by Robyn Carr
“Did I mention you could use counseling?”
“About a thousand times,” she said.
“Okay then. Want to catch a movie Friday night?” he asked.
“That would be cool,” she said. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Four
Clay Tahoma was honest to a fault and hated to mislead anyone, but when the future of a fine horse was at stake, he was willing to go there. If something wasn’t done about Streak, he could wind up being put out to pasture, gelded, maybe even put down. Unless he could compete, race, breed or function as a family pet, his future wouldn’t be too bright.
Once Clay had the name of the previous owner’s trainer, he realized he knew him. They hadn’t been close, but Clay had met Joshua Bledsoe on several occasions. He called him at once and was direct; he explained they were boarding and training the colt for the new owner. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me the rehab or training techniques you used on Streak following the accident,” Clay said.
“Accident?” Josh answered.
“Yes. Before we got him. There doesn’t seem to be any physical problem—it’s all emotional. But if I know what you did, I won’t cover the same ground. I think he’s salvageable. In fact, I’m sure of it. While we’re on the subject, I could use more details about the accident.”
“Details about the accident?” Joshua repeated.
“Just get me up to speed—how deep was the pit or hole, how long was he trapped and how’d he end up in it—I can’t imagine someone rode him into it. Then tell me what you did after the rescue to get him back in shape. I don’t want to plow the same field twice, if you get my drift.”
In fact, the accident had been no one’s fault—turned out it was a barn fire. Streak had been very young, and when the owners released the animals from the burning barn, a few of them, including Streak’s mother, wouldn’t come out and died before the blaze was under control. Streak got out of the pasture he’d escaped to and in the dark he ran down a nearby road that was under construction, slid on loose gravel and into a pit. He couldn’t get out. By the time stable hands rescued him, using a lift, he was half out of his mind.
As Clay already knew, there was no evidence the horse was physically injured from his mishap, but the fall, the isolation, the separation from his mother, the frustration with trying to find a way out, the lift rescue—or the combination of all these events—had traumatized him.
Clay told the colt, “We’ll start at the beginning, young man—just a little walking around with the harness and lead rope until you get more comfortable.”
And the horse said to Clay, I can’t forget!
As he stroked the horse, Clay thought, Good. Don’t forget. Remembering will keep you sharp and safe.
This was the part that made sense only to Clay—he didn’t hear the voice of the horse, he felt it. When he was sending a mental message to the animal, sometimes the horse seemed to receive it and they were both on the same page. How do you explain something like that? How do you explain getting drawn into an animal’s dream?
In just a week, they had come a long way.
The next time Lilly came by with her delivery, Clay wanted to go help her haul the hay and feed, but the horse felt it and pulled him back. Sorry, Clay thought. I don’t usually get distracted. Let’s just do our job. And he focused again. He pushed the pretty Hopi out of his mind as he slowly led Streak around, creating comforting images in his mind and murmuring soothing sounds and words.
When they were finished, he removed the lead and set the horse free for a little exercise. When he turned he was pleased to see Lilly was still there. She leaned her forearms on the rail and watched him, her booted foot resting on the bottom rail.
Clay walked over to her, detached lead in hand, while the horse romped behind him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you unload today,” he said as he neared.
She shrugged. “I told you before, I can handle it. It’s my job.” She jutted her chin toward Streak. “He’s amazing.”
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” A thought emerged in his mind—how wonderful she would look astride a large chestnut creature like Streak—but he stopped the thought at once. The downside to letting a young horse into your head—you could accidentally send a message you didn’t intend.
“He seems to have calmed down a lot in a week, but he’s still…wild and crazy. But he likes you.”
“He comes from a champion line, but he was traumatized by an accident when he was young. Anxiousness in combination with strength can be lethal. So we’re going back in time, returning to his early training. And going slow.”
“Does he get that? That you’re starting from the beginning?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Clay said. “He’s cooperating for the moment. If I could, I’d regress him to the womb.” Then he smiled and said, “You hung around again.”
“I saw you working the horse and just wanted to look at him. And I like to check on Blue. That’s all.”
“She’s in fine shape. How long since you’ve ridden?”
She shrugged. “I bet it’s been six months. I rode almost every day as a young girl.”
He grinned at her. “You’re still a young girl,” he said.
“Really, I’m not that into riding. Just occasionally. If Annie wants someone to ride with.” And then she thought about what a huge lie that was. She’d revised her budget a hundred times to see how she could squeeze three hundred a month out of it. It didn’t look possible and she was just saving face. Oh, her pride! How it plagued her.
Clay glanced over his shoulder at Streak. “I have to work things out with that horse. He’s too damn valuable and good-looking to lose.”
“How would you lose him?” she asked.
“Well, if he can’t be ridden, if he can’t compete, he can’t work. If he can’t be ridden, no rider will want him, and if he’s got a personality disorder and can’t be trained, he shouldn’t be bred. A breeder with half a brain wouldn’t buy his sperm. Can’t breed him just for his good looks.”
“The animal kingdom is so civilized that way,” she said under her breath.
He shot her a look and laughed outright. “Completely.” He put a booted foot on the lowest rung of the fence and hoisted himself over to her side, facing the pen. “I shouldn’t take a chance like that, showing him my back.” He leaned on the fence along with her and watched Streak run back and forth. “Just because he’s cutting me some slack doesn’t mean he can be trusted. He’s got a short fuse and it doesn’t take much to ignite it.”
“Why is he like that? All high-strung and cranky.”
“Could be many things,” Clay said with a shrug. “I do know he had that accident—fell in a ditch and wasn’t rescued for a long time. Hours. I think he almost drove himself crazy trying to find a way out, and then had to be pulled out mechanically. You can’t hoist a colt up in the air in the dark of night and not expect repercussions. He’s screwed up, that’s all. So how’s that make him so different from the rest of us? He just needs understanding.”
“That’s all it takes? Understanding?”
“A little experience with horses doesn’t hurt. It’s horses like him that make me want to do my best. He’s big, smart enough to learn, to bond with and work through his fears. Right now he’s hard to handle, but if he ever gets under control, he’s got unimaginable power and grace. Sixteen and a half hands at two years—tall for an Arabian. Not mellow. But there are lots of things an edgy stallion can get done that a mellow horse just isn’t good for. Just like the rest of us, they come prepackaged with their very individual DNA.”
She didn’t respond to that. Eventually he turned toward her. “Who taught you to ride?” he asked.
“My grandfather and neighbors on the reservation. We were right next door to a big ranch and were friends with the owners till I was thirteen, when we moved away.”
Streak stopped running back and forth and began making wide, slow circles inside the corral. As he edged closer to the
fence, Lilly made a clicking and humming sound, reaching a hand into the corral. Clay just watched curiously. Streak was looking at him expectantly, something he’d just begun to do in the past couple of days. It wasn’t quick, but on the fourth or fifth wide circle, the horse slowed dramatically. He tossed his head, dug at the ground a couple of times, then walked right up to Lilly.
Very softly, under his breath, Clay whispered, “No way…”
“Just a baby under all that temper and fuss,” she said gently, stroking his face, his neck. “Someone knows he’s pretty, that’s what. Never a good thing for a man—you’ll learn that. The women take to you at first, but they figure you out fast and then you’re on your own again. Shhhh, too handsome for your own good. A bit too strong. Go slowly, little man.”
Clay momentarily wondered, Who is she talking to? Him or me?
“There’s nothing much wrong with this horse except he isn’t comfortable with his own strength. He needs the right hand—gentle control. He needs a mommy who can handle him.”
“I thought he needed a good trainer….”
“Well, yeah,” she said, stroking the white blaze that ran down the bridge of his nose. “But like most pretty boys, he’s full of himself and he’s going to need a well-trained rider. He’d prefer to run free and not be handled. He is filled with the spirit of youth.”
He stared at her in some wonder. “How do you know this, Lilly?”
She turned back to the horse’s eyes. “Who says I know? It’s my opinion and I could be totally off. He’s a toddler. A thousand pounds of terrible two. He needs a good mother, that’s all. A strong mother with lots of love and an iron will. Is there any chance he was removed from his mother too soon?”
Clay was stunned and couldn’t answer for a moment. “There’s a chance of that, yes,” he finally said.
“Ah. See, we never allowed that on the reservation.” She flashed Clay a smile that transformed her whole face. He was struck by how truly beautiful she was. “But you will do fine. You’ll do it ta-bilh.” Together.
Surprise widened his eyes. “Niik’eh,” he agreed in his Native language. Sure enough.
“I have to go now,” she told him. She gave the horse one more stroke. “Behave,” she warned him.
“Wait a minute,” Clay said as she turned. “I think we should do something. Break bread, get to know each other. We can find out if we have any friends in common.” The Hopi Reservation was completely surrounded by the Navajo Nation and she had just spoken in Navajo.
She shook her head. She was not getting any more entangled with him; he scared her to death! “Thank you, but no, I couldn’t do that. I have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, but how much of a boyfriend?”
She laughed out loud, her face lighting up. “Enough of a boyfriend,” she said.
She had almost made it to the truck when he called to her back, “So bring him. I’d like to meet him.”
She turned back and her laughter was amused. “I don’t think so, but it’s very nice of you to include him,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Well, maybe he won’t last. He probably doesn’t deserve you anyway. Besides, I just want to hear you talk about horses—the one who’s a little boy, the one with the wicked sense of humor. You know what I mean. I won’t get in the way.”
“Yes, you will,” she said, smiling and getting into the truck. You already are, she thought.
She drove away from the stable and he watched until she was nothing but a faint cloud of dust. Then he turned back to Streak. He gave the horse a gentle stroke. “I have a feeling you just let another person into your head. You cheated on me, you mangy beast.” The horse tossed his head arrogantly. “Thousand-pound terrible two—she’s right. Were you talking to her? Were you?” The horse turned his head away, looking in the other direction. “Yeah, you were. Totally cheated on me. Well, if you’ve got some influence there, why don’t you make yourself useful for once and tell her she should go out with me?”
The horse looked back at him and they locked eyes, holding for a minute. Then the horse backed away, snorted and resumed trotting in wide circles around the round pen, expecting Clay to catch him if he wanted to bring him in.
After a week at the stable, Clay drove over to Grace Valley to have dinner with his sister and her family. Ursula was six years older than Clay and despite the fact she’d often been tasked with minding him when they were growing up, and he was admittedly a handful, they’d remained close. Clay wholly approved of the mate she’d chosen—Tom Toopeek, the Grace Valley police chief. Tom was Cherokee, and Clay had no trouble accepting him as a brother.
Ursula was living a life similar to the one in which they grew up. It was a busy life, full of work and family, and Clay could see it brought her great satisfaction. Tom and Ursula built their house on the land homesteaded by Tom’s parents, Lincoln and Philana, who still lived there, their original cabin attached to the end of Tom and Ursula’s newer, larger construction. With five children and Tom’s parents, Ursula’s was always a full house even with their oldest away at college. They had their meals at a roughly hewn oak dining table that could easily seat twelve; the evening meal came after homework was cleared away from that same table. Ursula was a schoolteacher. She paid very close attention to the kids’ studies.
Clay and Ursula didn’t have any other siblings, but they grew up in a family compound with their aunts, uncles and cousins. Even though there were only the four of them in the immediate Tahoma family, their dinner table, like Ursula’s, had been large enough to seat many more. Whether there were big family dinners at Clay’s house or at one of his extended family’s homes, they were always surrounded by good food, good smells and people—babies, children, teens and young adults as well as parents and grandparents.
Yet for all the people around the Toopeek house, there was hardly ever mess or chaos, which also resembled the old Tahoma home. The Cherokee and the Navajo had similar expectations of their offspring, and Tom’s parents were also enforcers on Tom and Ursula’s kids. Not that the kids were unreasonably subdued—there was lots of time for running wild in the forests and valleys; there was plentiful laughter and normal arguing.
And when their uncle Clay arrived, there were fits of excitement.
He couldn’t explain why they received him with such enthusiasm. Besides putting them on a horse when they visited him or when they all visited their Tahoma grandparents, he didn’t feel that he did enough to charm them. But they ran to him when he arrived. He could still lift his ten-year-old niece, Shannon. He hated to even think about the day, which was fast approaching, that he wouldn’t be allowed to do that. She was the baby and Ursula said the last one. Clay had fully enjoyed Ursula and Tom’s children.
A surprise awaited Clay at this visit—his brother-in-law had cut off his long, traditional ponytail, which had been pretty much identical to Clay’s. Tom had short black hair now, cut in a buzz.
“You look like a marine,” Clay said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a brief man-hug.
“You’ll get used to it,” Tom said. “My wife isn’t happy about it yet, but she’ll adjust.”
And then Ursula was there, reaching to pull him into a hug of her own. “I’m still so happy you’re here, I can’t quite believe it’s true.” She kissed his cheek. “I hope this works out for you the way you want it to, Clay. Because having you near is perfect for my family. I want to make it perfect for you, too.”
“You do that every time you welcome me to dinner.”
He was dragged outside by the younger boys to assess the progress they’d made on a tree fort, then he was pulled into Shannon’s room to look at all the As she’d gotten on her papers. Only his oldest niece, Tanya, was missing from the family. She was on a full-ride scholarship at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, near her maternal grandparents and the rest of the extended Tahoma family, while eighteen-year-old Johnny attended a local college and lived at home. Tanya went to school year-round—a
difficult three-year premed program that didn’t appear to give her much difficulty. Tanya was beautiful and brilliant and, if you could trust a twenty-year-old’s ambitions, wanted a future in medical research. “She’s in love with the microscope,” Tom said. “Which suits me fine—exactly where I want her passion to be focused.”
“Tom has a very good memory about when we met and fell in love,” Ursula said with a laugh. “It scares him to death.”
There were many hands to serve the table—Ursula had help from her mother-in-law and the children. Lincoln Toopeek reminded Clay of his father—quiet and stoic, but that stern silence shouldn’t be taken for granted. Clay knew that Lincoln could make himself heard, make his presence known, just like the elder Tahoma. And then he noticed that when Lincoln Toopeek sat beside his youngest granddaughter, Shannon, and helped her serve her plate, all the harsh lines on his face smoothed and there was such an expression of peace there. Peace and love.
The food at Ursula’s table was so abundant and delicious, Clay was surprised that nobody at the table was fat. There was a thick vegetable soup, then roasted chickens rubbed in some oils and herbs that almost made him drool. A potato-and-cheese casserole with crumbled bacon on top, roasted vegetables—seasoned peppers, onions, asparagus, sliced baby yellow squash. Fresh, sweet bread.
“Ah! If you all keep feeding me this way, I’m going to have to start exercising all the time!”
“Didn’t you eat well in Los Angeles County?” Ursula asked.
“On my own, it was only what I could throw together quickly, and I’m very lazy. When Isabel invited me to dinner, her cook served tiny bites of funny-looking food because Isabel worried constantly about her weight. So the answer is no—I did not eat well!”
There was a moment of silence before Ursula said, “How is Isabel, Clay?”
He trained his voice to sincerity. “She’s just fine, Ursula. Her life has hardly changed. She was the one who needed a divorce. The marriage wasn’t working for her. I understood perfectly.”
