"I didn't say that."
"Sounded like it."
"I didn't mean it that way," I say.
The wind picks up, and a gust blows between us.
He rises and holds out his hand. "Let's go find out."
Nausea hits me again. I swallow down bile as I take his hand, and he leads me to the horses.
We ride back in silence, and every step toward the house increases my anxiety. When we're at the end of the trail, he directs, "You go first. I'll take care of Sassy. Tie him to the post and then go take the test. I'll meet you upstairs."
I silently follow his orders, and soon find myself peeing on the stick. I put the cap on it, take it to my bedroom, and wait.
Wyatt finally comes inside. He sits on the bed and asks, "Well?"
I pick up the stick off my desk and hand it to him. "I can't look."
He takes it, stares at it, and says, "It's just a dash. What does that mean?"
I grab it from him, glance at it, and relief fills me. "Oh thank God!"
"No baby?" he questions.
I shake my head. "No!"
He grins. "Phew. That was scary."
"Right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. So you don't have to go, then, right?" I ask.
He gives me stricken look.
"Wyatt, you don't have to go. You can work your way back up and everything will be fine," I insist.
"You don't understand."
"I do. It's just money!"
He grunts. "Easy for you to say."
"What does that mean?"
"Look around, Willow. You've got it all. I've got nothing," he claims.
I shriek, "You have me!"
"Shh!" he reprimands, and pulls me closer. "I wasn't referring to that."
I deflate.
"I have to go," he states.
"Wyatt—"
