Tennessee Reunion Read online

  Can one determined trainer

  Teach a vet how to love?

  Horse trainer Anne MacDonald is adamant she can turn a group of rescued miniature horses into helper animals for people with disabilities. But she’s not sure which is harder—training the minis or working with Dr. Vince Peterson, Williamston’s newest and most arrogant veterinarian. Can her Tennessee charm work on the horses...and on the commitment-shy Vince?

  “You are aware that we have to make slippers for four hooves?” Vince asked.

  “I did actually notice that horses have four legs, thank you. Shall we get started with Tom?”

  After an hour, even Tom had about reached his limit. He had begun to fidget and stamp as they fastened the last sneaker around Tom’s right front hoof.

  Anne sat back on her heels. “There. But I’m not certain I can get off the floor without help. I’m so tired.”

  “Here.” Vince took her hand, waited while she got her feet under her, then pulled her up.

  Vince caught her around the waist with his free arm. “I’ve got you,” he said.

  Their eyes met and held a moment too long.

  He bent to her and brushed her lips with his. When she didn’t back away, he pulled her closer. She could have stayed within the circle of his arms forever...

  Just then, Tom nickered and shoved his small body between them.

  Dear Reader,

  When Dr. Vince Peterson is landed with the veterinary care of eight untrained, completely wild miniature horses, he finds himself on a collision course with Anne MacDonald.

  Anne has been hired to train the little guys as helper horses, but first she has to prove to her employer and to Vince that she can do the job. Vince doesn’t believe she can teach the minis even the basics of horse etiquette, much less how to act as guides for the blind and helpers for the elderly.

  Anne feels Vince treats her like an incompetent underling, undercutting and second-guessing her training at every step. But they are forced to work together for the good of the program. They move from grudging respect to a fondness neither one wants. Boy, does that cause problems.

  Vince comes from a family where divorce is nearly a seasonal activity. His father is on his fourth wife and not happy with her. His brothers are either divorced or considering divorce. Vince does not intend to marry—he’s certain he’ll mess it up.

  Anne was raised by loving parents and knows what a good marriage is. She wants lifelong love. And for her, that means Vince.

  At a family reunion with Vince’s dysfunctional family, Vince and Anne have to choose to take their chance at love. With the help of their favorite mini, Tom Thumb, will they make the right choice?

  I hope you enjoy this third installment in the Williamston Wildlife Rescue miniseries!

  Carolyn

  Tennessee Reunion

  Carolyn McSparren

  RITA® Award nominee and Maggie Award winner Carolyn McSparren has lived in Germany, France, Italy and “too many cities in the US to count.” She’s sailed boats, raised horses, rides dressage and drives a carriage with her Shire-cross mare. She teaches writing seminars to romance and mystery writers, and writes mystery and women’s fiction as well as romance books. Carolyn lives in the country outside of Memphis, Tennessee, in an old house with three cats, three horses and one husband.

  Books by Carolyn McSparren

  Harlequin Superromance

  The Wrong Wife

  Safe at Home

  The Money Man

  The Payback Man

  House of Strangers

  Listen to the Child

  Over His Head

  His Only Defense

  Bachelor Cop

  Harlequin Heartwarming

  Williamston Wildlife Rescue

  Tennessee Rescue

  Tennessee Vet

  Visit the Author Profile page at www.Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  This book is dedicated to Fran Kamp,

  who breeds and trains miniature horses known

  as VSE’s (very small equines) as helper horses.

  Her minis won my heart and made me a firm

  believer in the job they and the people who

  train them do to open the world for people

  with disabilities.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM FALLING FOR THE COWBOY DAD BY PATRICIA JOHNS

  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 a
t 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 trus
t 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.