The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2012 Nancy Herkness
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781612186030
ISBN-10: 1612186033
To Jo.
You are missed.
Acknowledgments
I WOULD LIKE TO thank the following people who have helped make Take Me Home the book it is:
My agent Jane Dystel, who found this book the perfect home at Montlake Romance.
The discerning Miriam Goderich, who saw my novel’s potential and plucked it from the slush pile.
My editor, Kelli Martin, who believes in my work and gives it the kind of attention an author usually only dreams of.
My developmental editor, Andrea Hurst, who understands how to strengthen both story and emotion with the subtlest of touches.
My copy editors, Tara Doernberg and Ashley McDonald, who keep me on the straight and narrow when it comes to the all-important details.
The whole dream team at Montlake, for all they do to make this author happy.
My brilliant critique group: Miriam Allenson, Cathy Greenfeder, and Lisa Verge Higgins, who know where I was when I joined them and where I am now. Enough said.
My pony Papoose, who was my original whisper horse.
As always, my family: Jeff, Rebecca, and Loukas, who celebrate and commiserate with me with equal love.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
About the Author
BREATHING IN THE scent of fresh hay and saddle soap, Claire felt the knots of tension loosen their grip on her shoulders. She stood just outside the stable door, her face tilted up to let the early summer sunshine stroke her cheeks and forehead, its warmth suffusing the cotton of her T-shirt and the denim of her jeans.
The stable had become her refuge in the past few weeks. The well-kept brick buildings, the bluish-green mountains rising behind them, and the constant motion of powerful, glossy horses pushed her problems away for an hour or so.
“Hey, Claire, over here.” Sharon, the owner of Healing Springs Stables, waved to her from halfway down the stable’s central aisle. “Got a horse I want you to meet before you go riding.”
“Another candidate for my whisper horse?” Claire called, smiling. Her friendship with the horsewoman was another reason Claire came here. Sharon had become the rock she clung to in her sea of failure.
Thick pine bark muffled the fall of her boots, but the barn was far from silent as the clank of halters against water buckets and the affectionate banter of stable hands with their charges drifted around her. She took another deep, grateful breath before she joined her friend.
“I’ll make a believer out of you yet,” Sharon said, her flyaway copper hair a blazing halo around her face.
Claire fell into step beside her, almost jogging to keep up with her six-foot-tall companion’s athletic stride. “Is the horse one of your rescues?”
“Yup. Just came in this morning. She’s a Thoroughbred, a former racehorse. Ought to be a sympathetic listener for your troubles.”
“If you say so.” Claire wasn’t clear on why a former racehorse would understand her problems with her ex-husband or her younger sister, but she humored Sharon.
“Here she is,” Sharon said, stopping in front of the stall door and easily looking over the top. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh, hey, Dr. Tim. You sure got here fast.”
“You said the horse was in bad shape, so I made time for her.” The voice emanating from within the stall was deep, with a touch of the local West Virginia drawl.
The stall door swung open, and a man the size of a small mountain stepped out. Backlit by a slanting shaft of afternoon sun, the ends of his straight hair glowed deep red while the edges of his plaid shirt blazed blue and gold. In one large fist, he hefted an oversized tan duffel bag with Sanctuary Veterinary Hospital embroidered on it in dark-green letters.
Claire had heard about the new veterinarian in Sanctuary, but she hadn’t encountered him in the few weeks she’d been back in her hometown. No one had mentioned he wouldn’t look out of place on a football team’s defensive line. Yet something about the calm, deliberate way he moved inspired a sense of security rather than a threat of physical dominance. She could picture him holding up the world if Atlas got tired.
“Dr. Tim, this is my friend Claire Parker,” Sharon said. “She works at Davis Honaker’s art gallery in town. She just relocated here from up north of the Mason-Dixon Line last month. Worked in a fancy gallery before, so Davis feels real lucky to have her.”
“Nice to meet you,” Claire said, blushing slightly at Sharon’s praise, as she stepped forward with her hand extended. The vet’s duffel hit the ground with a thud and a puff of pine bark dust. For an awkward moment, Claire stood with her hand out, while Dr. Tim seemed frozen.
“Sorry, ma’am, it’s a pleasure,” he said, finally moving to wrap his strong, callused fingers around hers. “For a minute there, I thought I’d met you before.”
As Claire Parker stepped out of Sharon’s shadow, Tim saw Anais. He knew his mind was playing tricks on him, but something about the dramatic lighting and the way the woman moved evoked the image of his wife as she had looked onstage, maybe because that was how he kept dreaming about her.
He looked desperately for the differences there must be between this woman and his dead wife. Yes, Claire had shining dark hair smoothed back into a sleek bun, the way his wife had often worn hers, and they shared a certain husky timbre to their voices. But Anais’s eyes were blue, while Claire’s were velvet brown, and under her T-shirt and jeans, Claire had more curves than the slender actress would ever allow herself.
Yet he, the rational scientist, was blindsided by the resemblance. He thought leaving New York would save him from the constant reminders, yet even here in the wilds of West Virginia, he got yanked back into the nightmare.
Claire looked up at him with a question in her eyes, and he realized he was still holding her hand. He gave her an apologetic smile as he released his grip.
Her gaze became intent, as though she was trying to read something in his face. With a sense of disquiet, he wondered what his expression revealed. Most people had given up on offering sympathy that thinly disguised their curiosity about his wife’s death, but Claire Parker was new here. She might not know he preferred to avoid the subject.
�
��Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, giving Claire a polite nod before he turned away to face Sharon. He pulled a prescription pad and pen from his pocket and began to write, covering three sheets before he tore them off and held them out. As he refocused on the condition of the mare he’d just examined, clean, strong anger boiled up again. “Whoever owned this horse should be prosecuted for criminal negligence.”
“You won’t hear any argument from me.” Sharon took the papers with a sigh. “Add this visit to my monthly bill.”
“This one’s on me,” Tim said. “I can’t charge you in good conscience when you’ll never get any useful work out of this horse. She’ll just eat your feed and take up a stall.”
“She’ll help Claire. That makes her worth the room and board.”
He caught Claire’s little gesture of embarrassment from the corner of his eye and turned back to her. “Is Sharon trying to match you up with a whisper horse?”
“Oh, so you know about Sharon’s theory,” she said, looking relieved. Then her eyes lit with a gleam of mischief. “Do you have a whisper horse yourself?”
“Not yet,” Sharon interjected.
He shook his head. “I figure the animals I treat have enough problems of their own without adding mine.” Even his worst enemy didn’t deserve to listen to what he’d have to say.
“At least there’s no danger they’ll post your true confessions on Facebook,” Claire said.
“That’s an advantage I hadn’t considered,” he admitted, his attention caught by the undercurrent of laughter in her tone.
“You two aren’t taking this seriously,” Sharon said. “Everyone needs someone to tell their troubles to, and horses have broad backs to help carry your burdens.”
“I know, just whisper your worries into your horse’s ear and they’ll magically disappear,” Claire said, throwing a smiling glance in Sharon’s direction. “Is there a horse who knows all your secrets, Sharon?”
“I have a whole stable full of whisper horses,” Sharon said with a grin as she unlatched the stall door. “Let’s see what you think of Willow.”
“Now?” A shadow of discomfort crossed Claire’s face as her gaze cut toward him and back. “Isn’t it supposed to be a private thing, just me and the horse?”
So the self-assured Claire Parker didn’t want to meet her potential whisper horse in front of a stranger. Maybe she wasn’t quite the skeptic she pretended to be.
Or maybe she was desperate for someone to talk to.
He didn’t want to get tangled up with that kind of neediness again. “I’ll look in on your pregnant mare and then come back to discuss Willow’s diagnosis.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sharon said.
Claire’s brown eyes were warm with appreciation, and he was startled by the little flicker of heat they kindled in his gut.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not sure what happens when one finds the right horse. It might not be pretty.”
“There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth,” he quoted.
With a chuckle, she bared her teeth and clicked them together a couple of times before slipping into the stall.
He was left to think about how the shape and color of her lips remained crystal clear in his memory.
Claire relinquished the veterinarian’s company with a strange reluctance. His smile came slowly but held the same warmth as the afternoon sunshine. She found his solidity comforting; it would take a disaster of epic proportions to throw Dr. Tim off balance. However, his calm rationality seemed incompatible with whatever mystical connection she was supposed to make with Sharon’s abused racehorse, so she was grateful for his tact in withdrawing.
As she stepped into the dimly lit stall, she laid her hand on the horse’s flank to let the mare know she had company. Willow’s brown coat was rough and prickly, her tail a mere stub. As she slipped her hand forward, Claire felt the sharp jut of the horse’s hip bone. “She’s awfully thin.”
“Her owner neglected her after she pulled up lame in a race. Once we get her healthy, she’ll be a beauty.”
“I’ll have to take your word about the beauty. Right now, she looks terrible, poor thing.” As Claire gently smoothed the horse’s brittle coat, pity and rage twisted together in her chest. “How could someone treat a living creature this way?”
“Yeah, I’d like to lock the bastard in a stall without any food and see how he liked that kind of treatment for himself.”
Claire ran her fingers along Willow’s neck. The mare stood with her head hanging down as though it was too heavy to lift. Claire knew that feeling; she’d felt that way after her divorce. “I think maybe Willow needs a whisper human. She doesn’t look capable of taking on any more worries than her own.”
It’s not that Claire wasn’t willing to discuss her problems, even with a horse, but she had never had much luck with counseling. Her high school guidance counselor had advised her to go to secretarial school when Claire asked for college scholarship forms. Her marriage counselor had been helpless in the face of the relationship’s death throes. The divorce mediator had been unable to prevent her ex-husband from walking off with most of her small but precious art collection.
Now Sharon thought she should use a horse as a therapist. Well, at least Willow wouldn’t charge for her time.
“Why don’t you give her a treat?” Sharon suggested.
Claire had forgotten the baby carrots she’d shoved in her jeans pocket as she walked out of her rented house for her precious afternoon ride. Her life in New York City hadn’t allowed for horseback riding, and now it was the one indulgence she permitted herself between work and helping out her sister.
Claire dug out one of the carrots and held it on her flattened palm. “Go ahead, sweet girl, just enjoy it.”
Willow blew a moist breath against Claire’s skin, but didn’t take the treat.
“Do you think her teeth are bothering her, so she doesn’t want to chew on something so crisp?” Claire asked.
“I’ll ask Dr. Tim when he comes back.”
“Does he have a last name?”
“It’s Arbuckle, but no one calls him that. He took over Dr. Messer’s practice about six months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t heard all the talk around town about him.”
“I guess I’m not part of the grapevine yet.”
In fact, Claire hadn’t gotten involved in Sanctuary’s activities at all. When she found out her younger sister Holly had acute Lyme disease, Claire had come back to her old hometown to take care of her, hoping to mend their strained relationship at the same time. Despite all the time and energy she expended on both tasks, she wasn’t much nearer her goal than when she’d arrived three weeks ago.
Claire wanted to know more about the veterinarian, but Sharon was interested in her relationship with the horse.
“Willow looks less tense now. You’re doing her good. Now you have to let her take care of you in return.”
As Claire scratched gently around the base of Willow’s ears, the horse gave a deep sigh and leaned her head against Claire’s midriff, making her stagger slightly. She felt a prickle of tears behind her eyes at this small sign of trust. If only she could get Holly to feel the same faith in her.
“Now look at Willow’s eyes,” Sharon said. “That’s what will tell you.”
Since the horse’s head was still drooping, Claire dropped to one knee in the deep, fragrant straw. With what looked like a huge effort, Willow lifted her head slightly, and Claire saw her eyes: dark, liquid, with a plea in them.
Claire wanted nothing more than to pour words of comfort into the mare’s heart and soul, to tell her she didn’t need to have that look in her eyes ever again. Claire leaned her forehead against Willow’s and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.
She knew then what Sharon was talking about. This was her special horse, whether she needed Willow or Willow needed her.
“DR. TIM,” SHARON said, turning away from the stall, “how’s t
he expectant mom doing?”
As the vet’s voice rumbled on about palpation and the chorionic vesicle, Claire swiped her sleeve across her eyes and quickly pushed up to her feet. “Okay, Willow, how do I explain to Dr. Tim that I believe in whisper horses now? He’ll think I’ve lost my mind.” She gave the mare a hug and walked to the stall door, cracking it open to slip out.
Tim stood with his head bent, listening to something Sharon was saying. A curve of auburn hair fell onto his forehead, and it looked so smooth and shiny Claire had an urge to brush her fingers through it.
“Let me get Claire’s riding horse for her, and then we’ll take a good long look at Willow together,” Sharon said. She strode away from them before Claire could offer to come with her.
“How’d it go?” Tim said, sliding his hands into his jeans pockets. “Is Willow the one?”
“It may sound silly, but there was some kind of connection.” Claire waited for a jibe, but he just nodded. She flashed him a wry smile. “However, she has her own problems to get over before she can handle mine, so I’m counting on you to fix her up.”
“I’ll do my best, but Sharon’s the real miracle worker when it comes to horses. I’ve seen her save some I thought were hopeless.” He contemplated the scuffed toes of his tan cowboy boots for a few moments before looking up. “I guess you have some pretty weighty problems.”
Claire was taken aback by his directness, but the sympathy in his gray eyes disarmed her. She thought about her ugly divorce and her sister’s ongoing reluctance to let Claire help her. “No more than most people. They just seem piled on top of each other right now.”
“Well, I sure hope Willow can help you out.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that.”
“Oh, I never disagree with Sharon about horses. She’s forgotten more about them than I’ll ever know.”
Claire found herself liking his modesty. “She’s very picky about who handles her livestock, so she must think you’re quite knowledgeable yourself.”
The muffled thud of hooves and creak of leather announced Sharon’s return.
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