Promise Canyon (Virgin River #13)(38)

"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 na**d 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.

All that was definitely going to cost her sleep.

When Lilly got back to the stable, Gabe was sweeping up. She glanced at her watch and saw it was getting late. Yaz was going to wonder what had happened to her. She sat heavily on the bench.

"Is Dad icing his aches and pains?"

"Not exactly," she said. "He said he wants to deal with Streak first and ordered me not to get friendly with him, take care of him or feed him."

Gabe just laughed. "I guess they're pretty well matched as far as stubborn goes."

Streak was in a stall with a half door--there were no other horses in the barn, so he was no threat. He hung his head out of the stall and looked at Lilly beseechingly. She shrugged at him. "So, Clay Tahoma is stubborn, is he?"

"Oh, boy," Gabe answered. "He calls it steadfast. When you get to know him better, let me know what you call it."

I don't have to know him better, she thought. He was pretty transparent--he might indeed be steadfast, but he was also stubborn.

She heard the sound of his heels hitting the ground as he came back to the barn. It was a slightly uneven gait; the knee and hip of his left side were sore.

"You finishing up, Gabe?" he asked.

"Unless you thought of something else for me?" Gabe answered.

"You can go ahead home when you're ready. I'm going to take care of this horse, then I'll be along for dinner. Well done, thank you."

"Sure," he said, sweeping the last of the dirt and hay out of the stable's double doors. "See you in a little while, then." Gabe grabbed his hat off the hook by the door, put it on his head and touched the brim. "Nice seeing you, Miss Yazhi."

"Please, call me Lilly. Good seeing you, too. Nice, um...nice talking to you."

"Likewise. You take care now."

And that fast, he was gone, followed by the sound of his little green truck.

Lilly pulled her feet up onto the bench and circled her knees with her arms, curiously and silently watching as Clay went about his business. He brought Streak out of the pen, secured him, removed the saddle and blanket and began to brush him without talking. It should be apparent to Streak that Clay was angry. It was certainly apparent to Lilly. She'd been around for the grooming of the horse before and Clay usually spoke in soft, reassuring tones, pausing now and then to give an affectionate stroke, rewarding the horse for bearing the brush. This was a very solemn procedure.

Lilly said nothing, nor did she ask any questions, though she wanted to. How did he know the horse was picking up on these subtle signals, for one thing? And how did he expect it to have a lasting effect? But she simply watched the routine that lasted more than a half hour. When Clay was done he looked into Streak's big, beautiful brown eyes and said, "You ever do that to me again and you'll be dog food." Then he fed him. He stroked him sparingly.

He forgave him.

Then he turned and limped out of the stable.

Of course Lilly knew he'd be back; he had to remove Streak's feed bucket, water him, turn him out for a while. It was only a moment before he came back with his ice pack. He found a spot directly opposite her and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, the ice pack atop his left knee.

Only then did he look toward Lilly. As though nothing else had gone on today, he pleasantly asked, "So, you had a nice conversation with Gabe?"

She was almost startled. Hadn't they already covered that? She released a huff of laughter. "You were a little scary there for a while. I'll admit I was a little wary--do you often treat women that way?"

"Good God, no," he said. "I've found the most effective way to deal with a woman is to listen to her carefully and follow her instructions very closely. This," he said, jutting his chin toward Streak, "is one stubborn horse."

"Says the pot of the kettle."

"You had a nice talk with Gabe?" he asked again.

"I told you I did. He told me about how you rescued him from being adopted, how he was raised by his grandparents and other family."

"Yes, I apologize. You did tell me." He shook his head. "I wasn't paying attention--I was furious and my leg hurt. Sometimes I can be a little too focused. Or is that unfocused? I won't do it again."