He pauses, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re out here now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.” If pushing through counts for something, then maybe she gets a point or two.
“Have you thought of a name for the walnut?”
“The what?” Then she remembers she compared the baby to an almond. “Oh, not yet. To be honest, I’ve been in denial about it. This isn’t the best time to bring a new person into the world, not that it ever has been.”
He only gives her a grunt she can’t decipher before they lapse into semi-comfortable silence. She begins to wonder about his personal life as they crunch through fresh leaves. He knows so much more about her than she knows about him, and she decides to do a little fishing.
“Do you have any children, Wyatt?” She should have said have or had, but that feels too depressing to voice aloud.
“Not in the cards for me.”
“Why not?”
He sends her a glare as if she’s joking at his expense. She waits him out. “Don’t have any, don’t want any. My wife did. Now I’m glad it never happened. The poor kid would have had a long road of therapy ahead of them if that were different.”
“Your wife…she—”
“Is a conversation for another time.”
“Right. Sorry.”
He seems to think he’d make a terrible father, but as far as she’s concerned, he’s likely wrong. He’s traipsing through the woods right now, heading into possible danger to find a child that’s not even his. That tells her he’d do far better than he thinks.
It not her business, though. It isn’t her job to change his mind. Having children is a duty ingrained in her for as long as she can remember. She didn’t have much choice in the matter. Part of her can’t help but wonder if Wyatt has the right idea in avoiding it altogether.
She loves her daughter, and she’ll love this new baby, but she could barely protect the first one from what their life had become within the organization. She fears she won’t be able to protect the second from this new world.
A rotter tangled in the fence wire changes the subject. It’s hogtied itself and carved out a path for the others they already put down. She assumes Wyatt will kill it, but he only holds the head to the ground with his foot and points toward her knife.
“Go on.” He nods toward the unfortunate thing still trying to take a chunk out of his boot. “Remember, aim for the eyeball if you can.”
Oh. He wants her to do it.
A dozen excuses pop into her head.
They don’t have time for this.
She isn’t strong enough.
Somehow, it’ll bite her, anyway.
She doesn’t voice any of them. Instead, she takes a deep breath, moves forward, and shoves the pointy end exactly where he told her to. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, and her blade gets stuck.
She curses, her confidence waning as she struggles to yank it free.
“Easy. Put your foot next to mine for leverage, then pull hard,” he tells her, far calmer than he should be.
Eventually, she rips it free. By then, frustration propels her second attempt through like butter.
“Now you know how much force to use,” Wyatt says.
At first, she can only think of how dead she would be if she were alone. It would have bitten her the moment she got her knife stuck. But she’s not alone. For a first attempt, it could have been worse.
“How many have you killed?” she asks.
“Lost count. The first one was the hardest. It gets easier every time.”
