Promise Canyon (Virgin River #13)

Promise Canyon (Virgin River #13)
Robyn Carr




One

Clay Tahoma headed into the mountains of Humboldt County, Northern California, along Highway 36, a narrow road that had lots of sharp turns along the way. According to his GPS the next left would lead him to a town called Virgin River. It appeared to be the nearest town to his destination, the Jensen Veterinary Clinic and Stables, and he wanted to check it out. He was nearing the turnoff when he noticed something up ahead--some pickups parked at the side of the road.

He slowed down and pulled over, curious to see what was going on. He got out of his truck and walked past a number of vehicles toward a large flatbed truck. There were men standing around watching as a forklift with a large cable attached pulled away from the edge of the road. Clay approached one of the men. He was as tall as Clay and wore a plaid shirt, jeans, boots and ball cap. "Whatcha got, friend?" Clay asked.

"One of our town slipped off the road and got stuck--luckily came up against a big tree not too far down the hill. That's how he managed to get out and climb back up."

"Who's pulling him out?" Clay asked.

"Aw, one of our boys has a lot of construction equipment. He's a contractor up this way." The man put out his big hand. "Jack Sheridan. You from around here?"

"Name's Clay Tahoma, originally from Flagstaff and the Navajo Nation. Lately from L.A. I'm up here to work with an old friend, Nathaniel Jensen."

Jack's face took light at that. "Nate's a friend of mine, too! Pleasure to meet you."

Jack introduced Clay to some other men who were standing around--a guy named John, who they called Preacher; Paul, who owned the flatbed and forklift; Dan Brady, who was Paul's foreman; and Noah, the minister whose truck slipped off the road. Noah smiled sheepishly as he shook Clay's hand. No one seemed to react to the sight of a Native American with a ponytail that reached past his waist and an eagle feather in his hat. And right at that moment Noah's old blue Ford truck began to clear the edge of the road.

"Don't you guys have a Highway Department or Fire Department you could call to do this?" Clay asked.

"If we had all day," Jack said. "We tend to take care of ourselves out here. But the big problem is that weak shoulder. Highway Department reinforces it every time we have a slide, but what we really need is something more permanent. A wider road and a guardrail. A long and strong guardrail. We've requested it, but this road doesn't see a lot of travel so our request just gets ignored or denied." He nodded toward the stretch of road he was talking about. "We had a school bus slide down that hill a couple of years ago. Minor injuries, but it could'a been horrible. Now I hold my breath every time there's ice on the road."

"What's the holdup on the guardrail?"

He shrugged. "Real small population in an unincorporated town in a county in recession that has bigger challenges. Like I said, we get used to taking care of things the best we can."

"There's no ice in August," Clay said. "What happened to the pastor?"

"Deer," Noah said. "I came around the curve and there she was. I hardly swerved, but all you have to do is get a little too close to the edge and you're toast. Ohhhh, my poor truck," he said as the vehicle made it to the road.

"Doesn't look any worse than it did, Noah," Jack said.

"Seriously," Preacher said, hands on his hips.

"What are you talking about?" Noah returned indignantly. "It's got several new dents!"

"How can you tell?" Jack asked. "That old truck is one big dent!" Then he turned to Clay and said, "Go easy around these curves and tell Doc Jensen I said hello."

Clay Tahoma drove his diesel truck up to the Jensen Veterinary Clinic and Stables. His truck pulled a large horse trailer that he'd filled with his personal belongings. Shutting off the engine, Clay jumped out of the truck and looked around. The clinic consisted of the veterinary office attached to a big barn, a nice-sized covered round pen for exams, several large pastures for the horses to exercise, the horses' turnout and a couple of small paddocks for controlled, individual turnout. Horses can't be turned out together unless they're acquainted; they can get aggressive with each other.

Opposite the clinic, across what functioned as a parking area large enough for trucks and trailers, was a house built for a big family. The whole lot was surrounded by trees, full with their summer green, barely swaying in the early-August breeze.

He sniffed the air; he smelled hay, horses, dirt, flowers, contentment. There was honeysuckle nearby; his nose caught it. He got close to the ground, sitting on one boot heel, touching the dirt with his long, tan fingers. He was filled with a feeling of inner peace. This was a good place. A place with promise.

"Is that some old Navajo thing you're doing there?"

Before he could rise Dr. Nathaniel Jensen was walking out of his veterinary office door, wiping his hands on a small blue towel.

Clay laughed and stood up. "Listening for cavalry," he said.

"How was the drive?" Nate asked Clay, stuffing the towel in his pocket and stretching out a hand.

Clay took Nate's hand in a hearty shake. "Long. Boring until I got closer--some guys from Virgin River were hauling a truck up a hill. The town minister slid off the road avoiding a deer. No injuries, just a lot of grumbling. How's the building coming?"