Merindah park, p.1
Merindah Park, page 1
Merindah Park
Renée Dahlia
romance.com.au/escapepublishing/
Merindah Park
Renée Dahlia
John Henry Bassett
‘Money lost, nothing lost. Courage lost, everything lost.’
My dad’s favourite quote. Maybe not one I should be listening to, given my gambling-addict dad sank our once-famous horse stud into a deep, deep hole. Five years I’ve been digging it out. Slowly. Carefully. And now … I am risking it all. Risking Merindah Park on a stallion. Tsuyoi Red, runner up in the Japan Derby last year.
Now is not the time to get distracted by a gorgeous, pragmatic veterinarian.
Toshiko Sato
I’m at a crossroads in my life. Though my father encouraged me to follow my dreams and become an expert veterinarian, he left our family’s horse farm, Tomikusa, to my younger brother. My family expects me to honour my father’s wishes and marry a neighbour—a perfectly nice man who I don’t feel any spark with at all. But my own ability to bet—successfully—on horse races has given me options.
This decision would be easier if I didn’t feel the wicked chemistry hovering between me and the handsome, broad-shouldered Australian that my brother has decreed I will travel with to Australia to look after an injured horse. I’m usually so good at calculating the odds. But how do I choose between losing my place in my family, and losing myself?
A brand new rural romance series about an emerging racehorse stud and the family desperately trying to make their racing dreams come true.
About the author
RENÉE DAHLIA is an unabashed romance reader who loves feisty women and strong, clever men. Her books reflect this, with a sidenote of dark humour. Renée has a science degree in physics. When not distracted by the characters fighting for attention in her brain, she works in the horse racing industry doing data analysis. She writes for two racing publications, churning out feature articles, interviews and advertorials. When she isn’t reading or writing, Renée wrangles a husband, four children, and volunteers on the local cricket club committee.
If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage reneedahlia.com, follow me on Twitter @dekabat, or like my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/reneedahliawriter/.
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the Wangal people of the Eora Nation, who are the traditional custodians of the land on which this book was written. I would also like to acknowledge the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, whose language includes the word ‘merindah’. I would also like to acknowledge the Taungurung people of the Kulin Nation, where the farm Merindah Park is fictionally located. I pay my respects to the Elders past and present.
Thank you to the team at Escape, particularly Kate Cuthbert for continuing to believe in me, Chrysoula Aiello for her edits, and the rest of the team at Harlequin who pulled this novel into a book. Thanks, as always, go to my sister and beta reader, Caro—you are a star. And to my family for adding joy, and many hilarious stories, to my life.
Thank you to Chris and Julia for their excellent legal advice. Reiko, Yuko, and Satomi for answering all my questions about Japan, and helping me with sensitivity reads. Satomi’s description of her first impression of Australian farms compared to the horse farms on Hokkaido proved invaluable. Thank you also to Reiko’s ukulele group and the other Ashfams for being grand friends, and for drinking champagne in the park with me.
For the punters, the optimists, and everyone who loves horses.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author Note
Glossary
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing...
Chapter 1
‘Money lost, nothing lost. Courage lost, everything lost.’
John’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel of his hire car as his Dad’s favourite quote drummed an irritating beat around his brain. Today marked the biggest financial expenditure of his thirty years on this earth—a courageous decision to buy a stallion for his family-owned farm, Merindah Park. Tsuyoi Red, runner up in the Japan Derby last year, was the best horse he could afford, and the horse John hoped would launch Merindah Park’s future growth. John had travelled a long way, from the small town of Tranquil Waters in Victoria, Australia to Japan’s premium breeding region of Hokkaido to find the right horse. John eased the hire car into the driveway of the farm, pulling up in front of the gates. The crisp white farm gates with stone-walled wings, and a clean sign proclaiming the farm name—Tomikusa—in both kanji and English characters, imbibed the property with the success John aspired for. John blew the tension in his chest out on a long breath as he mentally counted the staggering amount of money he was about to spend on one horse.
Without interference in the running, Tsuyoi Red would have won the Derby, one of the world’s hardest races to win, and ironically, if he had won, John wouldn’t have been able to afford him. Racing folk often said one horse could change your address. If Tsuyoi Red didn’t stack up, all that money would be lost, and Merindah Park might have to be sold. John knew his Dad’s quote was wrong—money lost, and the farm might be lost—history doomed to repeat itself. But if John’s instincts about Tsuyoi Red were right and the horse lived up to his potential, his success would allow Merindah Park to expand. One massive decision could result in a new address. Would it be smaller or bigger? For Merindah Park to achieve John’s goals, a stallion was necessary, and logically, Tsuyoi Red ticked all the boxes.
John leaned out the car window and pushed the buzzer for the office. He introduced himself in hesitant rusty Japanese and listened carefully to the office manager’s reply as the gates eased open. The long driveway wound up between pine trees with neatly trimmed hedges that bordered the perfect tarseal road, and everything was a rich lush green that the paddocks back home in Australia never managed to achieve. Tomikusa must have excellent rainfall. John pulled up outside the main barn and stepped out of the hire car into the warm summer breeze. The fresh country air felt good in his lungs, especially after the aeroplane air conditioning, and he pulled it in deep—a satisfying lungful with an unusual floral scent. His breath hitched in his throat, he hadn’t smelled the Hokkaido flower farms for five years, and the heady mixture of perfumes made him light-headed. Had it really been five years since he was last in Hokkaido?
He measured time in the generations of horses, not the way it slipped away as each day filled with tasks. Five years ago, he’d been working on the stallion shuttle run to Japan, when life had suddenly pulled him back to Merindah Park. Now it was time to bring together his dual hemisphere experiences and buy the horse who would create a strong future for his own farm.
John looked around him as he walked towards the main barn at Tomikusa. The owner, Kaito Sato, was a similar age and they’d worked together earlier in their careers, becoming great friends as they bonded over arguments on the relative merits of different horses and various breeding theories. Kaito’s English was much better than John’s Japanese, but John had slowly learned the basics over time. Since taking up the reins on Tomikusa recently, Kaito had done an excellent job, the farm giving the impression of prosperity, with no blade of grass or piece of fencing out of place. John rested his hand on the barn door handle, the smooth wrought iron with horse head flourish nice and cool under his clammy palm. The biggest, riskiest decision of his life lay on the other side of the door. John tried to slow his heartbeat with long breaths. Everything came down to this moment—a physical inspection of the stallion he wanted to buy. He had his contingency plans, and he wasn’t exactly risking the entire farm on one horse—that would be sheer foolhardiness—yet it felt like Merindah Park’s future rested on this decision. Several other breeders in Australia had been interested in taking shares in Tsuyoi Red, and onselling those shares would reduce his financial risk from downright uncomfortable to only slightly sweat inducing. Kaito had agreed a price, and a contract was waiting to be signed, provided Tsuyoi Red passed the vet check and John’s inspection. John had watched all Tsuyoi Red’s races and loved the colt’s turn of foot and his ability to keep trying under pressure. John ignored the nagging doubt, and the weight of the fortune he needed to spend to acquire the horse, as he pushed on the barn door, easing the heavy door open.
John stepped into the barn, and into the typical bustle of a working horse stud. All the boxes were full, with horses leaning over the half-height box doors as staff carried feed to each of them. One stable box door was open, and a curse rang out in a feminine voice. John paused mid-stride to translate and grinned at the colourful swear word. He walked towards the box and peered in, his curiosity dragging him towards the voice. A strapper held a yearling while a vet finished stitching a nasty gash on the yearling’s chest. The young horse threw its head up and knocked the strapper off balance. Qui
ck as a flash, the yearling bolted for the door, and John instinctively grabbed the headcollar to prevent the injured horse rushing out. He pushed the young horse back inside, speaking soothing words under his breath to the young frightened horse, who gave a good fight in response.
‘What were you thinking, doing this with the door open?’ John blasted the vet who scrambled to her feet. She must have been knocked over by the yearling as he tried to escape. She met his gaze steadily before moving to stand beside the strapper against the side wall of the box. John barely had a half-second to register the way the air vibrated between the veterinarian and himself, as the horse reacted to her movement and flicked his head up again, lashing out with a rear leg. The hoof connected with the wooden wall at the rear of the box with a thud. All of John’s concentration focused on the horse, as he worked to calm him. Damn, this yearling knew all the tricks already. He countered him as the colt tossed his head sideways, in an awkward flick designed to throw John off balance, and ended up using a technique he usually used on full grown stallions to keep the yearling still.
‘Bloody Wind Magic, we should have sacked her ages ago.’ The vet’s feminine voice had no hint of emotion, nothing to give away the tense situation they were all in, and John was immediately grateful for the lack of panic. The last thing this horse needed was to sense any heightened emotion.
‘This is out of Wind Magic?’ John stared at the young horse with appreciation.
‘Yes.’ The vet walked behind him towards her supply bag. ‘Do you mind holding him while I finish up?’
John nodded, ‘Provided your staff shuts the door on his way out.’
‘You heard him. Off you go.’ She switched to Japanese as she instructed the young strapper, who bolted out, and the vet let out a short sigh as the door slid shut with a bang. The yearling flinched, and John rubbed him between the ears to settle him again.
‘I should’ve asked one of the more experienced staff to help,’ she mumbled, and John breathed out gratefully that she’d used English. He didn’t have the headspace to translate as he focused on keeping the horse quiet and calm.
‘Yes. That’s a nasty injury.’
The vet glanced up at him, frowning. ‘It took me over an hour to stitch the wound.’
‘In here?’ John reconsidered Kaito’s farm management. This wasn’t the safest environment for the horse with such a nasty injury, or for the vet tending to it.
‘No. Of course not. We have a crush, and all the correct veterinary facilities. This colt is typical of the family, and he popped the bottom couple of stitches as he walked from there up to here, so I need to redo them. He’ll need to be kept inside for a week or so until the first lot of healing is done, and then—’ The vet shrugged her shoulders rather than finish outlining her plans. He understood her silence. It wasn’t his business, except for a flash of curiosity.
‘What do you mean? Typical of the family?’ he asked.
‘All of Wind Magic’s foals are nutcases. Thankfully, this is the last one.’
John grinned and nodded knowingly. Years ago, John had looked after Wind Magic’s first foal, Full Blast, when he’d retired to stud after winning the Japan Cup. Now he knew who to blame for Full Blast’s difficult temperament.
‘What happened to her?’
‘She was getting older, and had a rough foaling with this colt, so we retired her. She runs down the back of the farm with a couple of old retired geldings. She’s too unpredictable to be a decent nanny mare.’ The vet’s perfect English sounded lyrical in her Japanese accent with a slight hint of American. Intriguing. John smiled as he ran one hand down the yearling’s head. The young horse breathed out onto his palm, his soft nostrils fluttering under John’s hand.
‘Well, young fella, you have a lot to live up to. A sibling to a Japan Cup winner, and an Oaks winner.’ John spoke to the horse, and when the vet chuckled beside him, he risked flicking a glance towards her. In the split second before the horse demanded his full attention again, John gained the impression of an unflustered cool appraisal. A shiver skirted over his neck at the unwelcome judgement, as if he was under assessment. She, or her strapper, had made the error, not him. Her chuckle at his comment didn’t align with the command in her steady gaze. For someone who’d nearly been trodden by a naughty yearling colt, she didn’t give any hint she was scared. Maybe a little annoyed at the horse. He wanted to spend more time staring at her, to work her out, but the yearling insisted on his attention.
‘You know your pedigrees.’ Her statement, not a question, furthered his impression of her confidence in her abilities.
‘Yes.’ He wanted to expand on his experience with Full Blast, but his half-brother shifted again, and John had to give all his attention to the young colt.
‘I have a couple of stitches left to do.’ The vet stepped between him and the horse, almost touching John in the close quarters of the stable, and his nostrils filled with her scent: jasmine underneath the antiseptic crispness of her job and a metallic note of dried blood. He had to work hard to keep the fidgeting yearling calm and still as she finished her work, keeping his attention on the horse—not on the way her hands worked quickly and competently.
‘How did he do it?’ John hadn’t been able to count the stitches in the colt’s chest, but the wound ran from the base of his neck, across the pectoral muscles and down to his foreleg. If it was only superficial, he’d probably race, but it depended on how deep the gash had gone.
‘He thought he could take on a fence, silly thing. He’s bloody lucky, but that’s a Wind Magic foal for you. Every single one we’ve had here on the farm has required treatment of various types. They just find trouble.’
‘Ah, but they can run.’
The vet stood beside him, smiling. She only came up to his collarbone, her small size at odds with her presence. She pulled her latex gloves off her long elegant fingers with a snap and rolled them into a ball which she dropped into her vet bag.
‘Yes, they can definitely run. It makes all this drama worthwhile, doesn’t it, lad?’ She stroked the yearling colt down his long chestnut neck. John couldn’t take his eyes off her hands as she ran them over the horse, and his skin tingled. He wanted her hands on him, tracing his jaw and neck. Her black hair gleamed, pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head. Simple, practical, and appealing. John took a few deep breaths to calm the acceleration of his pulse. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by a gorgeous, pragmatic female veterinarian. She turned and bent down to her vet bag and pulled out some antibacterial spray. John fought the instinct to watch her and not the horse. He definitely didn’t need to be distracted by the view of her bent over next to him. His imagination provided the view for him, tight jeans, a perfect heart-shaped butt. He swallowed away the sudden moisture in his throat, as she straightened up and sprayed the wound, staining the horse’s shaved skin with the dark purple liquid.
‘That should keep any infection at bay. Chests are impossible to bandage, so we’ll just have to watch this one.’
Chapter 2
‘It’s a shame, he’ll probably never race now.’ Toshiko said to the tall man who’d easily controlled the fidgeting yearling colt by Dark Impact from Wind Magic. What was it about his easy relaxed attitude with the horse that made her want to chat? She hadn’t wanted to chat much recently. Not with all the arguments she kept having with herself—she had to make one impossible decision, or another.
A light breeze ruffled the dark brown hair on his head and carried his masculine earthy scent towards her. She spent longer than necessary cleaning up, first spraying the stitched wound on the yearling’s chest, then collecting all her equipment and putting it away. If they could keep any infection at bay, the colt had a solid chance of survival, although the deep muscle damage would likely stop him racing. She clucked her tongue. She didn’t rate this colt’s chances, given the depth of the injury to his muscles, and his propensity for finding trouble. He kicked out again, the solid connection ringing against the wooden wall of the stable.
‘Shush now. You can’t feel anything.’ She’d used a local anaesthetic, not wanting to risk dropping the colt under a general, but maybe she should have taken that option. No. Imagine this colt coming out of a general. He’d be a danger to himself and everyone around him as he staggered back to a fully awake state. She patted the colt on the neck and turned to grab all her gear. The strapper who’d helped her earlier had fled when given the option after this tall, broad-shouldered stranger had grabbed the escaping colt. His admonishment about the open door still rang in her ears, as if she’d been the one to make the error. Technically, it was her error. She should have noticed the strapper’s mistake and made amends. The horror show of seeing one of their most expensive colts with blood pouring down his chest and front legs had commanded all her attention. She’d spent over an hour cleaning the wound, and stitching it together, while he stood immobilised in the crush, only to watch him tear out a few stitches on the walk from her veterinary area to the barn. Fresh blood had run freely down his foreleg, and she’d raced off to grab a sponge and hot water to clean it up. She’d assumed the strapper had closed the door; she shouldn’t have assumed.
