who Sophie was, Olivia examined the pony while continuing to pet her. The animal was sound, well fed and well cared for in general.
The palomino nickered loudly, and that should have been a cue, but Olivia was too focused on the pony to pay attention.
“Who are you and what the hell are you doing sneaking around in my barn?” demanded a low, no-nonsense voice.
Olivia whirled, and toppled backward into the straw. Looked up to see a dark-haired man glowering down at her from over the stall gate. His eyes matched his blue denim jacket, and his Western hat looked a little too new.
“Who’s Sophie?” she asked, getting to her feet, dusting bits of straw off her jeans.
He merely folded his arms and glared. He’d asked the first question and, apparently, he intended to have the first answer. From the set of his broad shoulders, she guessed he’d wait for it until hell froze over if necessary.
Olivia relented, since she had rounds to make and a reindeer owner to track down. She summoned up her best smile and stuck out her hand. “Olivia O’Ballivan,” she said. “I’m your neighbor—sort of—and…” And I heard your pony calling out for help? No, she couldn’t say that. It was all too easy to imagine the reaction she’d get. “And since I’m a veterinarian, I always like to stop by when somebody new moves in. Offer my services.”
The blue eyes sized her up, clearly found her less than statuesque. “You must deal mostly with cats and poodles,” he said. “As you can see, I have horses.”
Olivia felt the sexist remark like the unexpected back-snap of a rubber band, stinging and sudden. Adrenaline coursed through her, and she had to wait a few moments for it to subside. “This horse,” she said when she’d regained her dignity, indicating the pony with a gesture of one hand, “is depressed.”
One dark eyebrow quirked upward, and the hint of a smile played at the corner of Tanner Quinn’s supple-looking mouth. That had to be who he was, since he’d said “I have horses,” not “we” or “they.” Anyhow, he didn’t look like an ordinary ranch hand.
“Does she need to take happy pills?” he asked.
“She wants Sophie,” the palomino said, though of course Mr. Quinn didn’t hear.
“Who’s Sophie?” Olivia repeated calmly.
Quinn hesitated for a long moment. “My daughter,” he finally said. “How do you happen to know her name?”
Olivia thought fast. “My brother must have mentioned her,” she answered, heading for the stall door and hoping he’d step back so she could pass.
He didn’t. Instead, he stood there like a support beam, his forearms resting on top of the door. “O’Ballivan,” he mused. “You’re Brad’s sister? The one who’ll be running the shelter when it’s finished?”
“I think I just said Brad is my brother,” Olivia replied, somewhat tartly. She felt strangely shaken and a little cornered, which was odd, because she wasn’t claustrophobic and despite her unremarkable height of five feet three inches, she knew how to defend herself. “Now, would you mind letting me out of this stall?”
Quinn stepped back, even executed a sweeping bow.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” the palomino fretted. “Butterpie needs help.”
“Give me a second here,” Olivia told the concerned horse. “I’ll make sure Butterpie is taken care of, but it’s going to take time.” An awkward moment passed before she realized she’d spoken out loud, instead of using mental e-mail.
Quinn blocked her way again, planting himself in the middle of the barn aisle, and refolded his arms. “Now,” he said ominously, “I know I’ve never mentioned that pony’s name to anybody in Stone Creek, including Brad.”
Olivia swallowed, tried for a smile but slid right down the side of it without catching hold. “Lucky guess,” she said, and started around him.
He caught hold of her arm to stop her, but let go immediately.
Olivia stared up at him. The palomino was right; she couldn’t leave, no matter how foolish she might seem to Tanner Quinn. Butterpie was in trouble.
“Who are you?” Tanner insisted gruffly.
“I told you. I’m Olivia O’Ballivan.”
Tanner took off his hat with one hand, shoved the other through his thick, somewhat shaggy hair. The light was better in the aisle, since there were big cracks in the roof to let in the silvery sunshine, and she saw that he needed a shave.
He gave a heavy sigh. “Could we start over, here?” he asked. “If you’re who you say you are, then we’re going to be working together on the shelter project. That’ll be a whole lot easier if we get along.”
“Butterpie misses your daughter,” Olivia said. “Severely. Where is she?”
Tanner sighed again. “Boarding school,” he answered, as though the words had been pried out of him. The denim-colored eyes were still fixed on her face.
“Oh,” Olivia answered, feeling sorry for the pony and Sophie. “She’ll be home for Thanksgiving, though, right? Your daughter, I mean?”
Tanner’s jawline looked rigid, and his eyes didn’t soften. “No,” he said.
“No?” Olivia’s spirits, already on the dip, deflated completely.
He stepped aside. Before, he’d blocked her way. Now he obviously wanted her gone, ASAP.
It was Olivia’s turn with the folded arms and stubborn stance. “Then I have to explain that to the horse,” she said.
Tanner blinked. “What?”
She turned, went back to Butterpie’s stall, opened the door and stepped inside. “Sophie’s away at boarding school,” she told the animal silently. “And she can’t make it home for Thanksgiving. You’ve got to cheer up, though. I’m sure she’ll be here for Christmas.”
“What are you doing?” Tanner asked, sounding testy again.
“Telling Butterpie that Sophie will be home at Christmas and she’s got to cheer up in the meantime.” He’d asked the question; let him deal with the answer.
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” Olivia said. Then, speaking aloud this time, she told Butterpie, “I have to go now. I have a lost reindeer in the back of my Suburban, and I need to do some X-rays and then get him settled in over at my brother’s place until I can find his owner. But I’ll be back to visit soon, I promise.”
She could almost hear Tanner grinding his back teeth.
“You should stand up,” Olivia told the pony. “You’ll feel better on your feet.”
The animal gave a snorty sigh and slowly stood.
Tanner
