Tennessee Vet

Is he ready to soar like an eagle...

and live again?

When Stephen MacDonald brings Barbara Carew an injured bald eagle, the widowed veterinarian doesn’t expect to heal two wounded males! Although he came to rural Tennessee to recover from his own accident, Stephen seems invested in Orville’s future...and Barbara’s. But even as their connection grows, Barbara isn’t sure she’s ready. Or has she already started to teach Stephen—and herself—to soar again?

RITA® Award nominee and Maggie Award winner CAROLYN McSPARREN has lived in Germany, France, Italy and “too many cities in the US to count.” She’s sailed boats, raised horses, rides dressage and drives a carriage with her Shire-cross mare. She teaches writing seminars to romance and mystery writers, and writes mystery and women’s fiction as well as romance books. Carolyn lives in the country outside of Memphis, Tennessee, in an old house with three cats, three horses and one husband.

Also By Carolyn McSparren

The Wrong Wife

Safe at Home

The Money Man

The Payback Man

House of Strangers

Listen to the Child

Over His Head

His Only Defense

Bachelor Cop

Williamston Wildlife Rescue

Tennessee Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Tennessee Vet

Carolyn McSparren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08611-0

TENNESSEE VET

© 2018 Carolyn McSparren

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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The eagle let forth with one of his horrendous screeches.

Startled, Barbara slipped and braced her hand against the front of Orville’s cage.

Stephen grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from the cage a second before Orville’s beak struck the wire. He kept her wrist and spun her to face him. “You okay?”

Her eyes were wide with fear and he heard her breathing speed up. He held her close. Those flecks in her eyes drew him to her as though he were a miner who’d discovered a seam of gold a foot wide.

A moment later they were closer still. The kiss came without thought or even volition. It started out as a friendly peck. A moment later it changed into something deeper.

It was one heck of a kiss before breakfast!

Dear Reader,

Losing a beloved spouse, the person with whom we share memories no one else shares, can feel as though we are stuck with a leftover life to live. The very idea that we could find another love feels like a betrayal. Yet, even when we turn our backs on love, it can sneak back into our hearts and our minds.

Barbara Carew, a veterinarian with a small practice by the Tennessee River, is too busy to think about love. The sudden death of her husband left her with complete responsibility for herself, their two children and all the animals that desperately need her help.

Stephen MacDonald, a history professor, not only lost his wife to cancer, but nearly lost his leg in an automobile accident. After a year in rehab, he still uses a cane. He seems to be functioning, but in reality he’s forgotten what it’s like to laugh, to love, to take chances.

Barbara and Stephen are brought together by a shrieking, angry, desperately wounded bird that Stephen names Orville. And through Orville’s journey of healing, Barbara and Stephen find their own hope.

This second book in the animal rehabilitator series Williamston Wildlife Rescue is also in praise of the wonderful people who take in and care for wild animals, raptors included. These people devote their lives and frequently their money to help the wild creatures that so often are in trouble because of human beings in the first place.

Watch for the third book in the Williamston Wildlife Rescue series, available in 2019.

Carolyn

This book is dedicated to the US Fish and Wildlife Service at Reelfoot Lake State Park in Tennessee, who watch over and protect our bald eagles. Thanks to them, the number of breeding pairs is increasing every year.

You go, guys!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

“THE CLOSEST SERVICE station that has snacks and drinks is eight miles away in that direction,” Emma Logan said and pointed out the window down the two-lane road to her left. “And it’s twelve miles in the other if you want to drive into Williamston. Can you stand to be so isolated? Seth and I live right across the road, but I’m either helping out down at the veterinary clinic or looking after whatever animals we’ve rescued. And in this condition—” she pointed down at her sizable belly “—I can’t pick you up if you fall.”

Stephen MacDonald thumped his Malacca cane with the silver wolf’s head against the floor between his knees. “I do not fall, Emma. I limp. I am not an invalid.”

“Then why hide out here? I’ve known you and your daughters since you all moved into the neighborhood years ago. I know you’re hiding. Takes one to know one. I came out here to hole up and lick my wounds when I lost my job and my fiancé, and look what happened.” She waved her hand at the living room of the farmhouse. From behind the back wall came the thud of nail guns and shouts of men. “It’s already nearly October. With Kicks almost here, we have to finish the nursery and the kitchen and the new bathroom fast before he, she or it arrives.”

“Kicks?” He gave her the barest flicker of a smile. “I remember my Nina nicknamed our Elaine Salsa when she was carrying her. Anne was quieter. I can’t remember Nina’s name for her.” He turned away quickly, but not before Emma caught the flash of pain in his eyes.

When Anne had called to make the appointment for her father to view Emma’s rental house, she’d warned her that she might not recognize Stephen.

“He looks even taller now that he’s lost so much weight—like Abraham Lincoln without the beard. He’s also angry,” Anne had told her. “It’s almost as though he blames Mother for dying on him.”

“I’m sure he does,” Emma had said. “She protected him from the world. I was terrified of him when I used to come to your house after school, until Nina showed me what a pushover he really is. And then his accident—it’s no wonder he’s bad-tempered. Pain makes everybody angry.”

“Not like this. I hope he does rent your cottage, Emma. He’s not teaching until spring, and he’s driving us all nuts. Maybe writing his new textbook will pull him back into life.”

Sitting across from him now in her living room, Emma saw what Anne meant. Stephen was perfectly polite, but he wasn’t quite there.

“I assume you are calling him, her or it Kicks because it does?” Stephen asked as he nodded toward her midsection.

“Does it ever. The doctor assures me it is not twins, which is all I cared about. Seth and I decided not to find out, which means the nursery will be your basic buttercup-yellow. Okay, enough about me. Why are you coming up here to hide out? I thought you were still in rehab. And you have a perfectly good house in Memphis. You could lock the door and turn off your phone if you want to write, couldn’t you?”

“I do not intend to spend a day longer in rehab, Emma, even if our government would pay for it—which they wouldn’t. And I refuse to allow either of my children to become caregivers. If I were where they could get to me, I’d be up to my ears in casseroles and being ‘checked on’ a dozen times a day. I would get nothing done. Anne usually calls ahead when she comes to see me. Elaine always ‘just happens to be in the neighborhood.’ Nina...” His voice caught. He took a deep breath before he was able to continue. “Nina was my guard dog at the gate. No one disturbed me when I was working. Or if I was simply feeling curmudgeonly.

“The official story is that I am moving to your cabin in the wilderness to work on my new textbook. You know, publish or perish? I already have tenure, but it doesn’t hurt to keep one’s name out there.”

“Be careful. This place will suck you in. You’ll discover all sorts of interesting ways to take up your time that are not academic.”

“Fine. I need a quiet place where I am totally alone or surrounded by strangers. I am fed up with everyone I know commiserating with me over the accident. Nobody mentions Nina any longer. After three years, it is assumed I have gotten over my wife’s death. I have not. I’ll never be fully alive again without her, but that’s nobody else’s business.”

“I suspect she would have kicked your butt if she thought you used her death as an excuse to stop living yourself.”

“No doubt. Up to now I could hide in rehab and in hospitals. Since that is no longer an option, I am hiding in your rental cottage. At least I can avoid being checked out to see whether my limp is any better as I walk across campus.”

“What do you expect?” Emma said. “You nearly lost your leg, Stephen.”

“I know. I was there.”

“If that truck had been any bigger, you probably wouldn’t be here to complain about your leg.”

“No doubt. But I am here and I do complain on a regular basis, and I intend to finish my rehab out here in what my daughters call the middle of nowhere. My dean says ‘write, write, write that blasted textbook.’ The doctor says ‘walk, walk, walk on that leg.’ I’ll probably always have to use a cane, he says. No way, say I. I’ve already missed teaching the spring semester, I dropped my classes for summer school and I’m being allowed to take the fall semester as a sabbatical to write. By next spring I expect to be back a hundred percent.

“Now, about the rent on— What do you call it? The Hovel?” He pointed across the street toward an old-fashioned Tennessee farmhouse sporting a fresh coat of pale gray paint and dark red shutters. “Doesn’t look very hovel-like to me.”

“Not now, maybe, but you should have seen it before my stepmother, Andrea, came up and redecorated.”

“I’m sure Andrea did a good job. She always does. So, how much rent? I may only be here for a couple of months full-time, but I will probably continue to use it on weekends, so I’ll be happy to sign a lease for six months with automatic renewal for another six.”

“I wouldn’t dream of charging you rent.”

Stephen cut her off by raising his hand. “No. Unless I pay the going rate, I cannot come. I am hardly destitute, Emma, and Andrea said you had redone the place to rent. So, how much per month?”

“What do you think of this for rent?” She gave him a figure.

“Much less than it would be in Memphis or Nashville. I accept. I’ll drive back up this evening with the rest of my stuff and move in, if that’s all right,” he said.

“And I’ll feed you dinner.”

“Give me a rain check for tonight. I’ll be back much too late. How close to the stove can you stand?”

“Now, was that a nice thing to say?” Emma patted her belly and chuckled. “Close enough. In a sense we’re both invalids.”

The smile he gave her was real. Fleeting, but real.

“Your problem will disappear in a few months,” he said, still smiling. “Mine will last a good bit longer. My doctor says the knee will never be perfect. Maybe not, but I refuse to dodder into old age with a cane in my hand. I’d have to grow a beard and wear glasses with a little chain attaching them to my jacket so I don’t lose them. I don’t think so.”

“Do you need to go look at the house again?” Emma asked.

“I have to drive an hour and a half back to Memphis to pack.” He set the ferrule of his cane on the floor between his feet, then began to lever himself up.

Across the coffee table, Emma grabbed the arm of the sofa and began to hoist her heavy body to a standing position.

Halfway up, they caught sight of each other’s predicaments.

And fell back grinning at one another.

Five minutes later, as she waved him down her gravel driveway to the road in the Triumph Spitfire sports car he had owned as long as she had known him, she wondered how on earth to drag him back into life.

Well, it might be kicking and screaming, but she’d manage somehow. She owed it to Nina and his daughters. Nina would have wanted him to find someone else wonderful to spend the rest of his life with. Emma knew a dozen women who would jump at the chance.

CHAPTER TWO

DR. BARBARA CAREW, DVM, large and small animals, finished stitching the torn ear of Hubert, a French lop rabbit that had played too rough with his housemate, Louis, the Belgian mastiff. According to Louis’s owner, the big dog was miserable and missing his buddy. Usually Hubert—pronounced you-bear—ran Louis ragged. This was an unfortunate accident, but Hubert was going to have to be guarded from that sort of rough-and-tumble play for a couple of weeks, at least until the stitches were removed. Then the pair would have to be supervised, because unfortunately Hubert thought he was more than mastiff-size and a whole lot tougher.

“All right, my little French friend,” Barbara said as she scooped up the giant bunny. “Off you go to your cage and nighty-night.” She settled the rabbit down, checked to be certain that everything was in order in the clinic’s office and reception area, walked out the back door and across the parking lot. Outside, Mabel the lame goose was securely caged with her current crop of goslings.

“No foxes tonight,” Barbara said and tossed the big goose a handful of grain. Not that Mabel wasn’t a match for most creatures that wanted to devour her. But she couldn’t protect her goslings if she was busy protecting herself.

Mabel snapped up the grain but didn’t even chuckle a response. The goslings snuggled deeper under her. Actually, no fox in his right mind would challenge Mabel, although it might make an attempt to snatch a gosling.

Barbara walked across the grass to the barn and through it to her apartment, built at the far end. She was so tired, she was not certain she could bend down to take off her boots without falling over. She prayed the clinic answering service could handle any calls until morning.

She needed sleep more than she needed food, but she tossed a frozen diet meat-loaf dinner into her microwave and started the timer. She’d still be hungry afterward, but she’d try to endure without ice cream or cookies. She tossed her scrubs into the laundry hamper and slipped into her largest, oldest, softest T-shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts, then poured herself a diet soda.

“I would kill for a glass of wine,” she said aloud. “But sure as I do, I’ll get called out to some cow that can’t calve.”

She stayed on her feet until the microwave dinged. “If I sit down, I will wake up in my chair tomorrow morning. And why am I talking to myself?”

Because there’s no one else to talk to.

The dinner was anything but delicious. The meat loaf tasted like cardboard and the mashed potatoes were one congealed lump. Still, it was food. Not enough, but food.

She jumped a foot when the gate alarm at the road sounded as the gate opened, and the motion-sensor lights flashed on in the clinic parking lot as someone drove around the building and stopped at the back door. “What the heck?” She yanked on her boots back over her bare feet, grabbed her big flashlight and went to see who in Sam Hill was coming in this late without calling ahead.

* * *

“IS DR. CAREW AVAILABLE?” A male voice, deep baritone. He was standing at the back door of the clinic, silhouetted against the lights. All she could tell about him was that he was tall and sounded as though he had some education.

“I’m available,” Barbara said. “And the only Dr. Carew there is.”

“I’ve got an emergency. Emma Logan told me your clinic was down this way but didn’t give me your phone number. I couldn’t think of anything to do but search you out.” Behind him the very bright lights of some kind of fancy sports car shone directly into Barbara’s eyes. “It may be too late to help him, but he was moving, and this is all I could think of.”

“You hit something on the road.” Probably a deer.

“It hit me,” he said. “Flew smack into the front of my car.”

“So you squashed an owl?”

“Not quite. Take a look.”

He stood aside. Barbara turned on her powerful flashlight and walked up to the front of the car. “You mind turning your lights off? I can’t see squat.”

A moment later the headlights went out. Barbara allowed her eyes to adjust to the lower light of the motion sensors under the eaves before she looked at the damage to whatever it was. She fully expected it to be dead.

It shrieked. A hair-raising, enraged and I’m-alive-here-people shriek.

“That’s no owl,” Barbara whispered.

She dropped to her haunches two feet from the grille of the car and shone the light on... “Lord save us,” she whispered. “You hit a bald eagle.”

“Indeed I did not. It hit me. I wasn’t driving fast, not on these roads, when I’ve barely moved in to The Hovel after driving up here this morning, then back to Memphis to pick up my stuff and right back here. I thought some kind of pterodactyl was about to yank me out of the car. One minute nothing, the next this thing appears in front of me and whomp!”

“Take off the grille,” Barbara said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“These cars carry fancy toolkits, don’t they? Let’s see if we can keep him alive long enough to get him out of there.” She stood and walked back toward the barn.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some towels and heavy gloves. If we do get him loose, we’ll have to wrap him up tight. He’s going to come out of there fighting like a dragon, no matter how badly he’s hurt. You have any heavy driving gloves?”

“In the glove compartment.”

“Get ’em.” She pointed at the car. “Unscrew that grille, please. Carefully. Stay out of talon or beak range. He’ll take your head off as soon as he looks at you. He’s certain this is your fault. Eagles aren’t noted for forgiveness. They prefer punishment, preferably death by devouring.”

Wearing leather gauntlets, Barbara returned with an armload of heavy towels. “Whoa!” she snapped as the eagle screamed again. “Calm down, you. We’re trying to help.”

The eagle stared at her with insane black eyes, but stopped thrashing momentarily, almost as though it understood. Barbara knew it did not. More likely, it was gathering itself to try to break free and savage the people who were attempting to save it.

“I think the left wing is broken—see how twisted it is hanging between the struts on the grille?” she asked.

“There is no way I can unscrew this grille. The grille has not been off since it came from the showroom years ago. This car is a genuine antique. It’s as rusted as I am.”

“Can you actually cut those struts? Ease it off him?” She expected horror. In the lights, she could tell the car was a classic, beautifully maintained.

That grille would cost a fortune and probably take weeks to replace.

Instead, the man said, “Do you have some heavy-duty bolt cutters?”

“Be right back.”

Not one howl of complaint from him. Hmm. Even if he did drive a silly car and hit birds with it. She handed him her largest bolt cutters.

“Show me where to cut,” he said.

“I’m not altogether certain. Need to get him loose but keep hold of him so he doesn’t flap himself to death.” For a long minute vet and eagle stared one another in the eye, then Barbara nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to try something that should work for the short haul.” She took a small towel and tossed it over the eagle’s head, covering its eyes. Instantly it stopped fighting. “Now, cut here and here. Fast. It’ll take him less than a minute to realize he isn’t actually hooded. Can you manage alone?”

The man actually growled at her, as if she’d impugned his masculinity. “Hang in there, big guy,” he whispered. “We’re trying to help you.” He grunted with the effort of snapping the grille. “We’re not about to let you die on us.”

The grille snapped and snapped again. Possibly all to the good that it was old.

Man’s got muscles, I’ll say that for him. And it almost sounded as though he was commanding the bird to survive. “Hold the feet, avoid the talons,” Barbara said. “I don’t want to have to sew you up, too. With luck I’ll get him out fast and swaddle him tight.”