Page 57 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

I basically ran into the kitchen. Wyatt followed me, almost hesitantly. “Look at these,” I cried, demonstrating the drawers. “Soft-close—pretty neat, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed easily.

“And what do you think of this?” I flicked on the lights, which showcased the backsplash and the glitter of the granite countertops. “Nice, right?”

“Mm.”

I followed Wyatt’s gaze to the takeout bags Cal had left sitting on the counter and nearly grimaced. “Uh—yeah, Cal was dropping off dinner. I wanted something special, but I figured why drag you all the way into town when we have this nice, new kitchen? Oh, and look at the dining room—”

I bounded through the door, then paused to see Wyatt still staring. “Hey,” I offered as gently as I could, “we don’t have to eat it if you want something else or you …”

Wyatt turned a sharp glare on me. “Who said I don’t want to eat it? It smells good, and I’m starved. I’m waiting for you to quit blathering about the renovations.”

That startled a laugh out of me. “Well, all right then,” I said, meandering back to the kitchen. “I thought you might be one of those folks who appreciated a good renovation. I stand corrected.”

“I’ll appreciate it when I didn’t skip lunch because I was mired in the muck from seven this morning with a cow that sprained a leg.”

This time, I did grimace. “Why don’t you grab a shower?” I asked, skirting to the cupboards. “I’ll serve us up some grub while you get clean. It’ll take a few minutes to reheat—Cal had to drive twenty minutes up the freeway for this.”

Wyatt sighed. “Sure,” he said.

“Use the ensuite,” I said, smiling. “The main bathroom is still out of commission.”

With that, I turned back to the cupboards, riffling around until I came up with some plates. I heard Wyatt pawing through his suitcase. Then his footsteps receded, and I turned my attention to fixing our plates.

Wyatt

With the bathroom door locked and the shower running, i took a deep, shuddering breath and dragged my hands down my face.

When I glanced up, my drawn, pale reflection stared back at me. I took another breath.

Cal’s comment—crass and rude as it had been—had almost made me spill. I’d known something was wrong for weeks now, and I couldn’t shake the memory of breakfast with the Carlyle clan that morning back in March.

I didn’t want to believe it. It went against pretty much everything I’d learned about mammalian biology in school.

But reality was sometimes strange—case in point, the fact shifters even existed.

And the symptoms added up. If I’d been looking at any other case, without knowing the sex of the patient, pregnancy wouldhave been my first guess.

So I’d taken a test. No surprise—it was positive. In humans, though, I knew that meant a man could have prostate cancer, which was another terrifying prospect.

I’d sat with that for a few days. Yesterday, I’d been in the clinic by myself, and curiosity finally won.

I’d used the ultrasound on myself.

Of course, I’d been in the middle of conducting a self-exam when Vern had barged in, demanding a refill on horse tranquilizers—something about a stallion up at Hobby Horse—and he’d caught me red handed.

“Now what in tarnation!” he’d bellowed, and I’d fumbled the wand.

“I,” I stammered, and Vern glared at me.

“Wyatt,” he’d said.

I swallowed thickly. “I just … had to know,” I said weakly, then dropped the wand from my hand. I sank my teeth into my lip, feeling exactly like I had the first time Dad had caught me looking at gay stuff. Not even porn. Juststuff.

My heartbeat ratcheted up; my palms were suddenly slick, and I was fairly certain I was going to faint.

Vern shook his head, and I screwed my eyes shut, hating that I was so sensitive to his opinion, that this was giving me flashbacks to my dad. “This is what I meant when I told you not to get mixed up with those Carlyle boys,” he huffed. He’d stepped into the exam room and shut the door firmly. He handed me a wad of paper towel, and I wiped myself off, before collapsing onto the physician’s stool.