking about his words. "I suppose, but you're getting publicity anyway, even if it's not favorable."

"He doesn't tell the full story," Magnum said.

I realized Martin's omission that Magnum had helped chase out Mitch bothered him. I tried to keep the surprise from my face. "He'd probably take it better if you sent him a letter. It's hard to write with broken fingers, if you're into the Mafia type of revenge."

Magnum glared at me for a moment, "You're pushing your luck," he said in a dangerous growl. He shook my shirt the way a terrier shakes a rat. I wanted more than anything to punch him in the nose, but I kept my fists balled at my sides. He blew out a noisy breath, then let me fall to the floor again. "You're not worth my time," he said. He left without looking back. The rest of the Bullets filed out after him.

I watched them leave, then let my head fall back to the ground. I couldn't decide if being the victim was easier than fighting back, but it sure hurt more.

I was straightening the desks when Martin came back in. He watched me for a minute, then helped finish the job.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Glutton for punishment?" I answered.

He smiled, but it was clear my actions bothered him. "I saw you race."

My heart slowed, but I kept my attention on the desks, moving them around slightly even though they were already straight.

Martin continued, "You destroyed Magnum's bike. I know he hates you. Why put yourself in danger?"

I straightened slowly. He didn't guess I was the Black Rider, but if I wasn't careful, he would quickly come to that conclusion. "I didn't really think it through," I said as honestly as I could. "I heard him yelling and I've seen your articles. It's obvious why he's upset. So I thought if I made something up, he would leave you alone."

"By making yourself a target?" he asked.

I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, that was the part I didn't think through."

He smiled, and the relief in his eyes showed that he bought it. "Well, thanks. Even if it was stupid."

"It was definitely stupid," I agreed. I glanced at the clock on the wall. "I've gotta catch my bus."

"See ya around," he said. When I reached the door, he called, "Keldon?"

"It's Kelson," I corrected with a wry smile. "Magnum never gets it right."

He grinned. "I'm not surprised. Too many blows to the head, I think."

That caught me by surprise. "You mean from his dad?"

He nodded. "My father runs the Sage. Apparently Mr. Fisher's a mean drunk."

My visit to Magnum's house had proved as much. I leaned against the door frame and folded my arms. "That's too bad."

Martin's eyebrows rose in surprise. He pushed up his glasses. "You really think so? I feel like someone who beats on others has it coming to him."

"Maybe he beats on others because it's the only thing he can control," I replied.

Martin thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "Man, you should go into psychology."

I smiled. "I'll consider it if I survive high school."

He nodded in empathy. "The way Magnum treats you, that's not a sure thing."

"Tell me about it," I said. There was a deeper truth to that than he realized.

Martin set his notebooks on a desk and began straightening them. "Anyway, thanks again for distracting him. The Bullets were going to flush all my notes down the toilet."

"No problem. I figured you could use a distraction."

"Too bad there's no one there to distract him from you," Martin replied.

I shrugged. "I'll try to be more careful." My shoulders ached rebelliously where the edges of the desks had no doubt left bruises. I glanced at the clock again. "I've gotta go. The buses will be leaving. Be careful what you write. The Bullets are a bit touchy."

He laughed, and I raised a hand before disappearing around the corner.

***

JAGGER CAME OUT JUST as I finished with a small pile of gas caps and a much larger one of doors. "I got pulled over last night," I said.

Jagger laughed. "Sheriff Bowley caught up with ya, huh?" He glanced at the motorcycle that waited by the four-wheeler in the lean-to. "He didn't impound ol' Blackie?"

I shook my head. "It was actually an informative visit. He needs my help."

Jagger sputtered in shock. "Your help? What's he gettin' in 'is mind?"

"Apparently Magnum's mixed up with a couple of bad gangs. There's a drug drop that's supposed to take place in a few days and the sheriff asked me to keep an ear out."

Jagger nodded. "Go ta the Sage."

"The bar?" I asked, confused. "Why?"

"The Bullets hang out there. Roger don't seem ta mind their company long as they don' drink."

"Glad to see someone knows what's going on."

Jagger winked. "Might be nice ta 'ave inside information if'n you're the Black Rider."

I laughed and grabbed my helmet. "It just might."

***

WHEN I REACHED THE Sage, the Bullets were nowhere to be seen. I went inside anyway in the hopes that the bartender would be as amiable as he was the night before.

Only a few men and one woman sat in various booths around the bar. It was still a bit early for the regular customers. Roger was at the till running numbers on a pad of paper. He looked up when I came in, and his eyes tightened slightly at the sight of my helmeted face.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for the Bullets. Have you seen them?"

He gave me a frank look. "Not sure. Are they gonna end up like that molester from outta state?"

"Your son shared quite an opinion in his articles, I hear," I replied wryly.

He nodded. "He's a good writer."

"He might stretch the truth a bit."

He chuckled. "Like every good journalist. I hear you have a pretty impressive following."

I nodded. "Not sure if that's good or bad."

"I guess you get to decide that." He gave me a moment to think his words over, then tipped his head. "The Bullets were here, but Magnum sent them home for the night. That's unusual for him."

I was quiet a moment, debating whether I could trust the bartender. I gave it a shot. "Off the record," I said, winning a smile from him, "Magnum's in some deep water and I'd like to get him out of it."

"With your fists? Dad showed me his tape from the store. You have some skill."

I shook my head. "I'd rather take a more persuasive route. I'm getting a bit tired of violence."

He smiled. "That's the wisest thing you've said tonight." He leaned his elbows on the bar and spoke in an undertone. "I overheard Magnum say something about a friend he had to meet at the Res."

"The Res?"

"The reservoir just south of town. There's lots of scrub trees and cover. It's a good place to meet someone you're not too keen on the rest of the town knowin' about."

I held out a gloved hand. "Thanks, Roger. I appreciate it."

He shook my hand. "When you decide to take off that helmet, you'll be welcome here anytime."

I didn't reply, but his words sent a surge of warmth through me. Maybe his son writing the articles wasn't such a bad thing.

I followed Roger's directions and parked a quarter mile from the Res, then jogged through the darkness toward moonlight shining on liquid in silvery ribbons. It smelled mossy and stale as if the water had sat for a long time, but across the reservoir I could see a bonfire and hear the laughter of students. Apparently they didn't mind the water quality as long as it gave them somewhere to hang out.

I headed southwest around the curve of the reservoir. My footsteps were met by silence interspersed with the chirrup of night insects. I had just about decided I had picked the wrong direction when the moonlight reflected on a glossy blue surface. A closer inspection showed Magnum's motorcycle parked among the bushes. I walked quietly toward the water and was rewarded with the sound of voices.

". . . any cops. If we see anything suspicious, you're through. You understand?"

"Of course," Magnum replied, his voice a bit tight. "I'm not an idiot."

I wanted to disagree, but kept silent.

"The water tower on Friday. You sure it'll be empty, with this harvest thing going on?"

"Everyone goes to the Festival. It's the best time for a drop. Even the sheriff will be occupied with traffic and all that."

"Okay. Seven o'clock."

"We'll be there."

"You guys coming armed?"

"No." Magnum sounded a bit concerned. "Do we need to?"

Footsteps crunched in the leaves. "Only if we need to worry about trouble. Do we?"

"No."

"All right. We'll see you and your little gang on Friday. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too," Magnum replied, but he didn't sound very convincing.

I hid in the shadow of a tree as a form passed me. I couldn't make out anything more than a dark-colored jersey and tattoos on his arms. I waited until he reached a car next to the road and drove away.

Magnum stood near the water with his back to me. The silence around him was deep and tense. I debated whether to stay silent. I had been asked not to interfere, but Sparrow was in trouble. Things had become complicated riding under the guise of the Black Rider. I felt it was my duty to do whatever I could to protect the town. "You sure you want to do that?" I asked. I stepped just far enough toward Magnum that he could see my silhouette in the moonlight.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Just ensuring you're not making bad decisions that'll involve the citizens of Sparrow."

Magnum snorted. "This won't affect Sparrow."

I kept my voice calm. "You really think making this town a drop-off point for drugs won't affect it? How about when gangs start fighting? Do you want your family caught in the line of fire?"

"You keep my family out of this," he growled, taking a few steps forward.

I put my hands up. "Look. This is a bad idea and you know it. I think you just got in too deep and don't know how to go back." I lowered my voice. "I'm offering you a way out."

He was silent for a few minutes, and his gaze followed the path the other man had taken. "How?" he asked quietly.

Grateful that he was at least open to talking, I replied, "We have two options. The first involves the sheriff."

Magnum shook his head. "Uh-uh. No sheriff. If you try to involve him, the Verdos will burn this city to the ground."

"Okay, then we'll just have to be straight with them."

"You mean tell them we don't want Sparrow to be the drop point?" Magnum said. "Why would they listen?"

"Just tell them the sheriff's been asking questions. It would be in their best interest to change locations."

Magnum looked troubled. "And if that doesn't work?"

"We'll figure something else out."

He looked at me closely. "Why are you in this fight?"

There were a hundred answers: because the sheriff was worried about his late son's friends, because the town still cared about their students and understood what they were going through, because everyone deserved a second chance even if there wasn't always one available, because the past didn't have to dictate what someone became. I let out a breath and said, "Because Sparrow is worth saving."

He ran his hands through his hair, and for a second he looked less like the leader of the Bullets and more like a boy who was trying to do his best and failing completely. "I didn't know what I was getting into," he admitted quietly.

"I've made worse decisions," I said. At his look, I gave a grim smile inside my helmet. "Trust me. Mine went too far and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. Hopefully we can stop yours before it does the same."

He was silent for a moment. "So you'll be there Friday?"

I nodded. "The water tower at seven."

He let out a loud breath. "I guess it's worth a try."

I left him in the dark with the hope that he wouldn't change his mind. I wished somebody had given me a chance to second-guess my decision before it cost my sister's life. Maybe I could give the chance to someone else.

Chapter Twenty-two

AUNT LAUREN PICKED US up after school Thursday so we could shop in the city for the Senior Ball.

"I hope you don't mind missing time with your friends," she apologized. "It's the best day to go, especially with the Harvest Festival tomorrow."

"It'll be perfect," Cassidy said. She hadn't stopped smiling since she told Jeremy yes.

I didn't mind missing the races at the factory. It would probably remind Magnum about his motorcycle, and I could use fewer bruises. I shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the truck door. "I'm not sure I'm a tuxedo guy."

Aunt Lauren smiled. "You'll look great. I have a few stores in mind that I think will have everything we need."

"I'm thinking something in green, or maybe purple, or red, or burgundy, or pink," Cassidy began.

"This is going to be a long trip," I said.

They both laughed.

"Don't worry," Aunt Lauren reassured her daughter. "We won't leave until we find the perfect dress."

Cassidy gave her mom a quick side hug. "Thanks, Mom. I'm so excited."

Aunt Lauren practically shone at the love from her daughter. I realized then that I had never seen Cassidy hug her mom out of the blue like that. They always hugged good night, but I think that was routine. Her mom definitely could use a little more appreciation for everything she did around the house and farm.

The thought made me homesick. I missed my mom. No matter what we had been through, she was a good mom and had worked hard to care for us. Now she was alone. I made a mental note to text her when I got back to the house, especially considering what tomorrow might bring.

"So Sparrow doesn't have everything?" I asked Aunt Lauren teasingly when we reached the city.

She laughed, "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"We don't go to the city often; when we do, we have to make it count!" Cassidy explained with a grin.

Her mother pulled up to a store aptly named "Sew Fabulous." Cassidy skipped straight from the car to the front door. "Come on, slow pokes," she called, hurrying inside.

"They might be sold out before we get there," I told Aunt Lauren.

She laughed. "Oh, it won't be that bad."

I opened the door for her and we stepped inside to find Cassidy running up and down squealing, "I need to try on this one, and this one. Oh, and definitely this one! Wait until Sandy sees me!"

"Okay, it might be that bad," Aunt Lauren said to me in an undertone. She gave a persevering smile and we followed in Cassidy's wake.

I took a seat on a couch across from the dressing room. I assumed it had been placed there to accommodate weary parents, and was very grateful for such foresight. Aunt Lauren found me an hour later while Cassidy tried on dresses. "Success?" I asked.

She laughed tiredly and took a seat. "I guess we'll find out."

Cassidy came out in a red dress that fit a little too snug. I knew Uncle Rick would never let his little girl go out dressed like that.

"What do you think?" Cassidy asked. "It's absolutely beautiful, isn't it?" She glanced in one of the three mirrors. "Oh, and I should wear my hair down." She hurriedly unbraided it.

Aunt Lauren shot me a worried look. I sat up and pretended to study the dress seriously when Cassidy turned back around, waiting for our words of approval. Her blonde hair now sat in wavy locks around her shoulders. I could tell by her expression that she loved the dress and would be absolutely crushed if we said anything to the contrary.

I swallowed my masculinity and cleared my throat. "Well, Cass, it is a lovely dress." She grinned. "But . . . " Her smile faltered. "You have such beautiful green eyes. It would be a shame if Jeremy didn't notice them. Don't you think it'd be better to wear something that accentuates them?"

She and Aunt Lauren both stared at me for a moment, then Cassidy's smile erupted into a grin. "I know just the dress!" she exclaimed. She hurried back into the dressing room without waiting for her mother's opinion.

Aunt Lauren let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Kel. I didn't know what to say."

"Uncle Rick would have sent all of us to the doghouse." I paused. "Does Jake even have a doghouse?"

She nodded with a smile. "It would be a bit snug with the four of us."

"I'll bet Uncle Rick would let Jake take our place inside."

She laughed. "I'll bet you're right."

Cassidy came out in an emerald green dress a shade darker than her eyes. The result was striking and Aunt Lauren gasped, "Oh, darling, you look beautiful."

The dress was form-fitted to the waist, then flared gently in a series of tiered layers to the floor. Uncle Rick would approve, even if her shoulders were bare. Cassidy spun around and the bottom of the dress twirled up. She giggled like a little girl and spun again.

"It's perfect," Cassidy said.

"That's the one," Aunt Lauren agreed.

Cassidy skipped over and hugged her mother tightly. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! This is going to be the best night ever!" She hurried back to the mirrors and spun again.

Aunt Lauren smiled so big, she looked exactly like her daughter.

"You're having a good time," I noted with a smile of my own.

She nodded and admitted quietly, "Cass and I don't have much girl time together. She's been a tomboy since she was born. I have the hardest time buying her clothes she'll wear." She sighed. "I needed this."

"You're a good mom," I said.

She squeezed my hand in gratitude.

A sales associate appeared around the corner. "A perfect example of loveliness," he exclaimed. "And I have shoes to match." He disappeared again.

I stood up. "I guess I'll head to the other side in an effort to salvage any masculinity I have left. Wish me luck."

"Look for something in black," Cassidy said. I shot her a look, and she grinned with her eyes twinkling.

"Here's a pair of shoes that will match your dress perfectly," the sales associate said. He knelt by her feet and slipped them on.

"I didn't even tell you my size," Cassidy said in surprise.

"I'm just that good," the associate replied with a wink.

I couldn't get away fast enough. The scent of heavy perfume and silk followed me from the women's side of the store to the much-less-colorful men's side. Apparently tuxedos didn't come in emerald green or ruby red. I turned down a row at the end and stopped. Nope, I was wrong. Tuxedos definitely came in ruby or emerald.

I back-tracked quickly to the regular black and gray rows, grateful Cassidy wasn't there to try to convince me that it would be cute if we matched. I needed to maintain some dignity.

"May I help you, sir?"

Why not. "Do you have a tux for rent that's completely black?"

***

AT DINNER THAT NIGHT, Cassidy showed everyone her dress. "You look amazing," Jaren said.

"You look like a girl," Cole noted in disgust.

"I am a girl," Cassidy shot back.

"Turn around," Uncle Rick said. A frown of disapproval showed on his face.

Everyone fell silent as Cassidy turned slowly, then looked at her father. "What do you think, Daddy?"

He studied her carefully for a minute, and then his frown melted into a smile. "You look absolutely beautiful," he said. She ran into his arms and he gave her a tight hug, then stepped back. "I'm going to wrinkle your dress."

She smoothed the front. "It's okay. I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," he said. He and Aunt Lauren exchanged a tender look. "I just can't believe my little girl is going on a date."

"Kelson will be there," Cassidy said.

He nodded and looked at me. "I'm trusting you to keep her safe."

"I will," I promised.

Cassidy ran into the other room to change so she didn't spill on her dress.

"When do I get to date?" Jaren asked.

"Girls are gross," Cole stated.

"When you're sixteen," Aunt Lauren replied.

"But Cass is fifteen," Jaren pointed out.

Uncle Rick pointed a fork at his son. "She turns sixteen next month, and Kel's going along. If you have an escort and a pretty girl, we'll talk about it."

"What if the girl's ugly?" Cole asked with a laugh.

Aunt Lauren shot him a look of disapproval.

Cassidy returned to the kitchen in pajamas and with a dreamy expression on her face. "One week. I can't wait!"

"Maybe we can meet Jeremy at the Harvest Festival tomorrow," Aunt Lauren said.

"That would be great!" Cassidy replied. She gave her dad a serious look. "As long as you don't sic Jake on him or anything."

Uncle Rick laughed. "First of all, Jake will be staying here. There's enough going on at the Festival to be worrying about a dog. Secondly, if I'm going to kill him, I'll wait for the day of the dance so no one else has a chance to ask you out."

"Dad!" Cassidy exclaimed while Cole laughed so hard, he fell off his chair.

Chapter Twenty-three

I PICKED MADELYN UP after dinner and we took a tour of the countryside on the four-wheeler. I stopped at the snow goose pond. The silence of the land around us filled me with peace. Madelyn was my rock, my stable place. When I was with her, the whirlwind of my thoughts quieted and I could see everything clearly. I slipped my hand into hers.

"I know when and where the drop-off is going to be," I said quietly.

"You told the sheriff?" she guessed.

I nodded. "He said that Magnum already called him about it, which surprised me, but it's good. If things go wrong, we're going to need more help than fourteen unarmed school kids. They'll walk all over us."

"I doubt that," she replied. At my look, she smiled, "I've heard about the way you fight. How did Martin put it? Oh, yes. 'He beat each opponent with the fluidity of water and the merciless fist of ice. His motions were so swift, they were down before they realized they had been hit. His movements were a deadly dance, a smooth explosion of force and grace, his black form a phantom of vengeance answering the cry of the meek and the oppressed.'"

I stared at her. "You memorized that?"

She laughed. "It was poetic."

"A phantom of vengeance?"

"My favorite is the explosion of force and grace, and I like that you answer the cry of the meek and the oppressed."

I snorted. "He makes me sound like Robin Hood."

She shrugged. "You could try black tights."

"That would be the end of the Black Rider. Trust me."

"Tights are a bit revealing."

I laughed. "I already spent the day at a dress shop. I'm not about to give up _all_ my manly dignity."

She laughed. "Manly dignity? I'll have to tell Martin to put that in his next article. I'm sure he would run with the inspiration."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't think he needs encouragement, but he might be a bit out of sorts after yesterday."

Her brow creased. "What happened yesterday?"

"You were right. Magnum was upset about the article. I came in when he and the Bullets were giving Martin a hard time."

"What did you do?"

I gave her a droll smile. "I let him rough me up so Martin could get away with his notes before they were flushed down a toilet."

"Is that why you're so sore? Let me see what he did."

I hesitated, but the compassion in Madelyn's eyes begged me to trust her. I let out a breath and lifted my shirt so she could see my back.

She was silent, and shock showed on her face. I had forgotten about the scars left there from the burns. I was about to pull my shirt down when her fingers touched my skin. She traced the scars gently. A tremor ran down my spine at the feeling of her fingers on my back. "Looks like the bruises hurt," she said softly.

I lowered my shirt, grateful she didn't mention the burns. "I'm starting to match."

"Keep it up and you'll be purple all over."

"I hear purple is a becoming color," I replied. "I think it's one of the numerous options Cassidy was perusing at the dress store."

She laughed. "I can't imagine you shopping for dresses."

I held up my hands. "Let's keep it straight. Cassidy was the one shopping for dresses. Don't you go spreading rumors or telling Martin otherwise. I don't need him writing articles on the Black Rider's taste in clothing."

"Even black dresses?" Madelyn asked.

I pretended to consider it, then grinned. "You're worse than Cassidy."

"It's too bad you're not going to the Festival," she said. "My mom's best friend is coming to stay with us, so Dad said he'd take me."

"Trust me—I'd much rather go with you."

Her smile sobered. "I'm worried about what's going to happen."

I took her hand. "Don't worry. The sheriff will be there. I'm sure I'll be nothing more than a spectator."

"Just be careful," she said.

I nodded and led her back to the four-wheeler. "What's the Festival for, anyway?"

"To celebrate when Sparrow was founded, and we also honor the original founders' appreciation for the harvest. Everyone brings vegetables and home cooking to be judged, there are homemade goodies and blankets, and there's cow and sheep judging. It really is a lot of fun."

"Maybe I can catch the next one," I said.

She smiled and climbed on the four-wheeler. "I think the farm life's good for you."

I sat in front of her and thought about it. "I think you're right," I agreed.

***

THE SCHOOL WAS BUZZING with excitement about the Harvest Festival. There was apparently going to be a talent show because students were practicing in the halls and in class. Just to get outside, I dodged a boy juggling curry combs, a girl twirling batons, and four students square dancing. All I could think about was what the night would bring. I said goodbye to Madelyn on the bus, then rode the four-wheeler to the junkyard.

Uncle Jagger was already at the Festival. I worked hard pulling car frames with the four-wheeler to line the west wall in an effort to keep my mind off the evening. By the time I needed to go, I felt calm and collected. Mick barked a lonely farewell from the shack as I climbed on the black motorcycle in my gear.

"See ya later, Mick," I called.

I drove out of the junkyard and stashed the bike in the bushes near the Ashby house before I went inside. I grabbed a blanket and curled on my cot.

Aunt Lauren came in a few minutes later. "Kelson, are you all right?"

I nodded. "I just have a stomachache. I think it'll pass if I sleep for a bit."

"But you're going to miss the Festival. Are you _sure_ you're all right?" She smoothed my hair from my forehead with motherly concern.

I gave her a smile. "I'll be fine. Have fun with the others and don't worry about me. I'm sure I'll feel better by morning."

She nodded with worry in her eyes. "Drink lots of water and try to sleep. If you need anything, call Cassidy's cell phone."

"Will do."

I listened as the family piled into Uncle Rick's truck and drove away. Then I threw off the blanket and got up. I grabbed my phone and my heart gave a little sideways lurch at the message sign flashing on the screen. I hesitated. Tonight might be the most important night of my life, a chance to change things and maybe make a small improvement in other lives, a chance for perhaps a small bit of redemption. I didn't want to worry about my mom's words and be distracted from what I needed to do.

I gritted my teeth and pushed the button. A brief message appeared. _Just thinking of you tonight. Had a feeling you were going through something hard. Hang in there. I love you_.

I stared at the message. Zoey's death had reduced my relationship with my mother to text messages when before we had called ourselves the Three Musketeers. I let out a slow breath. When I lost Zoey, I lost my mother.

Yet tears rolled down my face at the message on the screen. My mother thought of me and somehow knew I was facing trouble tonight. She was pulling for me, even if she didn't know what it was. I knew she loved me—mothers are supposed to love their children, right? But there was no requirement for them to care about the little things, the everyday trials that challenged them. My mother cared. In her own way, she pulled for me to succeed.

I ran my arm over my face to dry it and typed, _I love you, Mom. Tonight is going to be rough, but everything is going to be all right. Your words mean more than I can say. Love, Kelson._

I slipped the phone into my pocket, pulled on my riding gear, and walked out the front door. Jake came running up to meet me. I patted him on the head. "Not today, boy. You'll have to stay out of this one." He whined and pushed his nose into my hand. My heart pounded in my chest. I dropped to my knees and hugged him. He stood there wagging his tail so hard that his hind end wobbled from side to side.

I rose and shook my head. "Look what I've turned into, Jake. I don't even like dogs, remember?" He licked my hand and watched me from the porch as I crossed to the motorcycle. I pulled on my helmet and turned the key. I waved at the dog, then drove up the road.

Chapter Twenty-four

I REACHED THE WATER tower at six thirty. The big S painted on the side glowed dark red in the light of the sunset. The Bullets stood in a silent group near the base. I pulled my motorcycle a few feet away from the thirteen other bikes and climbed off. I ran a gloved hand across my helmet shield to clear away dust and a few unlucky bugs from the ride.

"What's he doing here?" the spikey-haired girl demanded.

"Want us to take out the trash?" one of the tall thugs asked.

Magnum silenced them with a look. "I asked him to be here." They stared at him in shock. He ignored them and crossed the pavement to me. "Thanks for coming," he said, holding out a hand.

I shook it. "Any word from them?"

"Not yet." He looked worried.

I glanced around casually. None of the deputies were in sight. Sheriff Bowley was as good as his word.

"What do we do?" Magnum asked.

"Wait. That's all we can do." I put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be all right. We're all walking away from this."

He nodded and motioned for me to follow him back to the Bullets. I stopped a few feet away and pretended to ignore them, but watched them from the corner of my eye. I knew I could trust Magnum, but I had no doubt the rest of them wouldn't hesitate to seek revenge for the beatings they had received. I couldn't regret my actions because somehow they had brought me here, but I probably would have taken it a bit easier on them if I'd known we would have to be allies.

The sun sank behind the mountains, washing the town in a wash of orange and red. The sound of Festival revelry from the nearby parade grounds drifted over to us.

"I know where I'd rather be," a tall, skinny boy with a shaved head said.

"Shut up, Thompson," a thick-set boy with rings through his eyebrows snapped.

"You'd rather be playing Barbies," the green-haired girl said.

"And you'd be painting your toenails, Snipe," the pierced boy shot back.

She stuck out her tongue. "At least I can touch my toes. Can't say the same for you, Uzi."

"I'll _break_ your toes," Uzi shot back.

Without warning, Magnum slugged Uzi in the jaw. He staggered back with his hand to his face.

"Anyone else?" Magnum demanded. They all shook their heads, and Uzi kept his eyes on the ground. Magnum rubbed his knuckles. "They should be here by now." He glanced at his watch. "They're ten minutes late." As if on cue, his phone rang. The theme from _Rocky_ sounded loud in the silent lot.

"Where are you?" Magnum demanded. He paused and listened. "That's ridiculous!" he practically shouted. "We had an agreement that no one would get hurt." He listened impatiently to the talking on the other end. His expression grew sober. He nodded. "Fine. We'll be there." He hung up and looked at me. "They're at the Festival."

My heart skipped a beat. "What made them change the drop?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. They said it would be safer in a crowd."

"Safer for who?" Uzi demanded.

"For whom," the girl, Snipe, corrected.

"Shut up," Uzi snapped.

Magnum raised his hands. "Listen. I know we're all keyed up, but if we don't go to the Festival now, people could get hurt. I need you all to focus, understand?" Everyone nodded. Magnum looked at me. "You got my back?"

I nodded.

"Then let's go."

We climbed on our motorcycles, and for the first time in what felt like years, I pulled onto the road with a pack of motorcycles behind me. I could picture Zoey on the back of Jeff's bike waving her arms in the air like some daredevil bird. Joey and Dane would follow on their matching Harleys, while Pete and Roni brought up the rear. It was a mix of bullet bikes and hogs, but nobody cared. We loved the road, and that was all that mattered.

I pulled out on Magnum's right side. My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn't stop thinking about the innocent citizens of Sparrow as they enjoyed their festivities, oblivious to the danger around them. I needed to sneak away and call Sheriff Bowley to let him know plans had changed. There was also no way I could walk through the Festival dressed as the Black Rider without creating a stir.

We pulled up to a stoplight and Magnum revved his CBR, anxious to be on his way. His lack of helmet, while stupid, made it easier to talk to him through my own. "I can't follow you in," I yelled over the sound of the engines.

"Why not?" he demanded. Anger flashed in his eyes.

I indicated my bike. "I might stir up a crowd. It'd be best if I sneak in."

He nodded reluctantly, but looked worried. "That makes sense. You sure you're not trying to get out of it?"

"Never," I said. "I'll be there—you have my word." I stuck out my fist.

He hit my knuckles with his own. "They're meeting us at the cattle show. See you inside."

I nodded. The light turned green and I followed them a few more blocks, then turned off. The sound of my lone motorcycle echoed forlornly against the sides of the houses I passed.

I pulled up about half a block from the Festival and hid my motorcycle behind a leaning billboard. I slipped out of my black outfit and shoved it into my backpack, then jogged to the fairgrounds. On the way, I pulled out the card Sheriff Bowley had given me and dialed the number.

"Sheriff Bowley," he answered, his voice tight.

"Sheriff, it's Kel—it's the Black Rider," I corrected quickly. "There's been a change of plans. The drop-off has been moved to the Festival."

"What?" the sheriff said so loud I almost dropped my phone.

"They'll be somewhere near the cow show, wherever that is."

"The middle of the fairgrounds in the big blue building," the sheriff answered. "We'll be there."

"Be careful," I said.

"You too."

I hung up the phone just as I reached the entrance. I paid three dollars for admission and hurried inside.

Thanks to the sheriff's directions, I was able to find the building easily. The hair rose on the back of my neck at the sight of a few men who were clearly not from Sparrow waiting near the entrance. The bulge of weapons was obvious at their backs and sides. I wondered how they made it past the gate. Of course, the nice elderly ladies working admittance hadn't been warned to look for armed drug dealers.

I avoided meeting their eyes and slipped inside. The building was domed with a fence partitioning the sawdust-covered ground in the middle from the audience in the bleachers on either side. Tall windows ringed the entire building and let in the fading light that filtered through the dusty air in dull beams. Lights lined the top of the building and along either wall to make up for the growing darkness outside.

A man in a blue jacket directed me to the west-side bleachers. I took a seat near the bottom and scanned the audience. The Bullets were already there. Magnum and his gang sat near the bottom corner of the east side. I studied the people opposite me and my heart slowed at the number of unfriendly faces, arms bearing green bandanas, and obviously uneasy demeanors. They were triple the number of Magnum's gang, if not more than that. I wondered how many officers the sheriff had brought.

Six teenage girls were walking white cows around in a circle on the floor. The cows all looked the same to me, but four men in green vests at a table on the east side scribbled notes on yellow pads of paper. They appeared very serious, for people judging identical white cows. One mooed. Maybe she would get higher points.

Magnum looked at his phone, then said something to the other Bullets. He rose and made his way along one of the rows to the middle of the east side. A young man with a green bandana on his arm stood and gave Magnum his seat. Soon, other men and women began to shift to that area as well. One bore a hawk tattoo. I noticed the same tattoo on the arms of several others; they must be members of the second gang involved in the drop.

I looked around for the sheriff and found him near the fence on my side of the arena. He wore a cowboy hat and would have blended in with the crowd except that people kept recognizing him and shaking his hand. He glanced around, worried he would be spotted.

Commotion rose on the far side of the arena. One of the green bandana gang was making a chopping motion. A member of the hawk gang shook his head. He lifted his hands and said something. Another hawk gang member replied in a shout I could hear over the noise of the arena. The crowd between the two groups began to notice the confrontation. Alarm spread. The first hawk gang member stood up, then stumbled back when the green bandana member drew a gun, shouted, and waved the weapon.

Blood pounded in my ears and my breathing sounded harsh and loud. The scene before me slowed until every detail stood out in sharp contrast.

The crowd around the gunman screamed and scrambled to get away. Members of the audience rose with weapons, the sheriff's deputies dressed in civilian attire. A shot rang out and the hawk gang member fell over, clutching his chest. Other guns were drawn. More shots were fired. The sheriff's men were pinned down, unable to shoot for fear of hitting the bystanders. Several members of the audience screamed while others dove for cover. Magnum tripped backwards in his haste to gain some distance from the fight.

The sheriff below me shot at the leader of the green gang. The man grabbed his shoulder, then turned and fired in our direction. Bullets whizzed through the air. The audience searched for shelter. Screams of fright and pain filled the arena. The sheriff's deputies defended the crowd the best they could, pulling them to safety and hiding them behind any cover they could find. I didn't know what to do. I felt helpless and worthless in the midst of all the shooting. I crouched and ran down the bleachers to the sheriff's side.

The shooting stopped with Sparrow citizens, gang members, and deputies hunkered down. The leader of the green bandana gang had a gun to Magnum's head and was forcing him into the middle of the arena. The few deputies who were on the west side couldn't get a shot at the gang members without exposing themselves. Those on my side were pinned down. If they moved, innocent civilians could get hurt.

"Keep down," I heard a familiar voice say. My heart slowed.

I spotted Uncle Rick a few rows away from me, Aunt Lauren, Cassidy, and the boys crouched around him as he tried to shield them with his body. My heart stopped entirely at the sight of Madelyn and her father next to them. They must have found each other in the audience and decided neighbors should watch cow judging together. It must be a farmer thing.

"Sheriff, what do we do?" I asked.

He turned to me and recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're Jagger's boy?"

I nodded. "This is a mess."

He looked back at the scene. "We can't shoot or the citizens around us will be targets. We need a diversion."

"I can do that. Stall them for me," I said. I slipped back between the bleachers.

"Wait," I heard the sheriff call, but I pretended not to notice. If a diversion was needed, I would provide one. I wasn't sure what I planned to do, but at this point anything was better than watching the gangs pick off easy targets out of anger over their failed drop.

From what I had seen coming in, members of both gangs were at the doors under probable orders not to let anyone in or out until the drop was done. Who knew what orders they had been given in case things dissolved into a shoot-out. I looked around desperately; there had to be a way to get out of the building without anyone noticing.

A small gate near the middle of the wall caught my attention. It looked like an entrance for the sheep and cows that were shown. A single gang member with a green bandana stood in front of the exit, his gun resting casually in one hand.

I made sure no one was watching me and dropped down behind the stands. I crept silently through the shadows and was almost on top of the gang member when he finally spotted me. He lifted the gun, but I blocked it with my right hand and drove the heel of my left into his jaw. His head snapped back and he staggered, but he refused to let go of the weapon.

I slid my hand down and grabbed the gun, then chopped his arm with all my strength. His hand opened convulsively and he yelled. I punched him in the throat, cutting off the shout, then slammed the barrel of the gun into the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor. I pushed through the gate without looking back to see if anyone had noticed our scuffle.

I darted across the fairgrounds without heed for the thick crowd. People were rushing away from the livestock building. No one appeared to know what was going on, but the sound of gunfire was unmistakable. I cleared the admissions gate and sprinted to the billboard where my bike was hidden. I ripped off my backpack and pulled on my gear, then was on the motorcycle and driving back to the admissions gate without any idea of what I would do when I got there.

The ladies who manned the entrance stared in shock when I gunned the motor and drove past their stand against the flow of the crowd who fought to leave. I turned left and followed the fence. The sheriff needed a distraction. It had to be enough to leave the gangs exposed and the deputies able to take them down without hurting citizens. I wracked my brain for ideas as I drew parallel to the livestock building and turned toward it.

People shouted when I flew by. I dodged around several women huddled behind a corn dog stand and barely missed a mass of young children being herded toward the exit by two frantic teachers. Families hid behind the balloon dart and toss-a-ring booths, while several groups of students peered from the other side of the bathrooms. The students pointed at me when I drove past. I took a small detour around a lemonade stand and, for lack of a better plan, was about to drive straight into the livestock building when I noticed the warehouse next to it.

The roof was aluminum and sloped toward the cattle building with a fifteen-foot or so gap in between. The cattle building had a solid row of huge windows all the way around it to let in light. If I could get on the roof, I could possibly jump the motorcycle through one of the windows and draw the attention of the gangs so the sheriff's men could take them out. It was a long shot, but it was also the best plan I could come up with.

On impulse, I drove west around the building. The roof was low, but there was no way to get up on it. Several people were watching me; their expressions bore mixed looks of fear from the commotion inside the building and awe at my appearance. It was obvious they knew about the Black Rider.

"I've got to get on the building," I shouted, pointing at the roof. "I need your help!"

To my relief, men and women hurried over. A tall man in a bright orange hunting hat pointed at a hot dog stand. "That would make a good ramp. Come on." He and several other men hefted the stand and turned it so it leaned against the wall. He looked back at me. "Good luck."

I gunned the motorcycle up the makeshift ramp to the roof. The bike took the slope with ease. When I reached the top, I paused only long enough to locate the middle window that would put me right on top of the gang. I would draw their fire and give the sheriff's men a chance to take them down.

I took a calming breath, then rolled the throttle. The familiarity of my actions made them almost second-nature, even though I had performed the maneuver only once before. I gunned the bike down the roof, then braked hard and popped the clutch. My front tire jumped in the air just before I reached the edge.

The motorcycle cleared the span between the buildings without a problem. My front tire hit the window as I crashed through the livestock building. Glass shards glinted off my helmet and gloved hands.

The seconds in the air felt like an eternity.

"Kelson!" a surprised voice called. I couldn't tell if it was Madelyn or Cassidy who said it.

Flashes of light burst below me as gang members turned their guns up toward their unknown attacker. Bullets hit my motorcycle and shattered my headlight. Icy shards of pain shattered across my chest as others peppered my body. My breath caught in my throat. Gunfire sparked from the far side of the arena. Gang members began to fall.

Madelyn's hazel eyes appeared in my mind. She asked me to be careful even when I couldn't promise her I would. She understood what drove me. Our pasts were different, but we were both fighting to redeem what we saw as our faults. In that instant, I realized neither of us had been in control of the situations we felt defined us. We were both trapped, victims who refused to quit fighting. I wanted to survive.

I could see Magnum below, the barrel of the green bandana gang leader's gun pressed to his head. They stood in the center of the arena. The gang leader was turning at the sound of the shattering glass, his actions slowed as my brain analyzed every millisecond of the fall.

I centered my weight on the pegs, hoping to land on my back tire like before, but the tire clipped the fence that surrounded the arena. I jolted forward and felt the bike slip to one side. A part of my mind said that I had been lucky to land it once; I definitely wasn't going to be lucky this time.

I hit the ground on my head and back, then slid to the middle of the arena floor in a daze, grateful that I at least wore a helmet. Gunfire echoed around me as my motorcycle skidded toward the gang member who held Magnum hostage. He turned at the sound of the crash and Magnum, ready for the distraction, ripped the gun from his hand and trained it on the man.

The sheriff's men had taken advantage of the distraction to move in on both sides. There were enough officers in the arena to take down both gangs. Weapons were dropped and hands rose in the air. I closed my eyes and listened to a few more scattered gunshots, then silence fell across the arena. Pain wracked my body. It hurt to move and it hurt to breathe.

A cow gave a nervous moo. My disjointed thoughts noted that it was giving one more try for first place. Even cows had showmanship.

Chapter Twenty-five

THE RUSTLE OF CLOTHING and the sound of boots on metal heralded people climbing the fence to reach the middle of the arena. I thought vaguely that it would be easier for them to go around, then a hand touched my chest as knees thudded to the ground next to me.

"Is he dead?" a voice asked. I recognized Magnum's demanding tone through the haze that filled my mind.

"I'm not sure," a voice belonging to the sheriff replied. "We need to take off his helmet."

"Surround us," Magnum barked. Footsteps shuffled. "Now turn around and face out." The footsteps complied.

Hands worked gently under my chin and loosened the strap, then my helmet was pulled free.

"Kelson?" Magnum said in surprise.

The sheriff felt for my pulse. The light from the ceiling pelted my eyes with demanding ferocity. I coughed and pain convulsed through my ribs. I opened my eyes and squinted at the two faces hovering above me.

"He's alive," Magnum breathed.

"Is everyone all right?" I croaked, fighting to pull in the breath that had been knocked from me in the fall.

The sheriff nodded. "It worked. No one was killed and the gangs are down." He shook his head. "That was crazy."

I took a tight breath and winced at the pain. "The Ashbys, Madelyn?"

"Everyone's being moved outside; we'll find out soon." The sheriff eyed me worriedly. "You need an ambulance."

"I'll survive," I said, though the pain that coursed through my body said the next few days might be uncomfortable.

The sheriff pulled open my riding gear and found the bulletproof vest underneath. He sat back on his heels, his face white with stark relief. "Looks like Jagger's work," he said.

I nodded, then put a hand to my pounding head. "He's full of surprises," I said despite my aching ribs.

"Tell me about it," the sheriff replied.

"You wrecked my bike," Magnum said, still in shock. "You said you'd never ridden one before."

I took a shallow breath. "I lied. Sorry about that."

I sat up slowly and felt Magnum's hands on my shoulders keeping me steady. I held a hand to my aching chest and noticed blood dripping down my arm from a bullet wound. The vest felt like it was stabbing into my ribs. I reached for the straps and the sheriff helped me remove it. He pulled it away to reveal angry bruises already showing across my chest where the bullets had hit. The wound along the top of my shoulder started to bleed down my chest.

"I'm glad you came prepared," Magnum said. He looked from the vest to Sheriff Bowley meaningfully.

"Would've worked better if they hadn't moved the drop point," I said wryly.

"Much better," Magnum agreed. I coughed, and another spasm of pain tore through my chest.

"We need to get you to the hospital," the sheriff said. "An ambulance is on its way. Just rest here."

I shook my head. "Others need the help. I'll get a ride."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," I said. I tried to rise, but Magnum kept a hand on my shoulder to hold me down. He set my battered helmet in my lap. "This town needs a hero. Let's give it one."

I met his eyes in surprise. He gave a small smile. "I owe you one."

I accepted the helmet and tried to slip it over my head, but it hurt to raise my arms. Magnum put my helmet on. "You're the one who beat the crap out of the Bullets?" he asked.

I chuckled, then winced at the pain. He rose and held out a hand to help me to my feet. The sheriff assisted me on the other side as I stood. I reached a standing position, then wobbled when my knees threatened to give out. I leaned with a hand on Magnum's shoulder as I fought to catch my breath.

"Maybe the ambulance is a good idea," Magnum said with concern in his voice.

I shook my head, took a slow, shallow breath, and rose upright. "I'm ready," I said through clenched teeth.

We stepped out from behind the shield of Bullet gang members and deputies who kept their backs dutifully to us. The building was almost empty as the sheriff's men and women worked to clear out the chaos. I leaned heavily against Magnum as we reached the wide-spread doors.

A crowd waited beyond, held back by officers and festival workers. We stepped into the floodlights that shone down from above the door. A cheer rippled through the audience and quickly grew into a roar. I paused in surprise. "Hold your head high," Magnum whispered. "You earned this."

Sheriff Bowley and two other officers cleared the way. Calls of gratitude and relief followed us. I scanned the audience, hoping to see Madelyn and the Ashbys.

The sheriff caught my search. "I'll have them meet you at the hospital—don't worry."

An officer pulled through the grounds in the sheriff's car. Sheriff Bowley opened the back door and I climbed inside. I leaned my head against the seat, too exhausted to take off the helmet.

The door on my other side opened, then closed as somebody sat down next to me. "You better stay awake," Magnum growled.

I tipped my head toward him. "It's been a long day."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it." Someone slipped a thick bandage beneath my riding outfit to put pressure on my shoulder. Magnum held it in place and the door on my side shut. I closed my eyes and my thoughts drifted in and out of clarity.

Sheriff Bowley got in the driver's seat and began to drive slowly through the crowd.

A metallic taste filled my mouth. My mind drifted to an image of fire everywhere, smoke so thick I couldn't breathe, and a voice calling my name. "Zoey," I said, sitting up.

"Whoa, slow down," Magnum said. He eased me back gently. "You hit your head pretty hard, even with the helmet."

"You should start wearing one," I replied groggily.

He stared at me. "Are you lecturing me about safety?"

I wanted to laugh at the irony, but settled for a weak chuckle. "Pretty bad example, huh?"

Sheriff Bowley looked at me in the rearview mirror. "When I said we needed a distraction, I didn't expect you to come flying through the window on your motorcycle."

"It wasn't what I had in mind either," I admitted. It was hard to breathe. I wanted to take my helmet off, but knew it would be better if I got into the hospital without anyone knowing who I was.

"It's the bravest thing I've ever seen," the sheriff said. "Foolhardy, but brave."

Magnum nodded. "You saved lives; you saved my life."

The tone of awe in his voice rang through my heart. I felt a release of pressure as if some dark thing that sat on my soul lifted free, leaving me lighter and better for having experienced its depths. The Black Rider had given me a breath of relief past my guilt for Zoey's death.

***

AN AMBULANCE WITH WHIRLING lights passed us on our way to the hospital. When we arrived, two others were there already unloading victims from the shooting. I climbed gingerly out of the car and felt eyes on me as Magnum and the sheriff helped me inside.

A nurse with short black hair and purple scrubs met us at the automatic doors. "We've got a back room ready for you," she said, holding a wheelchair so I could sit down.

"I'd prefer to walk, if that's all right," I replied. The wheelchair looked inviting, but I owed it to the Rider to stand strong despite the pain.

She and the sheriff exchanged a look. "Which way is it?" Magnum demanded.

For the first time, I was grateful no one questioned the Bullet leader. The nurse pushed the empty wheelchair and led the way; her short hair swung from side to side as if she was annoyed at my refusal. Whispers from patients and families we passed in the emergency room waiting area followed us down the hall.

I sat on the bed in the room the nurse indicated and waited until she left to pull off my helmet. The movement strained my bruised ribs, but I felt stronger than I had in a long while and the pain didn't bother me as much. Magnum took the helmet as though it was something to be prized. Scratches gouged the back where my head had hit the ground. I was immensely grateful for Jagger's foresight.

"You should probably take off your riding gear," Sheriff Bowley suggested. He helped me ease out of my jacket. Neither he nor Magnum said anything about the burn scars and bruises on my back, but it was obvious by their shocked silence that they saw them. I gritted my teeth and settled back on the bed.

A young doctor in green scrubs appeared a few seconds later. "Sorry about the delay," he said as he walked in the door. "It's a madhouse out—"

He paused and glanced at the helmet in Magnum's hands, then at my riding jacket flung over the back of a chair, and finally at me. "So you're the Black Rider."

I didn't know what to say, so I kept silent.

The sheriff stepped forward. "Dr. Carrison, you were requested specifically for your ability to handle," he glanced at me, "delicate situations."

The doctor nodded. "Of course, Sheriff. His secret is safe with me." He picked up an empty chart and made a few notes, then walked to the side of the bed. His eyebrows rose. "Those look like bullet bruises through a vest."

"Seen a lot of those lately?" I asked, impressed by his accurate diagnosis.

He smiled and something about his expression was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. "Just once, with our dear old sheriff." He tipped his head to Sheriff Bowley.

The sheriff gave a pained smile. "Surprised a few trigger-happy hooligans out by Rattlesnake about a year ago. My own stupidity got me shot at, and man, it hurts even with the vest." He gave me a sympathetic look. "You took a few more than I did."

The doctor probed my ribs and I tried not to wince. He then asked me to sit up so he could check the bandage on my shoulder. "Looks like it grazed you pretty good. You'll need stitches, but I think you'll live. I'm going to order an X-ray of your chest."

He paused, gave me a curious look, and said, "You didn't come in a few weeks ago needing stitches down your leg, did you?"

Magnum smirked and the sheriff watched me with considerable interest. I pulled up my pant leg and the doctor nodded. "I thought so." He took a closer look. "Where'd those green ones come from?"

My stomach tightened. I had forgotten about Madelyn's repair work. "I busted a couple of the stitches and had to have them redone."

I glanced at Magnum, wondering if he realized it was during our fight at Joe's store. He stepped closer to get a good look. "Looks like my bike got off lucky. Who restitched it?"

"A friend," I said.

He rolled his eyes. "You're crazy."

"We might as well take the stitches out while you're here. Looks like it's healed pretty well," the doctor said.

He made a few more notes on the chart, then disappeared from the room.

The sheriff walked to the side of the bed. "I need to get back to the fairgrounds. You all right here?"

I nodded just as a commotion started up the hall. "Of course she's family—she's dating our nephew," Aunt Lauren's voice exclaimed.

"But that's not hospital policy," a woman argued.

A second later, the Ashby family hurried in, followed by a hassled-looking nurse. Madelyn and her father appeared closely behind.

"Kelson," Cassidy exclaimed upon seeing me. She ran to the bed and was about to throw her arms around me when she noticed my chest. Her eyes widened. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I reassured her.

Aunt Lauren hurried over and kissed me on the cheek. "Are you sure you're all right, darling? When Cassidy told us you were the one on the motorcycle, I about had a heart attack."

"I'm really fine," I said.

Uncle Rick stood near the door. When I met his eyes, he gave a nod of approval. "Well done, Kel. That was incredible."

"That was awesome!" Cole piped in. "When you crashed through the window, everyone was shooting, people were screaming, and—"

"That's enough, Cole," Aunt Lauren quieted him. "Kelson's been through a lot."

Madelyn peered shyly around her father and Uncle Rick. The look in her eyes made my breath catch in my throat. "Maddy," I said in a voice just above a whisper.

Everyone fell silent. The two fathers stepped aside and let her through. She walked slowly to the bed as if afraid of what she would find. Her eyes traveled over the bullet bruises on my chest, paused at my bandaged shoulder, and then rested on my face.

I gave her an embarrassed smile. "I tried to be careful."

A small answering smile appeared on her face. "I can't imagine what you'd look like if you were trying to get yourself killed." Her hand slipped into mine.

"Probably the same," Cole put in helpfully. Jaren shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take my leave," the sheriff said.

Uncle Rick shook his hand. "Thank you for all you've done. I'm sure you have a lot of work waiting for you."

Sheriff Bowley nodded. "It could have been worse, though." He met my eyes. "A lot worse. This town is indebted to your bravery."

I couldn't think of a good response. I hadn't acted out of bravery—I had done the only thing I could think of to do. "Good luck out there," I said.

He left the room just as the doctor came back in. "Whoa," he said with a surprised chuckle. "Busy room." He met my gaze. "I figured the Black Rider wore a helmet to protect those he cared about. My brother argued that he would be more careful if that was the case. It was the subject of many discussions around the dinner table." He shrugged. "What he wouldn't give to be here. I'm sure he'd write quite the article."

Madelyn's hand tightened in mine. "Wait a minute. Dr. Adam Carrison? As in, brother of Martin Carrison, writer of the _Bulldog Bulletin_?"

My blood ran cold. I don't know if it was my dazed imagination, but it looked as if everyone in the room took an ominous step in the doctor's direction.

Dr. Carrison put up his hands. "Don't worry. All doctors are required to maintain the privacy of their patients." He lowered his voice. "And if you ask me, Martin has a way of making far more of a situation than it really is. A writer's flair, I suppose."

I laughed, then held an arm around my ribs when they protested. "You could definitely say that."

He gave me a serious look. "Let's get you taken care of."

Madelyn was the last to leave the room before they wheeled me off for X-rays. My head ached, but I didn't want her to go. I kept hold of her hand while Dr. Carrison stood near the door and tactfully pretended to write notes in my chart. "You were the last thing I thought about," I told her honestly.

"Just like you promised," she replied. There was a shine of moisture in her eyes and she blinked quickly. "I thought I saw you die. I heard the shots and told myself it couldn't be you, but I knew it was. And when you hit the ground . . ."

She turned her head away. I pulled her close and lifted a hand to turn her face back toward me. "You stitched me up once," I said. I saw Dr. Carrison smile out of the corner of my eye.

"I could do it again," Madelyn replied. She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Promise?"

She nodded. "I promise. Now be a good patient and let them take care of you."

I settled back on the bed and watched her leave.

"She's a special girl," the doctor said.

"You have no idea," I replied.

Dr. Carrison gave me a perceptive look. "I might have some idea. I treated Mitch West before he left town. Martin mentioned him in an article, if I remember correctly."

I rubbed my forehead in an effort to chase away the pain behind it. "I could get thrown in jail for that one."

The doctor shrugged. "Like I said, doctor/patient confidentiality. Besides, I think the sheriff was just as happy to see him leave as my dad was."

He grinned and wheeled me from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

DR. CARRISON LET THE Ashbys, Madelyn, and Mr. West back in while they stitched up my shoulder. Magnum left an hour before, but promised to drop by the Ashbys later. I relaxed on the bed while the doctor worked. Lidocaine made it a piece of cake. "You should get some of this," I said to Madelyn.

Her father and Uncle Rick exchanged a look. "Are you sure there was no brain damage?" Uncle Rick asked the doctor.

Dr. Carrison chuckled. "Kel definitely has a concussion, so just excuse any strange things he says for the next day or so."

I winked at Madelyn and she laughed, then turned red when her father looked at her.

"Two more should do it, then—"

I sat up.

"Hold on. I'm not through yet," the doctor protested.

I barely heard him. Everything else fell out of focus at the sight of my mother in the doorway.

"I—I got your text," she said, her face paler than I remembered, and her hair, light gold like Zoey's had been, was disheveled. "I could tell something was wrong, and I hurried to get here."

"You flew?"

She nodded, and my heart rose in my throat. My mother never flew. We had once driven from California to Florida because she wanted to see the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and refused to set foot on an airplane. Yet she had flown for me because of a text in which I barely said anything.

"Mom . . ." I started, but my throat tightened and I couldn't continue.

She ran across the room and tried several different ways to hug me gently without hurting me. She finally settled for resting a hand on my uninjured shoulder and kissing me on the cheek. "No one was at Lauren's, and when I reached town, there were ambulances and patrol cars everywhere." Her voice broke and she looked back at her sister. "I finally got Lauren on her cell and came here. I tried to hurry."

My eyes filled with tears. "Mom, you did fine."

She shook her head. "I abandoned you, Kel." Tears ran down her cheeks. "I think I lost my mind when we lost Zoey. I know it wasn't your fault, but blaming it on you was my way of not blaming myself for being absent in your lives."

"You were working; you were taking care of us. We just made a bad mistake," I said quietly.

She nodded. "Then I sent you away only to find that you nearly got killed in some sort of gang shooting." Tears smeared her mascara, but she didn't care. She looked at my bruised chest and the bullet wound Dr. Carrison was still trying to sew. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I should have been here."

"You're here now; that's what matters," I replied. It was true. I hurt all over, but having Mom close by again eased the pain to a bearable ache. I would heal, and she would too. Fingers tightened in my own and I realized I was still holding Madelyn's hand. I could get used to that. "Mom, this is Maddy. We're going to the Senior Ball together next week."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brady," Madelyn said. She turned an anxious gaze on me. "We probably should reconsider the ball after all you've gone through."

I was shaking my head before she stopped talking. "I'm taking you to the dance," I replied. I met Mr. West's eyes. "It might be our only chance. Considering everything your father's seen, I'm not sure I could get him to agree to a second date." He gave me the barest of smiles; his wife would approve of the way he was warming up.

"It's lovely to meet you," my mother said. "Any friend of Kel's is someone I would love to get to know."

"You're just shocked he has friends," Cole put in helpfully.

"Cole!" Aunt Lauren said.

He gave an impish grin. Jaren elbowed him in the ribs. "You should see him on the farm," the older boy said.

Mom stared at me. "You've been helping out?"

I looked at Uncle Rick. "I'm not sure how much of it is actually helping."

"He's been doing well," Uncle Rick said, surprising me. "He's a great asset and we've enjoyed having him over."

The blow to my head was either affecting my hearing or the day was taking yet another crazy turn. "You done, Doc?" I asked. "I definitely need to sleep because I just heard Uncle Rick give me a compliment."

Uncle Rick laughed. It wasn't a little laugh; it was a grab-your-belly-because-it-hurts-so-bad laugh. The Ashbys joined in with their father, and soon even Mom and Dr. Carrison were laughing. I remembered my ribs and settled for smiling and feeling more like myself than I had in a very long time.

Dr. Carrison tied one last knot, then snipped the thread. "Done." He stood and surveyed my chart. "You have two broken ribs. The rest are bruised and will probably bother you just as much as the broken ones. Unfortunately, there's really nothing we can do for them besides pain medication; they'll just have to heal on their own. You have a mild concussion, so take it easy. You can ice the back of your head if it bothers you." He met my mother's worried gaze. "He should be fine, but wake him up every four hours this first night just to make sure he's doing all right. If he starts acting strange or is hard to awaken, give me a call."

"He jumped through a window on a motorcycle. Is that strange?" Cole asked innocently. Aunt Lauren escorted him from the room.

Dr. Carrison gave me a stern look. "Take it easy. No Black Rider stuff until you're healed. Do you understand?"

I fought back a smile at the tone he probably reserved for little kids who jumped off bookshelves. "Yes, Doctor."

"What Black Rider stuff?" Mom asked.

"There's a bit we need to fill you in on," Uncle Rick replied. "For starters, we'll meet Kelson in the truck. There are a bunch of people in the waiting room who want to thank him, and we don't want them linking the Black Rider to us for obvious reasons."

Mom looked confused. "What reasons?"

"If he wants to ride again," Uncle Rick said. He threw me a look and I couldn't help but smile at the approval on his face.

"Won't they recognize the truck?" Mom asked.

Everyone laughed. At Mom's lost expression, I put a hand on her arm. "There are so many trucks in Sparrow, no one could keep track. Once I reach the truck, we'll be in the clear."

Uncle Rick put an arm around her shoulders and led her away. She looked back at me. "I don't understand. What did he do?"

"You'll see," Uncle Rick said mysteriously. "Your boy's been up to a lot more out here than anyone knew."

The family piled out after them. "Do you need help?" Madelyn asked.

Her dad waited quietly by the door. I glanced at the wheelchair the short-haired nurse had stubbornly brought back and shook my head. "I'll be fine. I'll see you tonight."

Madelyn shook her head firmly. "You need your rest tonight. I'll come over and visit you tomorrow." She looked back at her father. "If that's okay."

He gave her a warm smile, the first true smile I had ever seen on his face. "I assumed you would. Your mother and I could use a few more evenings to ourselves anyway." Her father saw the worry in her eyes and lowered his voice. "We could have been killed today. I'm not going to throw away the evenings I could spend with your mother by drinking. Things are going to get better, I promise."

Madelyn gave my hand one last squeeze, then crossed to her father's side and hugged him. He hesitated, then put his arms around her and held her tight for a second. "Let's go home," he said quietly. She nodded and they walked to the door. Mr. West paused and met my gaze. "Thank you, Kelson. I owe you more than I can say."

When everyone was gone, Dr. Carrison handed me my helmet. "Time for the Black Rider to make an exit."

He helped me into my riding clothes and fastened my helmet under my chin because it hurt to raise my arms that high. The black jacket was peppered with bullet holes, reminding me how lucky I had been. I definitely owed Jagger a big thank you.

"The rib pain will let up eventually; practice deep breathing whenever you can," Dr. Carrison said as he helped me to my feet.

I wavered, then gritted my teeth and straightened, letting him go.

"You ready?" he asked. There was an air of respect in his voice.

I nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

He grinned. "Too bad Martin doesn't know what he's missing out on. This would have been the story of a lifetime."

"I'm sure he's busy writing about my epic flight through the window." I grimaced beneath the helmet. "Crashing to the ground wasn't nearly so heroic."

"I'm sure he'll twist it in your favor," Dr. Carrison replied with a chuckle. He opened the door and I walked slowly down the hall toward the emergency room waiting area. My ribs hurt with every step, but I kept my jaw clenched and my head high. No one needed to know the Black Rider had been hurt, though the visit to the emergency room was a bit conspicuous.

"He's coming," a girl with blonde hair braided into pigtails said.

A crowd surged forward, despite nurses fighting to keep them back. I glanced at Dr. Carrison. He grinned. "You asked for it."

"Too late to reconsider?" I joked.

He chuckled and motioned for me to go on alone. I glanced at my reflection in one of the windows along the hall. The black uniform and flat black helmet looked imposing and formidable. The dark-tinted visor hid my face. The Black Rider walked once more; the pains of the boy hidden underneath no longer mattered in the faces of hope and gratitude that smiled and cheered down the hall.

Hands stretched out to meet me. I shook as many as I could reach. Joe from the convenience store was there, and when I shook his hand, he pulled me close and said, "Now you've figured it out." He slapped me on the back and I hid a wince.

"Thank you, thank you," a lady in a pale-blue dress said. "You saved our lives."

"That was so brave," a man I recognized from the Sparrow grocery store said as he shook my hand in a tight grip.

A woman with long black hair and pleading eyes hurried through the crowd. "Please, Black Rider. Can I ask you a favor?" She looked down when I turned in her direction, but the citizens around her nudged her forward. "It—it's my son. He was shot at the fair and they're taking him in for surgery, but he's so scared. I know it would help him if he could talk to you. He looks up to you so much."

"I would be glad to," I said. I was grateful the helmet muffled my voice so she wouldn't hear how emotional her plea made me. I really shouldn't be left alone in crowds after a concussion.

The people in the waiting area gave way and I followed her to a room just down the hall. A doctor was there checking the bandages around a little boy's arm while a nurse put in an I.V. When the doctor looked up and saw who entered, his eyes narrowed. "What's this?" he demanded.

"It's all right," Dr. Carrison cut in. I hadn't realized he had followed us. "I can vouch for him. He's here to talk to your patient before his surgery."

"You know that's against policy," the doctor pointed out.

Dr. Carrison stopped him with a look. "Judd, can it. This is important." The doctor shut his mouth, but didn't look happy about it.

The small boy, about eight or nine years old, tipped his head to see me. When he did, his eyes widened and a smile spread across his pain-pinched face. "You're the Black Rider," he breathed.

I nodded and crossed to the opposite side of the bed from where the doctor watched me suspiciously. "I am. I heard there was a brave little boy in here who I needed to see. Are you worried about going into surgery?"

He nodded, his eyebrows forming a little worried crease between them.

I knelt by the bed so we were eye to eye, or at least so we were eye to visor. "I just got my shoulder stitched up. Want to see?"

He nodded eagerly.

I unzipped my jacket, revealing my bruised chest and bandaged shoulder. The boy's mom put a hand to her mouth, and even the other doctor stopped glaring at me. "See," I said. I gestured toward Dr. Carrison. "My doctor took good care of me, and the surgery wasn't bad at all. I'll heal much better now. You need to have your surgery so you can get well too."

He nodded, but I could still see the fear in his eyes. "What's your name?"

"M—Mark," he said.

I nodded. "Mark, you're a brave boy. Not many boys can say they were brave enough to go through surgery, especially when it involves bullets. You're going to have quite the story to tell the kids at school. That's pretty awesome, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes lighting with excitement. "I can tell Jason and Ryan."

"They'll think it's cool," I said.

He nodded. "But not as cool as meeting you. They'll never believe me."

"I could take a picture," his mom suggested with hope in her voice.

I looked at Dr. Carrison. He nodded encouragingly.

"Let's do it," I said. Mark sat up as much as his doctor would let him and I put an arm around his shoulders. He grinned up at me, then turned to his mom as she fumbled with the camera on her phone. A few seconds later, the flash went off.

I rose. "You hang in there, Mark. Be brave and you'll be back home soon. Can you do that for me?"

"I will," he said, sounding more confident.

I held out a fist and he bumped it with his own. "You're a brave kid. Thanks for showing me how tough you can be."

"Bye, Black Rider," he said. "Thanks for the picture."

I waved and left through the door.

"That was a nice thing to do," Dr. Carrison said as he walked with me back up the hall toward the crowd.

"You think Martin's going to get that picture?"

"Probably," the doctor replied with a laugh. "My brother has connections even I don't know about."

"Tell me about it," I replied wryly.

"Oh, you might want to zip up your jacket."

I looked down and realized I hadn't zipped it since showing Mark my shoulder.

"Is it too late to go back and get another picture?"

Dr. Carrison laughed again. "And keep your audience waiting?"

"Don't you have patients to attend to?" I asked sarcastically.

He grinned. "I do, but you're too much fun to hang around with. You should come back sometime without bullet holes, bruises, or wounds that need stitching. I'll take you to dinner at my house. Martin would be thrilled."

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see them. "Thanks," I replied dryly. He chuckled.

The crowd in the waiting room noticed us and hurried over. Dr. Carrison stopped me with a hand on my arm. "But really, man, thanks for what you did and for being such a stand-up guy. Martin really doesn't exaggerate that much. I knew from the beginning that you were trying to help Sparrow, but you've gone far above and beyond what I thought one person could do."

He held out his hand and I shook it. "Thanks for patching me up."

"Anytime," he replied. "But try to space it out a little bit more."

"Deal," I said before the crowd enveloped me back in its grasp.

The doctor found me fifteen minutes later still in the waiting room with grateful patients and families.

"All right; it's time for the Black Rider to go home. He's under my orders to get some rest," he told them.

He tipped his head toward mine. "There's a crowd of reporters waiting in the front. I'll get you out a side door," he said in an undertone.

"I appreciate it," I replied gratefully.

He swiped a keycard at a door and escorted me outside. From our position, I could see a swarm of reporters and news vans ringing the front of the hospital. "The Black Rider drew the gunfire to himself, preventing any fatalities in the hostage situation," one woman was saying.

"Details as to why this shooting broke out are still pending, but the members of the gangs involved have been arrested and are currently being held in custody," another said.

"Who knows what would have happened if the Black Rider hadn't shown up?" a man in a gray pinstriped suit asked into a camera.

"I'll head out front and give them as few details as possible," Dr. Carrison said as he opened the door to the Ashbys' waiting truck. I was so tired I could barely climb onto the front seat they kept empty for me.

"Is everything all right?" Uncle Rick asked.

"I couldn't get him away from the grateful mob," Dr. Carrison explained. "He's earned their gratitude."

"Thanks again, Doc," I said before he shut the door.

He smiled and closed it behind me.

I tipped my head back against the seat, feeling more exhausted than I ever had before.

"Want help taking off your helmet?" Cassidy asked quietly.

I opened my eyes, surprised to find that I still had it on.

"I guess I'm getting used to it," I replied.

She unbuckled the strap and eased it off. My mom sat in the back seat next to Aunt Lauren and watched me with concern in her eyes.

"I'm all right, Mom," I said, meeting her gaze in the sun visor mirror. "I just need to sleep."

"I can't believe how many people were there just to thank you," she replied with awe in her voice. "Lauren told me what you did. My son is a hero."

I shook my head, then put a hand to it to stop the world from spinning. "I was just lucky."

Uncle Rick pulled out of the parking lot as Cole replied, "You got that right. You got shot and you're still alive."

"Not everyone who's shot dies," Jaren said quietly.

I nodded. "See Mom, it's fine. I was just playing the odds."

"I think the odds favored dying," Cole guessed.

I smiled and tipped my head back against the headrest. I drifted off to the sound of tires humming across the road and a tiny whisper of wind escaping into the truck.

Chapter Twenty-seven

MOM TUCKED ME INTO bed that night. I was on my usual cot in the living room while she slept in Cassidy's room. Uncle Rick had offered to give me their bed, but the thought of him and Aunt Lauren spending the night on the couch and the cot was ridiculous. I reassured them that I would be just fine. All the same, Mom insisted on tucking me in, even though she had stopped doing that when I was six.

"I'll be back to wake you up in four hours, doctor's orders," she reminded me. She pushed the unruly hair back from my forehead and kissed me good night. The gesture brought back so many memories from growing up: Zoey falling off her bike and scraping her knee, me banging my head on the railing by the stairs for the hundredth time, Zoey and me both with poked fingers when we tried to pick roses from Mom's flower box to surprise her.

In all instances, Mom healed our hurts with kisses and perhaps a Band-Aid or two. When she kissed my forehead, I closed my eyes, feeling more complete than I had in a long time.

***

FIRE FLICKERED AGAINST MY eyelids. I opened my eyes, expecting to see the Ashbys' cheery fireplace, but instead an inferno roared around me. Wood fell from the ceiling and popped along the floor as the fire fed upon it. Everywhere I turned, orange, yellow, and molten red twisted and danced in ravenous abandon.

Beer bottles lay partially empty on the floor. Shards of glass caught the light of the fire and glowed as though made of flames themselves. The car in the middle of the warehouse smoldered with smoke rising from the inside and no longer beat with the unending thump of party music. The flames had devoured the soul of the party as quickly as the warehouse itself.

A cry of fear above made me look up. I remembered seeing Zoey go up the stairs with Jeff, both of them laughing but not tipsy enough to do anything they would regret. I searched around frantically, but the stairs were now smoking piles of embers where careless feet had once run.

"Zoey!" I shouted.

"Kelson!"

I couldn't see her through the smoke. I started to cough. A flaming board fell from the roof and hit me, shoving me into the remains of the stairs. I stood up quickly. My clothes were on fire, but I didn't care.

"Zoey!"

"Kelson," she replied. She then said something else I couldn't quite catch. I stood there, certain I was caught in a dream. She had never said anything else, only crying my name until I couldn't hear her anymore.

The huge wooden doors behind me burst open. Three firemen wearing oxygen masks and carrying a hose spewing water ran inside.

"Zoey!" I shouted, frantic to hear what she needed to say.

The firemen grabbed me and began pulling me toward the door. I struggled to get free. They wouldn't let me go. I dropped to one knee and swept the legs out from under the first fireman, then spun to yank my arm from the other. He landed on the first and I took off running across the warehouse.

"Zoey!"

"Kelson, it's okay," came her soft reply.

I stopped, frozen to the floor. Zoey's voice filled my mind above the crackle of the fire and the shouts of the firemen. Arms grabbed me and hauled me to the door. "Zoey," I called again.

"Kelson, I'm okay," came my sister's voice, soft and smiling as she had always been. I could picture her blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the laughter that never faded dancing on her lips. Tears clouded my vision, tears of release among those of pain and heartache.

"Come on, son. Let's get you out of here," one of the firemen said. I didn't fight him as he pulled me through the door and into the clear night air.

***

"KELSON, WAKE UP." A hand smoothed the hair from my forehead. "Kel, it's only a dream. It's not real."

I opened my eyes to see Mom crouched next to the cot, her concerned eyes reflecting the dying embers in the fireplace. Her brow was creased with worry, but a smile touched her lips when she saw I was awake. "I was worried we'd have to run you back to the hospital," she said quietly.

I put a hand to my head. "It was only a dream." The memory flooded through me and I took a calming breath.

"Sounded more like a nightmare," Mom said gently. "Do you have them often?"

I thought about it. "I used to," I replied. A small breath of peace touched my thoughts when I remembered the dream. "I'm okay," Zoey had said. The voice was the one that had followed me around since she was old enough to walk. I would know her tone anywhere, and the words she had spoken were said with a smile. "I don't think I'll have them anymore," I told Mom.

She nodded and kissed my forehead again. "That's good," she said with a warm smile. "Go back to sleep and dream of happy things."

"I will," I promised. I closed my eyes.

***

THE NEXT MORNING, I forced my sore body to the table. Aunt Lauren's eyes widened when she saw me. "We would've brought you food," she protested. "You really should lie back down and rest."

I shook my head and eased down next to Cassidy. "I'm all right. I already missed the milking."

"Milking?" Mom asked. She carried a pitcher of orange juice to the table and patted my shoulder when she went by. "You help milk the cows?"

Cole laughed flat-out. "He wasn't much help in the beginning. He got kicked by Blackie because he renamed her Barbecue."

Uncle Rick chuckled. "But he learns quickly."

"I appreciate you watching over him," Mom replied. She sat next to me at the table and dished several waffles onto my plate because my ribs hurt too much to reach that far.

"We would sure hate to lose him," Aunt Lauren said. There was something to her tone that made both my mom and I look up.

"What do you mean?" Mom asked. "You want me to go back to California without my son?"

Aunt Lauren smiled at Uncle Rick. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What my wife means is that we could use the help around the farm, and Kel's fit into Sparrow nicely."

"Another move would only upset his schooling," Aunt Lauren put in.

Cassidy nodded. "And he'd have to make friends all over again."

"He'd be going home," Mom said with a small frown. "He already has friends there."

Cassidy grinned at me. "But he's got better friends here, like me and Sandy. And there's Madelyn."

My heart turned over at the sound of her name. I never thought about what I would do if I had to leave. I watched them uneasily, not sure where they were going with this.

"Kel needs to come home," Mom replied. "It's time we get our lives back together."

Aunt Lauren nodded. "That's exactly what we're getting at." She glanced at Uncle Rick again, then rushed forward, "We'd like to build you a house at the end of our lot."

Mom stared at them and my breath stopped in my throat. "Build us a house?" Mom repeated.

Uncle Rick opened a beefy hand. "There's a half acre on the other side of the road we're not usin'. Lauren's been wantin' to do something with it for years."

"It's a beautiful spot," Aunt Lauren continued. "It has a little stream, and—"

Mom shook her head, and my heart fell. "I don't want to be anybody's charity case."

"That's not it at all!" Aunt Lauren protested.

Uncle Rick took a deep breath. "Listen, Sarah, Kelson's needed around here. Jagger's gettin' on in years and until the boys are old enough, I could use the help truckin' hay come time to sell. Besides . . . " This time, he looked at his wife. There was something secret about the smile they shared, something that reflected in the faces of Cassidy, Cole, and Jaren. Uncle Rick grinned. "Lauren could use the help, seein' as she's expectin' another little one."

"What?" Mom and I exclaimed together.

Aunt Lauren put a hand on her stomach and Uncle Rick covered it with his own. "We wanted to wait until we were sure, but she's eight weeks along as of yesterday."

"My goodness!" Mom said. "Lauren, I can't believe it!"

Lauren beamed. "I'm so happy," she said. "I just knew we'd be having another one. I kept telling Rick. Didn't I, dear?"

He nodded with pride on his face. "She did keep telling me. I told her not to get her hopes up after the trouble we had almost losin' Cole, but she never quit believin'."

"So I need all the help I can get," Aunt Lauren rushed on. "The doctor said I need to rest as much as I can to avoid complications."

Mom nodded and I saw her answer in her eyes before she said, "I'd be glad to stay and help." She looked at me and I nodded before she could even ask the question. "We would love to stay in Sparrow."

I rose and went to the window. It was all so much. Everything crowded together: the shooting, the hospital, the little boy with the bullet in his arm, my nightmare that turned into my redemption, and now staying in Sparrow, the town that had become home when I had nowhere else to turn, and the place where Madelyn lived. I wouldn't have to leave her.

Footsteps walked up behind me. "Are you all right?" Mom asked gently.

I turned and realized everyone was watching me. I nodded. "I'm fine." I took a calming breath as I looked at my relatives. "Thank you so much for everything. I couldn't have hoped for anything so amazing."

"You've earned your place," Uncle Rick replied. "We're happy to have you here."

"I'm happy to be able to stay," I said honestly. I slipped an arm around Mom and hugged her as tight as my aching ribs would allow. "And I'm glad we'll be together as a family again," I told her.

She hugged me back gently, tears in her eyes and a smile on her face so like Zoey's that I blinked back tears of my own. I was a son with a mother again, not a homeless stranger disguised as a small town superhero in search of a way to redeem himself. I had been given a new future in Sparrow. I was anxious to make it a life worthy of both Zoey's memory and my own newfound belief in the good one person could do to impact the lives of others.

Chapter Twenty-eight

MADELYN'S FATHER OPENED THE door.

"Wait a minute!" her mom called. "Close your eyes!"

I did as instructed and listened to the sound of footsteps running to the top of the stairs.

"We have to do it like they do on television," her mom said excitedly.

Her father gave a huff of exasperation, but I grinned with my eyes still covered. It made me happy that it meant so much to her mother that the moment was perfect.

Everything fell away at the sound of soft steps on the wooden stairs. I looked up to see an angel dressed in flowing dark purple that set off the green and gold of her eyes. Her brown hair was collected in a diamond clip on top of her head and flowed in gentle waves down her back. Her glasses were gone and her fingers toyed nervously at the waist of her dress. She met my gaze with a self-conscious smile.

"You look absolutely beautiful," I said.

Her smile grew. I remembered my place and hurried up the stairs to her side. I held out my arm and when she set her hand on it, her eyes sparkled. "My lady," I said.

A laugh escaped her. "A true gentleman," she replied.

I chuckled. "Who would have thought?"

"I did," she answered as we walked down the stairs.

I gave her a doubtful look. "I didn't give you much to go on."

"I didn't need it." She leaned closer and whispered, "It was the spying through the trees that convinced me."

I laughed and looked over to make sure her parents hadn't heard. Mr. West stood next to his wife's wheelchair. "Take good care of her," he said when we reached the living room.

"I will, sir." I replied solemnly. "I'll have her back by midnight without a moment to spare."

He looked at me like I had lost my mind. Madelyn laughed and pulled me toward the door. "Let's go, Prince Charming." I was tempted to bow at the door, but figured that would be pressing the act a little too far. Maybe Mr. West would decide the blow I had taken to the head rattled me a bit too much to trust me with his daughter.

We hurried down the steps and Madelyn burst out laughing. "My dad doesn't know what to think of you."

"I don't know what's become of me either," I admitted. I opened the door to Uncle Rick's truck that had been vacuumed and cleaned until it smelled like lemon polish. "You definitely bring out a different side of me."

"I'm glad," she replied. She kissed me on the cheek before she climbed inside.

I shut the door, feeling lighter than air, and was barely conscious of anything besides Madelyn's hand in mine on the drive to the dance.

When we pulled up to the gymnasium, I opened the door to the truck and was about to climb out, but Madelyn grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. Surprised, I turned and her lips met mine. I closed my eyes and kissed her back, taken completely by everything about her—her vanilla scent, the feeling of her hands tangled in my hair, the touch of smile that danced in her kiss, the soft brush of her hair against my hand as I held her waist.

She was my world, my soul, my everything. Madelyn completed me in ways I never thought I would be whole. She loved me for my weaknesses as much as my strengths, and I wanted to be my best self when I was with her.

Tears filled my eyes. Surprised, I blinked quickly and took a calming breath.

Madelyn sat back and looked at me as if I was all that mattered to her. Her eyes shone in the starlight that drifted through the window. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her hand touched my chest. "You are more of a hero to me when you're not dressed as the Black Rider," she said. She gave a soft smile. "I hope you know that."

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers. I breathed deeply of her scent. The taste of her kiss lingered on my lips and I slipped my hands through her hair and held her close. "You are the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me," I said, feeling laid bare but also completely myself.

I loved her. I knew it was too early to say it aloud, but it was true. I loved the girl in my arms with all my heart, and I would protect her from anything and anyone who would harm her. I would be the hero she deserved.

I kissed her gently on the lips. "I'm so happy you came with me tonight," I said quietly.

"Me too," she replied with her special smile.

I climbed out of the truck and couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face when I hurried around to open her door. I held out my hand and assisted her down, then escorted her to the gym.

When we stepped inside the high school gymnasium, we found it made over completely for the "Royalty for a Night" theme. Red and gold crepe paper streamers lined the double doors along with silver balloons and rose petals. Two teachers dressed in fancy tuxedos opened the doors. "Enjoy the dance, my lord and lady."

Madelyn's smile grew when we saw that the gym had been overhauled to look like the inside of a castle. Flowing posters painted like tapestries lined the walls amid painted bricks and vaulted windows. Streamers had been strung from each corner of the gym and were caught in the middle of the ceiling in a mass of pink, gold, red, and silver. Balloons drifted along the ceiling and were strung from various arches lined with silk flowers and silver ribbons.

Round tables with silver and gold cloths and electric candles stood in one corner made to look like a small dining hall. Teachers dressed in gowns and tuxedos watched over the purity of the punch, cookies, and finger sandwiches. A photographer motioned students over to a background made to look like Juliette's balcony.

"This is amazing," Madelyn said breathlessly next to me.

"Shall we, my lady?" I asked.

She nodded eagerly and I led her onto the ballroom floor. I couldn't believe my luck in dancing with the girl of my dreams after everything that had happened. By all accounts, I should have died when I stopped the shooting. Every moment after I crashed to the ground in the middle of the livestock building was one I almost didn't live to see. Dancing with Madelyn was a moment I would never forget.

I held her in my arms and memorized the soft fall of light across her cheeks. She gazed at me through lowered eyelashes, and my heart pounded in my chest loud enough that I thought she would hear it. Her fingers fit perfectly in mine; her other hand rested softly on my shoulder while mine held her waist.

We turned in time to the music. It wasn't a proper dance, but it was ours and we laughed as we worked our way around other dancers in time to our own steps. There could have been no one else at the Senior Ball, for all I cared. The girl in my arms looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I couldn't help myself; I lifted a hand and brushed her cheek with my fingers.

"What was that for?" Madelyn asked quietly.

"Just making sure you're real," I replied.

She smiled the warm smile she saved for me. "That was cheesy, but cute."

"Like me?" I asked.

She shook her head, her eyes alive with laughter. "You're not cheesy at all."

"Oh, yeah? What am I?" I asked curiously.

She answered, as serious as I had ever seen her. "My personal knight in shining armor," she said quietly. "You whisked me away from the worst situation of my life and gave me a new one worth living. My heart is yours forever, Kelson Brady."

I stared down at her. Her love showed in her eyes. Her hands held me with familiarity and trust. There was no one else I wanted to be with. "My heart was yours from the first stitch," I replied.

She laughed, a light, sweet, musical sound. "My green thread stole your heart?"

"Painfully," I said with a wince.

She smiled. "You're such a wimp."

I nodded. "Tell me about it. Nobody else runs to their girlfriend when they get hurt."

Her eyes widened. "Am I your girlfriend, then?" she asked with only a hint of teasing in her voice.

I watched her carefully. "If you'll have me."

Her smile grew. "Of course."

"Just make sure you have plenty of green thread. I've been told I'm accident prone."

She laughed and we spun in a circle, the lights of the ballroom flowing around us like stars in a midnight sky.

"This is amazing," Cassidy said as she and Jeremy danced past us. "Thank you, Kel."

"Anytime," I replied with a smile. I was glad to see Jeremy had survived his encounter with Uncle Rick. Jeremy's tie matched Cassidy's deep green dress perfectly, and they made a cute couple as they twirled around in careless abandon.

Madelyn and I danced one song and were waiting for another to begin when someone ran into us.

"Watch where you're going, idiot," he said.

I winced when the impact jarred my ribs and looked over to see Magnum laughing with a girl named Jocelyn from my English class. He grinned. "I thought you were light on your feet, city boy."

"You ran into us," Madelyn reminded him.

He paused, then nodded. "I did, huh."

Jocelyn looked between us with wide eyes. I was sure she expected him to lay into me, and the pallor of her face said she didn't look forward to a brawl. Magnum jerked his chin toward the refreshments. "Let's go get our ladies a drink."

Madelyn smiled and took Jocelyn's hand. "Come on. We'll find a table."

"Our ladies?" I asked Magnum when we were out of earshot.

He nodded. "I was told by a crazy guy on a motorcycle to try being nice sometime. Thought I'd give it a shot."

"And?" I prompted.

He shrugged. "It's not bad," he said lightly.

I grinned and balanced a small plate of cookies in the crook of my arm, then took two cups of red punch. When we were walking back to the girls, I took a chance. "Your brother's in school with my cousins."

He glanced at me. "Yeah, so?"

I kept my face carefully expressionless. "I hear he's following in his big brother's old footsteps."

He thought about it for a second, then nodded. "I'll talk to him."

"Thanks."

"Nice tux, by the way. Trying to give your disguise away altogether?" he asked.

I glanced down at my completely black tuxedo and grinned. "Not exactly." I gestured around the room, where about forty more students in black tuxedos danced and talked. "I think black's the color of the evening."

He rolled his eyes. "And who do you suppose is to blame for that? Now I look like an idiot." He nodded at his standard black-and-white tuxedo.

"How's that different from the way you normally look?"

"I would hit you if I wasn't carrying punch," he said.

I grinned. "Too bad."

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Although, as I recall, someone spilled punch on me at a dance recently."

I shook my head. "It won't show up on my black tux."

"Wanna bet?" he asked, gesturing with a cup.

I held up both of mine. "Ready when you are, blunderbuss."

He laughed so loud he almost dropped both his drinks. "I hate you."

"I know," I replied with a grin.

We reached the table and sat down to watch the other dancers as we sipped our drinks.

Cassidy dragged Jeremy to our table, with Sandy and her date close behind. "Did you see this?" she asked, handing me Sandy's phone.

"Bulldog Bulletin," the top of the page proclaimed. I glanced at Madelyn and found her fighting off a smile. I warily scrolled the page down.

"Really?" The picture Martin used was the one the mother had taken in the hospital. The photo from her phone wasn't the clearest, but it showed my black helmet and my jacket open to reveal the angry bruises across my chest. The boy at my side looked positively thrilled to be near me.

"He's so brave," Sandy said breathlessly from behind Madelyn.

I rolled my eyes and Cassidy laughed. Magnum tried to hold a straight face. "Read what he wrote," he said.

I scanned the page. "The glass shattered inward as the Black Rider dove through on his motorcycle like a heroic modern knight fighting to save his kingdom. Shots sparked and deadly fireworks struck the motorcycle with impacts that echoed through the arena, but the Black Rider didn't falter. He sailed through the air—"

I shook my head. "I can't read any more. This is overkill!"

Magnum cracked a smile and laughter filled Cassidy's voice when she said, "But he sets such an impressive scene."

"It wasn't that impressive," I replied.

Sandy stared at me. "How do you know?" she demanded. "You weren't even there. It was positively amazing."

"I've seen a million videos of it," I replied dryly. "Trust me. He wasn't some 'heroic modern knight fighting to save his kingdom.'"

"Are you sure?" Madelyn asked. I looked at her and she smiled as she said, "I was there, and that's pretty much how it looked to me."

"You guys are ridiculous," I replied.

Magnum gave me a pointed look. "I hear there's going to be racing at the factory after the dance."

I glanced at the others around us who didn't know my secret and said carefully, "I don't have a bike, remember?"

"I remember you smashing mine to pieces," he replied.

I fought back a smile.

"I'll bring you something, don't worry," he concluded.

"But Kel almost killed himself last time. Are you trying to finish the job?" Sandy asked.

"Something like that," Magnum replied.

"We'll be there," Madelyn said.

Magnum's eyebrows rose. "Speaking for your boyfriend? I like that." He raised his voice. "Race at the factory after the dance!"

A cheer answered from the students who milled around the floor.

A slow, beautiful rendition of "Moon River" began to play. I held out my hand. "That's our cue," I said. Madelyn slipped her fingers in mine and we walked to the dance floor with the others close behind.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I CHANGED OUT OF my rented tuxedo and into the new riding outfit Jagger had so thoughtfully provided for me, despite my protests that the Black Rider had no reason to ride again. "Ya never know," he said, handing me a new flat black helmet.

"What happened to the old one?" I asked.

He gestured at the wall of the shack. "Thought it'd make a great display."

My heart slowed at the sight of a deep groove along one side. I walked over and ran a finger down the mark. "That bullet would have killed me."

He nodded. "I know. You need this, too."

I looked back to see him hefting a new bulletproof vest. I accepted it with a lump in my throat. "I owe you my life," I said.

He smiled. "You saved about five dozen of my friends an' family. We'll consider it an even trade."

I laughed and took the vest. "Thanks for everything."

He nodded uncomfortably and motioned for me to leave. "'Ave fun out there."

"I will," I said as I hurried out the door to Uncle Rick's truck.

Madelyn and I drove to the factory in comfortable silence. She leaned against my side and I held an arm around her shoulder. Once in a while I found myself looking down at her, amazed that I had such a girl with me.

"Eyes on the road," she said with a laugh the third time.

I grinned and slowed the truck. The factory loomed in front of us, its floodlights on and vehicles already lining the track. I turned to Madelyn. "It doesn't feel right leaving you here."

She laughed. "Go. I'll catch up. It wouldn't work if we showed up together." She patted the steering wheel of the truck. "Besides, I've always wanted to drive one of these."

"A truck? It's not what it's cracked up to be," I told her.

She motioned. "Hurry. Magnum hates waiting, and now that you've finally got him acting like a decent human being, I would hate to see him revert back to his old ways because you dawdled with a girl."

"I'm dawdling?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied with a laugh, pushing me. "Go, Black Rider. Show the student body you're still around to keep them safe."

I climbed out of the truck and grabbed my helmet and gear from the back, then walked across the factory toward the sound of commotion and excitement. I paused at the corner of the track near the last bend and changed into my riding outfit. My chest ached as I pulled on my jacket, reminding me how lucky I had been. My heart pounded in my chest. I suddenly realized I was nervous. My gloves felt tight. I clenched my fingers in an effort to stretch out the leather. "Get on with it," I told myself.

I took a calming breath and stepped onto the track. Talking slowed from the crowd of students and then stopped altogether.

"The Black Rider," someone yelled. It's always nice when there's a person who can point out the obvious.

Students began to clap. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to remain still when the clapping turned into cheering and then a full-out roar. "Black Rider, Black Rider," they chanted.

Magnum crossed the track to me with a smile on his face. "A little much?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe a little."

He laughed and slapped me on the back. "Let's get on with this race." He led me over to his truck, where a tarp covered the motorcycle in the back. "Some idiot about destroyed my motorcycle the last time they rode it, but I was able to salvage what was left. I think I'll keep it to myself and let you wreck this one instead."

He pulled off the tarp and I found myself staring not at his original motorcycle, but the ER-6n that got shot up at the Festival. I had never been so emotional to see a piece of machinery; I was grateful the visor hid my shock. I climbed onto the bed of the truck and ran a hand down the newly painted flat black frame. I shook my head. "How did you do this?" I asked quietly.

"With a little help from our mutual friend at the junkyard," he replied. He turned and shouted to the students who ringed the truck, "What do you think? You wanna see the Black Rider race again?"

The reply that followed his words was so loud, it echoed in my helmet. I backed the motorcycle down the ramp, then started the engine. It growled and a smile spread across my face. I eased it to the starting line and looked over at Magnum on his blue CBR.

"Ready?" I asked him.

He nodded. "But no rooftops."

"Deal," I agreed. "I think I'll be keeping my tires on the ground for a while."

He laughed. "After what I've seen, that's probably a good idea."

I found Madelyn standing in the crowd. She smiled her warm smile and mouthed "Beat him." I nodded and revved the engine.

Magnum tipped his head toward me, his voice barely audible beneath his helmet. "Hey, you ever think of teaming up with someone?"

I shrugged. "I guess I could use a sidekick."

Magnum's eyes widened in dismay. "A sidekick!"

I grinned beneath my helmet. "But you would definitely have to change your name."

The cowboy hat flew into the air and I gunned the engine, leaving Magnum behind in a cloud of dust and tire smoke.
Thank you for reading Small Town Superhero! I hope you enjoyed it. The next book in the series, The Small Town Superheroes, is available now on Amazon.

BOOKS BY CHEREE ALSOP

The Silver Series-

Silver

Black

Crimson

Violet

Azure

Hunter

Silver Moon

The Werewolf Academy Series-

Book One: Strays

Book Two: Hunted

Book Three: Instinct

Book Four: Taken

Book Five: Lost

Book Six: Vengeance

Book Seven: Chosen

The Haunted High Series-

The Wolf Within Me

The Ghost Files

City of Demons

Cage the Beast

Ashes of Night

Heart of the Wolf Part One

Heart of the Wolf Part Two

The Galdoni Series-

Galdoni

Galdoni 2: Into the Storm

Galdoni 3: Out of Darkness

The Small Town Superheroes Series-

Small Town Superhero

Small Town Superhero II

Small Town Superhero III

Keeper of the Wolves

Stolen

The Million Dollar Gift

Thief Prince

When Death Loved an Angel

The Shadows Series

Shadows- Book One in the World of Shadows

Mist- Book Two in the World of Shadows

The Monster Asylum Series

Book One- The Fangs of Bloodhaven

Girl from the Stars

Book 1- Daybreak

Book 2- Daylight

Book 3- Day's End

Book 4- Day's Journey

Book 5- Day's Hunt

The Pirate from the Stars

The Dr. Wolf Series

Book 1- Shockwave

Book 2- Demon Spiral

Book 3- The Four Horsemen

Book 4- Dragon's Bayne

The Wolfborne Saga

Book 1- Defiance

Book 2- Ricochet

Book 3- Dark Coven

Book 4- Ghost Moon

The Prince of Ash and Blood

Game Breaker

Orion's Fall

Find more books by Cheree Alsop here: Cheree Alsop's Website

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About the Author

Cheree Alsop is an award-winning, best-selling author who has published over 50 books. She is the mother of a beautiful, talented daughter and amazing twin sons who fill every day with joy and laughter. She is married to her best friend, Michael, the light of her life and her soulmate who shares her dreams and inspires her by reading the first drafts and giving much appreciated critiques. Cheree works as a fulltime author and mother, which is more play than work! She enjoys reading, traveling to tropical beaches, riding motorcycles, playing the bass for the band Alien Landslide, spending time with her wonderful children, and going on family adventures. Cheree and Michael live in Utah where they rock out, enjoy the outdoors, plan great quests, and never stop dreaming.

