Zara Stoneley - Summer with the Country Village Vet

She hadn’t deserved it as a kid, and she didn’t deserve it now.

Oh God, she was being ridiculous. Sense of foreboding my foot. She’d been reading far too many scary books, it was no wonder the panic attacks were coming back. She was in a perfectly nice, tranquil village where the worst that could happen was she’d get bored to death.

The loud quack made her jump. Or she might get pecked to death. A very indignant mallard looked up at her. ‘Well, I haven’t got any bread if that’s what you’re after.’

The duck tipped his head on one side, then blinked in disbelief before raising himself as high as he could, on surprisingly long legs, and shook his feathers vigorously. He settled back down onto the grass and for a moment she did feel like that long forgotten happy child again. She was sorely tempted to kick her shoes off and step onto the thick inviting carpet of green grass, to stroll over and sit beneath the soft dappled shade of the weeping willow and watch the ducks. Which was far better than collapsing in a pathetic, bubbling heap. But she couldn’t do that either. Not now.

Instead she let her gaze drift over the haphazard array of cottages, and settle on the large building at the top end of the green. Even at this distance she could tell it was a pub, which meant… she looked to the right and spotted it. An old red-brick building which was instantly recognisable as the picture on the website. Langtry Meadows Primary School.

It was nothing like the old school she vaguely remembered attending. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, ignoring the slight tremble in her fingers, and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just a job. She belonged here as much as the next person, she was a teacher now, not the child who couldn’t live up to her father’s expectations.

His words echoed in her ears, as though he was there. She couldn’t escape them. ‘It’s not real, Lucy. Nobody cares about you,’ he’d given a small sad smile, ‘they only bother with you because I’m your father. If I wasn’t here you’d see how useless you really are, just like your mother.’

She hadn’t believed him at first. But it turned out he’d been right. Her dad was always right. After they’d moved, not even her best friend Amy had said goodbye, or replied to Lucy’s letters, or come to see them in their new home. But neither had Dad. It was as if she’d never existed.

She closed her eyes and took an involuntary step backwards. Away from the green, the memories.

‘Hey!’

Lucy clasped her hand to her chest and spun round at the harsh male tone. It couldn’t be her father, not here.

‘Move.’

He was bigger than her father. Taller, stronger, and even as her brain was telling her to fight off the hand that was reaching out towards her, he was rugby tackling her, taking her with him. Sending her off balance. She flapped her arms wildly, and was pretty sure from the grunt in her ear and the sharp pain in her wrist that she’d smacked him across the head as they staggered back locked together.

‘What the—?’ There was a loud clang and she shrank back against him as a large horse (how the hell had she not heard that coming?), galloped past so close to her car that the stirrup iron caught the wing mirror of her car. She was dimly aware of the rider grappling with the reins, of a shouted apology, a whoosh of air and brief whiff of sweating horse.

Then nothing.

Lucy clung on to the arm that was wrapped around her. Her knees were trembling, in fact her whole body was shaking in sympathy with the pounding rhythm of her speeding heartbeat. She’d hated horses ever since her father had insisted she should learn to ride. They were so big. So scary. So many feet and big teeth. They could kill you and not notice. This one nearly had.

‘Ouch.’

She suddenly realised she was digging her nails into the strong forearm, gripping on for dear life. And she was leaning against the safety of the firm body behind her as if she knew him. Which was kind of awkward.

Oh God, that warm breath against her neck was doing weird things to her. She closed her eyes, which made things worse as all her senses seemed to home in on his slightly woody scent, on the fact that the well-muscled arm was part of a very firm body. It was obviously delayed shock that was making her this hyper-aware.

‘Christ you’ve got a good left hook.’ She twisted, glanced up. Mistake. Dark, concerned brown eyes were looking down straight into hers as his lips practically brushed against her cheek. Full, dry lips.

He rubbed the side of his head with his free hand, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his generous, very-kissable, mouth.

They were practically in a clinch, well the closest she’d been to a clinch for quite some time. Oh hell. She swung back to face the front, before he realised just how close she was to actually kissing him.

She was pretty sure she made a kind of squeaky noise, and she was more than sure that she’d shoved her bum into his crotch so they were now spooned in the kind of post-sex intimate position that you just didn’t do with clothes on. Or in broad daylight with a stranger.

He froze, then leapt away from her as though he’d been stung – almost throwing her off balance again.

‘Sorry.’ His tone was nearly as clipped as his action, and when she half-turned he was studying a spot about six inches above the top of her head. ‘You were in its path. Bolting horses can run blind.’

Wow, he was tall, dizzyingly tall, and solid looking.

‘Oh.’ Suddenly light headed she bent over and rested her hands on her knees, and was shocked when he squatted down and peered up at her, studying her intently as he threaded his fingers through his mussed up hair.

‘Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?’

She blinked at the soft tone which was in total contrast to the brusque edge she’d heard seconds before.

‘Fine, I just need to get my breath.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’m not used to being almost run down by galloping horses.’ Or being grabbed by strong, attractive men. There was a bit of a shortage of them in city centre primary schools. Sexy men, and horses. Not that he was responsible for her current light headedness – that had to be the danger, the nearly being killed. The thrill…. No, not thrill. Danger. Adrenaline – that was the word she was looking for.

‘Don’t apologise. I would have a sit down if I were you, shock can have a strange effect.’

Something was having a strange effect, but she had a horrible feeling it was more to do with finding herself pressed against the groin of a man, than the risk of a trail of hoof prints being left across her body.

‘You look pale.’

She felt pale. Avoiding his gaze she glanced downwards. Bloody hell, his blood supply seemed to have redirected round his body again and headed southwards, right into the spot she’d been nestled against. She looked back up guiltily, straight into his eyes. Mistake. Maybe she was better shutting her eyes, concentrating on her own blood flow which seemed to be located solely in her heart which was still hammering away ten to the dozen.

He wasn’t reacting to her, it was a male thing. Danger turned her into a wobbly blancmange, and men into, well into, well it could just turn them on.

‘Hey.’

He was still waiting for a reply, and probably worried she was going to keel over on him. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She studied his feet. Much safer than looking at his groin, or into his eyes.

‘Good.’ He stuck his hands into his pockets. He knew. The earth just had to swallow her up, whisk her away. ‘Great, well if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be off.’ He stepped back almost nervously. ‘Work to do.’ He was doing his best to edge past her, squeeze between her and the car. She stepped back, feeling awkward. ‘Sorry about grabbing…’