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“This picture of you and billionaire playboy Liam O’Neill was snapped last night.” One of the reporters held up a tablet showing some internet site with a clear picture of him, Calla, and Liam dancing. Close. Closer than close.
Shit.
“Tell us, is Liam cheating on Isobel Snow, last year’s Missing Heiress?”
“What’s your relationship to Liam O’Neill?”
“Can you comment on rumors that Liam suffers from amnesia and hasn’t known where he’s been the past year and a half?”
“Get the fuck outta my way,” Mack growled, finally managing to push through the reporters and to a curtained off area. There were two entrances to the arena and Mack made his way around to the one furthest from the reporters.
He slid through the competitors and horses lined up there until he was right up against the gate so he could see into the arena without going up into the stands. Calla was already taking Painter through her paces.
“Looks like you had the right idea about getting out of town.”
Mack jerked his head around and there was Liam, back propped up against the opposite wall.
“I met your adoring public,” Mack muttered, eyes going back to Calla.
Liam went on like Mack hadn’t said anything. “I’m out of here as soon as I can pack me things up at the ranch.” Liam pulled his wide-brimmed hat low.
Mack glanced his way. “Oh yeah? What’s Calla got to say about that?”
“She doesn’t get a say.” Liam’s jaw tensed. “She was playing me this whole time.”
Mack turned his head at that. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She knew exactly who I was. And how much I’m worth.”
“Huh,” Mack said. “So?”
Liam scoffed. “What do you mean, so? The rest is self-explanatory.”
Goddammit no one got on his nerves like this fucker. He wanted to order him to grab his knees so he could tan his ass.
But shit. He was done with all that. Still, Liam needed to get his head out of his ass. Mack wouldn’t be here to watch out for Calla so Liam better step the fuck up. “And what she’d have to say about it?” With effort he kept his voice mostly level. “Did she try to ask for money for the baby or something?”
Liam’s face went red. “Baby? What fucking baby?”
“She didn’t even tell you she was pregnant? Jesus,” Mack shook his head, “you really fucked things up, didn’t you?”
“Me? You’re telling me she’s fucking pregnant! It’s even more proof she’s trying to trap me and get at me mon—”
Mack grabbed Liam by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the side of the chute. The horse who was first in line at the gate snorted and stamped its feet, while the owner started bitching at Mack.
Mack ignored him. “You better not finish that fucking sentence.” He shoved Liam against the wall again, then let him go. He shook his head at Liam. “Christ, you’re what I’m leaving her to?”
“I’m going to have to ask you two to move away from the—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mack growled at the arena volunteer and turned his back on Liam so he could watch Calla.
Liam was a fucking idiot thinking she was after him for his money. Woman like Calla, she didn’t want anything she hadn’t earned. She was as proud as she was stubborn. And too good for either of them.
She rode Painter out into the middle of the arena like she was born to sit on a horse. They moved together as one, like they’d been working together for years instead of just months. And the way Painter responded to Calla’s tiniest nudge or click, there was no way you could tell the mare had been a wild mustang not three months ago. Fuck Liam and all his digs about mustangs being inferior to other horses. Fuck Liam in general.
Calla had already made it through several obstacles no problem. She next directed Painter to do several turnaround spins in place, first clockwise, then, after a slight pause, in the other direction.
Then she had the horse back up several steps before taking off at a trot, then a canter, then an all-out gallop across the arena. She brought the horse to a sliding stop, pulled out a pop gun and let out several loud pop pop pops as she backed the horse up again. Painter continued through the steps without flinching at the noise.
Mack let out a low whistle. Damn, Calla was impressive. Mack had been proud when he’d been able to get his gelding to stand still for a whole five seconds. Meanwhile Calla’s horse was running circles around them all. She really had a chance at the prize money.
He found himself holding his breath as she approached the last set of obstacles. They were set up on his side of the arena and he could make out the concentration and calm determination on Calla’s face. First she led Painter through a veil of hanging streamers. Then she urged Painter up, hoof by hoof, onto a wobbly wooden platform that pivoted on a fulcrum.
