Trust Me, I'm a Vet Read Online Free PDF

gloop at the bottom, in the shadow of some Triffid-like nettles and explosions of hawthorn blossom. Fat lot of good my new wellies are now.
    ‘Miff!’ I yell. ‘Miff!’ I try the softly-softly approach. ‘Biscuit.’ Unsnagging a curl of barbed wire from my jeans, I listen out for her above the whisper of traffic on the bridge over the river on the far side of the meadow. Nothing.
    I don’t think she likes me.
    I press on through the mud, the like of which you never see in those glossy photos in Country Living . (Perhaps they airbrush it all out.) Hanging on to a tree root, I scramble out of the trench and crawl through the prickly undergrowth on the other side to emerge on all fours on a track, where I’m confronted by an enormous horse bearing down on me at speed. I don’t know what it is – a pigeon flapping out of the bushes or my sudden appearance out of nowhere – but without warning, the horse puts the brakes on and spins away, throwing its rider up its neck.
    ‘Whoa there! Steady . . .’ The rider slips back into the saddle, pulls the horse up and turns it round to face me. The horse, a bright chestnut mare, tries to rear away again, fighting at the bit. The rider – he, for he is most definitely male – stares at me, his mouth taut and eyes stormy beneath the peak of his hat. ‘Get up!’ he growls.
    ‘Me?’ My cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.
    ‘I can’t see anyone else about, can you?’
    Reluctantly, because not only did he almost kill me, but he hasn’t said please, I stand up. ‘Is that better?’
    ‘Now she can see you’re vaguely human, not some creature out of Shrek .’
    The mare takes a couple of paces towards me. I notice how the rider flexes and relaxes his fingers on the reins, playing with the bit in her mouth. I also notice that the sleeves of his polo shirt are rolled up, revealing a pair of lightly tanned forearms, and his jodhpurs are so tight across his muscular thighs that it’s positively indecent. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and doesn’t he know it.
    His gaze settles briefly on my mud-caked legs and his lips curve into a fleeting smile. ‘What happened to you?’
    ‘I’m looking for a dog.’ I feebly gesture at Miff’s collar and lead, which hang redundant round my neck.
    ‘What kind?’
    ‘A Border terrier.’ In fact, I can hear the frantic yelping of a dog after rabbits, moving in our direction. ‘That’s her, I think.’
    ‘Border terrorist might be a more accurate description from the sound of it.’
    Suddenly, the yelping stops and a small brown dog comes trotting out from the brambles beside us. The mare flares her nostrils and champs her jaws, spattering her sleek chest with foam.
    ‘Make sure you keep it under control in future.’
    ‘She isn’t mine,’ I say as Miff creeps up to me, her tail between her legs.
    ‘Whatever.’ The mare paws the ground with her foot, scraping out a deep gouge in the track. ‘And I’d advise you to check a map next time you decide to go pond-dipping, or bog-snorkelling, or whatever it is you’re up to. This isn’t a public right of way.’
    ‘Oh? I’m s-s-sorry,’ I stammer. His air of confidence – no, superiority – makes me feel awkward and at a disadvantage.
    ‘You’re trespassing,’ he goes on. ‘The footpath runs alongside the river, across the other side of the field from here. This is the old railway line.’
    ‘I didn’t realise . . .’
    ‘Ignorance is no excuse,’ the rider goes on.
    Emboldened and infuriated by his rudeness, I argue back. I wouldn’t normally in this kind of situation, but Miff’s hackles are up, and so are mine.
    ‘Look, I’ve got the dog back on the lead and I’ve apologised. There’s no need to be so unpleasant – you don’t own this place.’
    ‘Actually, I believe that I do.’ The rider turns the mare side on and delivers his parting sally. ‘I hope I never see you here again. If my father had caught you, he’d have had you shot – you and the