A Rare Sensation
Author
Kathie DeNosky
Reads
16,2K
Chapters
10
One
February 2005
Abigail Ashton stepped out of the carriage house, tilted her head back and enjoyed the morning sun bathing her face with its warm rays. California in February was light-years away from the weather she’d left behind in western Nebraska. When she’d flown out of the town of Scottsbluff yesterday morning, the temperature had been in the midteens and there was almost a foot of snow covering the ground. But here in Napa Valley, the temperature was a good forty degrees warmer and felt almost balmy in comparison.
No wonder her uncle had extended his stay in California. Even if his quest to meet with his father had thus far been futile, the weather was enough to tempt anyone.
Looking around at the neatly kept grounds of Lucas and Caroline Sheppard’s estate, The Vines, Abby smiled. It had been extremely generous of Caroline to invite her and her Uncle Grant to stay with them for as long as they wanted to visit the Napa Valley area. All things considered, the woman had no reason to be kind to, or even like, them. After all, they had to be a painful reminder of Caroline’s first marriage—to Abby’s grandfather, Spencer Ashton. She shook her head in disgust. When he married Caroline, he’d conveniently failed to mention that he had a family he’d left behind in Nebraska, or that he hadn’t bothered to divorce his first wife, Sally.
As Abby blindly stared across the dormant vineyard stretching out for acres behind the estate, her heart went out to Caroline. The woman hadn’t so much as a clue that her marriage to Spencer had been illegal, until Uncle Grant showed up last month in hopes of meeting with his father for the first time in over forty years.
But even though she’d been shocked by the news, Caroline had been the epitome of class and graciousness. Once she’d learned that Uncle Grant was Spencer’s son, she’d insisted that family was family and he needed to get acquainted with her children—his half siblings.
Abby bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She worried about Uncle Grant. He so wanted to confront his father and learn the reasons behind the abandonment of his first family. But the man simply refused to give Uncle Grant the time of day. For that matter, he refused to meet with Caroline’s children, either.
Starting to walk toward the small lake behind the carriage house, Abby decided that she didn’t care if she ever met her duplicitous grandfather. Anyone who could leave his young wife and eight-month-old twins in Nebraska, marry another woman in California without obtaining a divorce, then abandon that woman to marry his secretary and have yet another family wasn’t worth knowing. Nor was he worth wasting time thinking about.
Besides, she would much rather concentrate on the fact that she was finally free. After working her tail off in school, she’d earned her degree, and she fully intended to enjoy every minute of the first vacation she’d had in years. Then, when she returned to Crawley, she’d be relaxed and ready to jump into her career with both feet.
A mixture of satisfaction and excitement coursed through her. By the end of spring, she’d realize the dream she’d had since she was twelve years old—she’d be practicing veterinary medicine in her own large-animal clinic.
Strolling down a path leading away from the carriage house, her mouth turned up in a smile when she spotted the stables not far from the small lake. Without missing a step, she headed straight for them. Painted white, with hunter green shutters, the building looked like a horse lover’s paradise, and she couldn’t wait to go inside.
The double doors on either end of the structure were open, allowing fresh air to flow through, and Abby didn’t think twice about entering the shadowy interior. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lower light, but when they did, her breath caught. The stable was everything she’d thought it would be. And more.
The bottom halves of the stalls were constructed of tongue-and-groove spruce boards, while the top halves had black grille front bars for maximum ventilation. Wide, split doors gave easy access to the enclosures and allowed the horses inside to appease their curiosity by hanging their heads over them when the top halves were swung back.
A beautiful blue roan gelding poked its head over the stall door as Abby walked by, and she stopped to rub the gentle animal’s soft muzzle. As she scratched his broad forehead, she noticed that the inside walls of the stall were covered with a metal that resembled stainless steel and could easily be hosed down and disinfected. As a veterinarian and horse enthusiast, she was very impressed, and she highly approved of the Sheppards’ choices for the welfare of their animals.
But as she stood there wishing she had the same setup at the farm in Nebraska, sudden movement at the far end of the stable caught her attention. As she watched, a man, wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, chambray shirt and jeans, opened one of the stall doors to go inside. She couldn’t help but think that he’d look more at home in a barn in Nebraska than in a stable in California wine country.
But her smile quickly faded and she forgot all about how out of place he looked when he led a beautiful dapple gray mare from the stall. The horse was limping badly, and it was obvious she had something wrong with her left hind leg.
“What seems to be the problem?” Abby asked, hurrying toward them.
Without looking her way, the man bent over to examine the mare. “I don’t know how she did it, but Marsanne has managed to cut her fetlock.”
“I’ll take a look. I might be able to do something for her.”
Shaking his head, he straightened to his full height. “I think we’d better leave it alone and let the vet take care of this one.”
Abby caught her breath and her pulse skipped several beats when he turned to face her. The man standing on the other side of the mare wasn’t just good-looking, he was heart-hammering gorgeous. With straight, dark-blond hair slipping from beneath his black Resistol to hang low on his forehead, a fashionable beard stubble covering his lean cheeks and startling blue eyes, he was without a doubt the best-looking cowboy she’d ever laid eyes on. Bar none.
When she realized that she must be staring at him like a schoolgirl with her first crush, she shook off her uncharacteristic reaction and walked around the horse to take a look at the injury. “Get the first-aid kit.” Bending down beside the horse’s hindquarters, she quickly assessed the wound. “The cut isn’t as deep as it looks. It hasn’t severed any of the ligaments or tendons, and won’t need suturing.” When she straightened, she glanced around the floor. There was a good drainage system, and it wouldn’t be necessary to walk the horse outside to treat her. “Could you bring the hose over here? We’ll need to cold rinse the wound to reduce the swelling before I apply a dressing.”
“Now hold it right there, lady. You’re not doing anything to this horse.” Clearly annoyed, he walked around the mare to place his hands on Abby’s shoulders, and, backing her away from the horse, he shook his head. “I’m going to call the vet and you’re going to go back to the house, or wherever it is you came from.”
His large hands on her shoulders sent a shiver of excitement up her spine, and she had to concentrate hard in order to ignore it. Luckily, it wasn’t too difficult to do. He might be the best-looking guy she’d seen in all of her twenty-four years, but she wasn’t the type to give in to anything as silly as attraction. Nor did she intend to be dismissed like so much fluff.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” she said, careful to hide her irritation.
He dropped his hands to his sides. “Russ Gannon.”
When he started to turn away, Abby placed her hand on his arm to stop him. Her breath lodged in her lungs at the feel of his hard muscles flexing beneath the blue fabric of his sleeve. She forced herself to ignore it and concentrate on the mare in need of treatment.
“It’s nice to meet you, Russ. My name is Abigail Ashton. Dr. Abigail Ashton, DVM. But please call me Abby.”
“You’re a vet?” His skeptical expression told her that he still had his doubts about her treating one of the Sheppards’ horses.
“More precisely, a large-animal veterinarian,” she said, nodding. “Now, get the first-aid kit and a hose. I have a horse to treat.”
Russ stared at the auburn-haired beauty barking orders at him like a drill sergeant. She sure didn’t look like any of the veterinarians he’d ever met. Most of the ones he knew were men, and didn’t have eyes the color of new spring grass or soft, feminine features that could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine.
When she bent to look at the wound on Marsanne’s fetlock, the sight of her cute little upturned rear just about caused him to have a coronary. None of the vets he’d met had a figure that could stop traffic or remind him of just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman, either.
“Don’t just stand there,” she said impatiently. “This mare’s fetlock needs treatment. And when you get the hose, bring some petroleum jelly and grease down her heel to keep it from getting sore.”
Turning to get the hose and first-aid kit, he couldn’t believe he was allowing this woman to order him around. He was used to giving orders, not taking them.
It had to be a case of shock. That’s all he could think of that might explain his letting her order him around.
Where the hell had she come from, anyway? he wondered. He knew all of the Ashtons here at The Vines, and had heard about most of their relatives, but he couldn’t recall them mentioning this one’s name.
He shook his head as he gathered what she wanted. One thing was certain—if he’d ever met her, he damned sure would have remembered it. He had a weakness for redheads. And Dr. Abigail Ashton not only had hair the color of cinnamon and a killer body, she was an absolute knockout.
“What took you so long?” she asked when he returned with the requested items.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a bossy little number?” he grumbled, handing them to her.
“My brother, Ford, tells me that all the time.” Removing her jean jacket, she pushed the sleeves of her blue sweater up to her elbows, then tucked behind her ear a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re slower than molasses in January?”
Russ stared at her for a moment before he burst out laughing. It appeared that Abby Ashton could hold her own with the best of them.
“Now, what do you say we call a truce until after we get this mare on the road to recovery?” she asked, grinning.
His heart stalled and he had to take a deep breath to get it going again. When Abigail Ashton was issuing orders, she was awesome. But when she smiled, she was absolutely beautiful.
“What’s the matter?” Her easy expression turned to one of concern. “You look like you were just treated to the business end of a cattle prod.”
Damn! Was he that transparent? Apparently, he needed to make a trip into Napa and see if he could find a willing little filly to help him scratch the itch that he suddenly seemed to have developed.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
“Good.” She handed him the jar of petroleum jelly. “Now, spread this over the mare’s heel, then start running cold water on her leg so that it trickles down over the wound.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you keep Epsom salts here in the stable?”
“Of course,” he said, bending to coat the mare’s heel with a good amount of the lubricant. “Do you intend to soak it or apply a hot compress after running cold water over the area?”
“I’m going to apply a hot compress in order to draw out bacteria.” She paused. “By the way, do you have hot water out here, as well?”
Nodding, he stood up and handed her the jar of petroleum jelly. “I’ll get it while you cold hose the mare’s leg.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, smiling. “Just tell me where to find—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Russ said firmly.
He might not be as educated or refined as the Ashtons, but he did have manners. He wasn’t about to stand by and watch a woman struggle with a heavy bucket of water.
Besides, he needed to put a little distance between them. Every time she turned her killer smile his way, certain parts of his body twitched and his heart felt like it was going to beat a hole in his rib cage.
He took a deep breath and did his best to regain his perspective. If he didn’t get a hold on the situation, he just might have to use the cold water hose on himself.
An hour later, Russ watched Abby finish applying a poultice to the mare’s fetlock, then wrap a bandage around it to hold it in place. Fortunately, Marsanne was a very well-mannered horse and tolerated the treatment without further injury to herself, Abby or him.
“I’ll check on her again tomorrow morning and apply a fresh dressing, but I think she’ll be fine,” Abby said, standing up.
When she ran her hand along the horse’s hindquarters, Russ swallowed hard. How would her delicate hands feel on his skin?
His heart slammed against his ribs. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d met her a little over an hour ago and he was fantasizing about her touching him?
Oh, brother, did he ever need that trip into town for a cold beer and a willing woman—and not necessarily in that order.
When she’d pulled the sleeves of her sweater back down to her wrists and shrugged into her blue jean jacket, she turned and stuck out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Russ.”
He automatically took her hand in his, but the moment their palms touched, he knew he’d made a serious error in judgment. An electric charge zinged up his arm, through his upper body, then traveled down to the region south of his belt buckle.
“I’ll see you around,” he managed, although he wasn’t sure how the words made it through the cotton coating his throat.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked, dropping his hand faster than he could blink. Her breathless tone and the pretty shade of pink coloring her creamy cheeks indicated that she’d felt it, too.
Good. At least he wasn’t the only one suffering the unsettling sensation.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, fighting to keep from grinning. “How about you?”
She lifted her little chin and squared her slender shoulders as she started around him and the mare. “I couldn’t be better.”
Russ bit back a groan as he watched Abby walk the distance to the stable doors. The woman had legs that would tempt a eunuch. And his body was reminding him that was one thing he definitely was not.
Disgusted with himself and his own foolishness, he led Marsanne back into her stall, then headed toward the end of the stable where he kept his own horses, Blue and Dancer. Even if the woman was willing to indulge in a little vacation fun, he wasn’t.
Number one, she was an Ashton, and his sense of loyalty and obligation just wouldn’t allow him to disappoint Caroline or Lucas in any way. He snorted. And number two, what the hell could a book-smart beauty like Abby find appealing about a simple man with nothing more going for him than a knack for growing grapes and the ability to make the eight-second whistle when he rode bulls?
