Wild Man Creek (Virgin River #14)(69)

“It’s in foreclosure,” Lief said. “My bid was approved, but foreclosure homes take a long time to close. Meanwhile, I came up to see if Paul could finish the office with built-ins.”

“Which I’m all too happy to do, once the property closes.”

“I don’t think anyone but Paul ever met the folks who built it,” Jack said. “What happened?”

“No idea,” Paul said. “Eyes bigger than their wallets?”

“They hadn’t made a payment in a year,” Lief said. “I’d been on the lookout for something in a friendly small town. I knew this place was small. Now I’m just hoping I’m right about the friendly part.”

“We’re friendly,” Jack said with a laugh. “As long as you don’t cross us. So, what made you go looking for a small town?”

“Aw, a better place for my family than L.A. And, with my work, I don’t have to spend much time in L.A. I can live just about anywhere.”

“Family?” Jack asked.

“One thirteen-year-old daughter, Courtney. My wife is deceased. Which is very hard for Courtney, of course. We’re healing—we need to step back. You know? Get out of the rush and noise, slow down, see if we can move on and get past this.”

“My condolences, Lief,” Jack said sincerely. “How long ago did you lose your wife?”

“It’s been almost two years now, but it’s not easy. Courtney’s having a difficult time and I struggle to do the right thing for her, to help her get through it. She was just eleven, an awful tender age to lose a parent. Hopefully we’ll be up here and moved in before school starts in September, so she can make a fresh start.”

“Good luck with that. I hope it goes well,” Jack said. “I do know a real good counselor, kind of specializes in middle school and high school kids. Real nice guy. A kid I’ve known for years, almost a son to me, came back from Iraq missing a leg and the counselor really helped him. If you ever want the name…”

“When we get back up here, I’ll be in touch. I can use all the help I can get,” Lief said.

Right at that moment the door to the bar swung open and in the frame stood a skinny little girl with stringy black hair streaked with pink, purple and red. Her fingernails were painted black and she wore pounds of black eyeliner and mascara. A little turquoise tank top stretched over her flat chest and above an itty-bitty black skirt, fish-net hose and black ankle boots. The whole look was completed by a sneer on her face that, somehow, didn’t look in character. “Are we just about done here?!”

“Just about,” Lief said patiently.

She turned on her heel and disappeared.

Jack gave the counter a wipe. “I’ll find that counselor’s name and number,” he said to Lief.

“Thanks,” Lief said in return.

Lilly Yazhi had lived in the area between Virgin River and Grace Valley since she was thirteen, which made it almost fourteen years now. But she had only begun keeping a horse at the Jensen Stables and teaching riding part-time with Annie, the vet’s wife, in this past year. And it had only been six months that she’d been engaged to the vet’s tech, Clay Tahoma. Lilly was Hopi and Clay, Navajo. They had much in common and their love for horses was one of many things.

She was in the stable, brushing down her Arabian mare, Blue, when she sensed him coming up behind her on silent feet. He slipped his arms around her waist and put his lips against her neck. She stood still, smiled and hummed.

“I never manage to surprise you,” Clay Tahoma said. “You sense me even when you can’t hear me.”

“Oh, Clay? Is that you?” Lilly asked in a teasing voice.

He turned her around and looked at her laughing face. Then he wiped that smile off her face with his lips. He kissed her soundly. Deeply. His hands found her small bottom and pulled her hard against him. “I missed you last night,” he said, his voice soft and hoarse. “I plan to make up for it tonight.”

“Unless there’s another sick horse somewhere and you have to go out again,” she said.

He frowned. “That could put me in a mood. I meant to tell you, my mother called me this morning. You’ve made her very happy, Lilly, by agreeing to having our wedding at home on the Navajo Nation.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s a generous thing you do for her. The place of the wedding is your decision and I know you didn’t have the reservation in mind when you agreed to marry me.”

“It’s important to your family,” she said. “There’s just Grandpa and me—you have all those Tahomas to contend with. It’s a good thing we won’t be using that traditional church seating of bride’s side and groom’s side—the bride’s side would be woefully vacant.”

“I love you for thinking of them. I’ll find something to do for you that will make you just as happy with me. I promise. Maybe you know of something….”

She looked briefly away. “We’ll talk about it sometime. Maybe when you’re all soft, sweet and vulnerable. After we make love… Before we make love again…”

He smiled at her. “You can tell me now. Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want you at my mercy first,” she said.