by Gina Kincade
The elder talks about how special finding love can be, how it can change you, turn you into someone else, a better version of yourself. How love can be a mirror, reflecting what you don’t want to see, but what makes it true love is when you’re willing to change, to grow. And even better, when the person holding that mirror, accepts you for who you are really are. Scars, tattoos, and all.
Then the elder addresses Asha, saying how I spoke with them, but the choice is ultimately up to her.
I’m in front of her, my beautiful Dr. Asha Whitetail. Tears have formed in her dark eyes and if I’m not careful I’ll catch them too. Her sister’s already crying, Bit wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
I’ve never liked talking. Until Asha. I never liked saying what was on my mind. But she’s patient and listens, really listens to me.
So, I talk. “Asha Isabell Whitetail.”
Her hand moves to her heart. “Ian, what are you doing?”
I get down on one knee and the people of the powwow are going crazy, cheering and clapping.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?”
I smile and catch her hand, holding it, swallowing the lump in my throat. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one. I just didn’t think I had any chance.”
A tear surfs down her cheek, and I smile as my own eyes smart.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world because you did take that chance on me.”
“Oh, Ian.”
I take the black velvet box out and open it, showing her the diamond and sapphire ring her sister helped me pick out. “I’m going to make a bargain with you, Asha. If you marry me, I’ll do everything I can to make you happy for the rest of your life. I’ll cook for you and teach you how to cook, but only if you want.”
That makes her laugh, because she thinks Chef Boyardee is good eating.
“I’ll take care of you when you’re sick.” I continue. “I’ll listen to you and fight for you and try not to fight you for the remote too much.”
She chuckles again, but another tear streams down her pretty face.
“I’ll be your protector; although, I doubt you need it, you beautiful, fierce woman. And I’ll be there with you every step of the way, holding your hand through good times and bad. If you just marry me.”
I’m not sure, but I think three hundred people are holding their breath as we all wait on Asha.
She kneels in front of me and caresses my cheek and jaw. “You beautiful man.” She kisses me and someone cheers, but someone else mentions the fact that she hasn’t said yes yet. All of it makes Asha, my gorgeous woman, smile and giggle, looking at me with so much love in her dark mischievous eyes.
Finally, she says, “Deal.”
THE END
On Her High Horse by Lucy Felthouse
Chapter One
There was a knock at the door. Brett looked up from where he was transferring hand-written notes onto the practice’s computer system—he hadn’t yet gotten comfortable with taking the iPad out on calls. He was paranoid he’d drop it in a cow pat, or worse. “Yes, come in!”
One of the veterinary surgery’s receptionists—an efficient blonde called Natasha—sidled in, a wry expression on her face. “Hi, Brett. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s a woman on the phone, and she’s being, um, rather rude.”
Frowning, Brett replied, “Who is it? And why is she being rude?”
Natasha blew out a breath and shrugged. “She won’t tell me what the issue is. Won’t even tell me what animal she has. She just keeps saying she’ll only speak to a ‘trained professional.’ I don’t know who it is, either. All I know is her first name is—”
“Samantha?” Brett supplied, his shoulders slumping and eyebrows raising.
“Uh, yeah. How did you know? Oh God, I haven’t gone and insulted one of your friends or something, have I? I didn’t mean to, honestly. It’s just she’s being a bit difficult…”
“Natasha, don’t panic. She’s no friend of mine. I’ve never even met the woman. Besides, if she was one of my friends, I’d be giving her a bollocking for being rude to one of my staff, wouldn’t I? Anyway, if it’s the Samantha I think it is, then she’s being very difficult, and you’re being overly polite. Andrew warned me about her.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Bloody typical that she’d phone while he’s away. The man barely ever takes a holiday, and now he finally has, his most awkward client is on the blower. He damn well owes me one after this.”
“If she’s a regular client, how come I’ve never spoken to her before?”
Shrugging, Brett replied, “Dunno. Maybe she’s got Andrew’s mobile number or something?”
Natasha gasped. “But he never gives out his mobile number to clients. He’s very strict about that—always asks us to take a message and if it’s urgent, pass it on to him directly.”
“Yeah…” Brett scratched his head. “He didn’t say much about her, beyond that she can be difficult. Honestly, I was a bit distracted when he mentioned it so I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention. I wish I’d asked more questions now, but I never thought I’d have the misfortune of having to deal with her.”
“You haven’t, yet.” Natasha raised her eyebrows and jerked her chin towards the phone on his desk.
“Good point.” He gave a wan smile. “Suppose I’d better find out what she wants, hadn’t I? If she’s special enough to have Andrew’s precious mobile phone number, then I ought to keep her sweet.”
“Probably wise.” Natasha left the room, closing the door behind her, but not before Brett spotted the slight smile on her face. Relieved to pass on the bitchy customer to him, no doubt.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. “Hello, Brett Coulson speaking. How can I help?”
“Oh,” came the reply, “Brett. Ah, yes. You’re the other vet, aren’t you? Jolly good. Know what you’re talking about, do you?” The woman’s accent was posh, southern. Like she’d been to a finishing school or something.
Gritting his teeth, Brett then pasted a smile on his face, hoping it would be apparent in his tone, despite the daggers he was actually staring at her through the handset. “Yes, I most certainly do.” Should fucking do, after five years of training and the same again working in the profession. I’m not on bloody work experience here.
“But you sound so young.”
Glad she couldn’t see him, Brett rolled his eyes. Her problem obviously wasn’t an emergency, the way she was waffling on, time-wasting. “I’m almost twenty-nine, Mrs…”
“It’s Ms, actually. Samantha Hanson-Bishop here. So you’re still a baby then.”
“Is there something I can help you with, Ms Hanson-Bishop? Only I’ve a call to go out on in a few minutes.” He couldn’t help the emphasis he’d put on the Ms. It could be construed as sarcastic, but it was still a damn sight more polite than anything he really wanted to say. Would she just get to the point already?
“Yes, yes, of course. That’s why I’m telephoning. I just wanted to make sure I was speaking to someone who actually knew what they were talking about. Clearly your receptionist doesn’t know anything about animals, much less my thoroughbred horses.”
Ah, okay, that made things clearer. The stuck-up, posh bird ran a stable. Now the haughty attitude made sense—she was entitled, bored, and thought she was better than everyone else. Wanting to defend Natasha—who was, in fact, very knowledgeable about animals, it being part of her job and all—Brett had to bite his tongue. If the woman, however snobby and irritating, ran a stable of thoroughbreds, then she was no doubt bringing plenty of money into the practice. They were doing okay, but the loss of a big customer without a replacement wasn’t something they’d be able to sustain for very long. And word of mouth was very important in this game—he didn’t want her bad-mouthing him or the surgery.
“I can assure you, Ms Hanson-Bishop, that I’m a highly-trained, fully-qualified veterinary surgeon, with a great deal of experience. I’m sure what
ever it is, I’ll be able to deal with it.” The sugar he’d dripped into his voice made him want to vomit—and he might have even given himself diabetes. He’d chosen rural work, rather than something in a town or city, because he was down-to-earth. He preferred to deal with farmers simply looking to earn an honest wage or folks with crazy, scruffy dogs that went everywhere with them. Socialites with tiny dogs they kept in handbags, or pampered cats with dyed fur and painted claws weren’t really his thing.
Apparently, though, even the Yorkshire Dales had its fair share of prissy, precocious types who thought they were the centre of the universe.
The prissy, precocious person in question replied, “Hmm… well I suppose Andrew wouldn’t have you working with him if you weren’t competent. A wonderful man, Andrew. Wonderful vet, too. My horses just love him, even when he has to poke around with their unmentionables.”
Yanking the phone away from his face just in time to stop himself spluttering with laughter into the mouthpiece, Brett clapped his free hand over his mouth. Taking a moment to compose himself, he cleared his throat before replying, “Yes, Andrew is a top notch vet. I’m not surprised your horses like him. In his absence, however, I’d be more than happy to come out. Can you tell me what the problem is, please?”
“Of course. One of my mares has thrush.”
Brett frowned. From her tone and lack of urgency, he’d already guessed that the situation wasn’t dire—but thrush? Someone in her position should be able to deal with that type of minor issue with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back. Spotted and treated quickly, the condition wouldn’t affect the animal too much and would have no lasting effects. And Samantha had already diagnosed the problem, so she clearly knew what she was talking about—or had someone working for her that did.
Still, if she wanted a vet to see the animal, to pay their not-inconsiderable call out and treatment fees, then that was down to her. “I see. All right, no problem. Bear with me for just a moment, please, Ms Hanson-Bishop. I’m just going to pull up the diary on the computer and see when I can get to you.”
“Certainly.”
Pressing the ‘hold’ button on the phone, he placed the handset down on the desk before switching to the relevant programme on his computer and pulling up his schedule. Next up was his visit to Brian Thatcher’s place to see a cow that was having a difficult pregnancy. Then he had to get back to the surgery because another farmer was bringing in his three sheepdogs for their annual checkups and inoculations. That would easily take until close of play—if not a little longer—so Ms Hanson-Bishop and her horse would have to wait until the following day.
Preparing himself for some bitchiness, Brett took a deep breath before retrieving the handset and pressing the ‘hold’ button again. “Ms Hanson-Bishop?”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid my schedule for the rest of today is full, but I can squeeze you in first thing tomorrow morning. Would that be all right? I’m on my own, you see, so things are manic here, to say the least.”
“That’s fine, dear boy. I know Andrew has taken a well-deserved holiday. My mare is hardly going to keel over due to mild thrush. Tomorrow morning is absolutely fine. What time should I expect you?”
Shaking his head incredulously at the sudden change of attitude, Brett swallowed hard to try and combat his sudden dry mouth, and finally forced out, “8 a.m. If that’s not too early?”
Letting out an unladylike snort, she replied, “I’ll have been up three hours by then. Not too early at all. You’ve got the address and contact details in your system, I presume, so I’ll see you then. Toodle pip!”
She’d put the phone down before Brett got chance to reply. Immediately he logged into the client database, hoping like hell that her address was indeed stored, otherwise he’d be up shit creek without a paddle.
Favor was on his side, it seemed, and he heaved a sigh of relief before inputting the call information into the diary. Then he shoved all thoughts of Samantha Hanson-Bishop out of his mind and hurried to finish what he was doing, before he had to leave for the Thatcher farm.
Chapter Two
Samantha watched the slightly grubby 4x4 make its way up the track towards the courtyard of her stables with mild irritation. Curse Andrew Norris for having a holiday and leaving her to deal with his spotty-faced, wet-behind-the-ears underling. He never went on holiday. The only reason she wasn’t more pissed off about the situation was because Venus only had a little case of thrush. If it had been something serious, she’d have demanded an older, more experienced locum come out. She wanted only the best for her horses. They were all she had, after all. Her babies. Albeit huge babies that dwarfed her petite five feet three frame.
Tucking her bobbed chestnut hair behind her ears, she drew herself up to her full height—meager as it was—and strode into the graveled area where the vet was just parking his car. What was his name again? She snorted as she remembered, glad he hadn’t yet opened the door and therefore wouldn’t have heard her. Or if he had, she could blame the sound on one of the horses. Brett—that was it. Brett the vet. It sounded like something from a children’s book or TV show.
Still, he was a vet nonetheless, and that was what she needed right now. A medical professional, young though he was, to sort out Venus’ problem and get her back to her usual fine form as soon as possible.
After a few more seconds, where Brett appeared to be rooting around in the passenger side of the vehicle, the driver’s door opened and a dirty blond mop of hair appeared. Samantha rolled her eyes. Seriously, did so-called professionals not bother with personal grooming these days?
The mop of hair was quickly followed by what she guessed to be six feet plus of man. Not boy, but man. And not a spot in sight. His bag in one hand, Brett closed the car door and walked—no, loped with an impossibly long stride—around the bonnet and in her direction, a wide smile lighting up his handsome face.
He reached her in just a few paces and held out his hand. “Are you Ms Hanson-Bishop? Hello, I’m Brett Coulson, here to see one of your mares—”
“I know why you’re here, Mr Coulson,” she snapped. “I am Ms Hanson-Bishop. I telephoned you, remember?”
Snatching his hand back to his side as though he’d been burned, Brett blushed. “Y-yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s very nice to meet you. So, could you show me where to go?”
I’d like to tell you where to go, dear boy. Trust me on that one. “Of course,” she replied, the chill in her voice belying the heat that was inexplicably trickling through her body. “This way, please.”
Spinning neatly on her heel, she walked back into the stables, allowing the sounds and scents of the animals to calm her. Though she had no idea what she was getting so wound up about in the first place. Venus would be just fine, even if Brett didn’t know what he was doing, and in her heart of hearts she knew he did. As long as he had the right equipment with him, she could do the damn treatment herself. Either way her precious horse would soon be on the road to recovery.
So why the hell was warmth still flooding her veins, making her tingle, and giving her the urge to do… something? She wasn’t sure what. Punch a wall, perhaps? But then that was hardly her style. Her fighting method was more tongue-lashing than anything remotely physical.
Snatching back the bolt on Venus’ stall door with much more force than was necessary—immediately regretting it as the horse started and stamped a foot—Samantha swung the door open and beckoned Brett in. “Just give me a moment to settle her. She’s very laid back and normally doesn’t present a problem, but I’d just like to be sure.”
“No problem.” He waited by the door as Samantha approached Venus, looking not a bit concerned about the size of the animal he was about to treat. In fact, he was regarding the beast with an expression more akin to awe, admiration. Humph, seems he’s got more about him than I gave him credit for.
Turning her attention to Venus, Samantha moved up close, stroking the animal and chatting softly to her. Re
assuring her. “Hello, my sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all right. I know you normally see Andrew, but he’s on holiday at the moment, so this other nice vet has come to make you better. So you just stay calm, and let him do what he’s got to do. I’ll be right here, my darling. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
The horse couldn’t understand a word of what she’d said and she knew it, but it was all about the tone of her voice. Venus nuzzled her hand, demanding more attention. Samantha smiled fondly, rubbing at the beast’s muzzle, gratified to get a contented snort in return.
Giving a soft sigh, Samantha wondered for what had to be the millionth time why it was so much easier for her to deal with animals than it was humans. Around animals, she could be herself, relax, let her guard down, talk utter rubbish and they never seemed to care.
People, on the other hand, were hard work. They had certain expectations, they judged, they often wanted something from her, and, most importantly, they answered back.
Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why she preferred her horses to people. All they wanted were food, water, a roof over their heads, some exercise and attention, and they were content. They didn’t care what she wore, what she said, which side of the damn bed she got out of…
Suddenly, remembering where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, Samantha yanked herself out of her melancholy thought process, gave Venus another hearty rub on the nose, then stepped back. Rearranging her face into what she hoped wasn’t a deranged smile, she turned to Brett. “All right, she seems just fine. She’s all yours. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
With a curt nod, Brett moved towards the horse, bag in hand. “Great, thank you. She’s beautiful, by the way. A stunning animal.”
“Thank you.” As he got closer to Venus—and therefore her—she became painfully aware of his size. Christ, no wonder he didn’t seem intimidated by the mare—he looked as though he could take a kicking from a horse and come out unscathed. Highly unlikely, of course, but he sure was, well, big. Not just tall, but wide, too. He certainly filled out the faded jeans and dark green jumper he wore. Filled them out nicely, in fact.
