Her Veterinarian Hero, page 1
“I did my best to be a good wife...”
Olivia thought of the compromise she’d finally made with herself the year before her husband had died. “I did my best to be a good mother.”
“You are a good mother.” The earnestness in Tyler’s face melted her. “I see it not just in how you talk to Micah but in how you talk about him. It tells me everything I’d ever need to know about your heart.”
No one had ever spoken about her this way before. Since her mother had died, Olivia felt like she’d been fighting for a life that was recognizable to her, like an explorer thrashing a machete through thick jungle terrain to cut a narrow path forward.
Tyler moved closer as his stare deepened. Close enough to touch, his eyes looked dark green. Gold flecks splintered from the irises like the tines of a rimed snowflake.
A woman could lose herself in eyes as beckoning as his...
Dear Reader,
I’ve never considered myself an animal person, yet somehow I’m raising a daughter who loves almost every critter. She’s built habitats for toads and turtles and baby field mice, carefully caring for them before releasing them back to their homes. Her gentleness and attentiveness have influenced how I see small animals, helping me to love them, too.
My daughter certainly inspired me while I wrote Her Veterinarian Hero, book three in my Little Lake Roseley series. Local veterinarian Tyler Elderman has a peaceful demeanor about him, especially while working with animals. He’s just the sort of person who might connect with widow Olivia Howard and her struggling teenage son, Micah. When Micah voices a hidden desire to work with animals, too, he shocks his mother but helps her to see him, and their future, in a new light.
May we always be willing to see other people and ourselves in a new light. What a love story that really would be.
I hope some part of Olivia and Tyler’s story resonates with you. If it does, I’d love to hear from you. Follow me on Facebook or connect with me at elizabethmowers.com.
Wishing love to you and yours,
Elizabeth
Her Veterinarian Hero
Elizabeth Mowers
Elizabeth Mowers wrote her first romance novel on her cell phone when her first child wouldn’t nap without being held. After three years, she had a happy preschooler and a hot mess of a book that will never be read by another person. The experience started her down the wonderful path of writing romances, and now that she can use her computer, she’s having fun cooking up new stories. She’s drawn to romances with strong family connections and plots where the hero and heroine help save each other. Elizabeth lives in the country with her husband and two children.
Books by Elizabeth Mowers
Harlequin Heartwarming
A Promise Remembered
Where the Heart May Lead
Her Hometown Detective
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To Michaela.
You are the sunshine of my life.
Contents
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
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM RECLAIMING THE RANCHER’S SON BY TRISH MILBURN
CHAPTER ONE
“IS THIS REALLY where we’re going to live?”
Olivia turned the car onto a long, narrow driveway through a dense wood, as her fourteen-year-old son, Micah, knitted his eyebrows in a discerning scowl. The long, three-day drive from California had tested her patience with her son so much, she could have swallowed her tongue after biting it so many times.
Olivia gripped the wheel tighter, praying her decision to pull Micah out of school for an extended fall holiday had not been another terrible mistake. As Micah told it, she had been making plenty of those over the last two years.
“Mom,” he said, his face pressed to the passenger window. “Is this it? Seriously?”
The heavy bed of gravel shifted beneath her tires. Stones flew up under the body of the car with a series of clinks and pings to announce that, yes, their long journey to Roseley, Michigan, was finally at an end. This was home—for now.
It was one of Olivia’s favorite times of year—that window when the last few warm days of summer still lingered but the cool nights had cued autumn’s entrance. She supposed she could be satisfied that she had made it to Roseley in time for that. Trees still swayed with green leaves but also flecks of goldenrod, burnt orange and cranberry. After a quarter mile or so, she and Micah made the bend and the trees cleared to reveal a tiny Victorian cottage. Its north-facing side was blanketed with a light bed of moss, while the hillside behind the south corner of the house was covered with thousands of wildflowers still holding on to the last breaths of summer. The yellows and whites and violets cascaded down the sprawling hill and around the cottage. They seamlessly spilled into the garden beds tucked around every inch of the cottage perimeter just as the first yellow maple leaves of the season floated to rest on top of them. It was a sight that would only last another day or two, so Olivia drew a breath of gratitude and buried her frustration with her son somewhere down deep where her other frustrations lay.
“Yes, Micah, until you hear otherwise, this is it.”
“You said it was on a lake.”
“It’s near the lake.”
Micah sighed loudly, shoving his fists into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “I’d better get a cool room.”
Olivia managed a meek smile. She had no memory of her aunt’s cottage being any larger than a two-bedroom, but she had decided to break that to him after they arrived. They had not needed any more contention on their road trip.
Olivia eased the car to a stop as her aunt Hattie, covered head to toe in loosely draped clothing, effortlessly glided out the front door. Whipping a wide-brimmed straw hat from her head, she tousled her cropped auburn hair, which carried a heavy white streak above her left temple. Her smile spread wider than her outstretched arms, which were punctuated with flailing fingers.
“There she is!” Hattie cried. Olivia had barely managed two steps in Hattie’s direction when she was encompassed in a fierce, full-body hug. It was two years since Olivia had seen her aunt, but instead of waning over time, Hattie’s enthusiasm only seemed to have strengthened. “My darling girl,” Hattie said, wrapping a tender palm behind the back of Olivia’s head and pulling her snugly to her shoulder. “My blood.”
Hattie smelled of earth. Of sunshine and morning breezes and black dirt crumbling like chocolate cake between your fingers. Her unbridled energy for life infused Olivia with the memory of a childhood lost and yearned for. Two peas in a pod, her mother had often said of her sisterhood with Hattie. As Olivia melted into the nape of Hattie’s neck, she sighed. Her aunt’s scent carried memories of the mother she had lost several years ago. Bittersweet.
“I missed you, too,” she said when Hattie finally released her. Her aunt’s brilliant smile softened as she studied her niece. Her eyes crinkled with the weight of her sixty years. The sun had worshipped her as much as she had it. Darkened spots peppered her cheeks and nose and forehead in an array as dense as the Milky Way.
“You’re the vision of your mother,” Hattie said, cupping Olivia’s cheeks between her hands. “Perfection.” She pecked a kiss on Olivia’s nose before wrapping an arm around her waist. “How’d he do?” she whispered as Micah slumped from the car. Olivia barely spared a look before Aunt Hattie was closing the gap with Micah at twice his speed. “And this cannot be Micah. Have you been eating growing pills? The last time I saw you, you were no taller than my bosom.”
Micah’s face twisted as Hattie enveloped him into an unreciprocated hug.
“Hi, Aunt Hattie,” he said quietly.
“So, what are you into these days?” she said, carefully eyeing him and stroking the hair off his brow. “I know I sent you comic books for your last birthday, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’ve moved on. Yes?”
Micah made a noncommittal shrug as Olivia piped up.
“He plays a video game called Doom.”
“Video games?” Hattie cried. “No one who moves up here wants to spend time playing video games. Nature’s playground awaits you, kiddo. Do you like fishing?”
Micah shrugged.
“You like fishing,” Olivia prompted.
“Hmm, I see.” Hattie ran a hand through her messy locks. “What about rock climbing? Dirt biking? Cliff jumping?”
Micah’s lips spread into a thin smirk. “I’ve never done any of those.”
“Aha!” Hattie said, leading him toward Olivia. “Then you are in for a treat. We will keep you busy up here. You’ll be saying Doom Shmoom by the end of the week.” She turned them both to face her cottage. Releasing a sigh that could only be pride, she asked Olivia, “Do you like it?”
“It’s charming.”
“Isn’t it, though? I only spend every waking minute on the upkeep.”
Olivia admired the place they would call home for at least the month. It was a giant downgrade from their four-bedroom McMansion in the suburbs, and it looked like heaven.
A familiar friend shuffled down a low-grade metal ramp off the porch steps. Olivia chuckled at the sight of him.
“Hello there, Boomer.”
Micah knelt to pet the eight-year-old English bulldog. With a tan, stout body and white markings on his face and underbelly, he wagged his bubblegum tongue to and fro as he looked up at Micah.
“His hip dysplasia is getting pretty bad.” Aunt Hattie sighed. “He still had to come out and welcome you.”
“It’s been a long time, Boomer,” Micah said, nuzzling his round mug. “I haven’t seen you since you were a puppy.”
“Pretty close,” Hattie said. “Friends watched him the last time I visited you. That would have been a long flight for him, and I didn’t want to be distracted at the—” Hattie stopped short and shook her head in apology.
“We’re doing okay,” Olivia said. “A change of scenery is just what we need.”
“Boomer is just what you need. He’s a good listener, Micah.”
“Can he sleep in my room?”
Olivia cleared her throat and looked at her aunt. “I haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements.”
“Good,” Hattie said. “We can tackle that together. First, let’s get your car unloaded. After a nap we can have dinner in town. Yes?”
Without waiting for a reply, Hattie opened the trunk and hoisted one of only a few suitcases out of it. “Whoa. Liv, dear, you travel light.”
“I’m trying to simplify my life.”
“I like it. Good for the soul.” With Micah and Olivia carrying bags behind her, Hattie dragged a suitcase into the cottage and up a narrow wooden staircase. When she reached the top, she called, “Well, my loves, this is it.”
Olivia cleared the low overhang at the entrance to the only room at the top of the stairs. It was a small space that smelled of cedar chips, but it had a beautiful view of dense woods. She moved across the aged hardwood floors, aware that every step was reciprocated with a delicate creak beneath her feet. There were two twin-size beds with matching white bedspreads, a desk, a shared nightstand and a closet. Hattie tied back the sheer, snow-white curtains and leaned back to face her niece.
“It gets the morning sunshine, so drop the blinds before you go to bed.”
Olivia eased her way across the room, taking in every nook and cranny. She strummed her fingers along the cherry nightstand and grazed them over a silver framed photograph of her, Micah and Jeb. Micah was only a toddler in the photo, and Jeb was...
“You thought of everything, Hattie.”
Hattie lifted her shoulders. “I’ve had the three of you smiling at me in the living room for ages but thought it might best suit you in here.”
Olivia’s eyes moistened as she turned to Micah, but he had other things on his mind besides an old photograph of his father.
“We’re sharing a room?” he mumbled.
“Ah, it won’t even faze you after a few days,” Hattie said. “Your grandmother and I shared a bedroom until she went off to college, and I was lonelier than an owl’s hoot when she left.”
“This is different,” Micah insisted.
“Nonsense. Who knows you better than your mother?”
Micah shot Olivia a scowl before silently dropping his suitcase on the far bed.
“We’ll make do,” Olivia said. “Thank you for having us.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Micah said.
“You are most welcome,” Hattie replied. “Once you get your suitcases unpacked, we can store them in the garage to get them out of your way.”
Micah flopped on his bed and pulled out his Nintendo Switch.
“Why don’t you get unpacked, Micah,” Olivia said.
“I’ll do it later.”
“Come on, kiddo. We can unpack and then rest up before dinner—”
“I said later.”
Olivia wanted to pull the “mom card” and just make him do it. However, she didn’t want to start their new venture as roommates off on the wrong foot. Micah rolled toward the window away from her, his game console pressed inches from his nose. Hattie caught Olivia’s eye before leading the way down the stairs. “Cup of tea, Liv?”
Olivia helped Hattie fix the tea and then followed her to the back sunroom. “We’re off to a great start,” she mumbled.
“What happened on the drive?”
“A better question is, what’s happened since Jeb died? Where do I begin?”
“It’s been a hard two years for the both of you. You need to cut yourself some slack and remember that a lot of it is just his age.”
“Is it?”
Hattie curled into an oversize chair and studied her niece with the unwavering focus of a guru. “Tell me about the camp.”
Olivia sipped her tea, contemplating the last few months. “His teacher nominated him. He encouraged Micah to write an essay about what the outdoors means to him. Apparently, it was very good, not that he would let me read it. It won him a summer at the Nature’s Heirs Camp.”
“I’ve heard of that one. It’s about as exclusive a camp as they come.”
“Swimming, hiking, white water rafting, camping—”
“Baseball?”
Olivia sighed. “That was the best part, but Micah hasn’t picked up his glove since Jeb died.”
“I thought that kid slept with his glove.”
“Jeb and I used to laugh about that, but now he won’t touch it. In fact, he won’t do much of anything. He refused to attend camp.”
Hattie sighed, her focus turning to a cardinal perched just outside the window. “He’s just sad. I’m sure baseball is very painful if it brings up memories of his father. What does his counselor say?”
“Dr. Redwood has been great, but he just retired.” That was why Olivia hoped it’d be okay to move up here before transitioning Micah to a new doctor at the same practice. “I know it’s not the best time to take a holiday, what with the school year just starting, but I’m at my wits’ end with him.”
“It must be difficult for you, considering he’s the kind of patient you would normally help.”
Olivia rested her head back against her chair, recalling so many conversations she’d had with colleagues over the past two years. She knew all the stages of grief and all the ways to help a child process death, loss and trauma, but when it came down to helping her own son, why did she feel so inadequate? When she’d first learned what art therapists did, she had immediately known she wanted to dedicate her life to it. But recently, her failure to help her own son had made her question not only her vocation, but her ability to mother.
“I thought the camp would be a push in the right direction,” Olivia said. “But the more I try to help, the higher he builds a wall between us. I’ve been wrong about a lot lately.”
“Well,” Hattie said. “I’m sorry he has to settle for visiting me instead.”
“You don’t play second fiddle to anyone, Hattie. I’m happy to be here, and I think, to some degree, Micah is, too.”
“Hmm,” Hattie said, taking a deep sip of tea. “It’ll take a few days to get settled, but I’m only giving him until tomorrow before I hide that video game.”
“Thanks, but he’ll end up blaming me for it.”
Hattie quirked a brow. “That’s what a teenage boy does with his mother, because he knows she can handle it.”
“Some days I’m not so sure.”
“You’re a fine mother, and you’re doing your best. It’s what the women in our family do—always.”
“I have to get out for a little while,” Olivia said, setting her teacup on the table. Suddenly the urge to escape smacked her like a northern wind.
“Of course,” Hattie said. “There’s a lot happening in town—”
“No,” Olivia said, standing. “I need to jog.”
