Maris Soule - Paternity Lessons

Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved horses, and my daughter, Mia, inherited that love. We bought Mia her first horse when she was eleven, a half-Arab who’s taught us a lot and still lives with us. We read the horse magazines, made mistakes, slowly learned and our “stable” increased to three horses. My husband and I were the grooms and financial supporters, our daughter the rider and trainer. It was a family affair.

Writing this book allowed me to remember those times—my panic when Mia was thrown off and got a concussion, and my pride when she and a half-Arab she’d trained placed Top Ten in the Arab Nationals. In Paternity Lessons, a traumatized Mustang brings a father and his daughter together with a horse trainer—a horse whisperer—and in the process, all three learn the meaning of family.

Enjoy!

Chapter One

Tyler Corwin knew that Robin Leach wouldn’t be showing this house on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. The edges of the concrete steps were crumbling, the wooden porch had creaked when he stepped on it, and the screen door hung at an angle, an inch-wide gap at the top allowing easy access to the flies circling around his head. Through the screening, he watched a middle-aged Hispanic woman, almost as broad as she was tall, waddle toward him. She stopped on the other side of the screen door but made no effort to open it.

“I’m looking for a Shaunna Lightfeather,” he said. “I’m Tyler Corwin. I called earlier. She’s expecting me.”

He got a grunt and the woman turned away, speaking as she waddled back into the kitchen. “She’s changing. She said for you to wait in the kitchen.”

Assuming he was on his own to enter, Tyler pulled open the screen door. Its hinges creaked, and the moment he stepped inside, he caught the smell of horse manure and heard the strains of a country-and-western song. Scattered around on the floor to his left were several pairs of cowboy boots, all scuffed and showing years of wear. To his right, on a washing machine, were a pair of soiled jeans and a stained plaid cotton shirt.

He wrinkled his nose at the smell, then gave a chuckle as the screen door banged closed behind him. This was certainly different from the clean hallways and offices of the accounting firm of Smith and Fischer. The ten-mile drive from downtown Bakersfield had put him into another world, a world that up until six months ago he hadn’t been aware even existed.

As he made his way into the kitchen, the Hispanic woman motioned toward a Formica-topped table halfcovered with papers and horse magazines. Taking that as an invitation to sit there, he pulled out a chair. The plastic on the seat was taped over in two places, its golden color faded and discolored. “Coffee?” the woman asked.

Tyler could smell the brew as well as see the half-filled pot. He suspected it had been strong to begin with and had been sitting there for hours. He smiled politely and shook his head. “No thanks.”

Again the woman grunted. “She’ll be out soon.”

Saying no more, she left the room, her brightly patterned cotton skirt swinging with the sway of her ample hips. Tyler watched her disappear, then glanced around.

The wood-framed house was a sprawling ranch style that mimicked many built after World War II and was definitely showing its age. The wallpaper was dingy, the linoleum worn and cracked, the sink faucet dripping. From everything he’d seen so far, it didn’t look as if money was in abundance at this stable. He considered that to be in his favor. If the owner needed money, he should be able to convince her to take on another horse...even one like Magic.

“Mr. Corwin?”

The throaty sound of his name pulled his attention toward the back of the house. His gaze locked onto a woman in her late twenties, and he took in a breath.

Tall and slender, she stood in the doorway with her legs slightly apart, her hands on her hips and her chin high. Her blue jeans were snug but not tight, and the cream-colored corduroy shirt she was wearing was cut like a man’s, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The top buttons were open, leaving a V that drew his gaze to her chest, and though he wouldn’t call her busty, he could see a definite cleavage. He found himself wondering if she was wearing a bra, the thought surprising him. He also felt an increase in his pulse, which was another surprise. He wasn’t a man easily excited by a woman.

He attributed his response to her striking looks. Her skin was a rich golden-brown that reflected both hours spent in the sun and a Native American heritage. And perhaps to show that heritage, in the mane of thick brown hair that cascaded down past her shoulders was one slender braid intertwined with yarn and finished with two feathers. More than anything, it was her eyes that caught his attention. Though he supposed they could be classified as brown, the color topaz better described them in his mind.

He stood to greet her. “Ms. Lightfeather?”

In rising, he knocked over his chair, the metal frame clattering against the linoleum, the sound jarring his composure. She merely smiled and stepped into the kitchen. “Call me Shaunna. Sorry to keep you waiting. A colt I’m working with pushed me into a pile of manure, and I decided it was in our best interest if I changed.”

He would call her anything she wanted—he needed her help—but he hadn’t expected her to be this young...or this beautiful. Quickly, he righted his chair. “Obviously, I’m Tyler Corwin, the one who called. Just call me Tyler. And I appreciate your taking time to see me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” She smiled and stopped a few feet away, close enough that he caught the clean scent of soap. She’d done more than simply changed clothes.

When she held out her right hand, he shook it. Her grip was firm, and that didn’t surprise him. She had the look of a woman who would be assertive and strong. But he did note how different her hand felt from the smooth palms of the women he did business with. Holding Shaunna Light-feather’s hand was nothing like holding Alicia Fischer’s, the woman he’d been dating for almost a year.

The calluses on Shaunna’s palm, he was sure, were from hard manual labor, something he doubted Alicia would ever know. Alicia had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and even now, in her position as an event coordinator, a telephone was about the heaviest item she picked up. Her strength was in her mind, she always said.

What did surprise Tyler was the urge that swept through him to hold on to Shaunna’s hand, to capture a bit of the strength he sensed in her. Quickly, he released his hold and rubbed his palms together.

“Sit down.” Shaunna gestured toward the chair he’d righted. “Coffee?” Again he refused, and she smiled. “Probably a wise decision. Maria makes a strong cup of coffee to begin with. By afternoon, it’s deadly.” She sat across from him. “So tell me about this horse you mentioned on the phone. It’s your daughter’s horse?”

“Yes. Actually, technically, I guess, it still belongs to the Bureau of Land Management. It’s a wild Mustang.”

“On the phone you said you’d had the horse a year. Shouldn’t you be getting title to him soon?”

“I...I guess so.”

She smiled at his hesitancy. “Have you contacted them? Asked for title to him?”

“I... that is...”

Shaunna watched Tyler Corwin shift position in his chair. When he called earlier, he’d said he would be coming from his office, so she wasn’t surprised that he was wearing a suit. The cut was good on him, the dark blue pinstripe accentuating a nice set of shoulders. His white shirt and red-and-blue tie were conservative. He’d explained that he was an accountant, a CPA. She wondered if he was honest. She needed someone to do her books, but she wasn’t going to make the same mistake she’d made before.