She couldn't wait to tell him about finding the horse, about watching her get better and about the new crazy colt they'd taken on. Dane was not a horse person. "Never been on one, thank you, and never tempted," he said. "I'm more of a cat person."

"You should let me take you for a ride sometime," Lilly said. "I go so seldom myself, but I know enough to pick out a very gentle horse for you. And I'd be there to protect you the whole time." Then she grinned at him.

"We shouldn't waste our time--I'm not interested. I love hearing you talk about your horse stuff, though. Your eyes sparkle."

"You should see the new guy at the clinic--Navajo with hair down to his butt. High cheekbones, kind of grim-faced. When he gets alone with that stallion in the round pen, it's like a kind of hypnotism is going on, he's so focused on the horse. And when the colt rears or pulls away--"

"Okay, stallion or colt?" Dane asked.

"A very grown-up unbroken colt. A big two-year-old male, a stallion, which means a male that hasn't been gelded, over a thousand pounds of horse with very long, very strong legs and a lot of attitude."

Dane whistled. "See now, when I think of a colt, I think of a cute little thing about the size of a rocking horse. This doesn't sound like a youngster."

She laughed. "If this guy didn't like your face, he could stomp you to death in a second and feel no regret. But Clay, the new vet tech, he gets up close and personal, and when the colt resists him, they look into each other's eyes for a second, the colt calms again and they start over. The colt only gets touched or talked to when he does a good job of minding his manners. It's very cool to watch. The guy has phenomenal control and insight into the animal. They're communicating."

Dane tilted his head. "You sure it's the horses that interest you? Sounds like the man has some mystical savage thing going on...."

"Native men do not appreciate being referred to as savage," she informed him.

"I bet there are times they're not totally insulted," Dane said with a smile. "I think you like him."

"A Navajo man? Ah--that brings back some very unpleasant memories. I stay far away from Native men."

Dane held her hand across the counter. "That was all a long time ago, Lilly. Ever consider moving past that?"

"I don't want to move past it."

"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?"