If Wishes Were Horses

If Wishes Were Horses
Carolyn McSparren

FAMILY MANIf wishes were horsesThe child's wish: A pony of her own. For her twelfth birthday–just as her father had promised years ago.The father's wish: A safe and happy life for his daughter. That's all Mike Whitten's ever wanted. And that means keeping her away from Liz Matthews and her "germ-filled" camp for young horselovers. It also means breaking his promise–a promise made in haste–at a time when Mike would have done anything to bring a smile to his child's face.The woman's wish: That Mike would stop treating his daugther as though she were made of glass. And–if Liz Matthews could sneak in a second wish–that he would start looking at Liz as more than just his daughter's riding teacher."A wonderful romance. Strong. Emotional. Superb. A real page-turner."–Patricia Potter, bestselling author of Starcatcher"Carolyn McSparren is a terrific, talented newcomer who has a gift for finding the emotional compass of a story."Debra Dixon, award-winning author of Bad to the Bone and Doc Holliday

“Don’t move! You may have broken your neck.” (#ubbd850fc-3dba-59cb-a735-2a3e08db0a3a)Letter to Reader (#u06d2fea2-afb3-5ce1-9b91-fd4bfb5a6490)Title Page (#u86fbc00f-fdc4-5965-a8f8-c3a6e001f687)Dedication (#ub83e1076-9663-512b-aeb7-e063019cde46)CHAPTER ONE (#ue55c885c-9a47-5502-a457-458a3d1dbe75)CHAPTER TWO (#u44445107-b4aa-58bf-8c7a-62188ae0d09f)CHAPTER THREE (#u0a7f4582-2e7a-5169-8515-bf562fd2bf38)CHAPTER FOUR (#ub87e982d-33dd-5aeb-9645-b3b8df7f48c2)CHAPTER FIVE (#u1d96125d-b321-5299-b9e9-79bba1e265db)CHAPTER SIX (#ua868cea6-79a8-595a-8905-8dae855763d3)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Don’t move! You may have broken your neck.”

Liz Matthews turned her head on a neck that was obviously still in working order, and looked at Mike Whitten. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “Knocked my breath out.” She put both hands on her diaphragm and pushed. “Better.” She raised up on her elbows. “Nothing’s broken.”

Mike put one arm behind her waist and the other behind her knees and scooped her up. He began to walk as quickly as he could toward the stable.

“Hey!”

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, afraid for a moment he might have done her more harm than good.

“I’m not hurt, I’m mad as hell. I’m mad at the horse, mad at myself, and if you do not put me down this instant, I am going to be really mad at you.”

“Fine.” He dropped her legs. She limped toward the spot where the horse was standing. She obviously intended to get back in the saddle.

Mike watched her. She hurt considerably more than she was willing to let on. Maybe she’d cracked a rib. He ought to drag her to a doctor, just to be sure. She’d never go. Hard-headed, opinionated damned female. He caught his breath. The kind of woman his daughter was growing up to be.

Great, he thought, now I’ve got two of them to worry about....

Dear Reader,

Like many of you, I have experienced some of the struggles the hero and heroine of If Wishes Were Horses endure on their road to happiness.

Soon after my husband and I married, my teenage stepdaughter. came to live with us. I was clueless. Even birth parents waffle between being too strict—our children’s viewpoint—to not strict enough—our own gut feelings. While I knew that taking my own risks was scary, I found that letting this child I had grown to love risk heart or mind or body was downright terrifying. In the end I learned to close my eyes, cross my fingers, pray, and let her go for it. I didn’t stop worrying. I just got better at concealing my fears.

I also firmly believe that riding horses can slide kids through adolescence with fewer problems. Without her horse, my daughter would probably have landed me in a straitjacket before she hit fifteen. Thanks to horses, I managed to cling to the sane side of loony until she was happily married.

Last, but definitely not least, I absolutely believe in lifelong love. It seems as though I’ve been married to the same man since before the American Revolution. But falling in love with a man who comes complete with children can be daunting, especially if we have absolutely no experience with kids. We have to handle special problems, and if lucky, we discover special rewards. I hope you’ll agree that for Mike and Liz, love is worth the risk.

Carolyn McSparren

If Wishes Were Horses

Carolyn McSparren

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For Ann Lee, who taught me to train horses and turned my

daughter into a centaur, and for her daughter Liz, an extraordinary

rider. For my own daughter Megan, and Karen, the stepdaughter I

helped raise. For the people at St. Jude Children’s Research

Hospital, who fight death every day and seem to win more often

than they lose, and finally, for my wonderful editor, who manages

to stay cool even when I don’t.

CHAPTER ONE

MIKE WHITTEN’S FIRST glimpse of the lush pastures and sprawling stable complex filled him with dread. He’d never been truly comfortable outside of cities, and even this close to town, these rolling pastures definitely qualified as country. He stifled an impulse to do a one-eighty and head his Volvo straight back to Memphis.

He’d never get away with it. Not with his eleven-year-old daughter Pat straining against her seat belt beside him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so eager.

He stopped the car at the open front door of the stable, and Pat unfastened her seat belt and leaped out before he could turn off the ignition. She was in such a hurry she slipped on the gravel and nearly fell. Mike’s heart lurched. He leaned across the seat as though he could reach her, steady her. “Hey, Pitti-Pat, watch it,” he said.

This blasted place was already conspiring to damage his kid.

“Daddy,” she said disdainfully. “I’m too old for pet names. I’m Pat, just Pat, remember? Now come on!”

He sighed, followed her and looked around this place where he did not want to be. The board fences were stained dark brown and were in good repair. The pastures had been mowed or perhaps eaten down by the horses, several of whom quietly chomped their way across the paddocks. The parking lot was edged with neatly trimmed shrubs, and beds of bright flowers—he had no idea what kind—surrounded the front door.

Something buzzed close to his ear. He slapped at it. A damned bumblebee! To his knowledge, Pat wasn’t allergic to bees, but there was always a first time.

He called to his daughter, who scampered ahead of him into the shadowy recesses of the stable. He quickened his stride to catch up with her as she reached a broad transverse aisle.

Four dogs raced down the aisle toward them. An obese black Labrador retriever, a basset and a pair of small brown-and-white blurs that outran the others and launched themselves straight at Pat’s face.

“Pat,” he shouted, and moved forward to defend her.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Pat cooed to the small dogs wriggling in her arms. “They’re Jack Russell terriers. I’ve seen pictures of them in horse magazines.”

They were licking Pat’s face. Mike caught his breath at the thought of all those germs.

Meanwhile, the Labrador and the basset waddled over to Mike. He sidestepped them, his eyes still on his child. “Put them down, baby. They might bite.”

“Oh, Daddy, get a grip,” Pat said. The terriers stayed where they were.

Mike felt something soft brush against his ankle and looked down to see a fat black-and-white tabby doing figure eights around his legs. God, the place was a zoo. He thought he’d only have horses to contend with. The only animal he did not see was a human being.

He surveyed his surroundings once more, and was surprised at how clean the place seemed. The blacktopped aisle was immaculate, and the barn smelled not of manure, as he’d expected, but of fresh hay. Despite that, he was sure the place was a disease factory. Pat’s doctors said her immune system was normal, but could anybody’s system stand the constant assault from the germs that likely populated the stables? He’d never even let her have a gerbil for fear of allergies.

The barn was built in a rough cross. They’d entered the short arm, and beyond was another set of open doors that he reckoned gave onto the riding arena he’d glimpsed from the road. Suddenly Pat crowed with delight and rushed past him with both terriers still hugged tight against her chest.

Outside in the arena, a woman in jeans, a T-shirt and some sort of tight brown leather leggings cantered into his field of vision on a horse big enough to pull a beer wagon. The pair sailed over a jump yanked off the Great Wall of China. Horse and rider landed with a thud and cantered off.

Mike closed his eyes. No way! He didn’t want his precious, fragile child anywhere around this place. Every time he thought of Pitti-Pat on a horse all he could see was Rhett Butler cradling Bonnie Blue’s broken body. Not his kid, by God!

He’d simply have to find a way to head her off, and that—as he knew from experience—was a hell of a lot harder than stopping a runaway train. How had he let her con him into this?

“Daddy! Aren’t they wonderful?” Pat called from the fence. The rider and the horse cantered past to jump a tall stack of painted poles.