Chapter one
Arabella
Idrove carefully through the storm, my eyes focused but my mind wandering along twisting mental roads lined with worry and pitted with danger. Snow rushed at my windshield like an intergalactic space travel scene, the horse trailer rattling along behind me. I shook my head and reminded myself to focus on saving my client and her miniature horse before time ran out for them both. There was a good chance I could die on these back roads, and no one would know I was missing or even care. Except maybe my animals. If I had to stay alive for anyone, it was them. And now, apparently, my latest client.
Lila Thompson had called me thirty-four minutes ago, her voice panicked and her circumstances clearly dire. Her abusive husband had escalated his threats to the point where he had said he would kill her and their two children, should he find her in the home when he returned. She'd contacted the local PD, but she had no proof of his threats, and this wasn't the first time the police had been called to their ranch home—the local police department wasn't all that quick to respond to her calls thesedays. Lila had to vacate the house with her children or risk imminent harm.
And, of all things, she was worried about her horse.
She had an American Miniature she loved almost as much as her two children, and she had sounded absolutely certain that her husband would kill the horse once he discovered she had left. So, although it was nine at night, snowing profusely, and colder than a penguin's balls, I was on my way to a ranchette on the outskirts of Park City, Utah to rescue a horse.
I checked my GPS as my old '87, faded red and white diesel pickup trundled over the snow-packed dirt road. It looked like the house was up on the right, which was good because I worried the roads any further would become impassable. Park City and its surrounding areas were nestled between monolith mountains, and the winters could be brutal.
I took a slow right turn, my wipers battling the snow futilely, and through the whitewash, I just made out a porch light on a two-story, Colonial-style home, and then a bright blue barn to the left. As I passed through the gate and followed the murky outline of the long driveway, I managed to make out a mini horse shape and a slight human form standing in front of the modern barn.
I pulled to a stop close to them, feeling my tires slide on the slushy snow. "I had better not wreck," I muttered to no one, throwing the column shifter into park. I pulled the flaps of my plaid trapper hat firmly over my ears, made sure my serviceable, black coat was zipped up, and took a bracing breath. The animals deserved love. They deserved safety. And if I could make Lila's fight that much easier, then I would do what I had to.
A wall of cold smacked me in the face as I hopped down from the truck, and my worn boots squished through the snow. A little moisture seeped through, reminding me that I really needed to find some extra money to replace these things.
Lila stood with her horse's taffy pink halter in her gloved hand and her frightened features tucked into a hand-knit scarf. "Hi, Dr. Rook! You found us!" she shouted.
I ran over to them, trying to wedge my own mouth into the high collar of my coat. "Yep, no problem!"
Lila was a small person, easily three inches shorter than my 5’7” frame, and compact under her thick winter layers. She glanced to her left where a running sedan waited with the headlights off. "We have to hurry. He gets home in an hour, but… I never know."
I nodded. "What's her name?"
Lila rubbed her miniature’s nose affectionately. "Jellybean."
"Hi, Jellybean," I cooed.
The horse shivered, understandably, but leaned into my hands as I scrubbed her nose, between her ears, and over her rope halter. "I have another mini," I said loudly over the winter squall. "She'll have a best friend. And she'll be there when you're ready."
I guided Jellybean along, and Lila walked with me, her eyes so dark I couldn't make out their color. "Thank you again. So much. I didn't think anyone would just… hold her for me."
"It's the least I can do," I assured her. As we walked to the back of the horse trailer, I glanced over my shoulder at her running car. "You have a place to go? You're safe?"
She nodded vigorously. "I'm going home for now. With my mom in St. George."
"It's warmer there," I offered with a half-smile. I handed the rope back to Lila and unlatched my rusty, gooseneck trailer door to hopefully coax Jellybean into the relative shelter and out of the storm.
I didn't have time to let the horse acclimate to the open trailer, not in this weather, so I pulled a bag of grain out of my coat pocket, and when I returned to Jellybean, I shook the bag andoffered her a handful. She nibbled it, and as she crunched, I led her into the trailer, making sure my steps didn't falter, and my heart didn't patter, so she wouldn't sense my nervousness. Thankfully, she followed, and I led her into the nearest stall and tied her securely to the bar with a quick-release knot.
Lila followed, her covered features stricken with worry. "She doesn't like carrots, but she'll eat you bankrupt if you have apples."
I chuckled. "Noted."
Lila hugged Jellybean around her short neck, and I couldn't help but think the pinto and her owner were quite a matched pair with their short statures and cute features. "I'll be in touch. It won't be long," Lila promised.
I looked through the trailer slats nervously and saw headlights in the distance. "Lila, does anyone else drive up this road?"
"No." She straightened, running down the ramp of the trailer to look out. "Shit."
"Let's go," I urged. I slid the ramp back up, secured the door shut, and jogged with her to her car. "You have my number. We'll take good care of her but come get her as soon as you can. We only have the resources for animals for a few months at a time." I hated that. When I'd bought Mending Hearts Ranch five years ago, I'd had all the best intentions with it. But even my salary as a vet wasn't a drop in the bucket when it came to keeping the ranch afloat and the animals cared for.
"I understand," Lila agreed breathlessly. "Thank you again. And hurry! He's—" She glanced at the road. The car was getting closer. "It's him. Go," she urged, pushing me away.
Fear jumped into my throat, pounding away along with my quickened heartbeat. I was afraid for Lila and those two kids she had in car seats in the back of her sedan, and I was terrified for myself. If this man was as violent as he sounded, he probably wouldn't think twice about taking out his anger on the rescuelady who had taken his horse and been on his property. Utah wasn't as wild as, say, Wyoming next door, but I'd be damned if I would test that theory personally.
