“Are you okay to walk?” Calla asked Mack. “I’ll get Torpedo.”
Mack nodded, wincing again as he took a few steps into the deeper water.
“He’s okay!” someone behind them called out and there were cheers and clapping.
Calla got Torpedo’s lead and he walked through the stream, no problem. Mack was standing on the shore, hands on his knees.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Calla asked when she got to him.
He immediately reached for Torpedo and the horse nosed toward him like he too wanted to make sure Mack was all right.
“What even happened?” Calla asked, staring at Torpedo in bewilderment.
“Fuck if I know. He must have got spooked by that blond chick’s horse when she went past. We were doing fine until then.”
Bethany. Calla glared open-mouthed toward the finish line. But no. Surely she wouldn’t try to— Not just to win a piddly little competition like this?
Calla shook her head, dismissing the thought. Not even Bethany was that twisted. More likely it was something in the stream that had spooked Torpedo. He hadn’t been exposed to a stream like that any more than Painter had. Some horses were bound to spook easier than others. It’d be something they’d have to focus on training him with when they got back to the ranch.
Other riders streamed past them toward the finish line. So much for showing what she and Painter could do.
Then she shook her head at her thoughts. God, what if something had happened to Mack? It had been a nasty fall. It was only by the grace of God he was all right. It had looked like Torpedo landed right on top of him.
“You want to just walk Torpedo in?” Calla asked. “It’s not too far.”
Mack glowered. “The saying is literally get back up on the horse.”
Calla held up her hands. “Whatever you say boss.”
“That’s the right attitude.” He smacked her ass and she yelped. “Stop slacking. If we’re not careful, Liam’s gonna beat us and neither of us will ever live that down.”
“Speaking of.” Calla nodded over Mack’s shoulder as she grabbed hold of Painter’s saddle to mount up again.
Liam and Mistress had finally gotten to the stream. Where she’d stopped to take a leisurely drink. Liam’s curses could be heard clear across the stream. “Come on, you poxy cow! Move!”
Calla laughed as she readjusted her seat. Ugh. Nothing like the feel of wet jeans on a damp leather saddle.
“He’s gonna kick her flank,” Mack observed, not yet up on Torpedo.
“No,” Calla said. “He knows better. She’s ticklish there.”
Liam kept nudging Mistress with his thighs to get her moving forward, but she ignored him as if he were little more than an annoying gnat.
Mack just shook his head. “He’s gonna do it.”
“He wouldn’t—”
Liam kicked at her flank.
Oh, Calla winced. Mistress leapt forward into the stream. Leaving Liam behind. He popped right off the back of her rump. And landed hard on his.
Ow.
“Wild-eyed bitch threw me!” Liam jumped back to his feet, holding his backside.
“Calla and Xavier have both told you a hundred times not to kick her flank,” Mack called out across the stream.
Liam looked around like he was searching for the voice. When he finally located Mack, he flipped him off.
Calla groaned. “Xavier’s gonna be so proud of how we’re representing him today.” She shook her head and turned Painter toward the finish line as more and more riders rode past. Her shoulders shrank.
People from the group that had started ten minutes after theirs were passing them now. So much for showing she was a contender. Calla was pretty sure she, Mack and Liam would be coming in last place.
Her future had never been less secure. She thought about her leg tremor. If she had a future at all.
Still, as Liam and Mistress came up and she saw the goofy grin on Liam’s face, her heart clenched with emotion for him.
It was like this every time she felt any moment of happiness or joy. There was always the accompanying terror. It was always there. Whispering this was the best she’d have it and soon it’d all be gone.
Enough.
Calla clicked her teeth to get Painter moving as Mack and Liam started bickering about who did better in each obstacle. She looked back and forth from one man to another.
She was terrified of all the things she wanted with them. Of all the things that might never be. Enough. She was done living her life in the shadow of fear.
It was time to know.
It was time to get the test done.
23
CALLA
“I want to get the test. For Huntington’s.” Calla sat up straighter on the exam table at the doctor’s office. Here she was. Taking the future by the balls. Or, well, at least being willing to own up to it, whatever it might hold. Other than a brief freak-out in the car—Mel let her borrow her little Camry whenever she needed to come into town—she was even managing to keep her shit together.