Promise Canyon

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.

That horse needed to be let loose in the round pen for a few hours. He had a bad case of stable fever.

Clay heard Will’s pickup depart and then Nathaniel and Annie were flanking him. With all eyes on Streak, Nathaniel said, “Some days are better than others with this horse, Will says, but even brushing him is dangerous. When Will can get a harness on him, he’s fitful. When Ginny attempts to touch him, he shies. She’s afraid that even if they eventually saddle him, she’ll be thrown.”

“She should be afraid,” Clay said. “Look at him. He has some serious trust issues.” Clay turned to Nate. “I’ll try to catch him, put him in the stallion stall and feed him.”

“Want help?”

“Nah,” Clay said, smiling. “But I’m going to let him get good and tired before I try to catch him.”

Nate gave him a slap on the back and went back to his office.

By the time Clay got around to the horse, he was still skittish, but Clay had seen far worse. Streak had worked up a lather, but Clay wasn’t going to attempt any grooming; getting him acclimated was enough for today. Besides, just catching him was a huge accomplishment. They communed in silence, but all Clay was picking up was a nervous colt. He decided to work with him in the morning.

Once Streak was fed, settled in his stall and alone for the night, Clay’s mind moved on to other things. He hadn’t yet had a chance to get acquainted with Nate’s computerized records and if he was going to contribute to animal care and stable management, he’d have to be up to speed on that. Annie had offered him dinner again but Clay declined. He didn’t want to set a precedent of spending all his time off with them. Although he considered Nathaniel a friend, he was also a boss. So Clay made himself a couple of sandwiches in his room and worked on a list of things he’d like to accomplish his first week.

He eventually pulled a book out of his duffel. Clay liked to read about earth sciences—geography, geology, meteorology, ecology. He also liked astronomy and still packed in that horse trailer, due to the lack of room afforded by his current living quarters, was a state-of-the-art telescope. But when the book dropped into his lap and he lay reclined on his bed, his sleepy thoughts drifted toward the long-legged blonde he had been married to and he wondered if she was all right, if her loneliness and anxiety plagued her now that he was no longer there for her.

And then, inexplicably, he began to think about that little Hopi girl who was certainly in love with a horse …

He hadn’t been asleep long when his pleasant man-dreams shifted to oppressive darkness. He didn’t know whether he moved in his sleep, but in the dream he was thrashing around. He was looking up at a black, starless sky from a deep hole and his entire being was suffused with panic, his heart racing with fear. There was no way out; he used his hands to claw at the sides of the hole, but without success. He tried to yell for help, but no sound came out. And it seemed to go on for an intolerably long time.

When Clay’s eyes finally burst open, he was panting and drenched in sweat. His reading lamp was still on, of course. The darkness was all contained in the dream, not his surroundings. He had to work to slow his pulse and control his breathing. His immediate thought was, What the hell was that? He hadn’t had a nightmare in so long, he couldn’t remember the last time. He thought it might’ve been more than a dozen years ago, in his early twenties, when his life had been very unstable and his future impossible to envision.

Clay meditated briefly. It took only moments for him to calm his body and mind. He took a deep, cleansing breath. And then he heard a thump from the stable.

He rose from his bed, pulled on his boots and went to check things out. He walked down the aisle between the stalls and all seemed under control. Then he heard another thump, this time accompanied by a soft whinny.

Streak. Anxious in his new surroundings? He went to the stall and looked in. Streak was facing a corner, whinnying in his sleep and pawing the wall of the stall with one foreleg. The second Clay was near the colt, he felt his fear. He sensed the deep, dark, muddy hole; entrapment. It was dark and cold in the horse’s dream.

Not a good time to enter the stall, so he reached a hand in. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said very softly. “Easy now.” The horse’s head came up, turned and his large brown eyes took in Clay. He snorted and shook his head. In a few moments the horse calmed enough to wander over to the half door, close enough for Clay to stroke him. Alone and frightened, Streak was willing to take a chance and trust Clay. This was a huge bonding moment. Clay stroked him gently. “There now, young man,” he said. “Those weren’t sweet dreams, were they, boy?”

Clay only enjoyed the bonding for a short time, then closed the horse in and quietly walked away, leaving Streak feeling the trust and wanting more. Clay realized he’d been caught in the colt’s dream. He’d been trapped in a hole, afraid, left too long, traumatized. There had been many times he felt he’d picked up an animal’s thoughts, but he’d never had this kind of channeling experience before.

“That’s a first,” he said to himself.

He leaned against the wall out of Streak’s sight and waited for any more uproars in the stable. But it remained quiet for a long time, so Clay went to bed, this time turning off the lights. He rested comfortably through what remained of the night.

Clay tended all six horses in the early morning, turning out Nathaniel and Annie’s four horses into the big pasture and Blue into her own paddock. He kept Streak in the round pen for now; he wasn’t going to integrate the horses until he had time to observe and manage them. He wouldn’t be surprised if Streak caused trouble.

It wasn’t yet seven when he went to Nate and Annie’s back kitchen door. It was almost time for the practice to open for business; Nathaniel might have house calls to make first thing for all he knew. Clay needed to talk to him before he got too busy.

“Good morning,” Nate said, opening the door. “Coffee?”

“Sure. I want to talk to you about Streak before start of business.”