as Karen waltzed into Christina’s house and shut the door.
Chapter Thirteen
“What do we need to talk about?” Christina asked impatiently.
Karen wandered the room, taking in the photos on the shelves—Bailey’s and Christina’s both—which Christina hadn’t been able to bring herself to pack yet. A house without photos was empty, forlorn, no longer hers.
“Your visit to Dallas.” Karen skimmed off her white linen suit coat and laid it over the back of a chair. She wore a black sleeveless dress underneath. “I have to go up there too. You should let me drive you.”
Christina was very sure she didn’t want to spend three hours in a car with Karen. “No, it’s all right. I’m going to ask Grace to go with me.”
“Honey, you know you’re not taking Grace. I can keep my mouth shut, trust me. I agree with Grant that you shouldn’t go alone.”
Christina stared, her body numb. “What are you talking about?”
“Your appointment with the ob-gyn. That’s why you’re going up to Dallas, isn’t it?”
Christina’s mouth went dry, but Karen only looked at her, waiting for an answer. “How the hell do you know that?” Christina asked, voice a croak.
“Because I saw you when you came back from Austin. I happened to be passing when you were delivering bags of whatever to your friend Rosie. Before you went up to her house, you took things out of the bags in your trunk and put them into your purse. I glimpsed the pregnancy test—I recognized the box. Have used it a time or two myself. Then you suddenly want to go to Dallas. I put it together that you wanted to consult a doctor there.”
Christina sat down hard on the sofa. “Damn it, do I have to leave the state for some privacy? Who have you told?”
“No one, honey. Is the baby Grant’s?”
Christina sucked on her lower lip. Oh, what the hell? What the woman didn’t know, she’d guess. “Might be.”
“Or could be that other hottie you were going out with—Ray Malory?” Karen gave Christina an envious look. “You are one lucky girl. Two ripe, gorgeous cowboys fighting over you. But I’m not surprised—you pull off the tank top and shorts thing well. Most women our age can’t anymore.”
“I won’t be wearing them for much longer.” The emotions tied up in that statement made Christina giddy. She’d be buying maternity clothes, baby things, planning for her new family. She wanted to burst into tears. Damn hormones.
“So, you’re going to have the baby? Good for you. You have a lot of guts. But you still need me to drive you, or the whole town will know before you’re ready for them to.”
Christina considered her options—including getting on a bus and heading anywhere but here—then let out a heavy sigh.
“The appointment is at two—it’s in Richardson.” She and Bailey had found the clinic that could tell her not only pregnancy results right away but promised swift pre-natal results as well. And, going to Richardson instead of the clinic where everyone in town went, meant she could break the news when she was ready. “I’m leaving early tomorrow morning and staying overnight afterward.”
“Perfect,” Karen said warmly. “Gives me a chance to go to Neiman’s. I need some new shoes.”
The commercial’s shoot was postponed the next day because, as Tyler said, horses happened.
Turned out that one of the geldings brought in from another ranch for training had thrush. The owner blamed the Campbells, claiming dirty conditions in their barn had led to the infection. Carter nearly went ballistic on him—their stables were always clean and dry, mucked out every day, he snapped.
Grant and Tyler had to step in and placate the owner. If Circle C’s stables were the cause, Grant explained, all the other horses there would have thrush too. The Campbells would be happy to have the gelding’s hooves treated for no charge.
The owner left, conceding, and Carter said the guy had just been angling for a free vet visit. But Grant knew, and Carter agreed, that if they sent the gelding home, the owner might not bother with treatment, and the horse would suffer. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to have animals.
Then Buster, the best horse for stunt work, woke up lame, for no reason anyone could find. He limped around, not wanting to put pressure on his right foreleg. Vet was called, found nothing. Farrier called, found nothing. Buster would have to stay quiet for a couple of days, and be watched.
So much for working on the shoot—Buster was the