Promise Canyon, Page 2

  There was an industrial-size washer and dryer set in the stable, but Clay was invited to use the set in the house so he wouldn’t be mixing up his laundry with animal excretions and blood. Clay laughed. “Like I won’t have plenty of that on my clothes in any case.”

  “Still,” Nate said. “Maybe it’s psychological. Clay, I’m afraid you won’t be happy in the stable quarters for long.”

  “How do you know?” he asked, lifting a black brow.

  “It’s too small. There are no amenities. No TV or DVD player. Nothing for the long term. And I don’t want you resigning because you’re cramped. We have options,” Nate said. “If you won’t bunk with us in the house, we can always bring in a mobile home. Lots of property here to park it. Or when the new stable is finished in just a few weeks, we could knock out a wall and enlarge the quarters.”

  Clay chuckled. “Before I hand in my resignation because my digs aren’t fancy enough, I’ll think about that.” He laughed some more, remembering. “You have no idea how I lived when I followed the rodeo around, and in some ways I was happier than I’d ever been.”

  “That was then. This is now.”

  Right, Clay thought. Because at a point a man has to have stability if not roots. He’d lived in Isabel’s big house, the cooking and cleaning done on a daily basis by a woman named Juanita and her daughter. It was a beautiful home, but he’d never been comfortable there. It was too much house and designed more for entertaining than for daily living. Isabel had many wealthy and influential acquaintances in the horse business and beyond.

  It had been six years since they first met. He moved in with her five years ago, married her four years ago, agreed to the divorce two years ago and when it was final, a year and a half ago, he rented a small cabin on the other side of her family’s property. But he was frequently invited back to Isabel’s big house, back to her bed. She even braved his cabin sometimes. There seemed to be too many complications for them to make a marriage work, but there was undeniable chemistry between them. The only way Clay could stop that was by moving hundreds of miles north.

  They exited the new construction and walked into the corral. “The stable quarters will be fine, Nathaniel,” Clay said. “Just let me get acclimated and then maybe I’ll look around. By the way, I brought a flat screen and I have my iPod. There’s also the guitar and flute….”

  “Just let me know how I can help,” he said. “Hey, there’s Annie.” He strode across the corral toward a tall woman near the original stable. She was brushing down a handsome Thoroughbred.

  Clay followed. He smiled appreciatively, maybe enviously, as Nathaniel slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. All the while she was looking over Nathaniel’s shoulder at Clay, her smile instant and her eyes sparkling. She transferred the brush to her left hand and stuck out her right. The kiss was barely finished as she said, “You must be Clay. At last! I’m so happy to meet you.”

  She’s so pretty, he thought. She had earthy beauty; she was long-legged and slim, tall in her boots, and she had shiny dark red hair, bright green eyes and a rosy, freckled complexion. Her smile was strong, as was her hand when she grasped Clay’s. “Nice to meet you,” Clay said. “How’d he get you to agree to marry him?”

  She didn’t bite at the joke, but rather chuckled and said, “We’ve been so excited for you to get here. Nate’s been telling me stories about some of the experiences you’ve had together. I understand you have a special relationship with the horses and I have a couple who could use some lessons in manners if you’d just have a word with them.”

  Clay tipped his head back slightly, smiling, silent and tolerant.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve been told you’d rather not advertise that ability.”

  “If I could count on it, I might. Some animals are more private than others. I’d hate to crush expectations. I have other skills.”

  “As I’ve also been told. Best farrier in the business, complete with digital diagnostic equipment to use in examining gaits, alignment and sports performance. I can’t wait for a demonstration.”

  His grin widened at that. “It’s the ONTRACKEQUINE software. I can’t wait to show you.”

  “But I want to hear about the other skill.” She lowered her voice when she said, “The whispering.”

  He tilted his head. “Do you garden?” he asked her.

  “She’s a farmer’s daughter. She can grow anything,” Nathaniel answered for her.

  Clay focused on Annie. “Do you talk to plants?” When she nodded he asked, “And do they respond by becoming tall and healthy? Robust?”

  “Sometimes. I’ve heard it’s the oxygen you breathe on them,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You emit more carbon dioxide than oxygen. Perhaps it’s the sound of your voice or your intention or it could be hypnosis,” he said with a shrug. “Whatever that is, it’s been working since the sun first warmed the ground. Sometimes it’s better not to question but just accept. And also accept that there are no guarantees on anything.”

  She edged closer. “But if I promise not to advertise this magical thing that works sometimes, will you tell me a little about it? Some of your experiences? Friend to friend?”

  “Yes, Annie. I’ll tell you training stories as long as you promise to remember no one knows if the horse and I communicated or if the horse just decided to stop screwing around and get with the program.”

  “Promise,” she said with a laugh. “I’d better get in the shower,” Annie said. “I’ll have dinner ready in an hour and a half. Is there anything you need in the meantime?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll grab my duffel. Nathaniel will show me where to park the truck and trailer and maybe I’ll get my own shower before dinner.”

  So, Nathaniel was worried about the lack of amenities in the tech’s quarters, Clay mused. The biggest problem he could tell from checking the place out was the bed. He was a long-legged man for a regular-size double bed. And the showerhead was a little low. But there’d been times he’d slept in his truck or trailer, camped, borrowed cots or couches, made a nest in a stall, whatever worked. The best thing about Isabel’s big house was her extra-long king-size platform bed, good even when she wasn’t in it.

  There had been no settlement in the divorce; he hadn’t wanted anything of hers and she couldn’t get away with asking a farrier for money when she had so much personal wealth. It was interesting that they hadn’t put together a prenup, that she trusted him in marriage and in divorce. He briefly wondered if he’d remembered to thank her for that. Trust was more valuable to Clay than money. But he regretted that he hadn’t asked for the bed. That was a good bed. Firm like the ground, not hard like asphalt, but with a little give like the earth. Spacious. Generous. Long.

  Clay pulled clean jeans out of his duffel and a fresh denim shirt. He brushed off his boots and combed his long, damp hair back into its ponytail. With his bronze skin, high cheekbones and long, silky black ponytail, there was no need for him to drive the point home with Native American affectations, but his cowboy hat sported an eagle feather. Even when his hats got worn to death and he got new ones, he transferred the feather. Finding an eagle feather was good mojo.

  He heard the grinding of an engine and distant barking of a dog. Of course his immediate thought was that it was a patient. He put the hat on his head and exited the stable in time to see an old Ford pickup back up to the barn’s double doors. It was full of hay and feed. As he watched, a young woman with black hair and tan skin jumped energetically out of the cab, ran around to the back, donned heavy work gloves, dropped the tailgate on the pickup and grabbed a fifty-pound bale. She was short and trim, maybe five foot four and a hundred and fifteen pounds, but she pulled that bale out of the truck, hefted it and carried it into the stable.

  Clay backtracked into his new quarters and grabbed a pair of work gloves from his duffel. He joined her at the back of her truck when she returned.

  She stopped in her tra
cks when she saw him. She looked more than surprised, her blue eyes wide with shock. It was almost as if she’d seen a ghost. “Nate didn’t mention he had a new hand,” she said, eyeing the work gloves.

  “I’m Clay,” he said, introducing himself. “Let me give you a hand here.”

  “I have it,” she said, moving past him to the truck. She jumped up on the tailgate and pulled another bale toward her.

  Clay ignored her dismissal, but he smiled at the sight of her hefting that heavy bale and marching into the stable. She was wearing a denim jacket and he would bet that underneath it she had some shoulders and guns on her that other women would kill for. And that tight round butt in a pair of jeans was pretty sweet, too. But the kid didn’t make five and a half feet even in her cowboy boots. Tiny. Firm. Young.

  He grabbed two bales and followed her into the stable. She actually jumped in surprise when she turned around and found him standing there behind her with a fifty-pound bale in each hand. She seemed to struggle for words for a second and finally settled on, “Thanks, but I can handle it just fine.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “You do the feed delivery all the time?”

  “Mondays and Thursdays,” she said, lowering her gaze and quickly walking around him, back to the truck. She reached in after another bale, leaving only a couple of feed bags in the back.

  He followed her. “Do you have a name?” he bluntly asked.

  “Lilly,” she said, pulling that bale toward her out of the truck bed. “Yazhi,” she added with a grunt.

  “You’re Hopi?” he asked. His eyebrows rose. “A blue-eyed Hopi?”

  She hesitated before answering. You had to have blue-eyed DNA on both sides to get more blue eyes. Lilly’s father was unknown to her, but she’d always been told her mother had always believed herself to be one hundred percent Native. “About half, yes,” she finally said, hefting the bale. “Where are you from?”

  “Flagstaff,” he answered.

  “Navajo?” she asked.

  He smiled lazily. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’re historic enemies.”

  He smiled enthusiastically. “I’ve gotten over it,” he said. “You still mad?”

  She rolled her eyes and turned away, carrying her bale. Little Indian girl didn’t want to play. Once again he couldn’t help but notice the strain in her shoulders, the firm muscles under those jeans. “I don’t pay attention to all that stuff,” she said as she went into the barn.

  Clay chuckled. He grabbed the last two bags of feed, stacked one on top of the other and threw them up on a shoulder, following her. When he caught up with her he asked, “Where do you want the feed?”

  “Feed room, with the hay. When did you start here?”

  “Actually, today. Have you been delivering feed long?”

  “Part-time, a few years. I do it for my grandfather. He owns the feed business. He’s an old Hopi man and doesn’t like his business out of the family. Trouble is, there’s not that much family.”

  Clay understood all of that, the thing about her people and family. First off, most people preferred their tribal designation when referred to, and family was everything; they were slow to trust anyone outside the race, the tribe, the family.

  “Couple of old grandfathers in my family, also,” he said by way of understanding. “You’re good to help him.”

  “If I didn’t, I’d never hear the end of it.”

  He began to notice pleasant things about her face. She wore her hair in a sleek, modern cut, short in the back and longer along her jaw. Her brows were beautifully shaped. Her blue eyes sparkled and her lips were glossy. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her skin looked like tan butter. Soft and tender. She was beautiful. He guessed she was in her early twenties at most.

  “And when you’re not delivering feed on Tuesdays and Fridays?” he asked. “What do you do then?”

  “Mondays and Thursdays,” she corrected. “Pay attention. I work in the feed store.”

  “Bagging feed?” he asked, his eyebrows lifted curiously.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I do the books. Accounts payable and receivable.”

  “Ah. Married?”

  “Listen—”

  “Lilly! How’s it going?” Nate yelled out, approaching from the house, followed by three trotting border collies. “I didn’t hear you pull up. I see you met Clay, my new assistant.”

  “Assistant?” she asked.

  “Tech, farrier, jack of all horse trades,” Nate clarified. “While we’re getting business up, Clay can function in a lot of roles.”

  “Has Virginia actually cleared out? Gone?” Lilly asked.

  “Once Clay was en route, she made good on her threats and retired. She’s spending more time with her husband and the grandkids. I’ll be adding too many new requirements to the equine operation and she really wasn’t up for that. I’ve known Clay for a long time. He has a good reputation in the horse industry. We worked together years ago in Los Angeles County.”

  “I just saw her a few days ago. I didn’t realize she was that close to her last day. Actually, I thought it would be months,” Lilly said.

  “So did we, Virginia and I. But I was lucky enough to get Clay up here from L.A. in a matter of days. As soon as he said yes to the job, Virginia said, ‘Thank God,’ and headed for home. She offered to come back to help or do some job training if Clay needed it, but she’s ready for a little time on her own. She’s been talking retirement for at least a couple of years now but until I found Annie, she wouldn’t leave me alone on the property. She thought I’d mess up the practice.” Nate shook his head in silent laughter.

  “You’ll miss her,” Lilly said.

  “I know where to find her if I miss her, and so do you! Drop in on her sometime. She promises regular cookies for the clinic.”

  “I’ll do that. I’ll make it a point. Let me get your vitamin supplements,” she said, turning to pull a very large plastic jar out of the truck bed. She handed it off to Nate and then fetched her clipboard from the cab so he could sign off on the feed.

  “I’m taking delivery on a horse in a couple of days, Lilly. An Arabian. He’s coming for boarding and training, though I think the owner is going to need more training than the horse. Increase the feed for my next order, please. And tell your grandfather I said hello.”

  “Absolutely. See you later,” she said, jumping in her truck to head out.

  When the truck had cleared the drive, Clay asked, “Is she always in and out of here that fast?”

  “She’s pretty efficient. She’s always on schedule. Her grandpa Yaz counts on her. I don’t know if there’s other family. As far as I know, Lilly is the only other Yahzi who works in the business.”

  “There’s a new horse coming?” Clay asked. “What’s that about?”

  “Last-minute deal,” Nathaniel said. “A woman who doesn’t know much about horses but has an unfortunate excess of money bought herself an expensive Arabian from a good line, learned about enough to keep him alive but can’t get near him. Her stable hand can barely get a halter on him and saddling him is out of the question. If they can get him in the trailer, the hand is going to bring him over here to board so we can work with him. The owner wants to ride him, but if that doesn’t work out she’s thinking of selling him to replace him with a gentler horse. She thinks the horse is defective.”

  Clay lifted a brow. “Gelding?”

  “Oh, no,” Nate said with a laugh. “Two-year-old stud colt from the national champion Magnum Psyche bloodlines. I had a look at him—he’d be too much horse for a lot of people.”

  “She bought herself a young stallion?” Clay asked, then whistled.

  Nate slapped a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Did I mention I’m glad you’re here?”

  “I haven’t unpacked and you have a special project for me,” he said, trying to disguise his pleasure.

  Nathaniel grinned. “You don’t fool me. You were a little afraid of being bored and now you’re relieved that there
’s a difficult horse coming. It’s written all over your face. Come on—Annie made pot roast. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Two

  Lilly was a bit shaken as she drove away from the Jensen stable. The new assistant was drop-dead gorgeous and totally flirting with her. He didn’t have to carry two fifty-pound sacks of feed at a time into the feed room! A show-off, trying to impress her with his strength, his bulging arms, as if that would make her life worth living.

  Well, he was in for a few surprises if he wanted to get a rise out of her. First of all, she’d grown up around a lot of Native males and had them all figured out. Many of them developed self-esteem issues in adolescence, stemming from the discrimination they faced, and it seemed one of the best ways they could feel better about themselves was by reeling in a girl. That pumped ’em right up, got their testosterone flowing, kicked their confidence into gear. Well, she’d been reeled in, cruelly dumped and survived it; she wasn’t going there again!

  And most of them, at least the ones she had known, had old-fashioned ideas about calling all the shots. From the time they glanced down and noticed they were males, they assumed the dominant role. Well, Lilly had enough on her plate with a grandfather who liked running things. That was one of many reasons she stayed away from other Native men. She was capable of taking care of herself and not at all afraid of being a woman on her own. In fact, she rather liked it.