Tennessee Reunion
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Carolyn McSparren
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Chapter One
SOMETHING’S ALIVE INSIDE that van, and it wants out now.
It squealed.
Thwock!
Veterinarian Vince Peterson recognized the sound of hooves kicking the inside wall.
Then came a whinny. The vehicle’s windows were tinted, so Vince couldn’t see inside, but from that soprano neigh, he could guess what was causing the fuss.
Sounded as though someone who should have known better had shut one of the miniature horses this farm raised inside that van.
Minis could be transported in a van or the bed of a pickup truck, but leaving them unattended for long was a recipe for disaster. Most horses settled down once they were on the road, but they tended to get fractious when they were left parked for long, and as small as those hooves were, they could do major damage. These confined creatures were notifying whoever was in charge that they had been abandoned, and they didn’t like it. Besides, the inside of that van probably smelled too much of human and not enough of horse to be comfortable for them.
Another squeal erupted, followed by a couple of stomps and a kick that reverberated outside like a rifle shot.
From under the trees at the far side of the nearby paddock came an answering neigh. A buddy? A son? A stallion talking to one of his mares? Vince glanced across the paddock to identify the source.
Suddenly the windshield of the van exploded into glass pellets that rained down on the hood and on Vince. He jumped back and brushed at his face.
“Hey!” he shouted as a fuzzy brown-and-white streak shot through the empty space where the windshield had been, scrabbled across the hood and hit the ground.
“Whoa!” Vince yelled. In the moment the little horse took to get over its surprise at sudden freedom, Vince grabbed the lead line attached to the halter. Then they were off.
The horse had the forward momentum of a tank and the belly circumference of a miniature hippo. Vince found himself skiing through the mud on the heels of his boots.
From his vantage point he could see he had hold of a mare. Possibly a wounded mare from all that glass. She raced toward the five-bar paddock gate that was taller than she was.
Was she going to try to jump it? If she chose to try, either he followed and crashed, or he dropped the line. He’d run hurdles in college, but no way he could clear this gate even at a dead run.
Surely the mare would never attempt a jump that high. She’d veer off along the fence line. He’d be able to catch her again.
He let go of the lead line.
Veer? No way! If she’d been a regular-sized horse, she could have jumped over Mars. She cleared the gate and skidded to a halt beside the other little horse, the one that had neighed at her and caused this breakout in the first place.
They whinnied at one another, while the little mare nibbled the other horse’s neck. Vince checked for the sheen of blood on her coat. Nothing obvious, but against her chestnut hair, blood might not show up until he ran his hands over her and felt the moisture. He had to catch her again before he could do it.
She was probably the other horse’s mother. Possibly the colt wasn’t fully weaned, although it was an inch taller than its mother and wouldn’t fit under her to nurse.
Vince slipped through the sally port beside the gate and took several careful steps toward the pair. They were more interested in their reunion than in him, but he didn’t attempt to get close enough to pick up the mare’s lead line again in case that started them running.
Vince was not used to a horse of any size getting away from him. Certainly not one no larger than a full-grown ram. At least she didn’t have horns to poke him in the gut. He’d never enjoyed that sensation, and rams would do it if their ewes were threatened. Assuming they didn’t prefer to belt you one behind the knees and knock you flat. That was fun too.
“Hey!” a female voice called from inside the stable at the far end of the paddock. A moment later a woman ran toward him. She wore a broad-brimmed hat that kept her face in shadow, and she sounded annoyed. “What the heck happened?” She pointed to the pellets of broken windshield on the hood of the van.
“She wanted her colt. I assume he’s hers. He is a male, isn’t he? From this angle I can’t tell.”
Mother and son noticed the woman coming toward them and trotted over to greet her, but not close enough to catch. Vince followed.
“Yeah, he’s a colt all right, and becoming tougher and tougher to handle safely. His mother thinks he’s weaned. He doesn’t necessarily agree. If he tries to nurse, she’s likely to hand him his head on a platter.” She glanced up at him. “Or he’ll kick and bite somebody like you. You’re a bigger target.”
She reached down, grasped the little mare’s lead line and flipped her hand at the colt. “Scat.” The stud colt shook his mane and ambled off. Not far. He hovered, ready to insinuate himself back into contact with the mare.
“What possessed you to pull an idiotic stunt like leaving that mare alone in the back of that van?” Vince snapped. “She could have been cut to ribbons on the windshield.”
She brushed her own mane of shining auburn hair out of her eyes, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I did not put her in the van in the first place. I just got here, Doctor. Mrs. Martin must have thought she’d be okay alone and went off for a few minutes. If I’d known she was inside the van, I’d have unloaded her before she broke out. I am not in the habit of shirking my responsibilities.”
Uh-oh. She made “Doctor” sound like a swear word.
“You are Dr. Peterson, right? You were supposed to be here an hour ago. If you’d been on time...”
“Had an emergency at the clinic,” he said. “I got here as quick as I could. And you are? Are you in charge?”
From behind them came a soprano shriek and a thud.
Vince spun around in time to see the mare wheel, buck and land a solid kick on her colt’s chest. So much for mother love. The colt backed out of range.
“I’d say he hasn’t been weaned long enough to have forgotten she was the one who nursed him,” Vince said. “If he keeps trying, he’s going to get his teeth handed to him. Come on, we need to get her out of this paddock before she decides today is the day to remind him about his manners.”
“Have fun with that.” She turned away from him. “In case you can’t see from that high up, he has a whopping umbilical hernia. It’s your most immediate job. And for your information, I am Anne MacDonald, and I am not by any stretch in charge here. Not yet. You have glass pellets in your hair.”
“Good thing windshields don’t break into shards any longer. Where can I safely brush off this stuff?”
“In the back of the van she came out of. It’s going to have to be detailed anyway before we can drive it.” She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “How am I supposed to explain this to the insurance company?”
“Most insurance companies replace broken windshields,” Vince said.
“When they’re broken by a miniature horse jumping through them from inside?”
“So lie.”
At least the mare didn’t run from them this time. She was content to stand near her colt so long as he didn’t try to nurse. Vince reached for the line attached to her halter, but this Anne kept hold of it. Her hat fell back as she looked up at him. He got his first good look at her.
He was used to horse women whose sunbaked skin looked like an iguana’s. Hers was fair and as smooth as a two-year-old’s.
She must have left her sunglasses in the barn.
Her eyes weren’t green and they weren’t blue. Sort of blue with green flecks. Whatever color they were, he’d remember them. They reminded him of the cold mountain tarns in Wyoming that looked warm and inviting after a hot morning working cows. The only time he’d jumped into one, he’d darned near had a heart attack from the chill. He’d like to see those eyes warm up when they looked at him. Not happening.
“I’ll put the mare in a stall,” she said and turned away from him to check the son. “He’ll come with her. I can probably get him into a separate stall, but don’t count on it. Where do you want to sedate him so you can examine him and do his hernia surgery? You are planning on taking care of that, right?”
“And whatever else needs done. We’ll put him out in the grass over there. Cleaner, better light if I actually have to open his belly to get at the hernia. Let me go get my stuff out of my truck. When was the last time he had his shots?”
“I have no idea. Probably never.” She walked off, leading the mare. The youngster tracked her step by step. “He’s one of the six Victoria adopted when they were abandoned. They’re totally wild.”
“Did Mrs. Martin put that mare in the van to take her somewhere else? Give her to someone else to foster?”
“Again, I don’t know. I wouldn’t think so. She only picked them up a few days ago.”
“So you have six minis total?” he asked. Since this place is called Martin’s Minis, I figured you’d have more than that.”
“Actually, Victoria has been concentrating on serving the clients who board big horses here. When she stopped breeding and showing her minis in horse shows several years ago, she sold off all of them except her mini stallion. He’s over there in his paddock. Now all of a sudden she has this additional bunch that are wild as March hares.”
Vince had been expecting to meet the owner, Victoria Martin, who must be considerably older than this woman. This was his first time at Martin’s Minis. He’d barely had time to get his assignment this morning from his boss, Barbara Carew, at her clinic. This woman could be a trainer or even a groom. Whoever she was, she sure was touchy.
Most likely, she was a client who boarded her normal-sized horse at this stable. He didn’t yet know precisely how many equines were stabled here.
He checked out her skin-tight riding britches and her tall riding boots. Yeah, she had to be a client all right. Those boots cost nearly as much as his first semester at vet school. Stable hands generally spent their days in jeans and paddock boots.
She obviously held limited authority when Victoria Martin was off the property.
He prided himself on his ability to charm both animals and women. Most animals liked him and eventually came to trust him. This particular human seemed immune. Not his fault the owner had left the mare unattended in the back of a passenger van. Not his fault he’d assumed she did it. He hadn’t seen anybody else since he got here. Not his fault he’d parked his van beside the one the farm owned. That probably didn’t trigger the mare’s bid for freedom. She was bored and annoyed at being confined. Lucky she didn’t get hurt in her great breakout.
Barbara Carew, the senior vet at the clinic, had barely hinted that this assignment might not be precisely the piece of cake he’d expected. He’d barely had time to get the directions to Martin’s Minis before he headed out after an emergency C-section on an English Bulldog this morning.
Working on miniature horses. How hard could it be?
Six newly arrived miniature horses, alias VSEs, very small equines, to be vet-checked, wormed and brought up to date on vaccinations. He needed to examine their teeth and file off any sharp points. Draw blood for more tests. Check their hooves for abscesses—the usual stuff on a first exam. A lot of work, but not that challenging.
Hernia repairs were generally uncomplicated. A small incision, tucking any stray guts safely back in place, a couple of stitches and done. He’d learned his first year in vet school always to lay the horse down before he jabbed a needle into its belly after he’d narrowly avoided getting kicked in the head by a gelding he was certain was zonked out.
He had expected a straightforward morning’s work. Except that apparently these little guys had not had either handling or training.
He scratched at his shoulder and dislodged a few more bits of glass. The glass didn’t itch, but something did. He looked down at the hairs on his forearm.
Fleas! Either mare or colt had fleas. Horses almost never harbored them. Ticks—yes. But fleas? He hated fleas. Suddenly he felt itchy all over. He’d have to go home, shower and change before he went back to the clinic for the afternoon.
If he finished here before the clinic closed. If he finished before dawn, more like.
If the other minis were as wild as these two, he might never get home. Or not in one piece.
The mare and colt were filthy, probably had worms and ear mites, and their hooves were so long that they turned up at the ends like elf shoes. It could take months of expert trims to get those hooves back into shape. He prayed the rest of the herd was in better shape, but he doubted they were. It was his first visit to Martin’s, and he wanted to make a good impression. That meant he had to keep his temper, but he tended to lose said temper when dealing with animal owners that didn’t care for their charges properly.
He’d put himself through his last two years at Mississippi State vet school working for a farrier, shoeing horses. But if, as he suspected, the Martin horses had never had their feet picked up by a human hand, trimming their hooves would be like trying to trim full-grown musk oxen on speed. He couldn’t afford to be laid up with broken bones or a fractured skull. The minis were so low to the ground that just holding their hooves up was going to give him the mother of all backaches before he’d finished.
His boss, Barbara, had told him that the animals he was here to see were rescues, but he assumed they had been given up by someone who could no longer afford to feed them and basically kept them as pets. They weren’t like the wild mustangs he’d broken and trained in Wyoming or even the Chincoteague ponies in the outer banks of North Carolina that were left on their own most of the time and only rounded up once a year. These little guys had been on a regular farm with fences and pastures.
It might as well have been Antarctica. They seemed to be as feral as wolves. Fortunately, it shouldn’t be nearly as hard to gentle them.
No one could say they were starving. They were past fat—obese, even.
Mrs. Martin, who had taken them in to her farm, was obviously trying to remedy the neglect they had suffered. Barbara said the lady who owned this operation was a longtime animal rehabilitator and colleague of hers. And man, these little horses certainly needed rescuing. In the meantime, he suspected they were about to make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.
What on earth could you do with a mini once you got it tamed and trained and fit enough to act like a horse? They usually stood between twenty-eight and thirty-four inches tall at the withers. Smaller than a Shetland pony. By the time a child was ready to ride, these guys would already be too small.
Not his problem. All he had to do was to get them healthy. Until Victoria Martin showed up, that touchy woman was the closest to an authority figure he could see, so it was up to her to figure out what to do with them. Even if she was just a boarder, she must be aware of what was going on. He watched her walk away beside the mare. Pity she was mean as a snake, because he liked the looks of her in her skin-tight riding britches. He liked long legs, and hers ended somewhere around her collarbone. In the sun, her hair shone bright mahogany and lay as sleek as an otter’s pelt.
He had to persuade her to “volunteer” to be his de facto assistant until somebody else showed up. He had no intention of being fired from a job this big before he’d gotten well started. Barbara trusted him to make friends with the clients and give their animals the best care possible. He’d simply have to work a little harder to enlist her services. Seemed he was losing his touch.
If Barbara intended to assign him as lead vet for a crazy herd of equine munchkins, he’d better win the woman over. He sure couldn’t handle that herd of hellions by himself.
He’d have to walk a very fine line between charming her and keeping his professional distance. The last thing he needed in his life was an attractive female human. The female animals he worked with kept him plenty busy. Besides, the men in his family tended to change partners with the seasons.
In vet school he’d hated statistics, but he’d sign up for five years’ worth of courses if he could avoid a single freshman class in what his friends called “relationships.” He had no frame of reference. He’d flunk.
His cell phone vibrated. He usually kept it muted when he was working. Having an alarm go off when he was pregnancy-checking a thousand-pound Brangus could get him kicked. He checked the caller ID and sighed. Cody. He had to answer. “Hey, brother. What’s wrong?”
“Sorry to bother you, Vince, when you’re working. It’s Daddy.”
Vince felt a stab of adrenaline.
“Why do you figure there’s something wrong?” Cody asked.
“It’s got to be something wrong. That’s the only time you call me.”
“Calm down,” his brother said. “Daddy’s fine physically, but he’s driving Mary Alice crazier than usual. He just threw a coffee cup at her.”
“Full?”
“Empty, thankfully. He missed, but she’s hysterical and threatening to walk out. He’s egging her on. He told her he had wife number five hiding in the bushes until she drove out the driveway.”
Vince ran his hand down his face. “Lovely, but I’m not sure what I can do about it from here. I’m a hundred and fifty miles away and getting ready to cut open a horse.”
“She’s in their bedroom with the door locked, crying her eyes out. Probably packing. Can you try to talk some sense into her?”
“Somebody needs to talk some sense into Daddy. Call the sheriff.”
“Mary Alice refuses to do that. She made me promise not to.”
“He knows he went too far. So far as I remember, he’s never raised a hand to any of the wives or any of us boys, either. He really loves Mary Alice.”
“How would she know?”
Vince sank onto the grass with his back against an oak tree. “Give the phone to Daddy and tell him if he hangs up, you’ll go upside his head with an anvil. In the meantime, call the doctor and get him in today for a checkup to rule out any new physical problems.”
His brother snickered. “Heck, I can’t even pick up an anvil. And the only physical problem Daddy has is a bad temper. Okay. Daddy? Vince is on the line. He wants to talk to you.”
Vince heard inchoate grumbling in the background, then his father’s voice. “Boy? When you gonna quit that job working for that woman and come on home to look after our animals, where you belong?”
“And walk into this?” Vince said. “You go tell Mary Alice you did a stupid thing and you’re sorry. Maybe she’ll forgive you. I doubt I would.”
“Tarnation, no.”
“Daddy, do it or I swear I will call the cops down there and tell them to arrest you for spousal abuse, whatever Mary Alice wants.”
“Heck, I didn’t hit her. I wasn’t even aiming for her. I was just mad she put the milk jug where I couldn’t reach it from my wheelchair at breakfast.”
“And that’s reason enough to throw a temper tantrum? Go apologize right now. Ask Mary Alice to call me after you’ve finished.”
“I’ll send her some roses.”
“This is way beyond roses.”
“I never meant to do it, son. Sometimes I get frustrated being stuck in this blasted wheelchair. Mary Alice understands. I need you to come home. I’ll build you a clinic right here on the property. You’ll be working for yourself, not some woman.”
“I’d be working for you. No thanks.”
Not in this lifetime. He wanted a quiet life where he could build his career among people who respected the work he did. At home he’d always be at his father’s beck and call. The more he accepted from Daddy, the deeper in thrall he’d wind up.
He could tell from his father’s voice that this time he’d won. His father would go apologize to wife number four, who loved him in spite of everything. The thing was, his father loved her back, but like all the Peterson men, he didn’t know how to express love. A good reason never to go home and never to get married.
VICTORIA MARTIN WOULD have a fit about the broken windshield, although it was definitely not Anne’s fault. She had no doubt the arrival of that arrogant vet—late, of course, they invariably were—had triggered the great escape. The mare could have hurt herself jumping that gate. He’d snapped at Anne without bothering to find out if she was responsible for leaving the mare inside the van alone. Serve him right if the horse had yanked his arm out of the socket.
Anne had never worked with miniature horses before, and definitely not with six of them, as well as a stallion that thought he was a Clydesdale and spent half his life walking around on his hind legs, screaming for attention from his ladies. Spoiled rotten. Reminded her of some of her ex-boyfriends, except that he was better-looking. And had better manners.
She’d not even had time to put her bags into the guest cottage where she’d be living for the next six months—permanently, if she and Victoria got along. Anne would see that they did. She had to make this job work. She liked Victoria and agreed with her goals. It wasn’t precisely the job she’d been aiming for, but it came at the perfect time.
She hadn’t expected to have to prove herself to the new vet working for her stepmother, Barbara.
Why had Barbara sent Dr. Peterson on this call instead of coming herself? She and Victoria had worked together for years rehabilitating wild animals and rescuing starving and abandoned livestock. They were comfortable with each other. Maybe this guy didn’t intend to be overbearing, but it made her feel as though he found her less than capable. The heck with him.
Barbara was a very competent vet and had recommended her for this job. Anne would prefer to work with Barbara, but it made sense that she wanted her clients to get used to having Dr. Peterson answer their calls.
Anne led the mare into the barn and the first stall. The colt shoved her against the door in his rush to get back to his mother. “Hey! Stop that!”
He turned liquid brown eyes up at her and rubbed his cheek against her shirt.
“Oh, so you love on me and all is forgiven?” She scratched between his eyes. He sighed in ecstasy until his mother pushed him aside to get her face scratched as well. “I don’t even know your names yet, little guys.” She unclipped the line from the mare’s halter and shut the stall door on her. If she left them together, the colt could get in trouble again.
She managed to get the colt into the stall beside the mare’s, unclipped his line and shut him in. “Can’t leave this dragging. You could strangle yourself.”
She’d better go back to find Dr. Peterson. She’d probably need help getting the colt away from his mother long enough to sedate him and keep him under. The little guy was lucky Victoria had realized how big the hernia was before it strangulated.
Anne started toward the wide-open barn doors.
Her phone rang twice before she could slide it from her tight britches pocket and answer it.
“Anne? It’s Victoria. Did the vet show up yet? Have you had any problems?
“Yes, ma’am. To both.”
“Is Molly hurt? Is he?”
“No, ma’am. Did you intend to leave Molly in the back of the SUV?”
“Just for a few minutes. I meant to be there when Vince arrived, but Bunny Metcalf emailed me that she needed a place for two more VSEs and asked me to come get them right then because she had to go to work. I was sure I’d be back before Vince showed up. I shut Molly in the back of the SUV so I could put her out in the mares’ paddock myself to intervene in case she had a problem with her colt. I couldn’t catch him, but I could catch her. The big horse van was already hooked up, so I just drove away with it. I know I should have left you a note, but I was in a hurry, and I figured I could leave Molly in the back of the SUV for a few minutes while I made the trip. What happened?”
“Whoa. Slow down. I’ll tell you when you get here. Don’t worry, nobody’s bleeding,” Anne said.
“We had a horrible time loading the horses I was picking up. Bunny got her ankle stomped on, so I had to wrap it. I’m five minutes away from you. Is everything okay now?”
“Uh—not quite. Should we wait until you get here before Dr. Peterson operates?”
“Not quite?” Victoria sounded panicky.
Anne interrupted. Once Victoria started talking, she tended not to know when to stop. “No broken bones, no blood, horse or human. But we could definitely use your help.”
“I’m not sure Grumpy has ever been in a stall more than half a dozen times at the place he’s from. He was born in that pasture and stayed there on his own. Otherwise surely somebody would have called the vet over that hernia. Tell Vince I’m sorry to be late. Make nice with him. We certainly don’t want him to walk out.”
Anne now had two horse names. The mare was Molly and her colt was Grumpy. Two names down, and four—no, six, counting the two in the trailer behind Victoria—to learn.
Working with minis was definitely not her dream job, but at the moment it was a blessing. And the position did come with a guest cottage to live in. Thanks to Barbara, she wouldn’t have to stay in her attic apartment in the family home in Memphis. She simply could not go home to live again. She had reached her limit of snide remarks from her older sister, Elaine, about getting a real job. She intended to make Victoria glad she’d hired her. She’d handle that vet.
Handling the untrained VSEs looked like being above and beyond the call of any sane person’s duty. They were wilder than mustangs running loose on the Great Plains. They might look cuddly, but they could bite and kick and paw as well as any regular-size horse, and do it faster.
Victoria was bringing back two more minis? Anne hadn’t a clue what to do with the six Victoria had already acquired. Could they all be put in paddocks together?
Obviously, the stallion had to stay in the stallion paddock alone. Stallions did not believe in sharing their ladies or their space. As the only stallion on the property, he would automatically consider himself the leader of his herd of mares and would fight any other male, gelding or not, that tried to join him in his paddock.
Anne had not yet worked out which of the minis considered herself boss mare, but there would be one.
Horses were generally comfortable with their pecking order once it was established. The boss mare’s job was to lead and keep the herd disciplined. Her word was law. The stallion’s job was to protect, even at the risk of his own life. He might think he was the leader, but the mares knew different.
In any herd, keeping the balance between boss mare and stallion invariably led to squabbles over dominance, but that didn’t prevent a blossoming romance between the two when the time was right.
The stallion paddock had extra-high fences that should keep the horse inside, but the way that Molly mare had jumped the five-bar gate to get to her colt...even high fences might not be enough. He was not used to having females that close.
The colt could join the rest once he’d given up bugging his mother. His mother would teach him manners, but he might not survive the experience in good shape.
Anne had a couple of ex-boyfriends, including Robert, who might have benefited from being kicked and bitten to teach them how to behave.
Peterson could fix the colt’s hernia by himself, but she’d have to help halter and control the other minis while he checked them over. Didn’t that sound like fun? At least he was a big guy with a lot of brawn. He was probably capable of wrestling them to the ground.
She met him at the wide doors of the stable. He was carrying two large medical satchels.
“Here, give me one of those,” Anne said. “Show me where you want to set up for the procedure.”
She figured he’d refuse to hand her part of his load. But he swung the smaller bag at her, turned his back and walked out onto the grass in front of the stable.
“This looks like as good a place as any.” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her.
His smile transformed his face. Gone in an instant were the glower, the set jaw and tight lips. He’d only needed to relax. She considered telling him he ought to concentrate on smiling, but she decided he’d be annoyed. He was almost handsome.
And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
Not that she cared. Since she had moved away from Memphis and kicked two-timing Robert to the curb, she was definitely off men for the foreseeable future, and maybe forever.
