by Peggy Jaeger
Moira wandered along the outer part of the clinic until she found the equine building to her right. Even if she hadn’t known Quentin Stapleton had designed it, she would have guessed he had. It had his individual style stamped all over it. A sturdy light pine structure, it stood two stories high, surrounded by a carefully etched stone pathway. A thriving mix of evergreens and colorful flowering shrubs lined the walkway and her nose tickled with the scents of honeysuckle and lavender wafting on the spring breeze. When she opened the front door, she was immediately thrown into light. The interior of the building was wide-open with floor-to-ceiling windows on two complete walls. The roof housed numerous skylights, and she counted seven stalls from her vantage point.
“Can I help you?”
Moira jumped at the sound of a deep, unfamiliar male voice. She turned to see a blond, blue-eyed Adonis in sapphire blue scrubs smiling at her, a fifty-pound bag of grain slung over his shoulder.
“I’m looking for Dr. Stapleton,” she said, her voice shaking. “Quentin, not David.”
“He’s busy right now. Can I help you with anything?”
From above her, she recognized the subtle sound of a Brahms waltz in E Major. It was a piece she knew by heart, having played it as recently as last week. A small spasm shot through her stomach at the memory and she ran a hand along the area to quiet it.
“I’m Moira Cleary,” she said. “I’m—”
“Pat’s sister.” His smile widened as he reached out his free hand to her. After a brief second of hesitation, she slipped hers into his giant one. Moira had the sudden feeling of being swallowed whole within his grasp. “He said you might be dropping by today. I’m Connor Drew, one of Quentin’s vet techs.”
“Is Q here?”
As she said it, from one corner of the spacious room she heard a familiar rumble, cajoling one of the horses. “Guess I found him,” she told the tech. “It was nice meeting you,” she added, as she glided toward the sound of the voice.
His broad back was to her, clad in green surgical scrubs. She would have known those shoulders anywhere on earth. They were massively wide and tapered down into corded forearms and strong hands filled with incredible tenderness she had witnessed more times than she could remember.
“Come on now, Bess,” he was saying, his voice low and soothing. “We’ve been down this road before. You know what to expect and you know this is good for you. So, be a big girl and take it down for me.”
Moira watched him place a large syringe into the horse’s mouth and slowly squeeze in its contents. “There now, girl,” he cooed, stroking a loving hand down the mare’s forelock. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to gag it down.”
Slowly, he turned. Standing to his full six foot five height, Moira viewed the gentle, easy smile that started at the corners of his lips and spread outward across his face. It was a face she’d known since birth and one that always warmed her heart.
Quentin Stapleton had been a gangly, skinny, slightly shy boy for most of their lives. After graduating early from college and then veterinary school, he’d grown into his height, his wit, and into himself as a man. Strong chiseled features, aquiline nose, and sea green eyes had tempted many a female over the years, many of them Moira’s friends. The blond hair and verdant colored eyes he’d inherited from his mother, his height and intellect from his father. Coupled with a self-deprecating wit that could charm and delight, his big, strong hands had calmed and quieted innumerable horses, trainers, and sundry farm animals. To Moira he’d always been another brother, a shoulder to lean on, and a compatriot in innocent childhood crimes, along with Pat. The two boys had been best friends forever and they accepted Moira as an equal.
He came toward her, unhurriedly, his long steady stride eating up the hay-strewn floor beneath them. The lazy smile that started in the outer corners of his eyes and branched downward across his face quickened her heartbeat, surprising her with its intensity. A hard, startling bead of awareness dropped through her system as he moved closer.
“It’s just a simple mixture of vitamins and fresh water,” he said in a quiet voice steeped to soothe. “Old Bess has been a little under the weather lately.”
Moira looked to the horse standing in the stall. Her forelock was thinning, her tail looked a little straggly, but her coat was shiny and thick, a sure sign someone had been caring for her.
And Moira knew just who the someone was.
Quentin’s arms opened and, for the briefest of moments, she avoided going into them. A sliver of memory of other arms, ones that were insistent and overpowering, sliced through her, causing a hot spark of fear to flash through her mind. With a mental shudder, she snuffed the image, remembering she was home. Home, and in the company of her oldest, dearest friend. On a sigh, Moira walked into his embrace. Quentin gently pulled her to his chest without another word. Her hands wrapped around his trim waist, immediately immersing her in comfort and safety. He smelled of leather and musk, two familiar scents, which, whenever she encountered them, always pulled his face to mind.
He rubbed a hand down her back and said into her hair, “I heard you came back early.” He gently rocked her in his arms, his hands soft and gentle as they caressed her. “I’d hoped you’d stop by today. It’s been way too long, M.”
“I know,” she said, smiling and nuzzling against his shoulder. “If I had a nickel for every time someone has told me that since yesterday I could retire a rich girl.”
She pushed back and looked up at him. Once again, she witnessed worry and concern written across the face of someone she loved. “Are you going to tell me, like everyone else has, how skinny, pale and tired I look?”
For the briefest of moments, his lips twitched at the corners. “Nah,” he said. “Tired maybe, but who isn’t nowadays? As for pale, it’s nothing a little real work out in the sunshine won’t cure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? A little real work?”
His grin was fast and wide and knocked her back a step with its total sexiness. “Well, playing the piano indoors every night isn’t what I’d call real work.”
The smile on her face fled. “That’s just this side of insulting.”
“Okay, maybe it is,” he admitted, tugging on one of his ears, his grin turning bashful. “I know what you do is a little more than just play the piano.”
“You better believe it,” she said. A spasm crossed her stomach again and she winced from the pain.
Quentin’s eyebrows rose, but he made no comment. Instead he said, “You’re still so easy to tease it’s almost a crime, Moira.” He tugged her back into his arms and she felt him sigh as he petted her hair and kissed her temple. “It’s nice to have you home. We all missed you.”
She stood still, eyes closed, appreciating the comfort he gave. His voice was like velvet, smooth and soft. Animals and people alike responded to its calming, comforting timbre, Moira no exception.
“Pat told me you might drop by,” he said after a moment. He let go of her and dropped his hands into his scrub pants pockets. “Did you get the nickel tour of the main house?”
“Some. But he was too busy. The waiting room was packed.”
“Par for the course these days.”
Moira grinned at the drollness in his tone. “Seems you and my brother have made a lot of improvements and changes in the place.”
He rubbed a hand along his chin and said, “Your brother is nothing if not full of ideas. But this place,” he added, with a swipe of his hand around the immense room, “is mine and mine alone. Pat sees to the running of the main clinic and the four of us split the farm visits. But this place is all mine.”
The absolute pride in his voice delighted her. If there was one thing she knew with total certainty, Quentin Stapleton loved horses above all else. “Show me,” she told him.
With her hand in his, a gesture as familiar and timeless as their friendship, he did.
When she’d first come in she
’d only spotted half of the actual stalls that made up the majority of the building. Quentin could easily house over twelve horses, each stall equipped with state of the art emergency equipment. There was an onsite pharmacy Connor Drew kept supplied and stocked with a varied assortment of medications and fluids and a storeroom wider than the Cleary four car garage, stacked with bales of hay, grain and pellets. Quentin told her he’d designed the building after visiting two horse hospitals in Kentucky a year and a half ago. Both had been built originally to serve as emergency hospitals for the thoroughbreds who raced in the annual derby, but they’d quickly become rehab centers and operating facilities for those same horses who needed more intensive and long term care.
“I don’t do anything that extensive,” Quentin told her when they stopped at one of the empty stalls, “but I have operated a few times on horses who were too ill to be shipped out or who needed routine surgery. We’re pretty self sufficient here.”
Moira was impressed and, she secretly admitted, a little jealous. Quentin was so obviously happy and content with his life, she felt a fleeting sadness fly through her. She couldn’t remember the last time playing the piano made her smile or light up with joy on the inside the way Quentin did when he spoke of the practice. A sudden cramp shot through her stomach and had her running her free hand across the area.
“You don’t seem to have a lot of help,” she said, praying it would pass quickly. “I met Connor when I came in, but I don’t see anyone else out here but you.”
“Because it’s not summer yet and the internships haven’t started. I’m down a few techs until then. We’ve got three newbies starting as soon as school lets out, but it’s not for another month. I could use some help to groom and exercise the horses on a daily basis. I’ve been doing most of it when I’ve got some free time.” He smiled again as his eyes raked up and down her slim figure, assessingly. “You know, you used to be a pretty good vet tech back in the day. Think you’re up to it again? I could really use the help. Want a job for a few weeks Moira?”
She didn’t even need to think. The answer came to her lips in an instant. “What do I have to do?”
His grin broadened. “Well, for starters we need to get you out of those clothes.”
****
An hour later, Quentin stood back as Moira hosed down another horse stall. He’d made her change into a set of surgical scrubs that mimicked his own, noting how the smallest size hung on her frail frame.
When Pat had called him the night before to tell him how concerned he was about how Moira looked and was acting, Quentin grew worried. He hadn’t seen her in over two years, not since she was home for a quick Christmas visit between tour stops. The three of them had spent a few short days together, and had fallen into the easy pattern of friendship and camaraderie they’d known since childhood. Pat and Quentin were used to teasing her mercilessly and she was often the butt of their practical jokes and goofball antics. But Moira could hold her own against them and always had. As they’d grown and matured, they’d gone on different paths, Moira pursuing her talent in music, Pat and Quentin choosing to follow their fathers into veterinary medicine. All three had grown up in, and worked various times at, the clinic. Over the years, Moira had exhibited an inbred empathy for the animals, small and big alike. Plus, she’d shown an extraordinary amount of calm during emergency situations.
Quentin’s heart had always belonged to the horses, as anyone who knew him could attest. From the time he’d been a young boy they’d fascinated and intrigued him. He knew no fear from their size or temperaments, and many trainers had commented over the years he was a true horse-whisperer, able to gage an animal’s moods and needs instinctively.
The practice had grown to the size it had in large part due to Quentin’s abilities. The farmers in the surrounding towns, the horse breeders who knew him well, and those who knew of his reputation, all served to help make the practice a thriving, successful one in the community. With Pat’s business acumen, the physical improvements to the clinic, and Quentin’s innate insights to discern what ailed a horse and how to cure it, the two friends had brought a once thriving practice even greater and continued triumph.
As boys, they’d been blood brothers, comrades in arms, foils for each other’s distinct personalities. As men, they continued to be the best of friends. Now they were business partners as well, and each had a great deal of respect for the other. So when Pat had called to enlist Quentin’s help with Moira, he couldn’t say no, and wouldn’t have. For there were two things Quentin Stapleton had loved ever since he could remember: horses and Moira Cleary. He was, he felt, a man with simple tastes and needs. A rewarding, successful career, his own house, enough money to be comfortable, and the hopes of a wife and children were all at the top of his list. But lately, an unusual restlessness had begun creeping into his system, a desire for something else. He’d accomplished so much in his life already. But he wanted and needed more.
And he knew deep in his core, who he needed and wanted was Moira Cleary.
Quentin had a plan and it was simple: this time, make Moira stay home. Make her see her globetrotting ways needed to change. He wanted her to realize the path to her true happiness lay here in Carvan, with the family she loved so much, and, simply, with him.
The first part of the plan was to get her to work with him. Pat had agreed to it when Quentin mapped it out earlier in the morning. Moira had always loved working at the clinic. No task was too menial for her if it gave her a chance to be around the horses. Quentin’s need for extra manpower had proved the perfect ruse.
When she was done hosing out the stall, she turned to him and asked, “Want me to put her back in now?”
“Yeah. Let’s see how she does.”
Together they walked the aging mare back into her now clean area. Patting her forelock Moira said, “There you go girl, a nice clean home. We’ll get you some fresh hay, and you’ll be all set. What else could a girl want?”
Quentin smiled, pleased. After a quick glance at his watch, he said, “Time for lunch. I usually take one of the horses for a ride, let them run around a little and get some exercise. Want to come along?”
When Moira turned to him, he saw the pleasure galloping in her blue eyes. “Do I have to stay in these scrubs?”
“Up to you,” he said, with a shrug. “You feel comfortable enough to ride in your regular things?”
She told him she did.
While she went to change again, Quentin walked back to his office and grabbed the backpack he’d filled before leaving his house. He’d planned on his usual midday ride, and had a lunch to take with him. He had enough for the two of them to share, and he wanted to make sure she’d get something to eat, knowing he’d blindsided her into working for him. Her weight loss was troubling and she needed some sunshine on her cheeks, but to him, no matter how she looked, she was beautiful. He took the backpack and an old blanket from the chair in his office and sought her out.
He found her coming out of the changing room. She’d let out the braid from her long hair, letting it flow down her back in soft waves. Moira’s hair was as distinctive as her talent and he’d loved watching her when they were kids ride with it dancing and billowing behind her in the breeze. Whenever she wore it up for concerts, or when it was tied back when she’d worked in the clinic, Quentin had always fantasized about how it looked when it was free and draped around her body, as it was now. Just looking at her made his heartbeat quicken. He wanted nothing more in that moment but to grab her and kiss her silly.
But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Banking the feelings, he asked, “All set?”
She nodded. “Who do we ride?”
“I’m taking Battleground, the chestnut gelding from Petersons’ farm. He got a nail in his hoof a few weeks back and we’ve been treating him for an infection. I’ve been able to get him to walk about three miles before it starts to bother him. You can take Cal Treesands’ mare, Crystal. She’s in four and she’s just the sweetest
thing. Perfect temperament for you.”
“Why is she here?”
“Internal infection. She got into some bad grain, caused a mess with her insides. We’ve been giving her daily lavages and she seems just about back to normal. A little exercise will do her good.”
Moira nodded and went over to the stall.
Quentin smiled again while he watched her place the saddle, blanket, and leads on the horse. Her movements were so ingrained he knew she wasn’t even thinking about what to do. “Old habits die hard,” he told her. “You look like you’ve been saddling horses every day of your life.”
“Up until a few years ago, I was.”
When her hand flew from the saddle tie to her stomach, Quentin’s every instinct was to soothe away whatever was paining her. When the next moment she took a small vial from the pocket of her pants, spilled out three pills and swallowed them dry, he decided not to. If she wasn’t going to share with him what was eating her away, he didn’t want to press. In her own time, he knew she would open up to him.
For now, he’d ignore her behavior.
For now.
Chapter Four
The late spring day had turned warm as they ambled along the outer reaches of the clinic property.
Quentin detailed the improvements the practice had made over the past year while Moira listened. This is what he’d missed most with her gone. This easygoing, comfortable way they had between them, both just happy to be atop a horse, enjoying the ride and the company. It had been too long since he’d been afforded the luxury of a simple ride in the woods with an old and loving friend.
Way too long.
About ten minutes into their ride, they came to a small clearing with a lake in the center surrounded by a copse of trees.
“I haven’t been out here in forever.” Moira sighed. “It’s still so beautiful.”
Quentin smiled. They’d spent many a happy time over the years here. His intent had been to get her to relax, to forget what had made her so sick and thin, and to remember those happy times.
