Promise Canyon (Virgin River #13)(36)

"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.