"Me, too," he said. "You do the feed delivery all the time?"
"Mondays and Thursdays," she said, lowering her gaze and quickly walking around him, back to the truck. She reached in after another bale, leaving only a couple of feed bags in the back.
He followed her. "Do you have a name?" he bluntly asked.
"Lilly," she said, pulling that bale toward her out of the truck bed. "Yazhi," she added with a grunt.
"You're Hopi?" he asked. His eyebrows rose. "A blue-eyed Hopi?"
She hesitated before answering. You had to have blue-eyed DNA on both sides to get more blue eyes. Lilly's father was unknown to her, but she'd always been told her mother had always believed herself to be one hundred percent Native. "About half, yes," she finally said, hefting the bale. "Where are you from?"
"Flagstaff," he answered.
"Navajo?" she asked.
He smiled lazily. "Yes, ma'am."
"We're historic enemies."
He smiled enthusiastically. "I've gotten over it," he said. "You still mad?"
She rolled her eyes and turned away, carrying her bale. Little Indian girl didn't want to play. Once again he couldn't help but notice the strain in her shoulders, the firm muscles under those jeans. "I don't pay attention to all that stuff," she said as she went into the barn.
Clay chuckled. He grabbed the last two bags of feed, stacked one on top of the other and threw them up on a shoulder, following her. When he caught up with her he asked, "Where do you want the feed?"
"Feed room, with the hay. When did you start here?"
"Actually, today. Have you been delivering feed long?"
"Part-time, a few years. I do it for my grandfather. He owns the feed business. He's an old Hopi man and doesn't like his business out of the family. Trouble is, there's not that much family."
Clay understood all of that, the thing about her people and family. First off, most people preferred their tribal designation when referred to, and family was everything; they were slow to trust anyone outside the race, the tribe, the family.
"Couple of old grandfathers in my family, also," he said by way of understanding. "You're good to help him."
"If I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it."
He began to notice pleasant things about her face. She wore her hair in a sleek, modern cut, short in the back and longer along her jaw. Her brows were beautifully shaped. Her blue eyes sparkled and her lips were glossy. She wasn't wearing makeup and her skin looked like tan butter. Soft and tender. She was beautiful. He guessed she was in her early twenties at most.
"And when you're not delivering feed on Tuesdays and Fridays?" he asked. "What do you do then?"
"Mondays and Thursdays," she corrected. "Pay attention. I work in the feed store."
"Bagging feed?" he asked, his eyebrows lifted curiously.
She put her hands on her hips. "I do the books. Accounts payable and receivable."
"Ah. Married?"
"Listen--"
"Lilly! How's it going?" Nate yelled out, approaching from the house, followed by three trotting border collies. "I didn't hear you pull up. I see you met Clay, my new assistant."
"Assistant?" she asked.
"Tech, farrier, jack of all horse trades," Nate clarified. "While we're getting business up, Clay can function in a lot of roles."
"Has Virginia actually cleared out? Gone?" Lilly asked.
"Once Clay was en route, she made good on her threats and retired. She's spending more time with her husband and the grandkids. I'll be adding too many new requirements to the equine operation and she really wasn't up for that. I've known Clay for a long time. He has a good reputation in the horse industry. We worked together years ago in Los Angeles County."
"I just saw her a few days ago. I didn't realize she was that close to her last day. Actually, I thought it would be months," Lilly said.
"So did we, Virginia and I. But I was lucky enough to get Clay up here from L.A. in a matter of days. As soon as he said yes to the job, Virginia said, 'Thank God,' and headed for home. She offered to come back to help or do some job training if Clay needed it, but she's ready for a little time on her own. She's been talking retirement for at least a couple of years now but until I found Annie, she wouldn't leave me alone on the property. She thought I'd mess up the practice." Nate shook his head in silent laughter.
"You'll miss her," Lilly said.
"I know where to find her if I miss her, and so do you! Drop in on her sometime. She promises regular cookies for the clinic."
"I'll do that. I'll make it a point. Let me get your vitamin supplements," she said, turning to pull a very large plastic jar out of the truck bed. She handed it off to Nate and then fetched her clipboard from the cab so he could sign off on the feed.
"I'm taking delivery on a horse in a couple of days, Lilly. An Arabian. He's coming for boarding and training, though I think the owner is going to need more training than the horse. Increase the feed for my next order, please. And tell your grandfather I said hello."
"Absolutely. See you later," she said, jumping in her truck to head out.
When the truck had cleared the drive, Clay asked, "Is she always in and out of here that fast?"
"She's pretty efficient. She's always on schedule. Her grandpa Yaz counts on her. I don't know if there's other family. As far as I know, Lilly is the only other Yahzi who works in the business."
"There's a new horse coming?" Clay asked. "What's that about?"
"Last-minute deal," Nathaniel said. "A woman who doesn't know much about horses but has an unfortunate excess of money bought herself an expensive Arabian from a good line, learned about enough to keep him alive but can't get near him. Her stable hand can barely get a halter on him and saddling him is out of the question. If they can get him in the trailer, the hand is going to bring him over here to board so we can work with him. The owner wants to ride him, but if that doesn't work out she's thinking of selling him to replace him with a gentler horse. She thinks the horse is defective."
Clay lifted a brow. "Gelding?"
"Oh, no," Nate said with a laugh. "Two-year-old stud colt from the national champion Magnum Psyche bloodlines. I had a look at him--he'd be too much horse for a lot of people."
"She bought herself a young stallion?" Clay asked, then whistled.
Nate slapped a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Did I mention I'm glad you're here?"
"I haven't unpacked and you have a special project for me," he said, trying to disguise his pleasure.
Nathaniel grinned. "You don't fool me. You were a little afraid of being bored and now you're relieved that there's a difficult horse coming. It's written all over your face. Come on--Annie made pot roast. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."
Two
Lilly was a bit shaken as she drove away from the Jensen stable. The new assistant was drop-dead gorgeous and totally flirting with her. He didn't have to carry two fifty-pound sacks of feed at a time into the feed room! A show-off, trying to impress her with his strength, his bulging arms, as if that would make her life worth living.
Well, he was in for a few surprises if he wanted to get a rise out of her. First of all, she'd grown up around a lot of Native males and had them all figured out. Many of them developed self-esteem issues in adolescence, stemming from the discrimination they faced, and it seemed one of the best ways they could feel better about themselves was by reeling in a girl. That pumped 'em right up, got their testosterone flowing, kicked their confidence into gear. Well, she'd been reeled in, cruelly dumped and survived it; she wasn't going there again!
And most of them, at least the ones she had known, had old-fashioned ideas about calling all the shots. From the time they glanced down and noticed they were males, they assumed the dominant role. Well, Lilly had enough on her plate with a grandfather who liked running things. That was one of many reasons she stayed away from other Native men. She was capable of taking care of herself and not at all afraid of being a woman on her own. In fact, she rather liked it.
Then there was that whole Hopi/Navajo thing; their tribal traditions and customs. Tons of it was ingrained in her as her grandfather never let it go. She never tried to deny her connection to the Native community, but she'd been trying to get some distance from all of that for a long time. She felt she could be a proud Hopi woman without being constantly steeped in all the old tribal stuff. After all she was also French, German, Polish and Irish--or so her mother had told her grandfather. She never did give Lilly's father's name, but she knew his heritage.
Lilly's mother, only a teenager herself when Lilly was born, had left her to be raised by her grandparents. She ran off, no one knew where. Friends from the Hopi reservation had heard that Lilly's mother died, but had no proof or details. But Lilly and her grandparents had never heard from her again, and neither of them had bothered trying to find any more information about her.
Her grandfather was a strong, formidable man. When her grandmother was alive, he'd treated her as if she were made of solid gold, but Grandma still let him make all the decisions. Lilly was not looking for one of those old-world tribal relationships either--one of the reasons that when she did date, which was rare, she stuck to the beige race and avoided those too-hot-to-handle Native men.
She'd been in love with a Navajo once. She had been a mere child of thirteen and he'd been eighteen. He'd pressed every button she had--he was a temptation so powerful she had defied her grandfather to be with him. But she'd gotten much more than she could handle. And when their relationship had met its tragic end, she swore she'd never be tempted by another like him. Never.
No doubt that was why the sudden appearance of Clay shook her. He was at least equal in handsomeness to that long-ago boy who had devastated her. No, not equal. Clay might have been the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Huge. Powerful. Exotic.
Lilly drove the pickup around yet another curve en route back to the feed warehouse when she came upon something that caught her attention--a black mound in the grass on the other side of a poorly maintained barbed wire fence. A horse, lying on the ground. It was not an altogether unusual sight, but Lilly slowed. As she neared, she kept sensing that something was not right about this. Then she saw the horse thrashing on the ground.
When Lilly and her grandparents had lived back on the Hopi reservation, she'd been around her neighbor's horses a great deal, and had done a lot of riding as a young girl. But since Lilly and her grandfather had moved to California when Lilly was thirteen she'd been around feed more often than the animals that ate it. Her grandfather had bought the feed and grain business, but he didn't keep any livestock. She rode rarely now, and only in the last couple of years, but she still remembered a lot about horses.
She pulled onto the shoulder and watched the horse. The mare jolted suddenly, rolled a bit, then stood and attempted to stretch out, curling her lip and pawing at the ground with her front hooves and kicking with her hind. Then down she went again.
Shit, Lilly thought. That horse was sick. Very sick. The only house in sight was on the wrong side of the road, but maybe someone there could direct her to the owners of this pasture, this horse. She went to the house, and an unshaven man in a T-shirt answered the door. He didn't know the name of the horse's owner, but he knew where it came from. He gave her directions up the road to the next turnoff and another quarter mile to an old farmhouse and barn. She went quickly, and what she found there stunned and confused her.
"Mondays and Thursdays," she said, lowering her gaze and quickly walking around him, back to the truck. She reached in after another bale, leaving only a couple of feed bags in the back.
He followed her. "Do you have a name?" he bluntly asked.
"Lilly," she said, pulling that bale toward her out of the truck bed. "Yazhi," she added with a grunt.
"You're Hopi?" he asked. His eyebrows rose. "A blue-eyed Hopi?"
She hesitated before answering. You had to have blue-eyed DNA on both sides to get more blue eyes. Lilly's father was unknown to her, but she'd always been told her mother had always believed herself to be one hundred percent Native. "About half, yes," she finally said, hefting the bale. "Where are you from?"
"Flagstaff," he answered.
"Navajo?" she asked.
He smiled lazily. "Yes, ma'am."
"We're historic enemies."
He smiled enthusiastically. "I've gotten over it," he said. "You still mad?"
She rolled her eyes and turned away, carrying her bale. Little Indian girl didn't want to play. Once again he couldn't help but notice the strain in her shoulders, the firm muscles under those jeans. "I don't pay attention to all that stuff," she said as she went into the barn.
Clay chuckled. He grabbed the last two bags of feed, stacked one on top of the other and threw them up on a shoulder, following her. When he caught up with her he asked, "Where do you want the feed?"
"Feed room, with the hay. When did you start here?"
"Actually, today. Have you been delivering feed long?"
"Part-time, a few years. I do it for my grandfather. He owns the feed business. He's an old Hopi man and doesn't like his business out of the family. Trouble is, there's not that much family."
Clay understood all of that, the thing about her people and family. First off, most people preferred their tribal designation when referred to, and family was everything; they were slow to trust anyone outside the race, the tribe, the family.
"Couple of old grandfathers in my family, also," he said by way of understanding. "You're good to help him."
"If I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it."
He began to notice pleasant things about her face. She wore her hair in a sleek, modern cut, short in the back and longer along her jaw. Her brows were beautifully shaped. Her blue eyes sparkled and her lips were glossy. She wasn't wearing makeup and her skin looked like tan butter. Soft and tender. She was beautiful. He guessed she was in her early twenties at most.
"And when you're not delivering feed on Tuesdays and Fridays?" he asked. "What do you do then?"
"Mondays and Thursdays," she corrected. "Pay attention. I work in the feed store."
"Bagging feed?" he asked, his eyebrows lifted curiously.
She put her hands on her hips. "I do the books. Accounts payable and receivable."
"Ah. Married?"
"Listen--"
"Lilly! How's it going?" Nate yelled out, approaching from the house, followed by three trotting border collies. "I didn't hear you pull up. I see you met Clay, my new assistant."
"Assistant?" she asked.
"Tech, farrier, jack of all horse trades," Nate clarified. "While we're getting business up, Clay can function in a lot of roles."
"Has Virginia actually cleared out? Gone?" Lilly asked.
"Once Clay was en route, she made good on her threats and retired. She's spending more time with her husband and the grandkids. I'll be adding too many new requirements to the equine operation and she really wasn't up for that. I've known Clay for a long time. He has a good reputation in the horse industry. We worked together years ago in Los Angeles County."
"I just saw her a few days ago. I didn't realize she was that close to her last day. Actually, I thought it would be months," Lilly said.
"So did we, Virginia and I. But I was lucky enough to get Clay up here from L.A. in a matter of days. As soon as he said yes to the job, Virginia said, 'Thank God,' and headed for home. She offered to come back to help or do some job training if Clay needed it, but she's ready for a little time on her own. She's been talking retirement for at least a couple of years now but until I found Annie, she wouldn't leave me alone on the property. She thought I'd mess up the practice." Nate shook his head in silent laughter.
"You'll miss her," Lilly said.
"I know where to find her if I miss her, and so do you! Drop in on her sometime. She promises regular cookies for the clinic."
"I'll do that. I'll make it a point. Let me get your vitamin supplements," she said, turning to pull a very large plastic jar out of the truck bed. She handed it off to Nate and then fetched her clipboard from the cab so he could sign off on the feed.
"I'm taking delivery on a horse in a couple of days, Lilly. An Arabian. He's coming for boarding and training, though I think the owner is going to need more training than the horse. Increase the feed for my next order, please. And tell your grandfather I said hello."
"Absolutely. See you later," she said, jumping in her truck to head out.
When the truck had cleared the drive, Clay asked, "Is she always in and out of here that fast?"
"She's pretty efficient. She's always on schedule. Her grandpa Yaz counts on her. I don't know if there's other family. As far as I know, Lilly is the only other Yahzi who works in the business."
"There's a new horse coming?" Clay asked. "What's that about?"
"Last-minute deal," Nathaniel said. "A woman who doesn't know much about horses but has an unfortunate excess of money bought herself an expensive Arabian from a good line, learned about enough to keep him alive but can't get near him. Her stable hand can barely get a halter on him and saddling him is out of the question. If they can get him in the trailer, the hand is going to bring him over here to board so we can work with him. The owner wants to ride him, but if that doesn't work out she's thinking of selling him to replace him with a gentler horse. She thinks the horse is defective."
Clay lifted a brow. "Gelding?"
"Oh, no," Nate said with a laugh. "Two-year-old stud colt from the national champion Magnum Psyche bloodlines. I had a look at him--he'd be too much horse for a lot of people."
"She bought herself a young stallion?" Clay asked, then whistled.
Nate slapped a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Did I mention I'm glad you're here?"
"I haven't unpacked and you have a special project for me," he said, trying to disguise his pleasure.
Nathaniel grinned. "You don't fool me. You were a little afraid of being bored and now you're relieved that there's a difficult horse coming. It's written all over your face. Come on--Annie made pot roast. You'll think you've died and gone to heaven."
Two
Lilly was a bit shaken as she drove away from the Jensen stable. The new assistant was drop-dead gorgeous and totally flirting with her. He didn't have to carry two fifty-pound sacks of feed at a time into the feed room! A show-off, trying to impress her with his strength, his bulging arms, as if that would make her life worth living.
Well, he was in for a few surprises if he wanted to get a rise out of her. First of all, she'd grown up around a lot of Native males and had them all figured out. Many of them developed self-esteem issues in adolescence, stemming from the discrimination they faced, and it seemed one of the best ways they could feel better about themselves was by reeling in a girl. That pumped 'em right up, got their testosterone flowing, kicked their confidence into gear. Well, she'd been reeled in, cruelly dumped and survived it; she wasn't going there again!
And most of them, at least the ones she had known, had old-fashioned ideas about calling all the shots. From the time they glanced down and noticed they were males, they assumed the dominant role. Well, Lilly had enough on her plate with a grandfather who liked running things. That was one of many reasons she stayed away from other Native men. She was capable of taking care of herself and not at all afraid of being a woman on her own. In fact, she rather liked it.
Then there was that whole Hopi/Navajo thing; their tribal traditions and customs. Tons of it was ingrained in her as her grandfather never let it go. She never tried to deny her connection to the Native community, but she'd been trying to get some distance from all of that for a long time. She felt she could be a proud Hopi woman without being constantly steeped in all the old tribal stuff. After all she was also French, German, Polish and Irish--or so her mother had told her grandfather. She never did give Lilly's father's name, but she knew his heritage.
Lilly's mother, only a teenager herself when Lilly was born, had left her to be raised by her grandparents. She ran off, no one knew where. Friends from the Hopi reservation had heard that Lilly's mother died, but had no proof or details. But Lilly and her grandparents had never heard from her again, and neither of them had bothered trying to find any more information about her.
Her grandfather was a strong, formidable man. When her grandmother was alive, he'd treated her as if she were made of solid gold, but Grandma still let him make all the decisions. Lilly was not looking for one of those old-world tribal relationships either--one of the reasons that when she did date, which was rare, she stuck to the beige race and avoided those too-hot-to-handle Native men.
She'd been in love with a Navajo once. She had been a mere child of thirteen and he'd been eighteen. He'd pressed every button she had--he was a temptation so powerful she had defied her grandfather to be with him. But she'd gotten much more than she could handle. And when their relationship had met its tragic end, she swore she'd never be tempted by another like him. Never.
No doubt that was why the sudden appearance of Clay shook her. He was at least equal in handsomeness to that long-ago boy who had devastated her. No, not equal. Clay might have been the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Huge. Powerful. Exotic.
Lilly drove the pickup around yet another curve en route back to the feed warehouse when she came upon something that caught her attention--a black mound in the grass on the other side of a poorly maintained barbed wire fence. A horse, lying on the ground. It was not an altogether unusual sight, but Lilly slowed. As she neared, she kept sensing that something was not right about this. Then she saw the horse thrashing on the ground.
When Lilly and her grandparents had lived back on the Hopi reservation, she'd been around her neighbor's horses a great deal, and had done a lot of riding as a young girl. But since Lilly and her grandfather had moved to California when Lilly was thirteen she'd been around feed more often than the animals that ate it. Her grandfather had bought the feed and grain business, but he didn't keep any livestock. She rode rarely now, and only in the last couple of years, but she still remembered a lot about horses.
She pulled onto the shoulder and watched the horse. The mare jolted suddenly, rolled a bit, then stood and attempted to stretch out, curling her lip and pawing at the ground with her front hooves and kicking with her hind. Then down she went again.
Shit, Lilly thought. That horse was sick. Very sick. The only house in sight was on the wrong side of the road, but maybe someone there could direct her to the owners of this pasture, this horse. She went to the house, and an unshaven man in a T-shirt answered the door. He didn't know the name of the horse's owner, but he knew where it came from. He gave her directions up the road to the next turnoff and another quarter mile to an old farmhouse and barn. She went quickly, and what she found there stunned and confused her.
