Promise Canyon

It was almost seven by the time she was back on the road, seven-thirty by the time she approached the place she’d found the mare. It was August; the sun was just lowering in the west. Because of the tall trees it darkened a bit earlier here than on the Pacific Coast. She was shocked to see that not only were the truck and trailer still there, but surrounded by reflective, triangular collapsible cones to notify any other vehicles that might come along after dark.

  Lilly pulled up in front of the pickup and got out, leaving her food behind. It was already dusk, but she could see Clay walking the horse in a wide circle around the pasture. She remembered from her horse days in childhood that was one of the treatments for colic, a little walking. Not too much; a safe and moderate amount. She didn’t see Dr. Jensen.

  She jumped the fence to get in the pasture. Soon enough he came toward her, leading the mare. “You’re back,” he said. “Need something?”

  “Yes,” Lilly answered, “I need to know if she’s going to be all right.”

  “She’s hanging in there. She needs a little time.”

  “She’s not getting worse, is she?”

  “Nope, she’s doing fine. But she’s pumped full of Banamine and it’s a waiting game to see if the treatment worked for her. She’s still stressed. She’s still pawing and stretching out. This is an unhappy lady here. Is that the only reason you’re here?”

  Lilly shrugged and put her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I was afraid you’d leave her and she’d be… I didn’t want her to be alone. In case… Well, in case she got a lot worse.”

  “Lilly,” he said, bending a little until their eyes connected. “I wouldn’t leave a sick animal unless I had to. I’ll see it through. You don’t have to worry.” He straightened. “Those blue eyes really freak me out.”

  She grinned at him. “Freaked out my grandfather, too.”

  “I’ll bet the old Hopi just about passed out.”

  “Well, since you have to have the blue DNA on both sides and he thinks both himself and my grandma are a hundred percent Native, it means there was a bad pilgrim back there somewhere.” She smiled brightly. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Would you like half a sandwich?”

  He lifted one expressive brow. “Whatcha got?”

  “Mushroom, tomato, peppers and cheese. On wheat.”

  He grimaced. “I was promised a welcome dinner of pot roast,” he informed her.

  She smiled lazily. “Do they deliver?”

  “I sincerely hope so, but it’s more likely there will be leftovers. Annie came to fetch Nathaniel home and I offered to stay on, but I think I’m going to be able to take the horse back to the clinic before too much—”

  Right then the horse decided to stretch out again to ease her abdominal pain.

  “You’re going to take her to Nathaniel’s?”

  “Lilly, it’s for the convenience of dealing with her condition, not to give her a new home. Nate didn’t want to transport her until she was more stable and I think we’re just about there, but that doesn’t guarantee her recovery. If she doesn’t improve, he won’t let her go on like this, in pain.”

  “I understand.”

  “What were you going to do out here at night?”

  “I don’t know. Eat my sandwich. Be with her, I guess.”

  He tilted his head. “Do you have horses?”

  She shook her head. “Never have, but when I was real young I rode some. Well, it’s been a long time, but when I was a kid, I was surrounded by them. Back on the reservation. I’ve ridden with Annie a few times, but I’m not around horses much, just when I deliver their feed. Finding her like this, it kind of made me responsible in a way. At least for making sure she wasn’t alone.”

  “It could be midnight before she’s either better, worse, ready to transport or…” He didn’t finish.

  “I brought a jacket and a—” She felt silly about the sleeping bag. Did she really plan to lie on the ground next to a twisting, kicking horse through the night? Even in August, in the mountains or surrounded by them, it was cold after dark. “I’d be willing to share the sandwich,” she said. “Who knows, you might not get pot roast delivery for a long time.”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I’m taking a chance on a mushroom sandwich.”

  “You might actually like it. Hey, you aren’t planning on leaving this horse in the pasture, are you? Because, if I remember, she can’t be grazing. Isn’t she off food?”

  “I’m on top of it, Lilly. The barn and corral where she was kept—Nathaniel looked at it and it’s out of the question. It’s filthy, cluttered, the fence in poor condition. Once she takes a turn for the better, I’m going to take her to Nathaniel’s clinic. And until she’s feeling a lot better, believe me, I won’t let her graze. She’s miserable.”

  “Yeah,” Lilly said, connecting with the mare’s eyes. “Be right back,” she said. She jogged toward her Jeep. With her hands on a fence post, she put one booted foot on the top barbed wire, pressed down and jumped over. Getting back over the fence was slightly more difficult—her hands were full of food and drink. “Bottled water or apple juice?” she asked him.

  “You first,” he said. “I have a couple of warm colas in the truck.”

  She smirked and handed him the apple juice. “This is much better for you. And hold these, please.”

  “Nuts?” he asked.

  “Also good for you, as is the half sandwich.”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Be a big boy,” she said, and then thought, he is really such a big boy! But she kept her eyes cast down and opened the wrapping of her sandwich. She’d already cut it in half, thankfully. She put her water on the ground and traded with him—sandwich for bags of nuts. “Think she’ll let us sit down?” she asked.

  Clay dropped the rope and backed away. “Better give her space. She isn’t thinking about her human friends right now. She could drop on you and grind you right into the pasture.”

  Lilly followed him about ten feet away from the mare, then carefully sat. “I probably have a…a blanket or sleeping bag in the Jeep….” She still couldn’t admit to planning to sleep beside a sick horse she had no real connection to.

  “Yeah, me, too,” he said. “But the ground is dry enough.” Down he went, crossing his legs. “And so. We have a mushroom sandwich.”

  “One of my favorites,” she said. “What brought you to Nate’s practice?” With the question, she bit into hers.

  “I have family nearby. A married sister with a family in Grace Valley. And if you come from the mountains, the cold mountains at about seven thousand feet, Los Angeles County is a little low, hot and smoggy. Even out in the hills.”

  “Why don’t you just go back to Flagstaff?”

  “Because there’s no opportunity in Flagstaff. Do you know how many Northern Arizona U PhDs are waiting tables there because they just can’t make themselves leave? And God knows there aren’t any rich horse breeders looking for help on the reservation. Nah, this is pretty, around here, and close to family, and Nathaniel is good people and he’s offering me a terrific opportunity to help grow his business. How’d you end up here?” he asked. And then he bit into his sandwich. He chewed a bit, then winced and made a face.

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “How do you eat this?” he asked.

  “I like it,” she said, still laughing. “Give it to me. Eat nuts, that’ll hold you awhile.”

  “So?” he asked, passing the sandwich back.

  “So my grandma died and a few years later my grandpa heard through a friend that the feed company was for sale and he thought he could make it work. He’d always wanted his own business. And it was just him and me, so…”

  “Where are your parents?” he asked.

  “Anyone’s guess,” she answered, filling her mouth again.

  He let her chew. He piled nuts in his mouth while she worked on her mouthful. When she
had finally swallowed, he asked, “So, are you…?”

  “Grandpa and I moved here when I was thirteen and I think it was the right move,” she said, cutting off his next question. “Because I did well in school, made new friends, and although Yaz will never admit it, he’s making money on silage and hay.” She laughed and shook her head. “Don’t try to trick an old Hopi into telling you what he’s got in his pocket. He’s crafty.”

  Clay studied her for a moment, really wanting to know a lot more about her and fully aware she was keeping her answers impersonal. “I think maybe you’re crafty, too.”

  She smiled as though she had a secret. “I have been trained by the best.”

  She bit into her sandwich and the mare farted.

  “Well, that was nice,” Lilly said. “Very ladylike.”

  Clay laughed at her. “Music to my ears,” he said. He stood up. “I think she’ll be going in the trailer real soon. I think what you call that in veterinary medicine is progress.”

  Lilly hated the idea of ending the conversation even if it was getting a little close for comfort for her. “Shouldn’t you wait until you’re sure that blockage clears?”

  “As long as she’s not in pain and there’s progress, I’ll be more than happy to hose out the trailer when I’m back at the clinic.” He stood and went to the mare, took the lead rope and led her to the fence. He pulled a small wire cutter out of his back pocket and made fast work of the barbed-wire fence. Once cut, the wire sprang away and gave them an exit. Why worry about the pasture’s security now? The owners had clearly fled.

  But he turned toward Lilly. She cradled all her picnic stuff in her arms—nuts, remaining sandwich, bottles…. “That was so nice, Lilly,” he said. “So nice that you’d worry about the horse and come to be with her. And so nice that you’d share your meal with me.”

  “Even though it was a mushroom sandwich?” she asked.

  When he looked at her, his brows relaxed and his eyes seemed to darken. “Even though,” he said.

  Then he made clicking noises and said, “Come on, precious. Let’s get you outta here….” And he led her to the trailer.

  Three

  Colic, a term that covered a litany of equine intestinal disorders from a bowel obstruction to twisted intestines, was one of the most common and dangerous illnesses in horses. If diagnosed early, treated quickly and if it wasn’t the critical variety that required surgery, the prognosis was typically good.

  Clay delivered the mare to the Jensen stable and reported improved gut sounds and even a little excrement in the trailer, evidence that there was some digestive action and the blockage might clear. Luckily for him, he was able to wash up, sit down to some of Annie’s fantastic pot roast and visit with his friends before the worst of the horse’s recovery happened in the stall. When he returned to the stable, he could have sworn the mare was smiling.

  “Well,” he said. “Feeling better?” She saw him and whinnied. “Tender belly, I’ll bet. And Nathaniel’s records of his single visit to the Jerome house indicate your name is Blue Rhapsody. You’re a beauty. Must’ve half killed them to leave you behind.” Then he shook his head and muttered, “Things must’ve gotten real bad around the old homestead.”

  One anonymous phone call to Nathaniel Jensen’s answering machine stating that the horse was being abandoned might have seen a brighter immediate future for the mare. Nathaniel might not be in the rescue business, but he’d have tried his best to make arrangements.

  At 6:00 a.m. Clay turned her out in one of the small paddocks where she could see the Jensen horses. Then he went about the business of cleaning stalls. When he’d finished that, he went back to check on the mare. It shouldn’t have surprised him at all to find that Hopi girl leaning on the fence at the crack of dawn, watching her. He got rid of the rake and leaned on the rail beside her. “They call her Blue Rhapsody.”

  “Blue,” she said in a breath, keeping her eyes on the horse. “Perfect.” Then she turned toward him. “And she’s going to be all right?”

  “Unless there’s a chronic condition that hasn’t revealed itself,” he said with a shrug. “My instincts say you probably had it right—the owners left out feed, thinking they’d give her a better chance to survive and be found, and it did more harm than good.”

  “What will happen to her now?” Lilly asked.

  “If she proves healthy and sound, which I assume she will, we’ll make some calls and see if we can place her. She’s actually a valuable horse. They shouldn’t have left her. A black Arabian with those markings, gentle, bred a few times which means a proven uterus and she’s a good potential surrogate, twelve isn’t too old…”

  “I can’t imagine why they didn’t look for at least a few hundred dollars for her,” Lilly said.

  “Maybe they did,” Clay said. “Or maybe they came by the horse some other way—took her to help someone out, or she was a gift for the kids, or something like that—and they weren’t really aware of her potential value. They weren’t horse people. They just had Blue.”

  “Blue,” she repeated. “It suits her.”

  “She’s twelve and yet Nathaniel only made one visit to that farm a year ago. He didn’t know her. That means she’s not from around here. She has a story we don’t know.”

  They stood quietly and watched her in the paddock. She seemed peaceful and relaxed. “I should talk to Nathaniel about her,” Lilly said.

  “Oh?”

  “Will he want to sell her? Blue?”

  Clay frowned and shook his head. “He doesn’t own her, Lilly.”

  “I wonder if he’d give it a few days to see if I know anyone responsible who might want to take her….”

  “Oh?” Clay asked again.

  “I have friends. My grandpa has customers. People post animal sales on his bulletin board sometimes, so… I’d feel so much better if I knew she’d found a good home. Where she’d be appreciated—she’s such a nice horse. Didn’t you get a sense from her that she’s sweet-natured but has a wicked sense of humor, too?”

  Actually, he had gotten that from her, but since that sort of thing happened to him all the time he tended to take it for granted. Lilly’s blue eyes twinkled in anticipation, so Clay just said, “You have your few days, Lilly. Call your friends or customers. Consider the favor granted and I’ll talk to Nathaniel for you. He won’t be hard to convince.”

  “He won’t?”

  “He likes it when things work out for the best.” He felt an urge to lift her chin with one finger and look into those deep blue eyes for a long time. Maybe whisper to her; maybe even… “I’d better get back to work, Lilly. Stay as long as you like. I’ll be in the barn if you need anything.”

  Getting acclimated to Nathaniel’s practice was more than a full-time job for Clay, and as they didn’t have any hands at the moment, the daily stable chores were handled by Clay, Nathaniel and Annie. Since Clay’s main function would be assisting the practice and managing the barn, he’d have to bring on a hand or two right away, probably two hands for now—one full-time and one part-time. He’d have to talk over some ideas with Nathaniel later.

  With the troubled economy, it was a good time to grow the equine business; Nathaniel’s farm practice would keep them afloat. While some stables were struggling, some even closing, Jensen’s could grow slowly because it was not solely dependent on the horse business. Nathaniel said that he’d eventually bring on another vet to assist in the livestock practice and more hands to free up his time so he could concentrate on horses. But all that was in the future.

  Their new customer arrived the first afternoon Clay was on the job and they were all on hand to greet Magnum’s Winning Streak, known as Streak for short. He came from the National champion Magnum Psyche line; he was young, unproven, unbroke and undisciplined, but magnificent to look at. He was powerful and impressive, but there was something about him Clay just couldn’t put his finger on. The original owner had decided to let him go, sell him, rather than invest more money in him
, which was how Ginny Norton came to own him. He was truly beautiful; definitely irresistible.

  Ginny’s hired hand, Will Burry, expertly backed him out of the trailer and once he was free he immediately began to snort, dig at the ground and pull away with his tail propped in the air. Will tried to coo, soothe and move the horse to the round pen to turn him loose, but he was a handful and it took Will a while. Then he faced his gathering, pulled the hat off his head and wiped a sleeve across his brow. “I told Miss Norton, there’s more to this horse. I’ve seen plenty of unbroke animals, but he acts downright dangerous. Young fella doesn’t trust anyone or anything, and he’s got a lousy temper besides.”

  When Nathaniel had seen the horse a couple of days earlier in Ginny’s small backyard stable, he had asked her to let Will bring him over alone, give them a few days with the animal before any assessment was made. So Ginny was not here as they first observed him in his new surroundings. Inside the round pen, Streak ran in circles as if he had months’ worth of pent-up energy to burn off.

  While Nate and Annie spoke with Will, Clay leaned his forearms on the fence and watched the two-year-old work off some steam. People had many and varied reasons for selling a horse. Could be they took stock of their stable and decided to thin it out to make room for better investments; they could have decided putting more into this particular animal was throwing good money after bad and chose to cut their losses. Only time would tell with Streak, but he was too young to write off. As Clay watched him run, throw his head, snort, rear and dig at the ground, he found himself hoping it was something a little experience and intuition could resolve because the horse was so damn beautiful.

  He was chestnut in color, had four white stockings and a white blaze that ran down the bridge of his nose. He was big for a young Arabian—sixteen and a half hands at least, maybe thirteen hundred pounds. Willful, energetic, maybe a little crazy. For about the millionth time Clay was asking himself why some of God’s most amazing creatures were so difficult to harness. So much trouble to befriend. He just shook his head and laughed. The horse shook his head and snorted at Clay, then ran another lap.