Tennessee Reunion Read online

  A few never considered any life but a life with horses satisfying.

  Anne was one of them. She’d endured her sister Elaine’s criticisms ever since she climbed on her first pony. To Elaine, Anne’s horse craze was silly, expensive, and led nowhere. She should have outgrown it.

  Anne intended to prove her wrong. She could make a career with horses. Maybe she’d never be rich, but she’d be happy. Sooner or later she hoped to find a man to share her dream. Someone with whom she would have the kind of love her parents had.

  That dream was possible. Her father and mother had proved it, and after her mother died, her father had found another great love with Anne’s new stepmother, Barbara.

  Anne didn’t have to ride or drive a horse to be content. Even shoveling manure out of stalls was preferable to working in an office—any office. Anything to avoid wearing a suit and heels.

  Team sports like soccer or gymnastics or swimming had never appealed to her. Her tunnel vision had a horse at the end of it. Her father was right—it was an infection. Equinitis?

  Now she was in a new horse environment where she needed to establish a place.

  That meant dialing back the antipathy she’d felt when that Vince person treated her like some kind of incompetent. He was the vet after all, not her. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. This was his first visit to Martin’s. He probably knew less about VSEs than she did. And he knew nothing of what she and Victoria planned to do with them.

  After a long scrub she changed into fresh jeans and a T-shirt and then headed over to Victoria’s house. Before she even walked into the mudroom she could smell the pizza. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was after her drive up here from Memphis at the crack of dawn. She had left her riding boots at the cottage. They were filthy. She’d polish them tonight. She stashed her rubber boots in the mudroom and put on the pair of clean sneakers she’d brought with her.

  “I was just telling Vince the background on the minis,” Victoria said. “I was concentrating on big horses. They pay the bills, after all. When I got the call about this abandoned herd, the only mini we still had was our stallion, so I agreed to take a few. We are set up for minis, after all—low stalls, small paddocks, mini-sized tack, even a training cart to teach them to drive.”

  “A few?” Anne asked. “Six in one load?”

  “Hey, you’re actually lucky this barn only took six—no, eight now. Our rehabilitation group managed to place most of the herd with other members. I have no idea how many were running free over at the farm they came from and were adopted by our other members. Thank heaven I wasn’t in charge of counting them. One of our members said it was like counting ants on an anthill.

  “None of us had any idea what we were getting into when we got the call from the sheriff’s office that there were a bunch of VSEs that needed to be rescued. Nobody realized they’d been abandoned. If they hadn’t had that pond for water and a lush pasture, I don’t know what would have happened to them. They would probably not have survived the winter without hay and grain.”

  “Nobody reported them to the ASPCA?” Vince asked.

  “The man who bred them lived on a large farm with lots of woods at the end of a back road,” Victoria said. “Toward the end of his life he became a recluse. He was estranged from what little family he had, and as he grew older, he simply didn’t have the physical strength to take care of the horses. He had too much pride to admit he’d gotten in over his head. Then he started having dementia issues.

  “I don’t think he knew the last year how many he had in the pasture. He definitely kept no breeding records. There were foals that should have been weaned, a number of mares...

  “No vet care, no blacksmith, no halter breaking—not even the most rudimentary training. If that fancy developer hadn’t wanted to buy the property for his mansions, the whole thing would have turned into a tragedy when the old man died. He tracked down the owner’s son, and discovered the herd.”

  “What do you intend to do with them, Mrs. Martin?” Vince asked.

  “I do not intend to keep eight additional horses, small or not, as yard art. I can’t afford that, even if I had enough land to house them separately from my normal-sized horses and my clients’ horses. We’ve been discussing it among ourselves, and we’re going to keep the stallion and a few of the mares to breed. The rest will be Anne’s problem. More pizza?”

  “No, thank you. What can you do with them?” he asked Anne.

  “Drive them—they are easily trainable to a cart. They’re popular at driving shows. We’re also going to experiment with training them to be therapy and helper animals like Seeing Eye dogs.”

  He choked on his iced tea. “You can’t be serious. I can see how little Tom Thumb might wander down the halls at a nursing home and get fed treats by a bunch of elderly ladies, and maybe there’s a couple you could calm enough to drive a cart, but how could you ever trust them enough to use them like helper dogs?”

  Anne felt her hackles rise. “They’re used all over the world as companion animals. Just like dogs. Not as many yet, but they live longer than dogs, and they can carry a lot more weight.”

  “You can’t housebreak them.”

  “Sure you can. They can do almost anything a dog can do indoors, and a bunch more outdoors. They’re stronger than dogs for their size. They can pull wheelchairs, open doors, turn lights on and off, carry saddlebags full of books to and from class...”

  “And you’ve actually done this how many times?”

  “This is a new program for this area.”

  “In other words, you’ve never trained minis before, and certainly not that bunch of demons who have to either stomp or run from human beings.”

  “You just watch me, Doctor. It’ll take a while, but I will do it. What do you think we should do with them? Leave them untrained in the pasture until they founder from too much food and too little work?”

  “Not at all. Of course, they need to be brought back to health. It’s why I’m here. But I don’t think turning them over to people who don’t know how to care for them is a good idea. They are likely to actually wind up as yard art or be abandoned all over again. They’re not toys.”

  “And I am not a toy maker. Whatever size they are, I can train them and I will.” She pushed away from the table, picked up her boots and left the house.

  As she stalked back down to the barn, she wondered why on earth she had made a promise she might not be able to keep. She was banking on the minis being like other horses, just in smaller sizes. She already adored Tom Thumb. He would be her first test case. The others—a bit later. She’d barely had time to read books on the subject of minis. That included miniature donkeys as well, although Victoria had fostered none of those, thank heaven.

  She’d spent hours on the telephone and the computer talking to the people who had successful helper horse programs, but she hadn’t visited any or helped train any on her own. She and Victoria had discussed sending her off for tutoring after she had some experience on her own. Not yet. When she had a successful track record with the VSEs. She’d know the basics, but trainers who had been doing this job for years would know much more than she would.

  At the moment, she wanted more than anything to climb on her own horse—all seventeen hands of him—and go for a nice, quiet trail ride without either Victoria or Dr. Pessimist around.

  There were a bunch of people she had to prove herself to with this job, starting with her family. Her ancestors weren’t farmers or ranchers. She had no ties to what her sister, Elaine, called “the horsey set.” Anne was the first to go foxhunting on a borrowed pony when she was nine and sent her poor mother into hysterics when she’d come home bruised and battered from a fall.

  Her sister, Elaine, played tennis. It was a great place to meet boys. Besides, she liked the tennis dresses.

  Anne played polo and rode jumpers in
local horse shows. Her darling father supported her, but she knew he secretly hoped it was just a phase.

  It wasn’t. She learned to train horses because she couldn’t buy million-dollar already trained “made” horses the way her rich friends did. The day she won her first Grande Prix jumping challenge in Memphis on a horse she’d bought cheap as a two-year-old and trained, even Elaine was proud of her. Or said she was.

  Now she also had to prove herself to her family, Victoria and Barbara. She added Vince Peterson to the list of doubters.

  * * *

  AS MUCH AS Anne liked Victoria, she did tend to start a project only to wander off to another before she finished the first. Like leaving Molly in her van and driving off to pick up two more minis.

  She shoved her feet back into her boots, then tied the shoestrings of her sneakers together and slung them over her shoulder. She’d drop them at her cottage and go try to halter one of the other mares for Vince.

  As she opened the door of her cottage, her cell phone rang. She read the screen. “Barbara?”

  “How’s your first morning?”

  “Don’t ask. What’s with that fancy doctor you sent over? He thinks I am an idiot.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t, Anne. He’s a sweetie. He adores animals and people both. He’s just had a bad morning.”

  “He’s not the only one. He’s all over the horses’ health issues, but he doesn’t seem to see their true value.”

  “How are he and Victoria getting along?”

  “They’re getting along, sort of. She took one look at those blue eyes of his and those broad shoulders and melted.”

  “Didn’t he fuss at her about the state of the minis?”

  “I assume he gave her points for rescuing them in the first place.”

  “Obviously you noticed those shoulders, too.”

  “I’m on this job to charm a bunch of horse imps into behaving themselves, not to simper at Vince Peterson.”

  “He’s a good vet.”

  “I don’t doubt his professionalism. His stall-side manner leaves a bit to be desired. I don’t think he has much patience with people.”

  “He’s now the one in charge of Victoria’s vet service, so make nice with him. You’re going to see a lot of one another.”

  “Oh, goody.” She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “How’s my daddy’s career in front of the camera progressing? He was worried that he’d lose the feeling of contact with his students.”

  Barbara chuckled. “Not from the feedback he gets. They can interact when they set it up with some app. I have no idea how it works, but he’s happy, so I am.”

  “And the new house? How soon can you move in?”

  “The new house is close enough to completion for me to start planning a housewarming party. Stephen and I have managed better than I thought we would in my old apartment behind my barn at the clinic. Neither of us had shared living accommodations for a long time, and my barn apartment isn’t all that big. I was afraid we’d kill each other instead of settling into wedded bliss.” She chortled. “Bliss won by a mile.”

  “I never doubted it. I’m glad Daddy’s keeping his hand in.”

  “Your father is a natural in front of the camera. Now that he’s teaching his classes over the net from here rather than commuting to Memphis every other day, he’s having a great time with his students online, and doing classes for half a dozen community colleges as well. We’re both looking forward to having you living so close. Victoria’s guest house is less than twenty miles from my clinic. Get to know Vince. He works so hard he hasn’t had time to make many friends up here in Tennessee. Williamston is not exactly a hotbed of social interaction. He’s quite a ways from his homeplace down in Mississippi. He swears he’s turned himself into a Tennessean since he works for me, but his father still wants him to move back. He says he’d rather eat glass.”

  “I’ll bet he has girlfriends coming out of the woodwork.”

  “They flirt, all right. There are some cats and dogs around that are seeing much more of their vet then they’re used to. He doesn’t seem to be interested. He swears he hasn’t left a girl behind in Mississippi. Anyway, you’ve got VSEs to treat. Why don’t you come to dinner Thursday night? My kitchen is still not functioning fully, so Emma’s feeding us.”

  “I can’t just invite myself.”

  “She told me to ask you. I think she wants to show off baby Diana.”

  “Will Vince be there?”

  “No idea. Emergencies take precedence. But he’s invited. Come.”

  Anne nodded. She and Emma were old horse show friends. Anne could use her company and her advice right now. “What shall I bring?”

  “Not a thing. Just yourself.”

  Anne grabbed her bush hat on her way out the door and walked through the barn to the stallion paddock. Whatever Vince planned to do with the stallion, he could do it in his paddock. She had no intention of bringing the little stud through the stalls of horses large and small that lined both sides of the center aisle. He’d be trying to climb into the stalls of every mare he passed, whether VSE or draft horse. One thing about stallions—they always assumed they were the most important creatures in the barn. She giggled. Kind of like Dr. Vince.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THIS WAS NOT going to be a satisfactory professional relationship, Vince thought as he added wormer and vaccination ampules to his kit from the supplies in the back of his van. It was mostly his fault. He’d come on too strong with Anne. His clients mostly liked him and appreciated him. Okay, so he had an ego. Most doctors did. But he didn’t need Victoria’s trainer bad-mouthing him or worse, undercutting his decisions.

  He still tended to look for a human to blame when something went wrong with one of his patients. Invariably he wound up snapping at the creature that walked on two feet rather than four. Unfortunately, he’d assumed Anne was the two-legged culprit in this case, but she was blameless. He probably owed her an apology.

  He didn’t do apologies. In his family an apology chalked up one for him in the loss column. The entire family kept score. His father had still not forgiven him for taking out one of the peach trees with the ATV he was forbidden to drive. He’d been thirteen at the time.

  Had to hand it to Anne. When he’d tossed his heavy case to her, she neither backed off nor dropped it despite the weight. Blood didn’t bother her. From the expensive boots and britches she wore when he met her, he’d figured she must be one of the Horse Princesses that more often than not made his life difficult.

  On the one hand, they drove him frantic demanding he dance attendance on them as well as their animals. He didn’t have time to schmooze when an animal was in trouble.

  On the other hand, they were the ones with plenty of money to pay their vet bills and order expensive tests when necessary. He just wished he could keep their horses healthy without dealing with some of the owners.

  Most of the clients were careful, thoughtful people trying to do the best for the animals in their charge. But when he had to work on horses like these minis, full of ear mites and ticks and worms and who knew what all else, the situation made him want to hit a wall. Or the person responsible.

  If he were at home in Mississippi, he’d run a couple of miles along the edges of the soybean fields, or shovel manure out of stalls, or use the gym equipment he and his brothers had installed in the barn when they were all playing football.

  Or get into a fight with one of his brothers. More satisfying than a gym. He usually won, although Joshua was older than he was, and both he and baby brother Cody were equally large. He was trying to avoid the physical stuff with both of them, but it was hard to break the dynamics of a lifetime. Over the years his temper had become a survival mechanism. When he lost it, his brothers frequently backed off.

  Now, however, it was turning into a liability. He needed to keep it in c
heck so that things would remain comfortable for his clients.

  He met Anne coming up the path from the guest cottage and headed for the barn beside her.

  “Uh,” he said. “Sorry I snapped at you.” There. Did that hurt? Well, yeah, a little. All depended on how she responded.

  “Fine,” she said and walked past him into the barn. “Can you help me get a halter on one of the mares?”

  “Sure.” Maybe that was as close to an olive branch as he would get, but it was a start.

  * * *

  BY MIDAFTERNOON THE mini stallion had been examined and treated—no ear mites or ticks—and released into his paddock. He had behaved fairly well for a stallion, but as a resident of the farm he was used to regular vet care.

  Tom Thumb had seemed to be looking forward to his flea bath. Now that his mane had been roached—shaved off—his scabs seemed to be drying up. A bath would clean them up further.

  The hose on the wash rack boasted a state-of-the-art sprayer attachment and warm water. When Anne turned it on his legs to see how he’d react, Tom decided this was a new game and began to dance.

  Anne moved up his shoulders and ran the hose down the now hairless strip where his tangled mane had been cut away.

  He tossed his wet head and gave Vince a solid smack with his skull just below his belt buckle.

  Vince jumped back and fell over the saddle rack behind him. Only grabbing the chain of the cross tie kept him from falling on his rear end.

  Anne laughed. “Close one, Tom.”

  “Give me a hand, blast it,” Vince said.

  Anne reached across to pull him up at the moment Tom decided to attack the hose with his teeth. A blast of water hit her full in the face. She squealed and dropped the hose, which morphed into a writhing snake under Tom’s feet.