Page 120 of Reins

“Cade?” My voice starts to shake as I stop in front of the tampons.

“Yea, baby? Which ones do you need?” He looks at the selection like they’re written in hieroglyphics but stands patiently.

“That’s the thing.” Hot and cold flashes through me and my head spins. “I have used any since we came back to Montana.”

His palm touches my arm. “Ros—” He turns me slowly, his brows knitting over his nose. “—that was six, seven weeks ago.” Then his lips purse as his hand moves up and down until it crests my shoulder and he cups behind my head. “You haven’t been sick?”

My head shakes as I fight the fear trying to drag me down. Is this what he really wants?

But when the smile starts to spread, it ignites the fire in my chest.

“Then maybe that’s what we need?” He tips his hat towards the pregnancy tests at the end of the row.

“Should we?” It’s so strange to consider it. I don’t feel any different.

He shrugs, his grin fully taking over. “Can’t hurt. Worst you do is pee on a stick, right?”

If that’s all it is, why do my hands tremble when I pick up the box?

It isn’t the package, it’s what it represents.

A change in us. A whole new chapter.

All of the crazy possibilities start swirling around me.

What if I’m a bad mom? What if something goes wrong?

What if John or Eli do something to me? If Eli kicked me now like he did Christmas Eve…

It’s only the last one that really has me panicking.

I’m worrying for nothing. I might not even be pregnant.

It could be stress? The heat?

Cade guides me through the checkout, taking over as I see him watching me.

While he’s loading the bags into the truck, he pulls out one of the cold bottles of water from the cooler. “Here, baby. Go ahead and get in. I got this.”

We’re barely halfway home when I start fidgeting but we’re in the middle of nowhere.

“Gotta go?” He glances at me out of the side of his eyes. “Bad enough to stop?”

“Yes,” I whine. “Did you do this on purpose?” I let a manic giggle escape.

“I know you well enough that you’d want an answer right away.” He pulls out the pregnancy test. “There were two. You can do a backup check in the morning.” He finds a wide spot that extends far from the road and rolls us to a stop.

But then he reaches across, cupping my jaw to press a hard kiss to my lips. “No matter what, I love you, okay?”

“Thank you.” Grabbing some napkins, I barely make it behind the first bush when I drop my leggings. Balancing precariously, I somehow manage not to pee on myself in the process.

With the plastic rod wrapped carefully, I climb back in the truck and then stare between it and the clock on the dash without blinking until the time allotment on the box passes.

“No matter what, baby.” He squeezes my hand.

Even though we’re actively driving, it feels like the world comes to a halt.

Peeling back the white paper, I forget to breathe as I tilt the stick to examine the tiny window.