Where There Is Smoke
Elisabeth Rose
romance.com.au
Where There Is Smoke
Elisabeth Rose
In the small town of Taylor’s Bend, some secrets are about to ignite…
When Taylor’s Bend vet Oliver Johnson attends a car accident involving a horse float from a nearby stud farm he’s not prepared for an encounter with Krista Laatonen, the billionaire owner’s stepdaughter. Beautiful, prickly, and entitled, she is everything he despises about the world he left behind all those years ago. But he can’t neglect an injured animal, and there is something about Krista he can’t ignore.
Oliver soon discovers that first impressions can be misleading-the accident was not as it seemed, and there might just be more to Krista than he expected.
When two thugs arrive on Oliver’s doorstep claiming the horse from the accident belongs to their boss, Oliver and Krista are thrown into the middle of a dangerous game of deception and greed. As the threats around them escalate into blood spilled, choking fire, and a violent abduction, Oliver must decide if Krista’s ice-queen mask hides a woman worth risking his life—and his heart—for.
About the author
Multi-published romance writer ELISABETH ROSE lives very happily in Canberra with her musician husband. Travel is a big part of their lives now the family has left home. Elisabeth’s original training was in clarinet performance, but she was also a tai chi instructor for twenty-five years. An avid reader, her preference is for a happy ending regardless of genre and is most annoyed if a main character dies or leaves—unless, of course, it’s the villain.
If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage elisabethrose.com.au, or like my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/Elisabethroseauthor/
Acknowledgements
For this story I had to draw on knowledge from my childhood and teen years as a horse owner and rider. I sought specific information on panicky horses from my friend Beth and running a stud farm information from Arabian stud owner, Ally Hudson. Ally’s next-door neighbour, a race horse trainer, put the mockers on my original idea by saying all race horses are microchipped so substitution is impossible nowadays. Facts and good ideas aren’t always compatible.
To Colin, Carla, Nick and Paige
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
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
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
The white four-wheel drive towing one of The Grange Stud horse floats roared down the main street of Taylor’s Bend as though the road was empty of pedestrians, traffic and a tractor trundling along with hay baler attached.
Local veterinarian, Oliver Johnson, waiting to cross the road, stared after it in disbelief. ‘Who drives like that with a horse in the back?’ he said to the farmer standing beside him.
‘Littlejohns,’ came the reply. ‘Mad bloody bunch. Too much money and half a brain cell between the lot of them to go with it. The stable manager knows what he’s doing but that young idiot who’s supposed to be in charge. Boss’s son …’ He spat into the gutter. ‘Couldn’t manage his way out of a haystack. They only have a couple of nags there anyway so God knows why they call it a stud.’
‘Yep. Still, the horses aren’t to blame. I’d better get going. Sick cow to see.’ Oliver hurried across to his car and headed out of town for the next appointment, but he’d only just reached the farm gate when his mobile shrilled. Margie, his receptionist.
‘The police called. There’s been an accident involving one of The Grange horse floats. It’s gone into the ditch just round the bend after Victoria Road. One horse trapped on board and panicking.’
‘Okay, I’m on way. I’m not going to get to that cow today and you’d better cancel surgery, I’ve no idea how long I’ll be.’ And hadn’t that driver and horse float been an accident waiting to happen?
Margie lowered her voice. ‘Beryl’s just arrived with her dog.’
He stifled the groan. ‘She’ll have to come back tomorrow.’
According to Margie, Beryl had a crush on him the size of a house and he believed her now, after Beryl’s fifth visit dragging a hale and hearty poodle along for unnecessary check-ups and a total disregard for surgery hours. Margie thought it was funny, he thought it was excruciatingly embarrassing, not to mention a waste of time.
‘Okey-dokey.’
‘Thanks.’ Oliver turned onto the road leading back to town. The Grange never called him out, being closer to the Jindalee practice, but this was a no-brainer because he’d be there in five minutes and the other vet was thirty-five minutes away. He wasn’t about to let a horse suffer.
Witches hats marked the accident site and both police cruisers had lights flashing.
The Range Rover had come to rest nose down and canted to the side. Miraculously, the horse float stayed attached, teetering but upright. One occupant by the sound of it, who wasn’t happy and vented its fear and fury by kicking and banging against the walls. The float would be on its side in the ditch along with the driver if they couldn’t get the horse out. As Oliver got out of the car, the thrashing of hooves and panicky, distressed snorting coming from the float made him quicken his pace.
A young, dark-haired man sat in the rear of one of the cruisers, head back against the seat, eyes closed. He didn’t stir when Oliver strode by. The young idiot in charge of The Grange?
The small door at the front of the float was open. Police Constable Shannon’s voice came from inside, trying to calm the horse. The Senior Constable, Rupe, was examining the connection between the vehicle and the float. The towbar was bent where they joined and the angle of the four-wheel drive meant it wouldn’t be easy to disengage. There was just enough room to open the ramp for the horse to back out safely onto the road. Each time the animal shifted the float tilted and wobbled, perilously close to the ditch.
‘G’day, Ollie.’ Rupe heaved a deep sigh. ‘This is a bugger of a thing. Can you sedate that horse? I’m worried he’ll have the whole thing over.’
‘G’day. Can we open the ramp?’
‘Yeah, I reckon we can try now you’re here. I didn’t fancy it with just two of us. The horse is pretty big.’
‘What about him?’ Oliver jerked a thumb in the direction of Rupe’s car.
‘Useless. He’s in shock and he’s done something to his wrist, sprained it I reckon.’
Oliver climbed in beside Shannon, who squeezed out through the narrow door. The horse was a big chestnut thoroughbred, built for speed; but now the body quivered, eyes wide with fear, nostrils flaring, and the glossy coat had a sheen of sweat. When Oliver straightened in front of him he backed away, snorting, pulling hard on the tether rope. The float shifted alarmingly. He squealed and plunged forward, crashing into the divider and rearing up. One hoof struck the padded metal front of the stall close to the top, making Oliver duck away in case he got a foreleg over.
‘Sshh, shhh, shhh. Calm down boy. Calm down.’ Oliver murmured a string of soothing words as he did a quick assessment. A mare. The shaking horse had scrapes on her shoulder, a cut over the right eye dripping blood and some torn skin on both back legs, probably from
the initial crash, but otherwise seemed okay thanks to the thick padding lining the lower part of the walls. The big mare’s main problem was blind panic and every time she moved, the float moved, which frightened her more.
Outside, he joined Shannon and Rupe at the back of the float.
‘I reckon we can open it,’ Shannon said. ‘We can’t leave him in there.’
‘She’s a mare. It’s touch-and-go with just three of us,’ said Oliver. ‘Have you called The Grange?’
‘Yeah. Someone’s on their way but they’ll be thirty minutes at least.’
A ute pulled up. The driver stuck his head out. ‘Need a hand?’ Rupe’s neighbour and vineyard owner.
‘G’day, Tim. How are you with horses?’
‘Won’t know till I try.’ He moved the ute off the road and walked back.
‘Okay, if you get in with the horse, Shannon, and untie her, we’ll get the back open and steady her as she comes out,’ said Oliver. ‘Let’s go.’
The horse snorted and fidgeted as the ramp came down and she sensed freedom, but when Shannon untied the rope and eased her backwards she came docilely down, stepping delicately until she reached the ground. She tossed her head up and down and snorted loudly, looking about with ears pricked although her body still shook with nervous energy.
‘Good girl, good girl.’ Oliver ran a hand down the sleek neck. He continued his examination. The cut over the eye was superficial and he could clean and patch it up here.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Shannon said.
‘Walk her over on to the grass.’ Oliver watched critically as the horse crossed the road. She walked normally, no sign of injury to her legs beyond the superficial abrasions but a bang could lead to swelling later. When Shannon stopped, she bent her head and began plucking mouthfuls of the long, dry grass on the wide verge.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Tim. ‘See you two tomorrow.’
‘Yep, should do unless someone’s goat gets sick.’ The weekly tennis mixed doubles—hard fought matches they all enjoyed. He really didn’t want to have to call in a sub again. He’d missed two sessions since they started after Christmas.
‘I’ll be there,’ said Shannon.
Thanks, mate,’ Rupe said, and Oliver lifted a hand in farewell.
Oliver opened his bag, unpacked what he needed and began attending to the cut. ‘Bring her head up, Shannon, please, and hold her steady.’
The ambulance passed Tim’s ute as he eased onto the road heading out of town, and pulled up next to the police cruiser. The paramedic jumped out and chatted to Rupe for a minute before leaning into the car to talk to the injured driver.
Moments later a white BMW convertible with the top up pulled over and came to a halt. The horse jerked her head away and sidled sideways, causing Shannon to take a few hasty steps. Oliver grasped the lead rope as well in case the horse broke free. She’d have no trouble pulling Shannon off her feet if she bolted.
‘Another bloody genius from that place,’ she muttered. ‘That’s the daughter. She’s hardly ever here, most likely too busy jetsetting around the world.’
A tall woman with hair the colour of bleached straw slammed the car door and marched towards them.
‘What’s happened? What are you doing with my horse?’ Her accent was slight but evident in the rounded vowels and precise enunciation. Sunglasses obscured most of her face and she had an asymmetrical hair style where one side was longer than the other, even though the whole effect was short.
Leaving the horse in Oliver’s care, Shannon, stocky and dark-haired, walked to meet the fair woman. They came from different worlds, hard-nosed Shannon in the blue police uniform, and the elegant blonde in her rural version of designer faded blue jeans with those stupid ripped knees and sleeveless shirt, which never suffered from a speck of dirt or a crease and would have cost ten times what any of the Taylor’s Bend women paid for theirs.
‘Constable Shannon Chu.’ Her voice would cut steel. ‘Could I have your name please, ma’am?’
‘Krista Laatonen. I own this horse.’ She pushed the sunglasses up and took a couple of steps towards the horse, hand outstretched, but it tossed its head and snorted, backing away.
‘Do you have proof of that?’
Oliver calmed the horse, hiding a smile at Shannon’s deliberately blank expression, guaranteed to infuriate this blonde fury even more. Laatonen? Sounded Finnish. Explained the fineness of the white hair and the smooth, pale skin, not to mention the Arctic blue eyes.
‘I’m from The Grange. Hugh Littlejohn is my stepfather and this is my horse. Ask him if you don’t believe me.’
‘We may do that. Your brother Angus, over there, was speeding and drove into the ditch. We’ve just freed your horse from the float. It was panicking and in danger of injuring itself. This is Oliver Johnson, the vet.’
‘Angus is my stepbrother.’ The icy pair of eyes coated Oliver with disdain. ‘We have our own vet. Thank you.’ Her tone altered to unexpected concern as she peered at the bloody cut over the horse’s eye.
‘Is she badly injured? What about her eye? Isn’t that a lot of blood?’
‘Minor skin abrasions on the head can bleed a lot, same as people. Her eye isn’t damaged but I’ll need to examine her more thoroughly.’ Wonder if that bloke liked being thought of as ‘their’ vet. Oliver wouldn’t.
Rupe strolled over.
‘Senior Constable Perry,’ he said.
‘This is Krista Laatonen from The Grange,’ said Shannon. ‘Says she owns the horse.’
‘I do own the horse. Her name is Calypso Secret.’ She bit the words off and spat them towards Shannon. ‘I was just informing your constable that we have our own vet and you should have called us first.’
‘We are aware of that. We called The Grange but the Jindalee vet is at least half an hour away and your horse might have needed a sedative before we could safely get her out,’ Rupe said.
‘You sedated my horse? Without permission? How dare you?’ She swung the icepicks back to Oliver. His jaw tightened. How dare she talk to him as though he were some unqualified upstart? ‘Who did you speak to at The Grange?’
‘Mrs Littlejohn,’ said Rupe. ‘She told us to do what was necessary and she’d send someone. Didn’t she inform you?’
‘Clearly not.’
‘Your horse didn’t need sedation. She calmed down quickly when she knew we were getting her out,’ Oliver said. ‘I was called by Senior Constable Perry for assistance. If she had needed it I would have made a professional decision in the best interest of the animal.’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘Something you might take up with your stepbrother over there.’
For the first time she glanced across to where the paramedic was assisting the driver to climb into the back of the ambulance.
‘Is he all right?’ It had a grudging sound to it. Not a loving relationship then. Not surprising given the lack of communication between them. She’d been more worried about the horse. So had he.
‘He has mild shock, a possible cracked rib and a sprained wrist. Might be broken,’ said Rupe.
‘Was he drunk?’ As though she expected he would be in the middle of a weekday afternoon.
‘Not over the limit but he did register positive for alcohol.’
She breathed in hard, lips tight, but said nothing. One manicured hand gracefully swatted a fly from her face. Pink-tipped fingernails and perfect make-up straight out of a cosmetics ad.
‘We have to get this car and float off the road. As it’s your property, do you want to take care of it, Ms Laatonen?’ asked Rupe briskly.
Oliver bit his lip to stop the laugh escaping.
‘Or should I call the tow truck?’ Rupe finished after the silence indicated she wasn’t replying yes.
‘One moment, please.’ Mobile phone in hand, she turned away and spoke rapidly, furiously, to someone.
‘Mad as a frog in a sock,’ murmured Shannon.
The imperious voice cut in. ‘Call the tow truck, please.
Have them take both vehicles to the local garage.’
‘The Range Rover might be drivable,’ said Shannon.
‘Not by me.’ Her perfectly sculpted lip curled. ‘Angus can handle it.’
‘What about Calypso Secret?’ asked Oliver while Shannon called the local garage.
‘There’s no float available to pick her up right now. Do you have a stable or a yard at your practice where I can leave her?’
‘She needs more attention. I need to check for other injuries.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Are you asking me if I’m qualified to treat your animal?’
‘I’m asking will you. I can pay you whatever you want.’
Not quite what he’d asked her. Oliver met Rupe’s eye briefly. He’d be thinking exactly the same thing. She figured money would buy her anything and it probably did. Except manners.
‘If it wasn’t for the fact your horse needs treatment I’d say no, given your assessment of my professional ability.’
A slight rose-pink flush tinged her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to doubt your ability. I’m worried about Calypso. I’d hate her to be in pain.’
He let that one pass. If that was worry, insulting the vet was an odd way of expressing it. He’d hate to see unconcern. Come to think of it he had—towards her stepbrother. To be fair, underneath the spikes she did seem genuinely to care for the horse’s wellbeing. ‘My practice is about two kilometres from here. You’ll have to walk her rather than ride. Head into town, turn right at the first intersection and follow Victoria Road. You’ll see the sign. Shouldn’t take too long. Try to keep her on the soft verge and take her quietly.’
After a moment of stunned silence, she said, ‘What about my car?’
‘Isn’t someone coming from The Grange?’
‘No, not now I’m here.’
‘You can walk back.’
She looked around as though a minion might appear and offer to take the horse for her. When none did, she looked at her feet clad in red strappy high-heeled sandals. ‘I can’t walk that far in these.’
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