Promise Canyon (21 page)

Luke had always had an attitude because no matter how well he could do at anything, Colin could always do just a little better. And if he wasn’t
doing
better, he was taller and more handsome.

Well, now Colin was broken and scarred. Luke was ashamed that it had taken this to feed his determination for a fresh start with Colin. They should be best friends—they had so much in common! Twenty years in the Army, both of them helicopter pilots, both very successful with the ladies.

Well, that was in the past for Luke, but happily so—no man could ask for more than the life he had with his young wife.

But it wasn’t in the past for Colin yet. It wasn’t necessarily over for him. The recovery ahead might be difficult, but he could get back in the Black Hawk. If his arms and legs worked, why not?

Luke faced a very nice, very patient nurse. “Any chance my brother can start having some water? Or something?”

“Not too much longer, Mr. Riordan. That’s something we really don’t want to rush—not with the anesthesia and pain meds. He’s actually going to have his first meal pretty soon. Jell-O and broth.”

Luke grinned because the devil inside him was feeling slightly vindicated by Colin’s comeuppance. Not the injuries—he’d never smile about that. But Jell-O and broth? Sweet. Really, Colin had come in first for a
long
time. “He’s gonna love that.”

The nurse just shook her head and smiled. “Oh, you kids,” she said.

He went back to his brother. “Guess what, pal. You’re going to get dinner.”

“I hope it’s a steak and beer with a shot.”

“It’s Jell-O and broth,” Luke said. “Want me to request beef broth or are you okay with the chicken?”

“Can you please go away?” Colin said, turning his
head. He turned back. “Aren’t you just about cleared for sex with that hot little mama you married? I mean, the kid is what? At least six weeks, right?”

“Over eight,” Luke said with a smile that was both victorious and taunting. There was another thing he’d finally gotten over on Colin—the perfect wife and a son.

“Oh, for Jesus’s sake, go home!”

“Not just yet,” Luke said. “Not until Mom gets here to take over.”

Colin’s unbandaged eye grew round for a second, then slammed shut. He groaned loudly enough to bring one of the nurses out of the nurse’s station. With a scowl, he said to Luke, “Why couldn’t I just die?”

Blue Rhapsody was shaping up to be one of the most dependable and responsive horses in Nathaniel’s stable. She was excellent with a young rider, as if she knew by the sheer weight that this was precious cargo. Yet when Lilly rode Blue, she was a little more energetic and sportive.

Blue was not officially Lilly’s yet, but nearly so. Lilly paid her board with cash and work. She had an arrangement with Annie to help with some young riders’ classes and activities in exchange for boarding costs. Lilly and Annie were planning an overnight trail ride for six eleven-year-old girls and that brought back such wonderful memories for Lilly. She always knew she loved horses and that riding brought her untold happiness, but it was with the planning of a trail ride that she recalled how much her horsemanship fed her confidence and gave her a sense of mastery.

Lilly had always been smaller than other girls her
age, and her grandfather must have seen the struggle that brought her. He was the one that arranged for her to start riding and helping with the horses on the ranch next door. He had never admitted to paying for this luxury, but she seemed to remember him running errands for their neighbor, delivering anything from hardware to feed, and once Lilly was grown she realized there could only be one reason for that—a barter for her riding. And giving his little granddaughter the opportunity to learn to control and manage the thousand-pound animals gave her just the boost she needed to feel taller, stronger.

As September came to an end and the weather cooled down, the sun was setting earlier in the evening. It was hard for Lilly to finish her bookkeeping at the feed store early enough to take Blue for a ride, but she never missed a day of seeing her.

One evening as she tidied up her desk across from her grandfather’s desk, he asked, “On your way to the stable, Lilly?”

She glanced at her watch, then shut down her computer. “If I hurry, I’ll be the one to feed Blue and maybe have time to exercise her just a little bit.”

“You might want to bring that Navajo around for a meal one of these days.”

“You’ve met him and you know his name,” she teased. “He doesn’t call you
that Hopi.
”

“Of course he doesn’t. He wants my granddaughter. He’ll be cautious. I could forbid it.”

She flashed him a grin and then chuckled. “And I could go to work for another feed store,” she taunted.

Yaz seemed to drop the teasing, at least a bit. “Has he asked to see me? To spend some time in discussions with me?”

Lilly just tilted her head to one side and smiled tenderly at Yaz. This was his old traditional way of asking if Clay would be speaking for her soon. And all that old tradition, as she’d said a hundred times, wasn’t important to her. She found it completely respectable—and it made the most sense—for a man to actually ask the woman he was interested in, considering that her acceptance really was the most important issue. But it was pointless to argue with Yaz. “I haven’t known him all that long, Grandpa.”

“It doesn’t take all that long, Lilly.” Their eyes were locked together for a long moment. “You’d better get to that stable before you miss seeing the horse that occupies so much of your brain these days.”

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning,” Lilly said.

“Where would I go? I’ll be here,” he returned. “I don’t have a horse to visit.” And then he winked at her.

It was dusk by the time she got there; with the mountains to the east and west and the sun beaming across the stable and pastures, it looked like a movie set, an idyllic setting for anyone who loved animals and the outdoors. She saw Blue out in the far pasture with Annie’s mares. She assumed they’d all been fed and turned out; Nathaniel and Clay operated on a very strict feeding schedule to avoid digestive problems.

She was going to take a shortcut through the stable to the pasture, but before she got very far she heard music and stopped. It was the high, haunting, magical Native American flute, the kind she’d heard many times at celebrations and ceremonies and programs for tourists. Soft and pleasant, sometimes eerie, the rhythm slow. Lilting.

She walked through the stable and saw that Clay was
perched on the top rail of the fence surrounding the pasture, facing away from the stable, playing the flute in the dusk. His silhouette cast a long shadow and the music he made caused her to quiver low in her belly. He’d been working all day so his hair was braided and hung down his back. He wore the hat with the feather. His fingers worked the flute while his pursed lips rested on the mouthpiece. Rawhide ties and beads hung down from the end of the instrument.

She leaned against the opened doors, her hands behind her back. He didn’t notice her; he was completely at peace. The melody was no doubt something from his childhood, perhaps his grandfather’s childhood. And it was flawlessly done, as though he’d been playing that particular piece for many years. Perhaps many lifetimes.

Lilly had spent so much energy fighting the old ways, but by degrees she was being reunited with her roots and she couldn’t deny a feeling of coming home. Clay was bringing her comfort by way of reunion and familiarity every day, in so many small but significant ways.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be seduced by the melody, so ghostly and captivating. She could almost see the men of her community in their Native garb, moving to the flute’s music, the women swaying. She was lost in her own fantasy for a long time, and then the music stopped. She opened her eyes to find Clay walking toward her.

When he reached her, he put a finger under her chin and lifted it so he could place a light kiss on her lips.

“That was very beautiful, Clay,” she said.

“My father’s instrument. He taught me and I find it soothing.”

“Music is such a big part of our relationship—the opera and now this. But I can’t think of a way you can seduce me with the flute and make love to me at the same time.”

His smile was teasing. “I like the music we make together whether there’s music or not.”

“Have the horses been taken care of?”

He nodded. “Annie and Nathaniel are out for a few hours, so we have to stay here. There’s a pizza in their oven for us. Then we can grab a shower and I have plans for you. If you can stay, that is?”

“And go home later?” she asked.

“Stay the night,” he said. “We’ll get up early, feed the horses, go for a ride.”

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes, Clay.”

“You don’t need a change. I’ll give you a T-shirt to sleep in. Or maybe I can keep you warm, myself. You can wear the same jeans in the morning, can’t you?”

“What if Annie or Nate comes to your room?”

“Lilly, with your Jeep parked by my truck, they’d know to knock! If there’s an emergency, we can get up and help.”

She thought about this and then smiled dreamily. “What kind of pizza?”

“Half pepperoni and sausage, half pineapple and double cheese.”

“You cater to me,” she said with a smile. “That’s good. You’re very well trained.”

“Do you have any idea how spectacular my life is when you’re happy?” he asked.

“I must be quite the Hopi princess—it pleases me that you want to please me.”

“I’m very hungry.”

“Then let’s eat,” she said.

“And after that we can get to what I’m really hungry for.”

There were only two people in Jack’s Bar even though it was that time of day when the regulars usually gathered. Mel had stopped in before going home to the children and Mike Valenzuela, Jack’s brother-in-law, had just come by for a beer.

It was easy for family and friends to see Jack Sheridan being jovial and teasing—it was his natural state. What was difficult for his friends and family to see was him being
morose.
Sad. Disappointed. Jack wasn’t a guy who felt sorry for himself, so that kind of unhappiness was difficult to take. And he was under the weather emotionally because a pretty significant portion of his town, his friends, neighbors and regulars at the bar, were distancing themselves—all because Jack wouldn’t provide information about the substance of the Virgin River Trust, and he wasn’t willing to turn it over to townsfolk for their personal use.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said to Mike and Mel. “Mel and Preacher were right—I shouldn’t have held a meeting, shouldn’t have opened up the whole thing for discussion. I didn’t know Hope that well, but I know she wouldn’t start writing checks to clear equity loans and second mortgages.”

“It’s water over the dam,” Mike said. “They’ll get over it.”

“Or not,” Jack said.

“They’ll get over it or have to drive a long way for a beer and good food. This is the only game in town, this bar.”

“Ron and Connie used to eat here once, twice a week. Harv doesn’t have breakfast here anymore. Haven’t had any traffic from the Andersons, Bristols or Fishburns. And out at the estate sale, most people who came just to watch brought their own food and drink even though we’d set up the grills. I think that bothered me more than them not talking to me—that they don’t want what we’re offering as friends.”

Preacher came out of the kitchen just at the end of that comment. He walked up behind the bar next to Jack. “Screw ’em. We need a sign for this town all right, and it needs to say You’ll Catch More Flies With Honey.”

Right then the door opened and Walt Booth came in. After a round of greetings, the general was up at the bar and without being asked, Jack served him up a beer. Right behind him the door opened again and Nathaniel and Annie came in.

“What are you two doing here?” Jack asked.

“We heard there was plenty of open seating,” Nate said with a smile as they took their places at the bar.

“Oh, so that’s it,” Jack said. “Everyone is feeling sorry for Jack? I hate that worse than not being talked to!”

“They’ll all be back, Jack,” Walt said. “They’re acting like a bunch of kids.”

“Let’s see how far old Ron gets when he gets sick of fish and wants some leftover brisket,” Preacher said. “Or how about when Hugh pulls up in that big old dually he’d like Jack to pay off for him, hops up to the bar and wants to run a tab for his boilermaker and dinner?”

That brought a slight grin to Jack’s face. He tilted his head toward Preacher. “Always makes me feel better when Preacher’s ticked off,” he said. He put a hand on
the big man’s shoulder. “Did you hear about Preacher’s dinner party?”

“Huh?” Mike said. “What’s that?”

“Aw, it was just one of those things,” Preacher said, looking down shyly.

“Preacher met himself a five-star chef from San Francisco at the sale. She was staying out at Luke’s cabins with some of her girlfriends on their way home from Vancouver, and Preacher opened up the bar so they could taste some of his favorite dishes.”

“How’d you rate?” Mike asked.

He stood a bit taller. “I’d say she was impressed. She gave me a few tips, too. Little ginger in the beans, a sprinkle of thyme on the roasted vegetables. And she offered to come back and cook up her special soup and show me her rhubarb pie, which she says is good. Mine’s always sour, no matter what I do. She said just try ’em and if they’re not way better than the recipes I’m using, no hard feelings.” He grinned. “I don’t think another cook has ever eaten here.”

“How’d the girlfriends like your food?” Mike asked.

“They were all groaning and holding their stuffed bellies when they left. I set ’em up right at the counter in the kitchen and kept it coming till they begged me to stop.” He sniffed the air, lifted his chin and said, “I think it’s fair to say I knocked their socks off.”

The men laughed at him, but Preacher took it in stride. Truthfully, nothing could have made him more proud than to have a
real
cook admire his work.