Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
I’m not sure what that means—is Tyler admitting that he loves me? Or that he won’t be able to—but it confirms what I always knew would be a problem.
A snarl sounds outside. Too many dogs left waiting for too long.
“They’re getting impatient.” Tyler reaches for the handle but stalls. “I’ll stand by whatever you decide to do. You know, if it comes to that.”
He means if I’m pregnant. It feels like another punch, this time to my stomach. “How considerate.”
“Marie—”
“No. Just … no.” I spin and rush away, needing distance to process this.
Rolling in behind the nauseating wave of hurt and disappointment is resentment. At Tyler, for leading me so far down this path only to leave me stranded, but mostly at myself, for being so damn stupid. I knew Tyler was still very much in love with someone else. A woman he still reaches for in the night, who he races a thousand miles across the Alaskan tundra for while wearing her name on his sleeve.
I knew all this, and still I let myself fall for him.
I’m halfway through the barn before I remember why I came here. As much as I want to head straight for my truck and drive off, I veer toward the birthing room, gritting my teeth to keep my tears at bay.
When I emerge, Tyler and the dogs are long gone, and the kennel is quiet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Okay, so … what do you think about this?” Calla pauses for dramatic effect before spinning her laptop around on the clinic’s counter, revealing a home page of earthy greens and golden yellows against a white birch-patterned background, with bold buttons and scrolling pictures and tabs that shift to pages full of information—the clinic’s history, my credentials, our services. Content that was sparse on the old site is now paragraphs long.
I blink in disbelief. “How did you do all this?” And so fast.
“I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years.” She shrugs. “I’ve gotten good at it.”
“Yes, but …” I scroll through pictures of myself at eight years old, wearing my father’s stethoscope and attempting to check a puppy’s heartbeat as it gnawed on my fingers. I flip through the tabs, stalling on the one that details the clinic’s history in the valley, and smile at the pictures of my father in his white coat, standing outside the clinic’s front doors the day it opened for the first time. My mother is next to him, her belly swollen with me. “Where did you get these?”
“Cory. She went through some of your parents’ old albums.”
The only “albums” my mom has are a dozen shoeboxes tucked away in the back of their closet, with no rhyme or reason for how pictures are sorted.
“That girl is too good for me.” As is Calla. I was doing inventory when she messaged to see if she could swing by. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t this.
“That summer when I came to visit my dad, I tried to help him with Alaska Wild by building a website for him. You know, because that would’ve fixed all his problems.” She chuckles softly to herself. “The whole thing turned out to be pointless, but I did learn about my grandparents and their lives while running it, and my dad’s life. There was a lot of family history there. Like this place.” Her curious gaze drifts around the lobby. “I thought it might be helpful for people to see that. It’s what a lot of the other clinics around here don’t have.”
I sink into my desk chair. The effort, the personal detail, even the nature-inspired design.
It’s as if Calla knows me.
Or is trying to get to know me.
“This is amazing. Honestly. Thank you.”
Her smile is genuine. “I need to make a few more tweaks to header sizes and then I can transfer it over. Which leads to my next thing …” She holds up a finger and then darts out the front door to her Jeep. Thirty seconds later, she’s rushing in with a large roll tucked under her arm.
To anyone who doesn’t know Calla, there’s still no visible evidence to hint at the human growing inside her. But I can see how her athletic body is already changing—a thickening midsection, her swelling breasts. “I saw this at the store and thought of you. It’s actually what gave me the idea for the site design.” She stretches the wallpaper out to show me the black-and-white illustrated birch trees. “This would make a great accent wall, don’t you think?”
I groan.
“It’s just wallpaper!” She bites her bottom lip. “And maybe some new chairs?”
I laugh, even as I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m dealing with someone who could live off the interest she’s earning on her inheritance from Wren. The real world has slipped through her grasp. “I lost my biggest kennel, and yeah, we’ve been getting some new business, but it won’t make up for it.” Especially once race season kicks off. I hesitate. “And I think I might have lost another important kennel.”