Robyn Carr - Promise Canyon

Im deeply grateful for the dedicated assistance given to me by Scott Lampert, all-around horse expert, farrier and creator of www.ONTRACKEQUINE.com, a sophisticated program used by horse professionals, owners and breeders to assure peak equine performance. This story could not have been told without your help.

Special thanks to Sean Vasquez, Native American musician and actor. Through your eyes I could better envision the Native American characters in this story.

For this story as for almost every story I write, special thanks to Michelle Mazzanti for early reading and research assistance. I just couldnt get to the end of a book without your input and help.

I am indebted to Kate Bandy and Sharon Lampert. Without your continual loyalty and support I would be lost.

My heartfelt gratitude to Ing Cruz for creating and managing Jacks Bar online, where hundreds of Virgin River readers exchange book news. (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RobynCarr_Chatgroup/)

Thanks to Rebecca Keene for early readings of this and many manuscripts; her feedback is incredibly valuable.

Thanks to everyone at the Nancy Berland Public Relations Agency for the support and for always watching my back. Jeanne Devon of NBPR, thanks for the hours of reading and critiquingyour feedback is a tremendous help.

And as always, thank you to Liza Dawson of Liza Dawson Associates and to Valerie Gray, editorial director of MIRA Books, two of the toughest readers in publishing. Thank you both for being relentless, tireless, devoted perfectionists. Every push makes each book a little better and I owe you. This is always a team effort and I couldnt have a better team!

C lay Tahoma headed into the mountains of Humboldt County, Northern California, along Highway 36, a narrow road that had lots of sharp turns along the way. According to his GPS the next left would lead him to a town called Virgin River. It appeared to be the nearest town to his destination, the Jensen Veterinary Clinic and Stables, and he wanted to check it out. He was nearing the turnoff when he noticed something up aheadsome pickups parked at the side of the road.

He slowed down and pulled over, curious to see what was going on. He got out of his truck and walked past a number of vehicles toward a large flatbed truck. There were men standing around watching as a forklift with a large cable attached pulled away from the edge of the road. Clay approached one of the men. He was as tall as Clay and wore a plaid shirt, jeans, boots and ball cap. Whatcha got, friend? Clay asked.

One of our town slipped off the road and got stuckluckily came up against a big tree not too far down the hill. Thats how he managed to get out and climb back up.

Whos pulling him out? Clay asked.

Aw, one of our boys has a lot of construction equipment. Hes a contractor up this way. The man put out his big hand. Jack Sheridan. You from around here?

Names Clay Tahoma, originally from Flagstaff and the Navajo Nation. Lately from L.A. Im up here to work with an old friend, Nathaniel Jensen.

Jacks face took light at that. Nates a friend of mine, too! Pleasure to meet you.

Jack introduced Clay to some other men who were standing arounda guy named John, who they called Preacher; Paul, who owned the flatbed and forklift; Dan Brady, who was Pauls foreman; and Noah, the minister whose truck slipped off the road. Noah smiled sheepishly as he shook Clays hand. No one seemed to react to the sight of a Native American with a ponytail that reached past his waist and an eagle feather in his hat. And right at that moment Noahs old blue Ford truck began to clear the edge of the road.

Dont you guys have a Highway Department or Fire Department you could call to do this? Clay asked.

If we had all day, Jack said. We tend to take care of ourselves out here. But the big problem is that weak shoulder. Highway Department reinforces it every time we have a slide, but what we really need is something more permanent. A wider road and a guardrail. A long and strong guardrail. Weve requested it, but this road doesnt see a lot of travel so our request just gets ignored or denied. He nodded toward the stretch of road he was talking about. We had a school bus slide down that hill a couple of years ago. Minor injuries, but it coulda been horrible. Now I hold my breath every time theres ice on the road.

Whats the holdup on the guardrail?

He shrugged. Real small population in an unincorporated town in a county in recession that has bigger challenges. Like I said, we get used to taking care of things the best we can.

Theres no ice in August, Clay said. What happened to the pastor?

Deer, Noah said. I came around the curve and there she was. I hardly swerved, but all you have to do is get a little too close to the edge and youre toast. Ohhhh, my poor truck, he said as the vehicle made it to the road.

Doesnt look any worse than it did, Noah, Jack said.

Seriously, Preacher said, hands on his hips.

What are you talking about? Noah returned indignantly. Its got several new dents!

How can you tell? Jack asked. That old truck is one big dent! Then he turned to Clay and said, Go easy around these curves and tell Doc Jensen I said hello.

Clay Tahoma drove his diesel truck up to the Jensen Veterinary Clinic and Stables. His truck pulled a large horse trailer that hed filled with his personal belongings. Shutting off the engine, Clay jumped out of the truck and looked around. The clinic consisted of the veterinary office attached to a big barn, a nice-sized covered round pen for exams, several large pastures for the horses to exercise, the horses turnout and a couple of small paddocks for controlled, individual turnout. Horses cant be turned out together unless theyre acquainted; they can get aggressive with each other.

Opposite the clinic, across what functioned as a parking area large enough for trucks and trailers, was a house built for a big family. The whole lot was surrounded by trees, full with their summer green, barely swaying in the early-August breeze.

He sniffed the air; he smelled hay, horses, dirt, flowers, contentment. There was honeysuckle nearby; his nose caught it. He got close to the ground, sitting on one boot heel, touching the dirt with his long, tan fingers. He was filled with a feeling of inner peace. This was a good place. A place with promise.

Is that some old Navajo thing youre doing there?

Before he could rise Dr. Nathaniel Jensen was walking out of his veterinary office door, wiping his hands on a small blue towel.

Clay laughed and stood up. Listening for cavalry, he said.

How was the drive? Nate asked Clay, stuffing the towel in his pocket and stretching out a hand.

Clay took Nates hand in a hearty shake. Long. Boring until I got closersome guys from Virgin River were hauling a truck up a hill. The town minister slid off the road avoiding a deer. No injuries, just a lot of grumbling. Hows the building coming?

Excellent. Ill get you something to drink, then take you on a tour. Still shaking Clays hand, Nate clapped his other hand on his friends shoulder and said, Im really sorry about Isabel, Clay.