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33
CALLA
Calla was jogging back toward where she’d left Painter stalled and almost ran into the back end of a horse.
“Oh!” she said, pulling up short as the horse and two people leading it turned to look at her.
“Dr. Nunez?”
A young woman stood beside her. The doctor’s daughter, Calla bet.
“Calla.” Dr. Nunez’s eyes lit up at seeing her but then she averted her gaze like she’d just remembered something.
Like that Calla was her patient and they had an appointment next week to reveal Calla’s test results.
“Did the results come back already?”
Dr. Nunez head jerked up to Calla and then she quickly looked away again. “It’s good to see you, Calla. Good luck today. Come on, Savannah.” She pulled on the horse’s reins like that’s how she meant to leave it.
Holy shit. Calla grabbed her elbow. “If you know, you have to tell me. Please,” she begged. “Think about if it was your daughter. I have to know.” Maybe a low blow, but God, the knowledge about Calla’s entire future could be standing right in front of her.
Dr. Nunez’s eyes flicked toward her daughter. “‘Vannah, why don’t you take Mariposa back down to her stall. I’ll be right there.”
Savannah nodded and led the horse further down the tunnel back toward the temporary stalls.
Calla squeezed Dr. Nunez’s arm. “Please.”
Dr. Nunez sighed, then looked around them. Behind them, cheers and applause came from the arena.
“This is completely unprofessional. And you’re about to compete. The last thing I should be—”
“So I have it?” Calla pressed. “I tested positive? Is that what you’re saying?” She knew it. She’d been stupid to think for even a second that—
“No,” Dr. Nunez exclaimed. Then she pressed her eyes shut a moment before opening them again and pulling Calla off to the side of the tunnel hallway. Her eyes gentled. “Your test came back negative for Huntingtons.”
Negative?
Calla collapsed back against the wall, blinking in shock.
“Not only that,” Dr. Nunez smiled gently, “but your CAG repeats were so low, there’s no chance any of your offspring will have it either.”
Calla choked and then bent over, hands on her stomach.
She couldn’t believe her ears. Did she—
She shot up straight. “You’re sure? There’s no chance—?”
“None,” Dr. Nunez assured her.
“Thank you,” Calla said. “I don’t know how I can ever— Just, thank you.”
Calla felt like crying. And dancing. And whooping in elation at the top of her lungs. She hugged Dr. Nunez and thanked her again.
Then she ran the rest of the way back to Painter’s stall.
“What’s up with you?” she asked when Painter neighed anxiously after she stepped in the stall. She laughed and rubbed down her nose. “Today is our lucky day.”
She frowned as she said it. Because it wasn’t half an hour ago that both Mack and Liam had broken her heart.
But her son or daughter wouldn’t get Huntingtons. And she’d be able to raise them without ever having to worry about abandoning them by getting sick herself.
It meant everything.
“Come on, girl,” she said to Painter, opening the gate and leading her out. “Don’t want to be late to the party.”
As Calla led her around to where competitors had lined up by the chute that led into the arena, her mind raced. For the first time, she could really start planning her future. And even if it didn’t have either of the men of her dreams in it, she would make it a damn good one.
“You and me, little lime,” she whispered, patting her stomach. “You and me.”
34
MACK
Mack was this close to leaving them all behind without another look back. He shifted from park into first gear. But then he froze.
Pregnant. She was pregnant.
It could be yours.
No. Christ. How could he even feel a stab of hope or joy at the thought? He was so fucked up. He was born shit and any baby he made would be—
His mind rejected the thought before he could finish it.
The baby was half Calla. And something that came from her couldn’t be anything less than perfect.
He squeezed his eyes shut and as soon as he did, he saw Sammy’s bloody, broken body.
Christ. That had happened because of Mack. He needed to get as far away from Calla and Liam before Bone ever knew a thing about them.
Mack slammed the steering wheel. He heard the roar of the cheering crowd. There were speakers on the outside of the arena that broadcast everything happening inside.
And then Mack heard, “Next up, Cal Carter, representing Mel’s Horse Rescue with her mustang, Painter!”
He’d leave. He would. But after one last glimpse of her.
He slammed the door to his truck and ran into the arena. He had to push his way through a group of reporters bottlenecked at the entrance of the arena where a harried looking security guard was holding them back.
“Mackenzie. Mackenzie Knight?”
“It’s Mackenzie!”
Mack looked up sharply at all the eyes quickly turning his way. How the fuck did any of these people know his name?
