His Daughter...Their Child

by Karen Rose Smith

  Would he ever be able to freely admit he had feelings for his ex-wife’s sister?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Clouds are moving in,” Clay told Celeste as they passed the trailhead to Moonshadow Mountain and headed for Horsethief Canyon and Feather Peak.

  “Do you think they’ll cause us trouble?”

  “We could get wet,” he said, wondering how she’d take that news. This time of year, no one could predict the weather.

  “Do you want to turn back?” she asked, slowing her horse.

  “Do you?”

  She gave him an impish smile. “I won’t melt.”

  He laughed, and it felt so good to do it. Celeste was more of an adventurer than he’d ever thought. He could make a comparison, but he was determined not to. This trip was about the present, not the past or the future for that matter.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been riding?” he asked, noticing she had a great seat and had seemed comfortable on her horse since they’d started out.

  “A few years…before Abby was born.”

  Celeste’s life seemed to be divided into before and after her surrogacy. Now there might be another division with her new relationship with her daughter.

  She continued, “I’ve always been grateful that Jenny lets me take a horse out when I visit Miners Bluff. She and Silas both trust me. That’s nice to know.”

  Was there a hidden message there? Was she angling to find out if he trusted her?

  He realized he did trust her with Abby.

  Celeste was wearing a leather hat today, with a horse-hair chin tie and a fleece poncho in a Native American motif. With her boots and jeans and spirited attitude, she was the picture of a cowgirl. Who would have thought?

  As they slowed and ambled over rocks and a hillock, she leaned down and seemed to whisper in her horse’s ear.

  “What’s that about?” She’d done it earlier as the miles crept behind them. He was so curious about every facet of her personality now. What was he looking for? Deep-seated selfishness that would affect her ability to nurture Abby?

  “This is one of the horses Jenny rescued. She doesn’t let many people ride Coronado, but I seem to have a rapport with him. She told me to murmur in his ear every once in a while and he wouldn’t get skittish. He’s very intuitive, seems to know where I want to go before I do. I hardly have to tug on his reins at all.”

  “My guess is he’s reading your body language, the pressure of your thighs, the weight of your body when you shift, even simple pressure on the reins.”

  Horsethief Canyon reached before them as the clouds above it gathered into gray swirls.

  Celeste motioned toward Feather Peak, which loomed over the canyon. “Yesterday your mom told me that although the Hopis named the peak, your great-grandfather was instrumental in naming Horsethief Canyon.”

  “It makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?” Clay joked.

  She tilted her head and caught his gaze. “You’re not suggesting he knew a few horse thieves.”

  He shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What does your research tell you?” He knew she’d spent Abby’s naptime yesterday with his mom on the computer searching for tidbits of history, delving into sites that held land records.

  “Your great-grandfather held several deeds, along with the copper mine. He made quite a fortune for his time. But I don’t think those are the details your mom was looking for. She wanted more personal information—marriages, children, that type of thing. I told her we should get the word out in the community because there might be artifacts in people’s attics that could be useful. I think she and I might go into Flagstaff some afternoon to a museum there. She thinks they might cooperate in finding and verifying museum-quality relics.”

  “You two seem to be finding common interests.” A little surprised about that, he was pleased, too. His mom had never gotten along with Zoie. But maybe that was because Zoie’s air of defiance set his mom on edge. Celeste seemed to try to identify commonalities instead of finding differences.

  No comparisons, he warned himself again.

  “All these years, I thought your mom was cold,” Celeste admitted. “But rather than that, she’s just reserved.”

  “Not my dad, though,” Clay said, half in jest. But he noticed Celeste’s expression changed and her face seemed to go a little paler.

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  She took a few moments before she answered. “I don’t know, Clay. He tries to intimidate me. I react by standing up to him, but he makes me nervous. I don’t think he really cares to get to know me. He just doesn’t want me anywhere near you and Abby.”

  “He’s afraid,” Clay responded, knowing he probably understood his father better than anyone.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not. He’s always afraid something will change his world. He hates the idea of change unless he’s the one making things move.”

  She still looked disbelieving.

  “He’d be lost without my mother, did you know that?”

  “I don’t know if I believe that or not.”

  “Believe it. He’s not the ogre he seems sometimes. Not so long ago, I caught him holding hands with Mom while they were watching TV. They’ve been married thirty-seven years. They married young and sometimes I think he feels responsible that I took that as a model. I didn’t wait because I knew they hadn’t waited. Something like that.”

  “Did he advise you not to get married?”

  “No, just the opposite. He said Zoie and I could grow up together like he and my mom did. But, hey, I don’t want to talk about anything related to the past. This trip’s just for you and me.”

  Celeste looked troubled for a moment as if there were something she wanted to tell him, but then she seemed to reconsider. “I like the idea of concentrating on just the two of us.”

  Was Celeste hiding something? He hoped not. If he found out she was, that could be the end of what was starting between them.

  The clouds seemed to hang lower as they trotted over sage, forged into thicker brush, noticed the scenery around them change. The earth became redder, the rocks became tall boulders. Feather Peak loomed up ahead.

  A fine mist began falling. “I have plastic ponchos in my saddle bags,” he told Celeste.

  “I have one, too,” she said. “How much farther?”

  “About a mile. You’d better put it on.”

  Stopping, she reached into her fanny pack, pulling out the plastic covering. But as she tried to unfold it, it almost slipped from her fingers.

  “Hold on,” he said, catching it in the more forceful wind.

  Her horse danced sideways, but she murmured to him and he stilled. She let her hat slip to her back, and Clay eased the poncho over her head. In spite of the rain, she was warm to the touch. Her hair was becoming damp, and he let it slide through his fingers as he adjusted the neck of the garment. They were as close as they could be with the horses side by side, and he thought about kissing her. But there would be time for that. He didn’t want to rush anything this time.

  “Hat on or off?” he asked now, as the mist turned to drops, and he felt them on his face.

  “On,” she said, letting the poncho hood drop down her back.

  He caught a rain droplet that was falling down her cheek. His finger dragging over her skin seemed to make her tremble. Was she that sensitive to his touch? Did she know she could do the same thing to him?

  They stared into each other’s eyes for a few long moments, then she said, “You’re getting wet.”

  “My gear’s waterproof. But even with rain protection, we’re going to get wet. We’d better get moving. I don’t like the looks of that black cloud.”

  Just as he said it, the heavens seemed to open, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed and rain poured down.

  “The canyon will provide protection?” she called above the storm’s noise.

  “Some. But make sure you don’t take Coronado throug
h the streambed. It can get deep very fast.”

  “Do you have a place in mind where we can pitch the tents?”

  “I think we’re going to forgo the tents. There are a couple of caves up there. They’ll be better protection against the storm.”

  “What about the horses?”

  This was Celeste, a woman who apparently cared about animals as much as humans. “I’ll find an overhang. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine, too.”

  “You’ve been through this before.”

  “Many times. Trust me.”

  With his words, she turned his way. He did see trust in her eyes, and that shook him as much as any kiss could. Did he want that trust? Was he ready for it?

  Red-brown earth seemed to ooze down the mountain. They wanted to hurry, but they had to be careful because of the horses. The animals could easily slip and injure themselves. Soon, however, they were winding along the canyon trail, thunder and lightning still rumbling and flashing overhead. The walls of the canyon buffered them, although rain still fell between the embankments.

  Clay knew, in spite of her plastic outerwear, Celeste was probably wet. But she wasn’t complaining. She was forging ahead with him intent on reaching their destination. Was she pretending, or was this truly part of her character?

  He wished he wasn’t so cynical. He wished he could believe her optimism was a huge part of who she was. He’d seen it again and again with Abby, so why couldn’t he believe in it?

  No looking back, at least not for twenty-four hours.

  He led the way, picking the trail carefully. Rain dripped down the sides of the canyon, making artistic patterns and free-form shapes between junipers and black walnut trees.

  He saw Celeste studying the walls, too. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Sure is.” But he was looking at her.

  She must have felt his gaze, because she turned away from the terra-cotta striations and focused solely on him. Her targeted attention gave him a heady feeling of desire that made him yearn to touch her, to be with her. That’s what this trip was all about.

  Purposefully, he turned toward the sound of the water running in the streambed to distract himself. He wasn’t going to jump Celeste’s bones as soon as they made camp.

  As rain drizzled down, he gestured to the wide trail and the overhangs a story above them. “Let me go first,” he said. “Light’s dimming and the ground could crumble. I want to make sure it’s safe.”

  “You’re the expert,” she agreed with a smile, a smile that turned him on all over again.

  Wind blew across the top of the canyon. They were mostly protected by the walls, but it brought with it cooler temperatures. Clay took the trail slowly so Celeste would, too. Whenever he camped in the canyon, he usually set up on the floor. But tonight was different.

  Patches of ground and rock slid under his horse’s hooves now and then. But for the most part, the trail was solid, maybe even well-used. He wondered if teenagers still came up here to make out or if hiking this far was too strenuous an activity these days. Since his father and Silas Decker were friends, he’d always had access to a horse to ride here or wherever he preferred. He was grateful for that.

  He brought his horse to a stop when they reached more level ground and waited for Celeste to catch up.

  “I’m surprised someone hasn’t made a tourist attraction of this place,” she said.

  “The town fathers won’t let anyone do that. The proposal comes up every once in a while but the council always votes it down.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “Tourists still ride up here, but it’s far enough away from the beaten track, and it’s not well-publicized. Even tourists who make the effort to come here don’t want to see it spoiled.”

  Clay dismounted, tethered his horse to some brush but held hers for her. When she dismounted, he moved in closer, caught her around the waist and eased her to the ground. The rain fell in a light mist again, but they hardly noticed. Her back was still to him, and he folded his arms around her, pulling her against him. There were layers between them—his jacket, her rain gear and poncho. A colder wind whistled across the top of the canyon, slipped inside and bounced around a bit. Still, he held her and she leaned into him.

  “We’re getting wetter,” she whispered.

  Waiting a minute for his pulse rate to slow, he unfolded his arms from around her and backed away. “I know. Let me check out the cave. There are still black bears in the area as well as other critters. I don’t want you to meet any of them.”

  With that, he pulled a knife from his saddlebag and lifted a fallen tree limb from the trail. Then he headed for the black cavern where he hoped they could spend the night.

  Celeste shivered as she waited for Clay. This trip was like something from a dream—a fantasy she’d conjured up years ago. Were she and Clay destined to be together? Or was she just a blip on his radar screen, a means to physical satisfaction without really getting involved? If they were going to parent together, they’d have to maintain a relationship for a very long time. How did that play into this chemistry between them?

  Clay exited the cave and beckoned to her. “There’s a natural chimney in here…so we can light a fire.”

  There was something that had been on her mind, and she might as well put it to rest. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you ever bring Zoie up here?”

  At first she thought he looked a bit angry that she’d asked, but then he shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Celeste. I wouldn’t go over the same path I went with her. Don’t you realize that?”

  She could just murmur she was sorry, but that wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted with Clay. “Everyone has favorite places, ways they do things, patterns they follow. I wasn’t suggesting you’d do anything intentionally. I just had to know.”

  “Know this,” he said, folding his arms around her, pulling her close. The rims of their hats brushed, and he swiped his off, jamming it into his jacket pocket.

  His lips covered hers so seductively she almost fell at his feet. As quickly as he’d started the kiss, he ended it. “I never brought Zoie here. She wouldn’t have wanted to get her boots muddy.”

  With that, he went to his horse and began to unpack their gear.

  Celeste helped Clay carry their supplies into the cave, though he told her to stay in the dry. She didn’t. She wanted him to see she’d share the burden or the joy of whatever they were doing. The thing was, he still seemed a little miffed at her question, and her lips still tingled from his kiss.

  Inside the cave, she realized it was amazingly clean. When she said so, Clay responded, “I think someone recently swept it out. You can see the drag of the branches on the ground.” He pointed out the lines and squiggles, and she saw what he meant. There was even a stack of dry wood against one wall.

  “That was considerate of them.”

  “For the most part, campers care where they go and how they leave it. It’s a karma thing.”

  “Karma?”

  “Sure. Give good karma. Get good karma back.”

  When she studied his face, she saw that he meant it. “Is that the way you live your life?” she asked quietly.

  “I try to. How about you?”

  “It’s basically the Golden Rule, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose.” He took the bedroll from its waterproof covering and spread it on the ground. “I’ll get some pine boughs to put under this if I can find dry ones. That will be softer.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “How about unpacking the food? Save the granola bars for breakfast. The peanut-butter sandwiches and the chocolate bars and raisins are for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.”

  She glanced toward the stone ring and ashes where other fires had been tended. “I feel as if we’ve stepped back in time.”

  “In a way, we have. No cell phones, no TVs, no electricity. I think that’s one of
the things I like best about guiding.”

  In spite of the cave’s shelter, a shiver slipped up Celeste’s back. She’d pulled off the outer plastic covering but her poncho was damp and she had to admit she was getting cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Clay noticed.

  “One fire coming up. There’s not enough wood here to last all night, so we’ll have to go easy with it.” He made quick work of starting the campfire. It crackled to life in a few minutes.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him and knew she would be…because she was with him.

  Clay made several forays out into the weather, to tend to the horses, to gather the pine boughs, to check other caves for wood. Celeste sat by the fire, staring into it for answers, waiting for Clay to join her. Finally he sat beside her cross-legged, handing her a peanut-butter sandwich while he took another. They ate in silence for a while and sipped water from their bottles.

  Should she tell him about his dad’s offer, or shouldn’t she? Would he think she was trying to make trouble? Would he believe her? And if his father denied it? She had no proof, even though a few of the bank workers had seen her there. His father could always say she had asked for money.

  Who would Clay believe?

  She shivered and didn’t know if it was from her damp clothes, from fear of the situation she’d stepped into or from being so close to Clay, yet unable to touch him freely…to tell him how deep her feelings for him ran.

  “Are you still cold?” he asked, obviously attuned to her.

  “I’m warming up.”

  “You should take off your clothes and crawl into the sleeping bag. Hopefully they’ll dry by the fire.”

  Take off your clothes and crawl into the sleeping bag. What exactly would that mean for their night together? Would Clay keep his clothes on? Sleep outside the sleeping bag?

  She felt as if every decision she made could cost her something. Shivering again, she found her answer. She needed to get dry.

  “I think I will. Don’t eat all the chocolate,” she teased lightly. The last thing she wanted was for Clay to probe and ask her if anything was wrong.