Promise Canyon (22 page)

“How are things at the cabins, General?” Jack asked. “And how’s Colin getting along?”

“Luke’s been there with him almost a week and he’s
coming back in a couple of days. Colin is doing better. Boy took a heavy crash and a lot of broken bones are hard to heal. Their mother, Maureen, is there now. George is with her. Luke says Colin can be discharged within the week, but he’ll be transported to a wounded warriors support center at Fort Benning, where he’s currently serving. Luke’s a little nervous about leaving Colin in Maureen’s hands—she and George aren’t strong enough or experienced enough to take care of a big man like that who’s in an arm cast and a whole bunch of bandages. Luke wants to make sure the arrangements for his transport are complete—guys from his unit will make sure he’s taken care of.” He chuckled. “And Colin is begging Luke to throw him out a ten-story window rather than leave him at his mother’s mercy.”

“But he’s going to recover?”

“So they say.” Walt shrugged. “You know how that goes—a lot of it’s up to him. He needs physical therapy. He has to build strength. You know what Luke says he complains about the most? The elbow! He’s got screws in his elbow and it’s driving him crazy.”

“And Shelby and the baby?”

“Oh, they’re getting along fine. I go out there every morning and stay till dinner. Sometimes Muriel comes out and eats with us. Cabins are going to fill up next week—hunting season.”

“The bar might see some action, too, when the hunters come.”

“So you’re not going to go broke while the town is in a snit?” Nate asked.

“Nah, we got hunters and fishermen,” Jack said. “But I’ll tell you what—if these folks don’t get over themselves real quick, they might find they’re just not so
welcome here. Doesn’t make you want to be the good neighbor, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s going to pass real soon,” Mel said, lifting her beer.

Nate leaned an elbow on the bar and peered at Mel. “Is your business suffering, since you’re consorting with the executor?”

She shook her head. “Couple of the old boys are a little put out that Jack didn’t open up Hope’s trust for them, but for the most part the women are fine with things the way they are. It’s not that many of the guys, really—just seems like a lot to Jack—he’s not used to being viewed as the bad guy. By anyone.”

“Because I’m
not,
” he said emphatically.

“Of course you’re not, darling,” she said. “But you just can’t please all the people all the time. It’s such a thankless job to be in charge of anything, isn’t it?”

“I liked it best when I was in charge of this little space back here,” Jack said, throwing his arms wide, indicating the area behind the bar. “I don’t even have many opinions about what goes on in the kitchen.”

“Very wise,” Preacher said.

Suddenly there was a slight vibration, a distant and faint rumble, and the bottles on the shelf behind the bar clinked up against each other. It lasted only a few seconds, during which time everyone was stone still and silent, experiencing it.

“That was either the biggest rock slide we’ve ever had around here, or an earthquake,” Jack said when it had passed.

And Mel, who had lived many years in Los Angeles before coming to Virgin River, said, “It was an earthquake, I believe. But thankfully not much of one.”

W
hen Lilly was lying in Clay’s arms, flesh to flesh, with nothing heavier than a sigh between them, it was a time made precious by more than just physical intimacy.

It was still early evening. They’d had their dinner, showered and climbed into bed together.

“Tell me something from your childhood on the reservation. Something I couldn’t guess—like the happiest day of your life.”

“I could say it was the day I had Gabe, but the truth is I didn’t know that was a happy day until he was a little older and I could get some sleep. It was probably the day my father told me the new stud colt was mine to break, to raise and ride. He’s still on the Tahoma ranch, almost to the end of his breeding days, but not quite. A handsome blue roan. He taught me everything I know about a stallion’s temperament and drive. There were lots of horses on the ranch, but he was mine.”

“Are a lot of your happiest days from your life back on the family ranch?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, nodding. “We worked hard, played hard.”

“Tell me the most terrified you’ve ever been in your life,” she said.

He thought for a moment. “When I was real little, about ten, I went into a pasture I’d been told to stay out of. I was with a couple of my cousins, but they were older, faster. We were supposed to stay away from this old bull, but we figured he was too old to give us much game. Turned out he was pretty fast. One second he was lying there, looking like he was asleep, and the next second he was charging me.”

“What about your cousins?” she asked.

“You know that old joke about the two campers who come upon a bear—
I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun you?
They took off, left me for the bull. I scrambled up a tree. He butted the trunk a few times and almost shook me out, but he got bored and went back to lie down. I sat up in that tree for hours. It was almost dark when my dad came for me. He walked into that pasture like he had all day. He was carrying a pitchfork, but he didn’t seem worried about anything. He looked up into the tree and said, ‘Get down here.’ I tried to warn him about the bull, but he insisted. Well, I was coming down, very slowly and carefully, and right then the old bull got up and kind of wandered over toward us. When he was standing about six feet away, my dad turned toward him, made eye contact with him and just stared him down, and the damn bull lay down. And my dad took me by the hand and walked me out of the pasture.”

“Just like that?” Lilly asked.

He nodded. “He said, ‘Weren’t you told to stay out
of that pasture?’ and I asked, ‘What did you
do?
’ He just looked straight ahead and said, ‘That’s an old bull. Mean, but old. He wouldn’t have known what to do with you if he caught you. I just wanted to make sure. We sort of came to an agreement—when he didn’t charge me, we made our peace.’ And so I asked him why he brought the pitchfork and he said, ‘Just in case he didn’t listen to reason.’” And then Clay laughed.

Lilly didn’t laugh. “Did your father talk to animals, too? Did you get it from him?”

“I don’t know what I have, Lilly, or where I got it. I get feelings from animals, like if they’re in pain or afraid. All I got from that bull was that he was
mad.
Territorial and pissed off. But the things my dad seemed to always have were confidence and understanding. I don’t think I’ve ever had his kind of confidence. He took a pitchfork into that field—my hundred-and-eighty-pound father—and he faced off with a twenty-five-hundred-pound bull. He walked slow and easy, kept himself between me and the bull, and somehow with just his self-possession he let the bull think he could kill him with the pitchfork if they didn’t come to terms.” He shook his head in wonder.

“What?”

“When we got home, all he said was, “Next time you can stay in the tree until you’re old and gray.”

“No punishment?”

“There was rarely a real punishment at our house. Disappointment was punishment enough. Discontinued praise was punishment. I lived to please my parents. And sometimes I resented that and rebelled, but not for long. The Tahomas are strong and very proud. They’re influential. If I rebelled I got over it fast. They were always there for me.”

“When were they there for you?”

“Well, you know all about Gabe’s sudden appearance. They rallied for that boy, for me. My father gathered his brothers and his lawyer and they went to town to meet the maternal grandparents of my unborn child. He didn’t carry a pitchfork, he carried a leather binder containing a photocopy of some adoption law the lawyer had given him. The whole ordeal didn’t take long, but once I had Gabe home there was a definite chill in the air around me and a distinct reluctance to help me with my son—I had to take my medicine. I think Gabe was six months old before my parents finally lightened up. I knew they were disappointed in me, but at the same time they didn’t want Gabe to suffer any lack of affection because of me, so we had to make peace. Then there was…”

His voice fell off and she jiggled him.

“What? Then there was what?”

He took a deep breath. “There was a time when I was following rodeos as a farrier. I was about twenty-three, on a job in Houston, and I got jumped by a bunch of cowboys. I don’t know who they were—I don’t think they were competing. They were drunk and mean and looking for trouble—they sneaked up on me, cut off my braid. They had a good advantage and I fought back, but I didn’t do much damage. I was pretty whipped by the time someone broke it up. They said I was a crazy, drunk Indian who attacked them and the police threw me in jail. I gave my father’s number just before I passed out cold in a jail cell.” He shook his head. “As far as I know, the police never even detained the cowboys.”

“Oh, Clay…”

“It took my father and uncles about twelve hours to
get there. My father asked one question of the police. Did you test his blood? The deputy said, ‘Sir, we have a rodeo in town. By the time we could get to that, too many hours had passed for an accurate blood-alcohol level. But the boy passed out.’ And my father, who carried his leather folder, calmly asked the deputy if he thought I’d cut off my own hair. Then he explained that it had been twelve hours—they could do the blood test immediately and if there had been enough alcohol in me to have caused me to pass out, at least trace amounts would show up. But if nothing showed up, they’d know I was unconscious from the beating and they were at fault for taking me to jail instead of to the emergency room—that would open up an interesting dialogue with the courts. He said, ‘Either do a blood test or release him to us now.’ And they let me go. I had a concussion. And this,” he said, running a finger along a faint scar under his eye on his cheekbone.

“Did your father ever ask you if you were drunk?”

Clay shook his head. “He knew that if alcohol was a problem for me, it wouldn’t be long before he’d see it again. And again. And again.” He smiled. “He didn’t.”

“Did you have problems like that a lot? Because of being Navajo?”

“No,” he said. “Fascination. Curiosity. People ask questions cautiously, as if they’re afraid to offend me. I always answer and invite them to visit the reservation.” He smoothed her hair over an ear. “Have you ever had any problems?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I would give anything to see all those big, stern Navajos bearing down on the police. Or the parents of your girlfriend. I bet
when people remember those events, they imagine the Navajos wearing buckskin and feathers.”

“They fully intend to appear as a tribe. There is pride in the tribe. I grew up hearing that. It’s in their eyes….”

“It’s in your eyes,” she said softly.

He looked surprised for a second. Then he relaxed into a smile. “I don’t mean any offense, but it’s not in your eyes, my blue-eyed girl. Tell me your secrets. Tell me when you were most afraid.”

She inhaled deeply and rolled on top of him. “I will, but not right now. Right now I want to thank you. I had a very bad romance when I was young and it left me scarred and broken. I’ll tell you all about it some other time, but tonight I want to make love and then sleep on your hair, pulling it when I move in my sleep and making you whimper and grunt.” She laughed and ran her fingers into the hair at his temples.

“Why must you do that?” he asked. “I could braid it and we could both sleep.”

“I love your hair. I love it free. That’s how I see you when I dream about you.”

“And…why exactly are you thanking me?”

She gave him a little kiss. “I wasn’t sure I would ever trust a man again. I stayed far away from men. I buried myself in work and school. I wasn’t going to take any chances. But then you came along and…” She shrugged and smoothed a hand over his bronze, hairless chest. “Maybe I’m just a naive fool, but I believe everything you tell me. I trust everything you say.”

“Then trust this, sweetheart.
Ayor’anosh’ni.
I think I’m in love with you.”

“I think you’ve been in love a hundred times before…”

“No. No, that’s not true. I thought I was in love a couple of times, but it was such a struggle—there were so many barriers. This time, this is as it should be—easy. Free. Pleasant and comfortable.” Then one side of his mouth lifted in a sexy grin. “Hot, wild, crazy and amazing, too.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “This time is different for me, Lilly. Is it different for you?”

“It is,” she whispered back. “It is.”

And then they felt a slight, brief vibration beneath them, from under the bed; there was a definite disturbance in the stable. “Earthquake,” Clay whispered. “A small earthquake.”

“We haven’t had an earthquake since I’ve lived here,” she said.

He rolled her off him and sat up. “Oh, that’s what it was. I experienced quite a few in Los Angeles. Don’t move. Don’t dress. I’m going to check on the animals, then I’m going to come back here and rock your world for real.”

Colin Riordan had many visitors while he was hospitalized—three of his brothers plus several phone calls from his fourth brother, Patrick, who was sitting alert on an aircraft carrier. His three-month deployment was winding to a close and he promised to visit Colin at Fort Benning as soon as he was stateside. Maureen and George had parked their fancy motorcoach at an RV park near Fort Hood and were at the hospital every day. Other visitors included men from his unit who had been with him on exercises. At first they came because they
were still at Fort Hood, and then a couple of them caught military hops from Fort Benning.

Sean was the first to leave Fort Hood and head back to Maxwell AFB after a few days; Aiden was second to leave, returning to Chico to meet with a group of physicians whose ob-gyn practice he was considering joining. Luke stayed on until the arrangements to send Colin back to Fort Benning were nearly complete. One of Colin’s buddies was going to accompany him on a commercial flight out of Houston, see that he was settled in the Wounded Warriors Resource Center where his full-time job for the Army, for now, was getting well. Maureen and George had plans to follow in the RV and park there for a couple of weeks, until Maureen had peace of mind that Colin was on the mend and didn’t need his mother for anything.

But Colin, in pain and bored out of his skull, wasn’t exactly the best company. He was also struggling with some stress about his future, because although he should be able to heal and get back in the cockpit, the idea of everything being different from now on was doing a number on his head.

“Can’t you talk Mom out of going to Fort Benning?” Colin asked Luke.

“I doubt it, buddy. Why don’t you relax and take advantage of it? You know she’ll do anything she can for you—ask her to bring you stuff from home, run errands, do laundry, anything you need.”

“I need to be left alone,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure after two weeks of your charming personality, you’ll get that.”

But when Luke called home that night, he discovered he’d have to cut his own stay in Fort Hood short.

“We had a little excitement today,” Shelby said over the phone. “An earthquake!”

“Are you
kidding
me?” Luke nearly roared.

“Just a very little one, off the coast in the Pacific, but we all felt it. It was kind of cool.”

“Cool?”

“There wasn’t any damage reported anywhere,” she assured him.

“Were you alone? You and Art and the baby?”

“Uncle Walt had just left for the day and Art was still at the river even though it was almost dark.”

“Was Art upset? Scared?”

“Just the opposite,” Shelby said. “He said some fish jumped out of the river—more than he’s ever seen jump at once. I’ve always heard that animals get all revved up when there’s an earthquake or even when one’s coming.”

“All right,” Luke said. “Things are handled here. My mother is here and arrangements have been made to get Colin home. I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Luke, I miss you, but everything is fine! It wasn’t a scary earthquake or anything. I’ve had plenty of company, plenty of help, and I don’t want you to leave Colin until you’re sure it’s time.”

“It’s time—I don’t want you and my son left as the responsibility of someone else. Colin’s got a lot of work to do to rehab his body and he’s a giant pain in the ass. It’s time for him to be someone else’s pain in the ass. I’ll be home as fast as I can get there.”

“Well, whatever makes you happy—but be sure to tell Colin that I haven’t called you home! Because I’m no wimp and I’m doing just fine.”

Luke did tell Colin that, and Colin said, “Good—go home. And did I thank you for coming?”

“No,” Luke said.

“Well, thank you for coming,” Colin said. “And please don’t come again until you’re invited.”

“I guess you didn’t get that gracious Irish gene,” Luke said. “I’ll call.”

“Be sure to leave a message if I don’t pick up. I hear they have a great soccer team at the Wounded Warriors hotel….”

Lilly wanted to tell Clay a few things—like the fact that she had done very, very little dating, that there hadn’t been a serious relationship with a man in her life in fourteen years, that there were things that haunted her and had kept her from forming a strong, healthy relationship with a good man. And she planned to. She knew there would be a perfect moment and when she found it, she wouldn’t hold anything back. It was easy to put off; she was enjoying the finest time of her life and just couldn’t let a negative thought or memory interfere.