Hart & Stocker
By Max Ellendale
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Hart & Stocker
Copyright © 2019 Max Ellendale
Cover Artist: Victoria Miller
Editor: Deadra Krieger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Max Ellendale
www.maxellendale.com
Table of 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
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Chapter One
I stood at the island counter in my sister's kitchen, and watched my niece run in circles with a group of children. The noise volume must've neared one-hundred-and-thirty decibels at least. I squinted, sipping my coffee and holding on to the neutral expression that I'd paid a lot of money to master.
Sage swept in beside me to unwrap trays of cupcakes on the countertop.
"There's something wrong with that one," I said, nodding toward the little boy who played rougher than the others. "Budding sociopath."
My sister laughed, elbowing me. "Is that your professional opinion?"
"Oh yeah. Look at 'em." I gestured with my pinky while the kids let out another scream. "He takes joy in the pain of others. Watch."
We stood quietly, staring at the kids. Sure enough, the little blond demon tripped another boy, and the kid face planted. The demon snickered, while some of the other kids helped him up.
"See? Look at that."
"You're just bored to tears and making stuff up," Sage said, handing me a plate of cupcakes. "Here, make yourself useful."
"Amusing. You're very amusing." I accepted the offering anyway. "They're destroying your pretty house."
"Girls," called Mom as she strode into the room. With eyes as sharp as Sage's, and auburn hair to match, her presence drew our attention. She paused when another shout rang out when the demon child pushed another kid, glancing over her shoulder. "There's something unusual about that boy."
I gestured wildly toward the living room while staring at Sage. "See! I told you."
"Both of you knock it off. Let's get the cake going so we can break this party up." Sage shoved my shoulder and forced another batch of cupcakes on Mom.
In the parlor, the group of mothers and a few fathers chatted while the kids terrorized each other in the open area set up for Macie's birthday party. Pink and purple streamers dangled from the ceiling where at least forty balloons floated between them. I set the cupcakes down on the dessert table beside the heaping mound of gifts.
Sneakers squeaked on the hardwood floor, and I dodged a stampede on my way back to the kitchen.
"Oh no you don't." Sage grabbed my shoulders, steering me back toward the crowd. "The least you could do is pretend to socialize for your niece, Will."
"She doesn't even know I'm here. And why are we in here? It's beautiful outside."
"We're having cake in a minute." She swatted my rear before pushing me off.
I scowled, then huffed before wandering over, as unobtrusively as possible, to sit beside my mother.
"Tell us, Doctor Hart. How are things at the clinic?" Marjorie asked, the stem of her mimosa glass perched precariously on her white jean-clad knee.
All of the adult gazes fell on me.
"Oh." I started. "Me Doctor Hart or her Doctor Hart?" I pointed at my mother.
A few of them chuckled.
"You." Marjorie gestured to me. "How are things going with your new hire?"
"Well. Crafting young souls right out of veterinary school is my forte." I smirked, leaning back in my chair. My mother lifted a single brow at me, her expression a tangle of sarcasm and interest as I imagined she wondered how I would answer.
"That's good to hear." Marjorie chuckled and I wondered if she even gave a hoot about how the clinic was going. "It's a gift to have both Doctor Harts in the same room."
"Just hope there's no animal or human emergency before we have cake," I said, but no one laughed.
A few vacant stares met mine.
"Willa always knows how to bring down the house." Mom squeezed my shoulder. "Obviously, she's kidding."
A half-smile met my lips, and in that swift moment, I remembered why I wasn't a fan of my sister's friends.
Cake and song happened, an excited over-sugared six-year-old followed, and an hour of clean up ended our day. While I washed dishes, staring out into the dusky backyard, I let the stress of the day fade away. With the house generally quiet save for Macie's talkative tones while she explained one of her new dolls to her perplexed father, I thought about the differences in my life and Sage's.
I glanced at her while she ran her fingers through Jake's hair as he smiled happily at his cute kid. Sage seemed happy, genuinely happy with how things in her life had turned out. While I wasn't unhappy, in moments like these, our contrasted existence made me wonder what I missed out on.
A gentle hand fell to my back and I turned to see Mom leaning against the cabinets beside me. She smiled, and tucked my hair behind my ear.
"What are you thinkin' about, little girl?"
"I'm hardly little, Ma." I chuckled, rinsing off the glass I'd washed for at least five minutes for no reason.
"You'll both always be little to me." Her smile, endless with affection, wasn't unusual for her at all. "Do you feel all right? You're quiet."
"I'm fine, Ma. Tired. It was a long, and loud, day."
"Kids weren't ever really your thing." She laughed at that, letting out a long dramatic sigh. "Horses for you."
"Horses for me." I grinned at her as I turned off the faucet and dried my hands. "And any animal that doesn't run around shrieking all day."
"Ah, you'll get over it." Mom smooched my cheek and joined the others at the table.
"Auntie Willa," called Macie, drawing my attention to her.
"Yeah, girl?" I tossed the dish towel on the counter and headed over to her.
"I decided something." She stood up on her chair, then plopped her jean-covered butt on the table beside newly opened toys.
"Oh yeah? What'd you decide?" I leaned my hip against the table, crossing my arms while the group of us stared at the kid.
"When I grow up, I'm gonna be a vet like you." Her round, rosy cheeks lifted with the broad smile that accompanied her declaration.
All four sets of eyes fell on me, wide and shimmering with their smiles.
My face heated, and a tingling sensation brought goosebumps to my flesh. "That makes me happy to hear, Macie." I held my arms to her and she jumped into them, giggling when she hugged me. I met Sage's gaze over her shoulder as she looked on with adoration. "Very happy."
***
"Doctor Hart?" called Nellie from the front desk about eight seconds after I returned from a visit in the community. The fragrance of spring barely had a moment to leave my shoulders when I swep
t inside the clinic.
"What's up, Nell?" I asked, brushing some hay from my jeans.
"You got a call from Stocker's Farm a few minutes ago."
"Stocker's?" My brow furrowed as I leaned against the desk. "What about?"
"It's unclear. Whoever called said one of Dax's horses was acting strangely." Nellie tapped her pen on the desk before tucking it in the pocket of her giraffe-patterned scrub top.
"They haven't had horses since Dax Stocker died last year…"
"Well, someone called." Nellie shrugged. "Want me to go with you?"
"No, it's okay. I'll head out. Keep an eye on Sherman back there." I nodded toward the exam room where the new doctor worked.
Nellie snickered. "His name is Doctor Harmon, Willa. Oh my God, you hired him. You really pay no attention to men, do you?"
"Shh." I laughed, nearly leaping over the counter to cover her mouth. "Keep those pretty little teeth clamped down, would you?"
Her hysterics turned her face bright red. "Will!" She swatted at my hands. "You're the worst."
"Hush up now. Look after Harmon." I waved my hands at the closed door. "I'll check in after lunch."
"You got it," she said, snickering as she turned to answer the ringing phone.
I refilled my medical bag, and loaded it into the back seat of my pickup before climbing in. The roar of the overused engine brought a smile to my face. Although I loved the truck, I looked forward to the day I would need a new one. Part of me wondered if I only held on to it because it belonged to my dad.
The open road and clear skies brought a welcome breath of freshness to the Washington air. With the mountains in the distance, and the beginnings of lavender blooms all around, it reminded me of why I left Seattle to return home. For the most part, I reveled in my decision. Mostly.
Sequim wasn't the largest place, but it was home. Living in the rain shadow gave it a utopia feel, at least to me. Less rain, humid air, and surrounded by mountains and forests not far off, left a lot of room for growth and adventure.
Stocker's Farm took me about twenty minutes from the clinic. The moment I pulled off the main road, the sight of the lavender fields within the confines of the rundown fences along the perimeter nearly stole my breath. I slowed to a roll as the gravel crunched under my tires. Up ahead, Mr. Stocker's farm remained as it always was; a huge red barn, acres of manicured fields, and a rich wooden home centered among all of it. The large windows, wrap-around porch, and single-story design warmed my insides. I'd always loved this property, even as a kid. Especially the creepy stories about the old dilapidated schoolhouse that stood somewhere on the property. Mr. Stocker refused to tear it down, citing fears over upsetting the ghosts that haunted it.
As a child, that story brought allure and fear—the combination of emotions that drew any kid. As an adult, I looked back at it with a fond memory. Part of me worried what would happen to the old schoolhouse once Stocker's farm was sold off. Today, I might just find out.
I rolled to a stop in front of the open barn door. No one met me there, though the sound of a tractor in the distance had me looking around. I parked the truck, slid out, and grabbed my bag.
My boots crunched almost as loud as the tires on the rocky clay as I headed toward the barn.
"Hello?" I called out, though no voice greeted me. I let myself in the unlocked gate, as I often did as the now, one of two, vets in the area.
A loud bleating startled me, and I swung around to see a young goat heading my way.
"Hey there, fella." I crouched down to it and he bounded over without pause. I chuckled, and pat it with ease. "Well, you're used to humans."
Another bleat sang out and two more flowed into the barn. They swarmed my ankles and I laughed when they tried hopping in my lap. Only when three little goats climbed on me did I notice that each of them wore a different colored dog collar; green, pink, and blue.
"Well, someone takes care of you three, don't they?" I rolled to sit cross-legged in the dirt and hay while the goats took turns climbing and jumping off me. The cute bundles of black, white, and brown made all sorts of adorable noises, and bumped heads with each other and me as if I saw them every day.
Part of me realized that I'd responded to a veterinary call from a dead man to tend to his horse, and yet I found myself pummeled by adolescent goats. Instead of worrying about murder and mayhem, I took a moment to snap a few pictures of the little fellas. I laughed hard when two of them looked right into the camera, their bright eyes and horizontal pupils so clear in the bright light.
"What are you doing to my goats?" A raspy, feminine croon drew my attention to the entrance of the barn. Silhouetted in the daylight, a woman's figure stood, one hand gripping the wooden handle of a shovel, the other rested on the grip of a gun at her hip.
"I'm Doctor Hart." I sputtered when one of the kids head-butted my chin. "Someone called me about a horse?"
"Do you often find yourself on barn floors playing with random people's animals? You could've gotten shot," she said, tossing the shovel roughly into a pile of equipment. It clanged and I worried the animals would startle. Instead, they bleated and raced over to her like they hadn't seen her in years.
"Actually, yeah, I do. And if I flinched every time I saw a gun, I would spend all day ducking."
The woman crouched down to greet the goats, her harsh nature fading when she lifted one of the animals to her chest, her face shielded by the brim of a well-worn brown Stetson. I rose from the ground, taking my bag with me as I approached.
She looked up at me and the sight of her sent every neuron in my brain firing. Sharp green eyes, soft brown hair to her shoulders, and sun-kissed freckles across the bridge of her nose had me staring. In her blue jeans, cowboy boots, and slightly-sweaty purple T-shirt, she was almost as breathtaking as the lavender.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, brushing her lips over the head of one of the goats. I noted then, that her hand hadn't left her gun. Her face, although beautiful, constricted with tension. A steadfast gaze remained on mine.
I shook my head, gulping down my reaction to her and clearing my throat. "I'm Doctor Hart, the veterinarian. Who are you?"
"Dax Stocker." She set the goat down then gestured over her shoulder toward the pasture. "Something's wrong with the mare," she said, as she stood up again. Her height mirrored mine, though the definition in her toned arms was nothing of the sort. She turned and led me from the barn after closing the goats inside the gate.
"You're Dax?" I asked, scuttling after her to catch up. Her wide, confident strides had me gulping again. Get it together, Willa.
"I am." She glanced over her shoulder at me when I fell in step beside her. "Take it you knew my father."
I nodded, running my hand over my messy ponytail. "I did. He was a good man."
"He was." A hint of emotion narrowed her brow for a fleeting second, before she drew her gaze back to the field ahead.
Wind blew her hair from her face, and she lifted her arm to hold onto her hat. Dax led me around the barn to the open space where a beautiful brown horse grazed in the field. Her shiny coat, and healthy frame told me that she was well-cared for. I leaned against the fence, bracing my foot on it as Dax whistled to call the horse to her.
"Belgian draft mix?" I asked. Dax nodded, her gaze flickering in my direction.
She meandered over, though the attitude evident in her swirling ears told me she was uneasy.
"What's her name?" I asked, watching as Dax stroked her nose. The horse stared at me, though I didn't make a move to touch her yet. I took a moment to slow my breathing and relax my energy in her presence.
"Carol." Dax ran her knuckles over the horse's cheek.
The name brought me pause, and I smirked. "Unique."
"Carol Danvers." And there, amidst the previously frozen face, Dax cracked a smile.
"You named your horse after Captain Marvel?" I laughed softly, and the horse turned her attention to me.
"She named her
self."
"I see. Horses often do that." With caution, I held my hand out to Carol and she gave me a gentle bump. She raised her head, then let out a heavy puff of air; the flehmen indicative that she scoped me out.
Almost immediately, her ears relaxed and she lowered her head again. This time, I stroked her the same way Dax did.
"There we go," I said, smiling at the sweet mare.
"She's okay with you," said Dax, her tone almost comically dry.
"Well, world's most okayest vet. I'll take it. What's been bothering her?"
"When I put the bridle on her, she hates it lately. She's fine otherwise." Dax continued to pet Carol, the horse responding to her positively.
"Have you checked her teeth?"
The glare that Dax shot me would've reduced me to ashes if I was fragile enough. "Do I look like someone who knows how to check horse teeth?"
"Actually, yeah. You do." I cocked a challenging brow at her, locking us in a momentary stalemate. Her shoulders tensed, brows narrowed, but when I didn't budge, she drew her attention back to the horse. "When did you get her?"
"Rescued her six months ago. Ranch hand heard about her, brought her here."
"Was she neglected?"
"I think so."
"I bet she has a wolf tooth. Let's get a closer look," I suggested, and Dax nodded.
She opened the paddock and Carol remained calm when we approached. For a horse that had been neglected, she was unusually steady and welcoming. It told me how much effort Dax put into working with her.
"How is she when you touch her mouth?" I asked, observing Carol's body language for calmness. She let me touch her, and move about with ease.
"Fine. She's very docile."
"Alright. Let's have a look." I smiled at the horse who watched me with caution, but acceptance while I gave a quick inspection of her mouth. Sure enough, there they were, the wolf teeth hanging out behind the premolars. Dax stroked the horse, keeping her relaxed through it. I gave the horse a gentle pat when I released her after checking out both sides. "Yep. She has them and they look a little aggravated. Most horses have them out when they're young to avoid issues, but like you said, if she wasn't well-cared for..."
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