The Place I Belong Page 9

  Inside were two pieces of paper folded together, one a single sheet of lined paper torn out of a spiral notebook, the other a Xeroxed copy of the standard information form that was filled out for every patient brought into the practice. The note was short and signed by one of the vet techs who had worked in the Chicago clinic with her.

  Dear Dr. Linden,

  What happened to you was crappy. I found the admission form so you can prove that jerk didn’t leave his cell phone number when he dropped off Sophie. Here’s a copy, but I know where the original is. I can get it for you if you want it.

  Sincerely,

  Vicky Landers

  Hannah flipped to the Xeroxed page, skimming down the sheet. There it was: the bold black mark where Robert Sawyer had slashed through the blank line for a cell phone number where he could be reached. This was the document she’d needed to prove she’d had no way to contact the dog’s owner before she made her decision about Sophie. When the office staff had tried to locate it, it had mysteriously vanished. She collapsed onto a kitchen stool as she stared at the papers in her hands.

  Paul Taggart’s offer floated into her mind. Now that she had proof, was it worth trying to clear her name?

  She laid the documents on the counter and stared off through the sliding glass doors that led to the big, fenced backyard of her rented house. It would feel so wonderful to be free of the shadow that hovered over her life. She tried to picture her moment of vindication, but the image of Sawyer admitting he had lied just wouldn’t come into focus.

  Would it stir up the local media again, or was the story old news by now? She didn’t think she could face another barrage of ugly, confusing questions. When the drama was playing out she’d stopped patronizing her regular coffee shop because the local weekly newspaper was displayed right beside the cash register, and she couldn’t avoid seeing the accusatory headlines.

  Her breathing grew rapid and shallow while a fist of anxiety squeezed her throat.

  That answered her question. If just thinking about the possibility made her react like this, she certainly didn’t want to face it in reality.

  She slipped off the stool and shoved the papers in her kitchen junk drawer.

  She’d have to find a way to thank Vicky for her support and persistence. The vet techs had surprised her with their partisanship. Three of them, including Vicky, had offered to swear they had seen the information form with the cell phone number blank, even though they hadn’t. She’d refused their offer, not wanting their perjury on her conscience along with everything else.

  Her partners, on the other hand, had distanced themselves from her, claiming the office staff wouldn’t have allowed the sick, elderly dog to be left without a valid contact number. They were protecting the practice in the public eye, but she would have appreciated a little private sympathy. They were afraid of the influence Robert Sawyer could wield. Just as Ward had been.

  “I love you, but I don’t think you’re cut out to be a politician’s wife,” he’d said, trying to cast their broken engagement as a favor to her.

  She knew now how stupid she’d been to believe someone like Ward had fallen in love with her, but his courtship had been both persuasive and determined. She was flattered when he asked her three times to accompany him to the most prestigious charity gala on the social calendar, saying he didn’t want to go if she wasn’t beside him. She’d felt like a princess, all dressed up in a stunning silver gown she’d shopped for with his stylish campaign manager. As they entered the ballroom, the orchestra was playing a waltz. Ward had swept her onto the nearly empty dance floor, his tall, tuxedo-clad body just brushing against hers, his light blue eyes fixed on her as though no one else mattered.

  She’d been flustered when the waltz ended and a smattering of applause broke out. The people around them had been nothing but a blur to her, so she hadn’t been aware they were watching.

  Ward had known it, though.

  He always recognized exactly how to get people to watch him, and she was simply one element of his strategy. They’d met at a fundraiser for an inner-city animal shelter where she offered free spay/neuter clinics. A reporter had singled her out for an interview, casting her as the good-hearted vet who donated her time and expertise to animals no one else cared about. Ward had stood beside the cameraman, watching the whole performance.

  As soon as the reporter found a new victim, Ward sauntered up, introduced himself, and asked her to the charity gala for the first time. She was pretty sure he’d proposed because someone told him single male candidates weren’t as electable as married ones.

  When she was being brutally honest with herself, she could admit she’d fallen in love with him against her better judgment. Some small voice in the back of her mind kept whispering that he was the wrong man for her, but Ward had convinced her he was crazy about her. It had seemed impossible not to reciprocate that kind of devotion. Tears burned in her eyes and she drew in a shaky breath. Glancing down she discovered her knuckles had gone white with the grip she had on the edge of the counter. She released it and flexed her hands to stretch the strained muscles.

  She was safe in Sanctuary, nestled in the protective folds of the mountains. Her past wouldn’t catch up to her here.

  Chapter 7

  THE BOSS LADY’S in the indoor riding ring, giving a lesson,” the stable hand told Hannah. “Go through the north barn and you’ll run into it.”

  Hannah turned in the direction the young man pointed, hefting the heavy medical duffel bag she’d brought from the truck.

  “Hey, you want a hand with that?” the young man asked.

  “Thanks but I’m okay,” she said, not wanting to take him away from his work. She hadn’t expected the darn bag to be so heavy. Tim carried it like it weighed nothing. “That’s because he’s the size of a mountain with muscles to match,” she muttered.

  She’d come to examine Satchmo more thoroughly. After reading Tim’s notes on the pony and refreshing her knowledge of equine anatomy, she’d thought of some more tests she wanted to run on the sad little fellow. He might be grieving but he also might be ill, and she wanted to rule that out. She had meant to call Sharon but her day had been frantic, so she had dashed out the door without warning the stable owner she was coming.

  Half-dragging her burden, Hannah staggered through the swirl of activity inside and outside the barns until she found the entrance to the riding ring. She eased open the door and pulled her duffel bag through it. The change in sound level was both startling and soothing. The thick bed of sand and sawdust muffled the fall of hooves, while voices echoed once before sinking into its depths.

  She dropped the duffel and rolled her shoulders as she surveyed the arena. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunshine slanting through huge windows that rose from shoulder-height up to the massive wooden rafters supporting the vaulted ceiling. She stood behind the fence that outlined the ring itself. To her left a set of wooden bleachers stepped up nearly to the roof. She sucked in her breath when she saw a black-clad figure sitting alone halfway up the risers, his attention riveted on the ring. His ensemble was casual today, consisting of oft-washed jeans, a polo shirt, and a scuffed leather jacket. Awareness sizzled through her, and she jerked her gaze back to the arena.

  Several horses circled it, some with attendant instructors. In the far corner, she saw Sharon, her height and flaming red hair making her easy to spot, walking beside a pony and rider. As they came closer, she recognized Satchmo and Matt.

  Her heart gave a little lift as she saw the boy smile and lean down to pat the scruffy pony on the shoulder. Although Satchmo wasn’t exactly prancing around the ring, his ears showed a livelier tilt.

  “Well, I’ll be, it’s Dr. Linden,” Sharon said as the trio approached. “What brings you out this way again?”

  “Satchmo,” Hannah said, pointing to her bag. “I wanted to give him a more thoroug
h going over.” She nodded to Matt. “Hey, how’s the riding going?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, but his face was alive with excitement.

  “He’s got a way with Satchmo, no doubt about it,” Sharon said, coming to a halt beside the fence.

  Matt sat up straighter on the polished English saddle.

  “I can see that,” Hannah said. “Satchmo looks a lot happier than he did the last time I was here.”

  The boy ducked his head, but Hannah glimpsed the grin of pride he was trying to conceal.

  Sharon glanced at a big clock hanging on the wall to her left. “I’ll take them around one more time and then Satchmo’s yours. I appreciate your concern, doc.”

  As they continued around the oval, Hannah heard footsteps, turning just as Adam leapt lightly down from the seating area. His dark hair and dark attire, combined with his smooth, athletic stride reminded her of a panther. A very hot panther.

  Maybe that’s why he always wore black: he knew it suited him. Or maybe it was merely a way to simplify his life. The burn of her curiosity was disconcerting; his fashion choices were none of her business.

  His smile flashed white in the dimness and the cleft in his chin deepened. She imagined tracing her fingertips over it.

  “Hannah, what a pleasure to see you,” he said, reaching out to take her hand between both of his.

  Now the heat and texture of his palms against her skin added to the haze of her reaction to him. “You didn’t waste any time organizing Matt’s riding lessons,” she said, trying to ease her hand from between his without success.

  “You threw me a lifeline and I grabbed it with both hands,” he said, slanting his gaze downward to where their hands were still clasped with a glint of humor in his eyes.

  He finally let go, and she tucked her hand into the pocket of her quilted brown barn jacket.

  His gaze shifted to Sharon’s tall figure. “Sharon fit Matt into her schedule because she’s worried about Satchmo. Or so she told me.” He looked back at Hannah. “I think she’s worried about Matt too. She’s taking a lot of time and trouble with him.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” Hannah said. “She’s a rescuer.”

  “Like you.”

  “Me?” Startled, she shook her head. “I’m a doctor. That’s different.”

  “A healer then,” he said. “Of body and soul.”

  This conversation was making her squirm, but he’d given her an opening to move it in another direction. “So you believe animals have souls?” she asked.

  “It wouldn’t be much of a heaven if there were no animals in it so, yes, I think they have souls.” He shrugged, an eloquent lift of his shoulders. “Hell would have no animals in it, just to make it even more hellish.”

  “You must have been raised in a very open-minded religion,” Hannah said, reluctantly impressed. Even people who loved their pets didn’t necessarily feel their spirits went on after death.

  “My religion is food,” he said.

  It sounded like an answer he’d given often, but she believed him after seeing the way he treated the cheese at Moonshine. In fact, she was starting to believe most of what he said. The smooth charm seemed natural, not calculated.

  A creak of leather announced the approach of Matt, his mount, and their instructor. “Do you have time for Matt to take Satchmo back to his stall? He can help Dr. Linden with him,” Sharon said.

  The boy tried not to look eager, but his gaze was fastened on his father as he waited for his answer.

  “Of course,” Adam said. He gave Sharon one of his oh-so-charming smiles. “We’ll stay until you throw us out.”

  Sharon didn’t seem to find his smile suspect, either. She winked and said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

  As Matt guided the pony to the gate, Adam jogged over and pushed it open to let them out. The boy swung off Satchmo, his knees sagging when his feet hit the ground. He straightened, and Hannah gave him credit for a quick recovery. Sharon showed him how to run the stirrups up the leathers so they wouldn’t bang against Satchmo’s side as he walked.

  “Okay, take him back to his stall,” she said.

  Adam started to follow, but Sharon made a small gesture to hold him back.

  “You go ahead, Matt,” Sharon said. “I need to have a word with Sasha about how she’s working JoJo.” She nodded in the direction of the ring. “Just hang with Satchmo until we get there.”

  Matt rubbed a hand down his pants leg and swallowed. “Okay,” he said, his voice quavering slightly. He resettled his grip on Satchmo’s bridle and urged the pony forward again.

  Hannah saw Adam ball his hands into fists as he watched his son lead the pony through the big door. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “Satchmo’s more likely to fall asleep than to bolt on him.”

  Adam uncurled his fingers and flexed them as he turned back to her. “He seemed nervous.”

  “He can do it. He just needs to find that out,” Sharon said. “You got a good kid there, Mr. Bosch. He’ll be a fine horseman if he keeps up the riding.”

  Adam’s face lit up at the praise of his son. “I appreciate your working him into your schedule at such short notice. And it’s Adam, please.”

  “I got a soft spot for young ’uns who like horses, Adam,” Sharon said, walking toward the door.

  “Don’t you have to talk to Sasha?” Hannah asked.

  “Nah, that was just an excuse to let the boy build his confidence,” Sharon said.

  Hannah went back to where she’d dumped the duffel bag by the door. Before she’d done more than get a good grip on the handle, Adam was leaning down beside her. “Let me,” he said, his hand brushing against hers as he grasped the canvas strap.

  “Happy to,” she said, releasing it instantly and jerking her hand away from the possibility of another searing touch. “That sucker weighs a ton.”

  He lifted it like it was a shopping bag filled with filmy lingerie. “I’m used to carrying fifty-pound bags of flour,” he said with a wry look.

  Hannah eyed him a moment. “Maybe you could get the X-ray machine out of the truck for me too,” she said. She’d been debating whether to try dragging the gismo in; it was on wheels, but that didn’t help much in the barn’s thick pine bark footing.

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  “It’s the big, yellow, boxy thing marked ‘X-ray’,” she said, giving him a brief smile before she started toward Sharon.

  “I might have figured that out.” He fell into step beside her, his fluid stride unaffected by the burden he carried on his right side.

  Hannah walked between Sharon and Adam, aware the whole way of the physical presence of the man beside her. She snuck quick exploratory glances at him, discovering he wore smooth black leather boots and a bold stainless-steel wristwatch. His hair waved with more abandon now than when he’d been dressed in his go-to-work suit, while the denim of his jeans traced the flex of his thighs as he walked.

  Sharon stopped outside the stall, unlatching the door and waving Hannah through. Matt stood beside the pony, saying something low in his ear. He looked up. “Hey, Dr. Linden. Do you really think Satchmo seems better? I wasn’t sure I should even ride him, but Ms. Sydenstricker said it would do him good if we kept it to a walk.”

  Hannah saw the anxiety in the boy’s eyes. “Exercise is good for ponies. They need it to help their digestion. Besides, if Sharon says it, it’s true. She knows everything there is to know about horses.”

  His expression eased until his father walked in. Matt turned his face back to the pony.

  “You looked great on Satchmo,” Adam said. “Sharon says you’ll be a fine horseman.”

  Matt hunched one shoulder. “I just started.”

  “But it’s a good start,” Adam said before he turned to Hannah. “Where would you like your bag?”

  “Over in the corne
r,” Hannah said, pointing. “Let’s get Satchmo’s tack off.”

  “I can take care of that,” Sharon said, coming through the door.

  “I’ll get the X-ray machine,” Adam said, stepping aside for Sharon and then striding out before Hannah could say anything. The unhappy set of his shoulders sent a pang of guilt through her. Why did Matt have to make it so obvious he preferred her company to his father’s?

  Sharon and Matt soon had the pony’s saddle and bridle off and his halter buckled on. Then Sharon took the tack and left with a promise to return with a grooming kit for Matt to brush down Satchmo.

  “So what do you think’s wrong with him?” Matt asked as he stood holding the lead line attached to the pony’s halter.

  “I don’t know,” Hannah said, troubled that she didn’t have a better answer. After moving around the horse to compare his muscle tone on different sides, she used her pen to flick alongside his spine, watching for a normal skin twitch.

  She took the lead line from Matt and tugged gently. Satchmo let her turn his head to the left and then to the right without noticeable concern. “Good. His neck’s not bothering him.”

  “Okay, take his lead line again.” She walked behind the pony and grabbed his pale-blond tail. “Walk him forward a step,” she said and pulled Satchmo’s tail hard sideways. He staggered slightly. “Hmm, a balance issue there.”

  That was the first sign she’d seen that his problem might be something other than emotional.

  “What does that mean?” Matt asked, looking worried.

  “It might mean something is affecting his nervous system. If so, we can find it,” Hannah reassured him. “Or he might just be a klutz.”

  That got a brief smile from the boy, who stroked the pony’s reddish-brown neck. “He wasn’t klutzy when I rode him.”

  “A good rider actually helps his mount stay balanced,” Hannah said, remembering her own riding lessons.