Promise Canyon by Robyn Carr Page B

hadn’t realized she’d been longing to hear a man breathe that in her ear. That was nice.
     
    “Your girlfriend is here,” Clay said to the horse as he slipped the bit in his mouth and bridle over his head. “Would be nice if you showed her you’re somewhat domesticated. She could be proud of you. How about that?”
    She’s so young, he thought. It wasn’t like him to be attracted to a mere girl, a girl who looked more suitedto his son, but he couldn’t help how he felt. He thought about her when she wasn’t around, and when she was around his heart picked up speed and he felt warm all over. She was just so damn cute in her torn jeans and denim jacket. She had herself some fine-looking boots—eel skin, if he wasn’t mistaken. She pretended not to care all that much about riding, but she was clearly attached to the horses and those boots were too nice for just delivering feed.
    And when he wasn’t thinking about how cute she was, he was breathing heavy at how hot she was. Tiny, fit, sexy. That silky black hair, cut along her jawline and swinging with each movement, he could almost feel it against his fingers, against his bare chest. Her eyes were so large and blue and he had an overwhelming urge to cause them to roll back in her head.
    But the last thing he needed right now was trouble from some ancient Hopi grandfather. The old man would probably not relish the idea of his very young granddaughter messing with a thirty-four-year-old Navajo. Not that he really stood a chance…there was a boyfriend in the picture. Some young buck? he wondered. Someone the grandfather would prefer? Someone the grandfather chose?
    He tried to force all this from his mind as he led Streak from his stall. There was a blanket already draped over the gate rail. He led the horse to the far side of the corral, draped the blanket over his back and one last thought slipped through, directed at Streak. Maybe you could try to not make me look like a fool.
    He put a right foot on the middle rung of the fence, threw the left leg over and sat on Streak’s back. Clay stroked his neck and murmured in Navajo that all waswell. And the horse seemed fine. Still. He didn’t even prance. Clay was impressed and leaned down to his ear. “Yeah, not so bad. You’re plenty strong enough for a big guy like me.” Then he let up on the reins, gave the horse a gentle nudge with his heel and moved him forward. He pulled left on the bit and the horse followed. Then right. Then slowed him to a stop. “You’re showing off,” he whispered to the horse. “You get an A.”
    Clay took the horse around the pen again, nice and easy, pleased as much with himself as with Streak because timing was everything. He brought him up to an easy canter and took a couple of laps, then slowed him down.
    Lilly had moved from her position behind the fence to a seat on top of the uppermost rail. She lifted her hand, beckoned, kissed the air and hummed, and damned if Streak didn’t turn toward her. Clay relaxed his control of the reins; he wanted to see what the horse would do. Streak moved toward her. When he was near enough, he let Lilly touch him without pulling him away.
    “Be careful, Lilly,” Clay warned. “This guy is unpredictable.”
    “So you say,” she said softly. “Let me have a turn. Come on.”
    “You’re not serious…. I haven’t even seen you on a horse yet.”
    “You’re about to. Off,” she demanded. “He’d rather have me anyway.”
    “I can’t take that kind of chance. I—”
    “I’ve been on unbroke colts before,” she said. “It’s been a long time, but I know what I’m doing.”
    “You could land on your ass, break your back.”
    “I’m not going to let him do that,” she said. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want to do that to me?”
    “Bad idea,” he muttered to himself. “Bad, bad, bad idea,” he said while he dismounted.
    He had barely cleared the horse’s back, his feet hardly on the ground a second when the heel of