Farm of Fancy: Missing Cities, #1

By Julianna Thorn

Gabe Byrne likes the simple life. Quiet, coffee, and the company of his horse are all he needs.

When his mare takes sick, Gabe calls David Meloy, the town's new veterinarian—who's so gorgeous Gabe can barely think straight.

In a town like Armstrong, it's hard to find people Gabe can trust. After a tough break-up and a long recovery from cancer, Gabe knows this attraction isn't a complication he needs, and he'll do what it takes to protect himself from more heartbreak.

David Meloy might be new to small-town life, but after the sudden passing of his husband, a fresh start is exactly what he needs. With his own vet practice and a new dog to keep him company, life is starting to feel good again.

If only Gabe Byrne would stop insulting him in public.

David's a professional, so when the call comes about Gabe's sick mare, David answers—even if it means getting stuck in a blizzard.

 

Trapped together by the storm, can they look past their arguments to find a connection? Or will David's conflicted feelings, Gabe's insecurities, and the hard realities of small-town life rise to stand in their way?

FARM OF FANCY is an 74,000-word meet-ugly-turned-cute standalone HEA romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julianna Thorn
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201134099

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 1

Gabe Byrne had a non-negotiable morning ritual: to stand by the window overlooking the lake, sip his coffee, and wait for his eyes to stay open by themselves.

He could usually open them long enough to find his footing down the stairs and tie his hair out of his eyes. The rest was autopilot. The path from bedroom to coffeemaker was always clear—he made sure of that before going to bed. The machine turned on automatically at the same time every morning, the smell of coffee the only thing strong enough to coax him out of bed anymore.

Coffee that made itself was a luxury no human being was meant to possess. It was also one Gabe could no longer live without.

Even in his impaired state, he could see that it was unusually good weather for the season. The town of Armstrong grew quieter as the temperature dropped. This morning, through the coffee steam misting over his face, he could sense an autumn stillness over the lake below.

After Erin had gotten married, it had just been Gabe in his parents' home—an older building, but well built, albeit with more space than he needed. He lived a life of comparative simplicity, but his inheritance had helped him fix up the house and left a cushion to help him through the leaner years. These days, he made decent enough money out of his workshop to keep up with expenses.

The house had a spectacular view, constructed as it was on an embankment over the water. Hills flanked the lake's other side, boasting a few half-occupied residences, but for the most part he was surrounded only by grass and trees.

Gabe knew how lucky he was to live here. He was also aware of how alone he was.

There was barely a soul around. Some mornings it felt like a burden, but others he felt grateful for solitude. Today, only birds broke the morning silence. He couldn't imagine feeling half as peaceful with another living being around.

Gabe was so distracted by the beauty of the morning that he hadn't noticed his empty cup. He trudged back over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a refill, then returned to his vigil in front of the window.

Somewhere from deep in the living room, a clock marked time. Mist clung to the lake, a heavy stillness in the air. And for a second—just one—Gabe imagined what it might be like to hear something else alive in the background, someone cluttering around upstairs as he fought to wake up.

Then the feeling passed as quick as it'd come, and Gabe set his mug down and got to work.

It wasn't like Gabe was completely alone. He had Gretchen.

Erin had told him to get a dog. Gabe had retaliated by bonding even more with his horse. Gretchen was a beast of a mare at seventeen hands, but Gabe, tall himself, had never had trouble riding her. That made him an exception to the rule. He'd been the only one even willing to try apart from his father, and even Gabe Sr. hadn’t had an easy time.

Gretchen's bad temper was the exact reason Gabe had wanted her. She was nearly twenty years old now, though her chestnut coat shone as sleek as ever. Gabe had barely dared to ride her since getting sick, but even so, she remained his evergreen companion. He started each day the same way: taking her out for a walk, feeding her, brushing her, and listening to the radio, the dial adjusted to the AM news.

Erin always said that that Gabe's disposition had soured to meet Gretchen's, but that was only partly true. Gretchen had seen in Gabe the same things Gabe had seen in her: a difficulty in trusting people; a struggle to let anyone close. They'd always had that in common.

If anything, Gretchen had mirrored Gabe's personality throughout the years. Not the other way around.

There was no one left on the farm now but the two of them, two alpacas, and eight sheep. Gabe saw Erin once a week or so, but apart from the clients for his business and the grocery store clerk, Gabe didn't otherwise talk to people much. Being a carpenter was lonely work—which was part of why he chose it. Most of the time it was just him and Gretchen, and he liked it that way.

But he hated the sheep. He maintained the farm mostly for the wool that Erin spinned and dyed for part of her income. In hindsight, she really should have been the one to keep it—and Gabe would have given it to her in a heartbeat, if she hadn't been so determined to live in the city and raise that baby on her own.

As it was, he'd grown into it. It was really, really hard to beat those morning views. And at night, after a hard day, Gabe was able to sink into a chair, shut his eyes, and hear absolutely nothing but crickets for miles. There was value in that he wouldn't want to give up.

Living in the middle of nowhere also had the perk that no one wanted to come out to the boonies to see him. Almost no one did. Gabe lived uninterrupted, seeing people on his terms. That was exactly the kind of existence he was looking for.

Gretchen didn't greet Gabe that morning like usual.

That was the first bad omen of the day. The only time in almost twenty years she'd failed to greet him was when she'd been fed already or was being bullied into a bridle.

Gabe frowned, opening the gate to her paddock with open trepidation. Gretchen? he croaked, hoarse, striding toward the open stable.

Gretchen was backed into the furthest corner of the building. She snorted at Gabe as he entered—in apology or warning, Gabe couldn't tell. As he came closer, he could see she was shivering.

Gretch, said Gabe, hastening forward. Sweetheart, what's wrong?

Gretchen huffed again as Gabe got close, backing away like she wanted him at a distance. Heart pounding, Gabe approached, slow, running a gentle hand over her forehead when he got close.

He pressed his palm to her ribs as he watched her breath heave. Her skin was scorching hot. She stopped shivering when he stepped near, but started up again within seconds.

It didn't take a genius to know she was sick. Okay, he muttered. I see you, sweetheart. Just hang tight, alright? I'm gonna get you some help.

For the first time in his life, Gabe wished he carried a cell phone. Instead he had to leave Gretchen alone as he went back to the house, taking long strides, barely keeping the urge to sprint at bay.

He threw the phone book open without bothering to take his boots off, surprised to find his hands were shaking. Pathetic. Maybe he did need more human friends.

Perish the thought, he muttered, dialling the number for Dr. Mills.

An automated voice came fast on the line: "The number you have dialled is no longer in service."

Gabe stood, one hand on the receiver, staring out the kitchen window with his heart in his throat. They'd hired the same veterinarian for eighteen years. It'd been less than a year since Dr. Mills had seen Gretchen—ten months at most.

He'd just dialled the number wrong. That was all. He'd have been notified if she'd moved her practice.

Gabe gave himself another three seconds to panic, then picked the receiver up and dialled again.

"The number you have dialled is no longer in service."

Gabe slammed the phone down hard on the cradle, pushing panic aside with a hot surge of anger. God, he hated change. Change under duress was even worse.

He leaned to peer out the window in case he could see Gretchen in the paddock, but there was no sign of her. He fought the insane desire to check on her again and furiously picked up the receiver instead, bracing to call the only other large-animal veterinarian listed in the phone book.

The phone rang once. Twice—

Dr. Meloy's office.

Gabe's fingers gripped hard at the receiver. Yeah, hi. Does Dr. Meloy do emergency house calls?

As it turned out, Dr. Meloy did.

By the time the vet arrived, Gretchen had seemed to remember she wasn't actually cold. She was still seeking comfort, nuzzling at Gabe's arm, but that was better than braying at him.

She had also managed to shuffle as far back into the paddock as she could. That much made sense. Gabe tended to retreat when he was sick, too. He stood with her, at a loss, murmuring encouragements until he heard the crack of tires in the driveway.

Guy's here to help, alright? he muttered. Try not to kill him unless he deserves it.

Gretchen snorted quietly. Even her breathing seemed better when Gabe stood to keep her company. He hated to leave her now, but he wouldn't be gone for long.

He stepped out to greet the incoming vehicle, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. He'd brought out gloves, but forgotten to put them on—too late now. Dr. Meloy would have to deal with his icy handshake.

Gabe wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been this.

The truck wasn't a surprise. Armstrong was a rural town, a cheese factory its greatest claim to fame. Trucks were often needed. If Dr. Mills was out of business, this guy probably served the whole rural area. Big, shiny trucks were part of the deal.

It was the man he hadn't expected.

What had he expected? Someone shorter, maybe, definitely older; maybe wearing a lab coat, thick-lensed glasses sitting on his face. Doctor Meloy hardly sounded like the name of a walking adonis, a locomotive work of art, tall and solid and casually muscular. And yet there he was—hair a shock of dirty blond, cheekbones that could cut glass, the kind of eyelashes that could make wind on a stink-hot day.

Gretchen was in distress, and all Gabe could do was write poetry in his head about her savior. The guy hadn't even closed the door to his truck yet.

Gabe looked at the ground, trying to get a grip on himself. All that did was help him notice his boots. Brown. Practical. He'd slid plastic booties over them—presumably to stymie contamination. His jeans fit him obscenely well. He wore a plain v-neck shirt under his jacket, itself a gorgeous worn brown suede.

He was a city boy, no doubt about that. But he might have still held promise if he hadn't dragged a gym bag out of his truck.

A gym bag. A gym bag. Guy showed up looking like a Calvin Klein model and carried his veterinary equipment in a gym bag?

Gabe's attraction took a hard left into confused indignation. Who did this guy think he was—

Then Dr. Jock's eyes focused on Gabe's, and Gabe forgot to be mad in a heartbeat.

David Meloy, he said, extending a hand.

Gabe steeled his jaw and shook it. He had a nice voice and better hands. His grip was firm, fingers warm. Some callouses, probably sports-related.

Gabe Byrne. Thanks for coming on short notice.

Gabe as in Gabriel?

Yeah.

"You're not the Gabriel Byrne."

Gabe stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing. What… have you heard?

David smiled. Nothing.

Seems like something.

It was just a bad joke.

What joke?

The actor? Gabriel Byrne?

Never heard of him.

He's Irish, in his 50s. You're clearly not him. That's the… Dr. Byrne waved a hand. Wrong foot.

Gabe stared witheringly. David cleared his throat, gesturing toward the paddock. Gertrude ever experienced weakness like this before?

Gretchen, Gabe said thinly, trying to keep his irritation to a low simmer. And not to my knowledge. It's not like I'm with her 24/7, but—

Then the platinum Dr. Meloy pulled an apple out of his pocket and started cutting it with a switchblade.

Gabe watched dispassionately. Miss breakfast?

David's frown appeared and disappeared in a flash, but Gabe still saw it. David gestured to the paddock with his knife. My assistant mentioned your horse had a temper. Only gonna be worse if she's in distress. Peace offering. He gestured to the apple. If we establish a bit of a rapport off the top, she might not spook so bad.

Gabe watched him core the apple, his thumb counterbalanced against the blade. That… makes sense.

Then Dr. Beautiful took the carved-out core out of the apple and put it, seeds and all, into his mouth. So she's usually pretty approachable, eager to greet?

My horse is too good for seeds, Gabe said, ignoring the question, but they're fine for you?

David's mouth twisted into stunned amusement. God, those cheekbones were something. Core can irritate a horse's throat, especially if she's sick, he said, like Gabe was slow on the uptake. Evidently, he was. Just ensuring her comfort to the fullest possible extent. David cored the other half, then offered the seeds to Gabe, thumb flat against the blade. Want some?

Gabe looked at the knife, then at David. I'm good, he said blandly. He kicked open the gate. You know, bribery's not gonna help your cause.

With you, or with her?

Either one.

Well, it probably can't hurt. As they entered the stable, David nodded to where Gretchen stood in the back corner. That the girl?

That's her.

Gorgeous for an older horse.

I take care of her, Gabe said, yeah.

David had the good grace to look bewildered. He shook his head and pushed past, leading with his gym-bagged shoulder. Guess we know where she gets her disposition from.

So Dr. Meloy could be an asshole. He was also, unfortunately, the only person in a position to help his horse.

Gabe found a way to pull his act together and stepped level, gesturing David to a stop as he passed. This is Dr. Meloy, Gabe said to Gretchen, stepping forward. He's here to help, alright? Try not to bite his head off.

Gretchen accepted Gabe's comforting hand at her neck, but snorted hard as David stepped forward. David, to his credit, took her signals seriously. He surveilled the pair of them carefully, without judgment or apprehension, letting Gabe try to settle her down as he set his bag on the stable floor. Then, when Gretchen had finally stopped nervously bobbing her head, David took one half of the cored apple and held it in front of him, just by the tips of his fingers, away from his body.

Peace offering, he told her, quiet. The steps he took forward were slow, but he didn't change his posture; he stayed calm, not even flinching when Gretchen tried, and failed, to rear up on her hind legs.

Hey, Gabe said, soft, placing a settling hand at her neck. Come on. He's being nice.

We'll take our time, David said, voice smooth as silk. No rush here.

They stood, the three of them, Gabe and David dedicated to calming vibes, until Gretchen settled down again. David was good at it; that much was clear. He seemed to have a lot of experience with spooked horses.

The next time David extended his hand minutes later, Gretchen barely even shook her head. That's right, David said with a smile. We're getting there. I'll just hold this here and you can take it when you're ready.

Gabe, unmoving from where he'd started gently rubbing at her neck, looked on with incredulity as Gretchen slowly nudged David's hand with her nose, then took the apple into her mouth.

There, said David. He took half a step closer, hand following her as she retreated. When he touched carefully at her forehead, she actually let him with only an uneasy paw at the ground. That's better.

Gabe didn't bother to conceal his expression shock. David smiled—not to gloat his victory, but at the horse.

There was that beauty again. Gabe wished he'd go back to being an asshole.

Is this typical? David asked, nodding to Gretchen.

This? No. Usually she's kicking and rearing back for a solid twenty minutes when someone new tries to get near her.

David nodded, stepping back. He pulled a plastic jacket of sorts out from his sports bag, then held the plastic out for Gretchen to smell. Sorry, he told her, then pulled it over himself one sleeve at a time. He turned his attention back to Gabe. Why is that?

Why does she rear? I don't know. She's always been… I dunno, careful, uppity, depends on who you ask. Nobody wanted her at sale, despite how beautiful she is. Previous owner flagged behavioral problems and swore she'd never be a show horse, so most of the assholes around here didn't care about her.

So you don't show her, don't compete…?

No.

You ride?

Not… as much as I used to. He gestured at himself. My problem, not hers.

Anyone else in your house ride?

No.

David nodded. She still get plenty of exercise?

We walk around daily, she has her grazing field. I make sure she runs now and then.

This seemed to satisfy his interrogator. She still do work around the farm?

Occasionally she helps move something from point A to point B, but only under protest. She's pretty much just my… Gabe paused, then glanced at Gretchen, embarrassed by the sudden surge of emotion. My buddy, he said, clearing his throat.

David looked at him only for a second, pulling on some latex gloves. Hey, I love the hell out of my dog. No different.

My sister's been telling me to get a dog. Keep telling her I got what I need.

There was that twist to Dr. Beautiful's mouth again—pink lips, easy confidence. David moved forward again before Gabe could voice a warning, but though Gretchen pulled back, she let David pull back her lips after a bit of soothing. How old is she? David asked, peering at her teeth.

Gabe frowned at Gretchen. They'd have to have a talk later about how to behave in front of the enemy. Just about twenty.

Teeth—not bad. Worn in places.

She doesn't like people interfering with her mouth. But despite the obvious prompt, Gretchen did not oblige with a nip at Dr. Doolittle's fingers. I've done the best I can, but even with me she gets snippy.

I'm not faulting you. This kind of degradation is pretty standard for her age. I don't think that's her problem today, but at a later date you might want to look at addressing some of these sharp edges to prevent future problems.

Alright.

She doesn't like strangers, but is she usually this calm with you?

Yeah, I mean… she's been mine eighteen years. Can't pretend she's always been nice to me, but we understand each other.

David didn't seem to realize that was kind of a weird thing to say about a horse. Anyone else she likes?

She liked my mom, but since she… He waved a hand. My sister is allowed to feed her, but not touch. Gretchen tolerated the last vet after a while, which is why I… may have been a bit short with your receptionist. But it usually takes years to work up to where you are now.

David nodded, taking the other half of the apple out of his pocket and presenting it to Gretchen in his palm. To Gabe's astonishment, she took it into her mouth after only a second of sniffing, even while he wore the latex gloves. Her nose been running like this for a while? David asked, rubbing at her muzzle.

I noticed it yesterday, but with this cold front moving in I assumed it was the weather.

Reasonable assumption. She wanted the apple; that's a good sign.

I haven't fed her yet this morning. She's probably hungry.

David nodded. You noticed a waning appetite?

Nah, I mean… she might've eaten slower than usual last few days. Come to think of it, she's been moving kind of slow, too. I just chalked it up to the weather and getting older.

Any other stressors she's faced recently? Transportation, significant environmental changes?

No.

She your only horse?

We had Posey, but she passed of old age a few years ago. I get worried given Gretchen's temperament that she's gonna give another horse a hard time. Plus, since she's getting on in years… He flinched and gestured vaguely to the south. Her grazing field borders the neighbors' property. She likes to watch the horses there, but only watch. Doesn't show much interest in being social.

You share a fence with this neighbor?

Yeah, but like I said, Gretchen doesn't usually approach.

David was holding Gretchen gently in place by then, one arm bracing her in place while the other helped him inspect her eyes. How many horses do your neighbors have?

At least three, regularly. They seem to board.

David moved to Gretchen's side and put a hand at her ribs, leaning close to listen. Can you remember if she's gotten closer with those horses than usual recently? Maybe even just walked near their property when they weren't around?

I—yeah, I guess. When she can't find them, she gets kinda… worried? Goes closer until she can see them grazing in a paddock closer to the house.

Is it possible she interacts with them without you noticing?

I guess it's possible.

David nodded, letting go of Gretchen with a final pat. Then he gestured Gabe away, back toward the front of the stable.

Gabe's face must have flashed reluctance, because Dr. Gorgeous paused. I just don't want to stress her out by crowding her while we talk. She'll be fine for a minute.

Gabe left off from Gretchen only reluctantly, shoving his frozen hands back into his pockets. I won't know anything for sure without running some tests, David said, as Gabe caught up to him, but it looks and sounds to me like a flare-up of Equine Herpesvirus 1. It's incredibly common—

What? Gabe stepped forward, eyebrows peaked. "It's what now?"

"Most horses have been exposed to it at some point in their lives.