Jack, the oldest, has a wild streak and is guaranteed to turn his father’s hair prematurely gray. Gabe, the youngest, is the most competitive kid I’ve ever known. Jonathan plans to enter him in cutting-horse competitions when he’s old enough. Now that school’s out for the summer, Gabe’s driving us all crazy setting up contests of every kind. Yesterday it was rope climbing. Today it was an obstacle course. Thank God he doesn’t expect me to participate! I could probably climb that rope and navigate the obstacle course, but I’d rather not find out I couldn’t. Now that I’m almost eighty, I prefer to maintain my illusions.
Whoops, gotta go. Nicky’s calling for us. He says Hercules peed in his bed. Now there’s a shocker.
1
Present day. Shoshone, Wyoming
DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN. Regan O’Connelli, DVM, parked his truck outside the large double gate of Peaceful Kingdom Horse Sanctuary, nudged his Stetson back with his thumb and leaned his forearms against the steering wheel while he contemplated the sight before him. If his hippie parents ever ran an animal rescue operation, it would look like this.
Nick Chance, his brother-in-law and business partner, had mentioned that Lily King was slightly...different. Judging from the psychedelic colors she’d painted the ranch house, the barn and the outbuildings, different was an understatement. Even though he was wearing his Ray-Ban sunglasses, the neon green, pink, orange and turquoise hurt his eyes.
She had to be the one who’d chosen the color scheme. She’d taken over from an elderly couple two months ago, and prior to that, it had been too cold to paint. Maybe if she’d stuck with one color per building, the effect wouldn’t have been so startling. But a pink barn with turquoise doors and trim was wrong on so many levels. It was a wonder the horses agreed to go inside.
Or maybe they’d refused. He counted at least twenty of them milling around the property, which was a dozen more than Nick had told him to expect. There was a corral—he could see it from here—but the gate was open—accidentally or on purpose? He had a feeling she’d meant to keep it open so the horses wouldn’t feel constrained by any artificial boundaries. His parents would have done that sort of thing, too.
Regan wished Nick had given him a little more information before sending him off on this mission of mercy. All he knew was that Lily’s parents were two of Nick’s favorite high school teachers and their daughter had an extremely high IQ, although she’d never stuck with one major long enough to earn a degree when she attended Berkeley. She had, however, invented a video game that continued to pay royalties, and she’d wanted to do something charitable with the money.
Maybe Nick had been vague about Lily’s free-spirited persona because he knew Regan’s history. Regan and his seven siblings had lived a vagabond existence with their parents, traveling the country in a van painted the same colors Lily seemed to favor. Nick wouldn’t want to make fun of Lily’s setup and insult Regan’s folks in the process.
Everybody at the Last Chance Ranch had come to love his unconventional parents, Bianca Spinelli and Seamus O’Connor. Regan loved them, too, even if they had saddled their kids with the surname of O’Connelli to avoid hyphenating O’Connor and Spinelli. They’d also given each child a gender-neutral first name to prevent stereotyping. Grade school had been hell, especially because the family had moved constantly and the name thing had to be explained every time they’d enrolled somewhere new.
Regan had forgiven his well-meaning parents long ago, but Lily’s paint job brought up memories he’d rather forget. He had a job to do, though, and the color of the buildings had no bearing on that. Nick, who’d invited Regan into his vet practice six months ago, had volunteered out here for several years when the Turners had run the place. Nick had said he was grateful Lily had come along. Without her sudden decision to buy it, the sanctuary would have closed.
Regan agreed that Lily was performing a valuable service, so he was prepared to do his part. As he climbed out of his truck and closed the door, a second truck pulled up. He didn’t recognize the middle-aged couple inside, but he instantly identified the crated animal in the back of the truck.
When the man left the driver’s seat and started toward the tailgate, Regan walked over to find out what was going on. “Looks like you have a potbellied pig there.”
“Yes, sir, I do.” The man adjusted the fit of his ball cap. “If you wouldn’t mind, I could use a hand carrying the crate. My wife helped me get Harley up there, but I think she did something to her back in the process. Harley’s put on a lot of weight since we got him.”
“They tend to do that.” Regan made no move to help with the crate.
“We didn’t figure on him getting this big. When he was little, we’d let him in the house, but now he’s even too big for the patio. We like to barbecue outside in the summer, and with Harley’s mud hole expanding by the day, it’s impossible.”
Regan’s jaw tightened, although he knew this kind of thing happened all the time. People saw a cuddly baby animal and took it home while conveniently forgetting that baby animals grow into adults. “Where are you taking him?”
The man looked at Regan as if doubting his intelligence. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Not to me. This is a horse sanctuary, and what you have there is a pig.”
“True, but I know for a fact the lady running the place accepted a pig last week from a guy I work with. So if she took one pig, I imagine she can take another. I’ll make a donation to the cause. If you’d grab one end of the crate, I’d be much obliged.”
“Before we do that, let’s make sure she’ll take him.” Regan didn’t know a lot about animal rescue, but asking first seemed like common courtesy.
“She’ll take him. My buddy said she’s a softie.”
Regan held on to his temper with difficulty. “She may be, but if there’s a potbellied-pig rescue organization in the area, that would be a better place for Harley.”
“Look, mister.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “This is the day I set aside for handling this problem. My wife and I managed to get the pig into the crate and into the truck, which wasn’t easy. If you’re not gonna help me with the crate, step aside and I’ll do it myself, although God knows what that’ll do to my back.”
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” On the far side of the gate stood a young woman of medium height with the kind of bright red hair that made people take a second look. It was so kinked it fanned out like a lion’s mane. Unlocking the gate, she stepped out and refastened it. She wore a tie-dyed shirt knotted at her waist, faded jeans and scuffed boots.
Regan told himself to ignore the cuteness factor as she walked toward them. Nick could have mentioned that, too. Or the fact that sunlight made her hair glow. Maybe happily married Nick didn’t notice those things anymore. “Lily King?”
“That’s me. I’ll bet you’re Regan, the vet who moved here from Virginia. Nick said you’d be coming today instead of him.”
“Right.” At her approach, his senses went on alert. She smelled great, like a fresh meadow, and as she drew nearer, he noticed the freckles scattered across her nose, as well as her intensely blue eyes fringed with pale lashes. No makeup to speak of. It should all add up to wholesome, but instead she looked sexy and approachable. Good thing he wasn’t in the market right now. “Listen, this guy has a potbellied pig he wants to—”
“So I gathered.” She glanced up at Regan, laughter in her gaze, as if they shared a secret.
Oh, yeah. Sexy lady. And he didn’t think she was trying to be, either, which made her all the more interesting.
“And I could use a hand with the crate, people.” The man had adopted a