Promise Canyon
Page 17
"Must have been an interesting life, back home."
He shrugged at first. Then he leaned his rake against the wall, smoothed back his black hair and said, "I probably took it for granted, since I didn't know much else. We worked hard, played hard, learned hard. My grandfather is a demanding man. He expects a lot."
"What about your parents?" she asked. "Did they expect a lot?"
Clear-eyed, steady, he said, "There was only my dad. I didn't meet my mom till I was twelve and that was mostly because my stepfather wanted me to know my younger brothers. They live in Scottsdale. He's a foot doctor. My dad calls him a corn shaver."
"So your mother didn't raise you?" she asked before she could stop herself. She might've colored a little; she knew she was asking too many questions. Personal questions.
Gabe didn't seem to mind. He grabbed the rake, exited the stall and closed the Thoroughbred inside. He talked while he put the rake away. "Not my mom, no," he said. "My parents were boyfriend and girlfriend till her parents broke them up. They didn't like their little girl mixed up with some Navajo from the Nation. Then it turned out my mom was pregnant. Her parents had control of the situation, wouldn't let her call him and had an adoption all lined up for me, but then my dad found out and he wasn't giving up that easy. He got his dad and his uncles, legal aid from the reservation, practically a warrior tribe. They paid a visit and geared up for a fight. Grandpa said they didn't expect to get their legal hands on me till I was two or three, but my maternal grandparents gave up. They knew they were gonna lose." He shrugged. "So two days after I was born, my dad took me home to the Tahoma ranch, where I lived till last week. Now I'm living with my aunt and uncle and their family, going to school and working with my dad."
Her mouth nearly stood open. She was thunderstruck. "That must have been... It must have been hard on you."
"On me?" he asked with a smile. "With a grandma, grandpa, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins? I think I had it great."
"I thought your dad said he wasn't with you that much...."
"Oh, he says that out of guilt, but he doesn't have to. He left when I was about eleven years old. He had to."
"Had to?"
"He was a farrier trained by his father and uncles, but a farrier on the reservation doesn't make much of a living. He wanted to make his mark, to earn real money. He'd made a name for himself--going out on the road here and there--doing good work for ranches, and got offered a gig in L.A., managing stables for a rich breeder. He sent my grandparents money while he was away. And he came home whenever he could--didn't faze him to thumb a ride back to Arizona as long as he could be home at least a few days. I wasn't ever away from him that long."
She got sentimental at the thought of a young man who'd thumb hundreds of miles to see his little son. "I guess you two are real close."
"I'd say so, but if my grandfather was tough, my dad was usually tougher. And if you think the Tahoma men are a handful, you should meet the women. God," he said, giving his head a shake and absently running a hand over his ear. "I think I'm growing a tumor from where my grandma grabbed my ear and twisted. Man."
She laughed in spite of herself. "Looks like you survived it pretty well."
"No one's more surprised than me!"
"So, are you glad to be here?"
"Time will tell," he said. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I wasn't real excited about the idea. I mean, it's my senior year. I have friends at home."
Home, she thought. "I was raised by my grandparents, too," she told him. "My grandma passed when I was little and when I was thirteen my grandpa decided it was time to make a change, get us off the reservation, where he said my opportunities were too limited. I know what it's like to make that change."
"Well, there are positives. I like my aunt and uncle and my Grace Valley cousins. I'm going to play some dangerous, integrated football instead of on a reservation team. Dad says we're going to hunt--I'm good with that. And..." He shrugged. "And my dad needs me."
"Oh?"
"Well, he needs me around. He's always talked about that, about the two of us finally living in the same county, at least. It's real important to him. And he's always done everything he could for--" He stopped abruptly and leaned one hand against the wall, peering out the rear stable doors. "Uh-oh," he said. He shifted his gaze to Lilly. "It would probably be best not to laugh."
Lilly stood from the bench and looked out the doors, across the corral and down the trail. Clay was leading Streak home. And he seemed to have a slight limp. "Uh-oh," she said.
"Yeah, he's going to be a little cranky...."
"Your dad or Streak?" she asked.
"Looks to me like Streak probably won. But if I know my dad, that's his absolute last win."
As Clay drew closer, it was obvious there was more than the limp at issue. He was covered with dirt and dust, for one thing. He had some road rash on his cheek, and the knuckles and back of his hand that held the horse's lead were scraped and bleeding. And, once he got very close she could see a nice purple bruise was rising on the injured cheek.
He was wearing a very dark frown. He didn't look angry so much as deeply contemplative. He stopped briefly when he saw Lilly was there; he gave her a short, curt nod then lowered his gaze and proceeded into the stable.
Lilly decided to see how Gabe handled it, both out of curiosity and because she wasn't sure what to say.
Gabe put out a hand. "Want me to take care of him, Dad?"
"No," Clay said. "He's going to wait till I'm f**king ready." His eyes darted briefly to Lilly. "Pardon," he said for the profanity, leading the horse--still trapped in the despised saddle--to his stall.
Despite her best efforts, Lilly couldn't remain quiet. "What did you hurt? Ankle, knee, hip, back?"
"All of the above," he grumbled, moving the horse into his stall. "I might leave the saddle on all night, you ungrateful beast."
The horse lifted his head and shook it. It almost appeared as if Streak smiled, and Lilly thought, My, my, doesn't he have the biggest teeth? She covered her own smile with her hand.
"Excuse me," Clay said. "I'll be back." And he walked out of the barn.
When he was gone Gabe said, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find him some ice. He's going to clean up, put ice on something for a little while, then take the saddle off Streak and make up. But Streak will have to show some remorse."
"Remorse?"
"Uh-huh. Which he will do after about a half hour of itching because he's cooled down with no brush. Leaving the saddle on will annoy him."
"How will he show that remorse?" Lilly asked.
"With subtlety. But my dad can hear him think. And Streak can hear my dad think. And I can guarantee, Streak's been hearing my dad think all the way from whatever place he dumped him. Just makes me glad every day of my life that I can only hear him when he talks. I'll be--"
"I'll get the ice for him," she said, interrupting him. "Where will I find ice?"
"In Doc's surgery, in the freezer. Um, you'd better holler in. Dad could be...you know...not dressed."
"I'll holler," she said. Then she went quickly before Gabe could talk her out of it.
So--he hears the horses! She had thought so. Not because he'd wowed her with this ability, but because he'd questioned whether she had it, too. She didn't hear them, but she did often get a sense of what was going on with them, in their minds or with their emotional instability. She thought she felt them sometimes. But she was never sure she was right.
She found the ice, went to Clay's quarters and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She opened the door and, looking down and covering her eyes with her hand like a visor, she called, "Clay?" Again, no answer. "Coming in," she announced to the sound of the shower. There was no response. She tapped on the door frame outside the bathroom. "Clay?"
"What?" he yelled unhappily.
"I have ice. Wrap a towel around yourself and I'll keep my eyes closed until you find something to cover up with."
"Leave the ice and go away!" he called out of the shower.
She laughed. A bounce off the back of a little boy stallion didn't do much to ease his disposition. "I'm staying so try not to embarrass either of us. Just let me look at your hand and cheek. You must have been totally unprepared." And she tried to keep another laugh under her hand.
"Go away!"
"Nah, I'm staying."
The shower finally turned off. She trained her eyes on the floor. She heard the partially closed bathroom door squeak, then the sound of a drawer, followed by the words, "You can open your eyes."
He hadn't sounded real pleasant, so she lifted her eyes slowly, carefully. She connected with a safe place--his eyes. "So, Gabe told me--you talk to the horses. They talk to you."
"Not always. 'I'm going to buck you off' would've been nice to hear," he said.
She laughed. She let her eyes lower and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his sweatpants. But the sigh caught in her throat when she realized he was still shirtless--and as amazing as a statue. Tall, buff, his shoulders wide and hard, tattoos on both biceps, his wet hair falling long and unbound, curling in tendrils to his waist. It was enough to make her wet her pants. Gabe was pretty, but Clay was a breathtaking mountain of a man. Like nothing she had ever seen in her life. She looked down again.
"What hurts?" she asked.
"Hip, knee, face, hand."
"Back?"
"No more than usual."
"I better get more ice."
"Forget the ice," he said irritably. "I'll ice later. I have to take care of that blasted horse."
"Why don't Gabe and I take care of that while you..."
"It has to be me," he said. "If it's not me, the horse will think he's in control and has gotten away with something. Why are you here?"
"Honestly? To see you. I wanted to learn more about your family. I wondered if you were married or something."
"Didn't we go over that?" he asked, his brows drawing together.
"Man, are you in a mood! We talked about it briefly, very briefly, before your seventeen-year-old son suddenly appeared. But never mind, he's told me a lot about the whole...situation. I hope you don't mind."
"It's not a secret, for God's sake. And it's more Gabe's story to tell than mine." He rubbed his hand down his face and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. The horse pissed me off. He was doing fine till he decided he wanted a little power struggle. The mangy beast."
"Sure you don't want to rethink the ice? And maybe a bandage for your hand? You're kind of scuffed up there."
"What I want is to find a pair of dry boots, clean jeans, a shirt, and to go take care of that horse. I'm going to send Gabe home to my sister's and when I have things under control here, I'll go over there for their family meal."
"Of course," she said.
He looked at her for a long moment, at the ice in her hand, then tilted his head. "May I?"
"Oh! Of course!" She tossed the ice at him and turned to flee.
"Lilly," he called. "Please don't cozy up to that horse. Don't tend him, pet him or feed him. Don't talk to him. Leave him to me."
"If that's what you want," she said, pulling the door closed behind her. Then she leaned against it and let out her breath in a long, slow whoosh. Here's where she could really run into trouble, harboring a clear memory of that gorgeous n**ed chest. And she couldn't help her ingrained admiration for the long, thick hair. A Native man's hair was part heritage and a whole lot of personal pride.
He shrugged at first. Then he leaned his rake against the wall, smoothed back his black hair and said, "I probably took it for granted, since I didn't know much else. We worked hard, played hard, learned hard. My grandfather is a demanding man. He expects a lot."
"What about your parents?" she asked. "Did they expect a lot?"
Clear-eyed, steady, he said, "There was only my dad. I didn't meet my mom till I was twelve and that was mostly because my stepfather wanted me to know my younger brothers. They live in Scottsdale. He's a foot doctor. My dad calls him a corn shaver."
"So your mother didn't raise you?" she asked before she could stop herself. She might've colored a little; she knew she was asking too many questions. Personal questions.
Gabe didn't seem to mind. He grabbed the rake, exited the stall and closed the Thoroughbred inside. He talked while he put the rake away. "Not my mom, no," he said. "My parents were boyfriend and girlfriend till her parents broke them up. They didn't like their little girl mixed up with some Navajo from the Nation. Then it turned out my mom was pregnant. Her parents had control of the situation, wouldn't let her call him and had an adoption all lined up for me, but then my dad found out and he wasn't giving up that easy. He got his dad and his uncles, legal aid from the reservation, practically a warrior tribe. They paid a visit and geared up for a fight. Grandpa said they didn't expect to get their legal hands on me till I was two or three, but my maternal grandparents gave up. They knew they were gonna lose." He shrugged. "So two days after I was born, my dad took me home to the Tahoma ranch, where I lived till last week. Now I'm living with my aunt and uncle and their family, going to school and working with my dad."
Her mouth nearly stood open. She was thunderstruck. "That must have been... It must have been hard on you."
"On me?" he asked with a smile. "With a grandma, grandpa, dad, aunts, uncles, cousins? I think I had it great."
"I thought your dad said he wasn't with you that much...."
"Oh, he says that out of guilt, but he doesn't have to. He left when I was about eleven years old. He had to."
"Had to?"
"He was a farrier trained by his father and uncles, but a farrier on the reservation doesn't make much of a living. He wanted to make his mark, to earn real money. He'd made a name for himself--going out on the road here and there--doing good work for ranches, and got offered a gig in L.A., managing stables for a rich breeder. He sent my grandparents money while he was away. And he came home whenever he could--didn't faze him to thumb a ride back to Arizona as long as he could be home at least a few days. I wasn't ever away from him that long."
She got sentimental at the thought of a young man who'd thumb hundreds of miles to see his little son. "I guess you two are real close."
"I'd say so, but if my grandfather was tough, my dad was usually tougher. And if you think the Tahoma men are a handful, you should meet the women. God," he said, giving his head a shake and absently running a hand over his ear. "I think I'm growing a tumor from where my grandma grabbed my ear and twisted. Man."
She laughed in spite of herself. "Looks like you survived it pretty well."
"No one's more surprised than me!"
"So, are you glad to be here?"
"Time will tell," he said. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I wasn't real excited about the idea. I mean, it's my senior year. I have friends at home."
Home, she thought. "I was raised by my grandparents, too," she told him. "My grandma passed when I was little and when I was thirteen my grandpa decided it was time to make a change, get us off the reservation, where he said my opportunities were too limited. I know what it's like to make that change."
"Well, there are positives. I like my aunt and uncle and my Grace Valley cousins. I'm going to play some dangerous, integrated football instead of on a reservation team. Dad says we're going to hunt--I'm good with that. And..." He shrugged. "And my dad needs me."
"Oh?"
"Well, he needs me around. He's always talked about that, about the two of us finally living in the same county, at least. It's real important to him. And he's always done everything he could for--" He stopped abruptly and leaned one hand against the wall, peering out the rear stable doors. "Uh-oh," he said. He shifted his gaze to Lilly. "It would probably be best not to laugh."
Lilly stood from the bench and looked out the doors, across the corral and down the trail. Clay was leading Streak home. And he seemed to have a slight limp. "Uh-oh," she said.
"Yeah, he's going to be a little cranky...."
"Your dad or Streak?" she asked.
"Looks to me like Streak probably won. But if I know my dad, that's his absolute last win."
As Clay drew closer, it was obvious there was more than the limp at issue. He was covered with dirt and dust, for one thing. He had some road rash on his cheek, and the knuckles and back of his hand that held the horse's lead were scraped and bleeding. And, once he got very close she could see a nice purple bruise was rising on the injured cheek.
He was wearing a very dark frown. He didn't look angry so much as deeply contemplative. He stopped briefly when he saw Lilly was there; he gave her a short, curt nod then lowered his gaze and proceeded into the stable.
Lilly decided to see how Gabe handled it, both out of curiosity and because she wasn't sure what to say.
Gabe put out a hand. "Want me to take care of him, Dad?"
"No," Clay said. "He's going to wait till I'm f**king ready." His eyes darted briefly to Lilly. "Pardon," he said for the profanity, leading the horse--still trapped in the despised saddle--to his stall.
Despite her best efforts, Lilly couldn't remain quiet. "What did you hurt? Ankle, knee, hip, back?"
"All of the above," he grumbled, moving the horse into his stall. "I might leave the saddle on all night, you ungrateful beast."
The horse lifted his head and shook it. It almost appeared as if Streak smiled, and Lilly thought, My, my, doesn't he have the biggest teeth? She covered her own smile with her hand.
"Excuse me," Clay said. "I'll be back." And he walked out of the barn.
When he was gone Gabe said, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find him some ice. He's going to clean up, put ice on something for a little while, then take the saddle off Streak and make up. But Streak will have to show some remorse."
"Remorse?"
"Uh-huh. Which he will do after about a half hour of itching because he's cooled down with no brush. Leaving the saddle on will annoy him."
"How will he show that remorse?" Lilly asked.
"With subtlety. But my dad can hear him think. And Streak can hear my dad think. And I can guarantee, Streak's been hearing my dad think all the way from whatever place he dumped him. Just makes me glad every day of my life that I can only hear him when he talks. I'll be--"
"I'll get the ice for him," she said, interrupting him. "Where will I find ice?"
"In Doc's surgery, in the freezer. Um, you'd better holler in. Dad could be...you know...not dressed."
"I'll holler," she said. Then she went quickly before Gabe could talk her out of it.
So--he hears the horses! She had thought so. Not because he'd wowed her with this ability, but because he'd questioned whether she had it, too. She didn't hear them, but she did often get a sense of what was going on with them, in their minds or with their emotional instability. She thought she felt them sometimes. But she was never sure she was right.
She found the ice, went to Clay's quarters and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She opened the door and, looking down and covering her eyes with her hand like a visor, she called, "Clay?" Again, no answer. "Coming in," she announced to the sound of the shower. There was no response. She tapped on the door frame outside the bathroom. "Clay?"
"What?" he yelled unhappily.
"I have ice. Wrap a towel around yourself and I'll keep my eyes closed until you find something to cover up with."
"Leave the ice and go away!" he called out of the shower.
She laughed. A bounce off the back of a little boy stallion didn't do much to ease his disposition. "I'm staying so try not to embarrass either of us. Just let me look at your hand and cheek. You must have been totally unprepared." And she tried to keep another laugh under her hand.
"Go away!"
"Nah, I'm staying."
The shower finally turned off. She trained her eyes on the floor. She heard the partially closed bathroom door squeak, then the sound of a drawer, followed by the words, "You can open your eyes."
He hadn't sounded real pleasant, so she lifted her eyes slowly, carefully. She connected with a safe place--his eyes. "So, Gabe told me--you talk to the horses. They talk to you."
"Not always. 'I'm going to buck you off' would've been nice to hear," he said.
She laughed. She let her eyes lower and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his sweatpants. But the sigh caught in her throat when she realized he was still shirtless--and as amazing as a statue. Tall, buff, his shoulders wide and hard, tattoos on both biceps, his wet hair falling long and unbound, curling in tendrils to his waist. It was enough to make her wet her pants. Gabe was pretty, but Clay was a breathtaking mountain of a man. Like nothing she had ever seen in her life. She looked down again.
"What hurts?" she asked.
"Hip, knee, face, hand."
"Back?"
"No more than usual."
"I better get more ice."
"Forget the ice," he said irritably. "I'll ice later. I have to take care of that blasted horse."
"Why don't Gabe and I take care of that while you..."
"It has to be me," he said. "If it's not me, the horse will think he's in control and has gotten away with something. Why are you here?"
"Honestly? To see you. I wanted to learn more about your family. I wondered if you were married or something."
"Didn't we go over that?" he asked, his brows drawing together.
"Man, are you in a mood! We talked about it briefly, very briefly, before your seventeen-year-old son suddenly appeared. But never mind, he's told me a lot about the whole...situation. I hope you don't mind."
"It's not a secret, for God's sake. And it's more Gabe's story to tell than mine." He rubbed his hand down his face and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. The horse pissed me off. He was doing fine till he decided he wanted a little power struggle. The mangy beast."
"Sure you don't want to rethink the ice? And maybe a bandage for your hand? You're kind of scuffed up there."
"What I want is to find a pair of dry boots, clean jeans, a shirt, and to go take care of that horse. I'm going to send Gabe home to my sister's and when I have things under control here, I'll go over there for their family meal."
"Of course," she said.
He looked at her for a long moment, at the ice in her hand, then tilted his head. "May I?"
"Oh! Of course!" She tossed the ice at him and turned to flee.
"Lilly," he called. "Please don't cozy up to that horse. Don't tend him, pet him or feed him. Don't talk to him. Leave him to me."
"If that's what you want," she said, pulling the door closed behind her. Then she leaned against it and let out her breath in a long, slow whoosh. Here's where she could really run into trouble, harboring a clear memory of that gorgeous n**ed chest. And she couldn't help her ingrained admiration for the long, thick hair. A Native man's hair was part heritage and a whole lot of personal pride.
