Free The Village Vet by Cathy Woodman Page B

at my glass. It’s empty.
    ‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling weakly.
    ‘That’s better. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. Come on, you can relax now.’
    ‘Not quite. Jack’s meeting me here so I can show him where the pony’s tethered,’ I blurt out.
    Katie picks up my glass. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’
    When Jack turns up at the pub, Katie decides to stay behind while I show him where the pony is tethered. We walk in silence, the slight twitch of the muscle in his cheek betraying his awkwardness in my presence. Since I last saw him at the church, he’s had a haircut and gone back to the clean-shaven look, and although I try to avoid looking at him at all, I do notice that he’s wearing a green polo-shirt with the Talyton Animal Rescue logo, a pair of khaki cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black, one tan.
    To my relief, there’s no sign of Mr Maddocks and his son, but, as if to make me out a liar, someone has moved the post so the pony is grazing on a fresh area of grass with a bucket of water within reach.
    ‘She was tethered over there.’ I point out the bare patch of ground. ‘I suppose you’re going to say there’s nothing you can do.’
    ‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Jack says. ‘It doesn’t do to rush in.’
    There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me wonder, as I watch him take several photos of the mare and her environment from a distance, if he could be referring to me and the way I rushed into my relationship with Nathan. As soon as I accepted Nathan’s proposal, I was bowled over and bowled along like a tumbleweed in the desert, unable to stop, to get a grip. Buying the dress, choosing the flowers, booking the church and the vicar: it was relentless. I realise it sounds like a pathetic excuse, but I didn’t have time to pause to take a breath, let alone reflect on the consequences.
    ‘Come here then, pony,’ Jack calls softly, putting his mobile in his pocket. She gives him a warning flick of the heels to keep his distance. He hesitates and lets her settle before moving closer, keeping his eyes averted and his body side-on to her to reduce the level of threat, which makes me smile, in spite of myself, because no one could ever describe Jack as threatening. He’s both soft-hearted and intensely masculine, an irresistible combination, but although he has many women admirers, he’s not had a serious relationship since me, as far as I know. Not that he’s a monk. He’s had his share of girlfriends.
    I gaze back towards the pony, one female who isn’t impressed by Jack’s manner and physical attributes, for she decides he’s come close enough, spins around and runs towards him with her head down, charging like a rhino. With lightning-quick reflexes, Jack turns and legs it. The pony reaches the end of her tether and pulls up sharply, as if she knows exactly how far she can go, rears up and stamps her feet down twice, before standing there, tossing her head, ears back and grinding her teeth.
    ‘That’s one angry little mare,’ Jack observes.
    Like me, I think, amused at how she behaved towards him. I admire her fighting spirit, and wonder what has happened to her to make her so feisty.
    ‘I’m not going to get near her, am I?’ Jack says ruefully. ‘I’ll go and have a chat with Frank to see if I can resolve this without taking further action.’
    ‘Is that enough?’ I say quickly.
    ‘I don’t see why not, if he agrees to call a vet to check the sores on the mare’s legs. It’s one of those grey areas that I come across all the time,’ Jack explains. ‘The pony’s condition isn’t great, but she isn’t the worst I’ve had to deal with. It isn’t a clear-cut case of neglect. There isn’t enough evidence to prove in a court of law that Frank Maddocks has broken the Animal Welfare Act. Don’t worry though: I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him.’
    But I do worry, I think. I hate to see an animal suffering.
    As if reading my