Cowboy Page 10

  “Those women don’t know what they could have had,” Scarlett generously states. “It’s their loss, although I’d say you dodged a couple of losers there, Bull. And that article got it wrong. You’re perfect.”

  I smile at her kind words.

  “Anyway, I swore off women but quickly realized that wasn’t possible. I like women too much,” I joke, squeezing at her lower belly. “Blade and Clayton thought they’d be childish dicks and signed me up for MateMe and DatingDairy to get me back out there, proving to myself I could get worthy women.” I huff. “I’d only gone on a few dates before I swore it off. I needed more than a profile to assess a person. Women aren’t cows to be purchased from a catalog.”

  I pause, waiting for Scarlett to admonish the full confession, but she doesn’t. Her body holds still, but her fingertips continue to rub up and down my arm.

  “Well, thank goodness you think that,” Scarlett teases, playfully swatting at my arm. “Otherwise, I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t qualify under home goods or domestication products.”

  I snort. “I don’t want to domesticate you, Scarlett. You have nothing to worry about. I’m no longer interested in marriage.” Well … that isn’t exactly true. It’s just not at the forefront of my thoughts, as it seems to be an eternal impossibility for me.

  “Would Louisa have been under home goods?” Scarlett says, her voice lowering.

  “It was only coffee,” I say, reminding us both of the day Scarlett was behind the couch in the Busy Bean Café. The day I learned she was still in town, and I wanted to kick myself because she was so close, and I was unaware. “I’d put you in the lingerie section because you’re so sexy.”

  “Oh, you shop for lingerie often?” she teases, and I laugh but release her. I roll to my back as much as the couch will allow. Reaching for a cushion behind me, I toss it off the couch, providing more space for me to lay flat.

  “I sound like a loser,” I admit, staring up at the low ceiling and swiping fingers into my hair. Scarlett shifts beside me, almost falling off the couch until I catch her. I tug her forward until we lay face-to-face. Her fingers play with the collar of my short-sleeved shirt.

  “I don’t think you sound like a loser. You sound like someone who easily gives his heart, opening it wide to possibilities, and has had it trampled on a few too many times. I’m sorry all those experiences happened to you.”

  Her eyes focus on the buttons of my shirt as she speaks, and her fingers move to my chest, toying with one.

  “My mom used to say everything happens for a reason. She died between Sabrina and Gisela, and I think it’s another reason I fell for Gisela. She filled more than one void, which sounds heartless on my part.”

  “Bull, don’t try to justify the actions of someone who did you wrong. All those women hurt you, and it’s okay to accept that it wasn’t you, but them.”

  I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. When those dark eyes finally glance up at me, full of sympathy, I lick my lips. She’s so close with her head on my arm, and our bodies lined up.

  “If I were to catalog you, I might put you in the toy section.” My gaze falls to her mouth. “Sex toys, that is.”

  She laughs, jiggling against me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Would you?” I tease in return, but the heat in her eyes answers my question, and a part of me rises with this teasing discussion.

  “Are you considering me a plaything?” Her voice drops as she bites her lower lip in that sexy way she does, letting me know she wants me. With two fingers, I lift her chin so our eyes catch each other.

  “I consider you many things, Scarlett, but a plaything is not one of them. You’ve been played yourself, so you know how much it hurts.”

  “I do,” she whispers, and for some reason, that phrase does something to my chest. However, I dismiss the ache as another part of me surges for attention from her.

  “It’s so hard not to kiss you.” The fingers at her chin drag along her jaw until they dip into her hair at the side of her head. Combing to the back of her head, I give the short strands a little tug, and her breath hitches, causing her lips to fall open.

  “I’m sorry, Bull. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be like those other women.”

  I nod, releasing my fingers and smoothing my hand down her arm, ignoring the sting of being shot down while she presses against me.

  “Maybe I’m protecting my own heart,” she says. “I’d been such a fool with Shelton. His affair blindsided me, but I’d feel even worse if something started between us and the baby isn’t yours.”

  I nod again as if I understand. It’s practical and reasonable, but I’d also like to make my own decision regarding another man’s child and the woman carrying it, especially when said woman is in my arms. It’s a strange position to be in, that’s for certain, but Scarlett doesn’t seem to realize I don’t care about her ex. As long as she isn’t going back to him, I’m here for her and Sprout. But perhaps, she’s correct in guarding herself. I don’t want to be the one to hurt her as I’ll never be in the market to marry again. And I need to tell myself this over and over because the warning bells in my head tell me I’m at great risk of falling for her and wanting something I never get—a wife.

  A few days later, I’m driving Scarlett to her doctor's appointment in Montpelier, where we’ll be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. While Scarlett and I have discussed potential birth plans and baby names, she tends to cut those conversations short once her eyes start to spark with possibility and hope.

  “There’s so much that could happen at my age,” she’d eventually say, closing the door on any budding excitement. “The what-ifs can wake me out of a dead sleep.” My chest tightens when she tells me such a thing. I want to hold her each night, comfort her in my bed, and soothe away those nightmares.

  There’s a touch of reality in her fear, though. Because of her advanced age, as she sarcastically states, she could have had a sonogram at her first doctor’s visit when the pregnancy was detected. However, there’s some controversy because of Scarlett’s age around such a test so early on in a pregnancy, and she opted out of it.

  “I was afraid it might harm the baby even though the doctor assured me it wouldn’t.” Scarlett erred on the side of caution, and I’m grateful. There was also the possibility of not hearing a heartbeat in those first few weeks, and Scarlett didn’t want the disappointment of a false negative, meaning no heartbeat when there might be one if she’d only waited another few weeks.

  I don’t want anything to happen to her or the baby. Even though Sprout, as Scarlett affectionately calls the baby, might not be mine, I can’t help hoping—and thinking—that he is. We will also discuss the paternity test during this visit, but again, I don’t want to do anything that will put Scarlett or the baby at any additional risk. I’ve come to some conclusions myself about Scarlett and her ex. I don’t care if it’s his.

  “I want to share everything with you,” I reassured her before we left the house for this appointment.

  As we ride in my truck, she’s uncharacteristically silent. I actually admire Scarlett’s ability to talk. She doesn’t just chatter, but she’s truly inquisitive. She wants to know answers, and she’s not just filling silence by speaking. She knows how to be quiet as well, and those moments are just as precious to me. They usually happen when she falls asleep against me while we’re sitting on my couch.

  Since the night we discussed my former engagements, we’ve fallen into the routine of cuddling while not taking things to any other level. At times, though, I need to adjust myself, moving back an inch or two from the curve of her backside too close to my front or control the temptation to cup her breasts as my hand skims over her belly, feeling the slightest of changes to her.

  Once inside the patient room, Scarlett is asked to undress and lie on the table.

  “I can . . .” I point over my shoulder once the nurse leaves.

  “If you don’t mind . . .” Scarl
ett mutters as her face flushes.

  Our sexual tension isn’t tamping down, and each evening is a painful reminder of how much I want her, but I’m respecting her position. Watching her take off her clothes for a routine doctor visit might just push me over the edge, no matter how inappropriate our setting is. The bottom line is, I want Scarlett. She’s already in my home, but I want her in my bed. We don’t have to complicate things with promises or proposals.

  The room was already dim, and when I return, Scarlett lays on the table wearing a cloth gown. She looks nervous, and without thinking, I reach for her hand, giving it an extra squeeze. The technician returns to the room immediately after me and takes her seat opposite me. Lifting up Scarlett’s gown to expose her belly, there really isn’t much of a bump to her, at least nothing noteworthy, though she’s softer in the middle, and her breasts are huge.

  “This might be cold,” the sonographer warns, squirting some kind of gel on Scarlett’s belly before rubbing a special wand over her skin. I’m not up on my baby terminology or even all the tests Scarlett will need, but I want to be here for her. I find myself holding my breath as the technician moves the wand over Scarlett’s stomach, then turns a dial on the machine, and an image appears on the screen.

  Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp.

  The room is full of a rapid pulsing sound, and Scarlett smiles as she stares at the fuzzy black and white screen. With my fingers wrapped around hers, I lift her hand and press my lips to her knuckles. She turns her head toward me, blinking as a soft tear slides from the side of one eye.

  “You’re doing good, Mom,” I say to her.

  “Mom,” she whispers.

  “Looks healthy, Dad,” the technician states to include me. My mouth falls open to explain our situation, but Scarlett’s fingers squeeze mine. I glance at her, and she shakes her head while smiling at me, and my own heart thumps. I soak up the moment, sharing it with Scarlett as we hear Sprout’s heartbeat for the first time.

  “That was amazing,” I say to Scarlett once we’re back in my truck. Taking a second to recover, I tip my head back and blink up at the ceiling. Who would have thought another’s heartbeat could make mine patter as well? Scarlett has been holding the image the sonographer printed. It’s impossible to distinguish anything, so we’ll be back in a few weeks to admire the growth and changes of Sprout. For now, it’s just a relief to hear a healthy heartbeat.

  We decided to skip the paternity test for now. I’m the one who spoke up when the doctor entered and presented the facts to Scarlett. There were risks, like anything in life, but I wasn’t willing to take any unnecessary ones. The second the doctor mentioned a risk of miscarriage, I spoke up.

  “We won’t be having the test yet.”

  The doctor redirected her gaze to Scarlett. Her body. Her choice. I get that, but the pressure I had on Scarlett’s hand must have told her how scared I was for her body and her choice. I didn’t want her to take the chance of losing Sprout.

  “Maybe we can wait until the next visit.” I almost fell over her in relief. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering as I muttered my gratitude.

  I’m still wound up, and Scarlett’s too far away from me, sitting on the other side of the bench seat.

  “Scarlett, sweetheart, get over here.” The demand gives her the chance to deny me, but I’m really hoping she doesn’t. I need a moment with her close to me. Setting the photograph on the dashboard, Scarlett twists and scoots toward me. My arm is extended over the back of the seat, and I wrap it around her, pulling her to me. I inhale her hair, which smells sweet and sugary. Her arms are trapped between us, but Scarlett likes to hug up top, as I call it, so her arms slip upward, wrapping around my neck and bringing her tighter against me. Like this, my nose dips to her neck, and I inhale her floral perfume, mixing with the sugary scent of her hair. My mouth waters, and I can’t help myself. I suck at her skin. The motion is quick, but the suction strong, and Scarlett gasps near my ear.

  “You’re amazing, sweetheart.” I pull back enough to look down at her mouth, and our foreheads meet for a brief second before my lips touch hers. At first, I only intend to give her a tender kiss. We need to celebrate. She’s having a baby, and we heard the heartbeat. She needs to be congratulated. But when her mouth opens, my tongue has its own agenda, rushing forward to sweep against hers. Scarlett leans into me, and all thoughts are lost to the touch of her tongue swirling with mine. My fingers fist the back of her shirt as hers curl into my hair at the nape of my neck. She softly tugs, and I lower to her jaw, sucking at the ridge before moving down to her neck. Scarlett purrs, and the next thing I know, I’m leaning her back, lowering her for the bench seat.

  “God, Scarlett, I just want to touch you.” My fingers move for her skirt, pulling up the material along her thigh. I want her right here in the front seat of my truck.

  “Bull,” she whimpers as my mouth continues to suck at her neck. “It’s broad daylight.” Quickly, I lift my head as if I’ve forgotten what time of day it is or even where we are. We’re still parked in the medical office parking lot.

  “Shit,” I hiss, dropping my forehead to her sternum. Her chest heaves under me as her fingers stroke through my hair. Her touch feels so good, and after weeks without her, I want to be with her again.

  “Okay,” I mutter, sitting upright and bringing her with me. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says, sheepishly looking over at me while biting her bottom lip.

  “Do not look at me like that,” I warn, my eyes narrow while there’s no bark to my bite.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’d let me eat you right here on this front seat.”

  Her mouth falls open, but she smiles slowly before returning her teeth to that bottom lip. Dammit. Broad daylight or not . . .

  “Okay,” Scarlett whispers, seeing something in my expression. She pushes off the seat and slides herself to the passenger door while keeping her eyes on me for another second. Then she reaches toward the dash for the baby image.

  Straining in my jeans, I adjust myself before pressing the ignition button and firing up the truck’s engine. We have a good forty-minute ride back to the house, which leaves my thoughts racing. Halfway into the drive, I can’t take the silence.

  “Whatcha thinking about over there, sweetheart?”

  “Too many things,” Scarlett states. Is she sorry she kissed me? Is she overthinking what almost happened on this seat? Is she upset I canceled the paternity test? Would she be upset if it turned out to be his? I wait out her silence.

  “I think I need a more lucrative job, and I suppose I need my own place.”

  I don’t like the sound of either of those things, but I tackle one item at a time.

  “What’s wrong with Busy Bean?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it, but doesn’t it seem strange that I’m working there? I’m a college-educated woman, who had a lucrative job, but now I’m pouring coffee for people and passing out pastries.”

  “You don’t think Audrey and Zara are educated? College isn’t the only place to learn life skills. In fact, I might argue there’s a lot about life you don’t learn in college.”

  “I’m not disagreeing. I know Audrey actually dropped out of college and went to culinary school, and Zara never went away, but she’s been a businesswoman for years. It’s different for them. They own the place.”

  “So?” I pause. “You could own your own business, too.”

  “That’s just it. What would I do? I don’t know that I’d be good at running a business. I was a good reporter.”

  “Are you considering returning to work as a reporter then?” I don’t like the sound of that, though I won’t hold her back from finding a new job. Would it be wrong to ask her to just be a mom? That was hard work, too, and Scarlett would be just as dedicated to that job as any other. Plus, I wouldn’t mind waking up next to her every day and returning from a day on the farm to find her in my home.

&nbs
p; Scarlett sighs, turning to gaze out the window. “I just don’t know.”

  Taking my own deep breath, I exhale before speaking. “It’s okay not to know what you want, Scarlett. Give yourself a little break. You had a high-pressure job, right? You’ve also had a lot of life changes. The divorce. The move. The baby. Give yourself some grace.”

  She slowly nods, glancing down at the black and white image in her hands. “You sound like Rita.”

  “Well, in this case, Rita is a genius.” I pause for a beat. “As for finding your own place, I don’t like that thought. You do not need to move. I’m not in any rush for you to leave, sweetheart. Where is all this coming from?”

  “I don’t want to hold you back from finding what you want, Bull. I’ve been thinking about your past, and it’s obvious you’re a man who loves and loves hard. I don’t want to be in your way of finding it again. I can’t keep imposing on you.”

  “Have I given you the impression that you are?” I am not liking this turn of events. Less than twenty minutes ago, I was ready to take her on this bench seat.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  My heart drops a little as that’s the furthest thing from what’s happening. “You aren’t taking advantage of me, sweetheart. And you aren’t in the way of anything.” I don’t plan on marrying again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be around Scarlett. It doesn’t mean I don’t want her to stay with me.

  “I’m just another damsel in distress, though,” she says quietly, looking down at her lap.

  “Hey. Partners, remember? We’re in this together.” I reach for her hand, sensing her too far away once again. I’d already told her I won’t propose marriage, but we can still be a team here. We can parent together.

  An idea forms. I have something for her, and I suddenly know the perfect place to give it to her.

  When I pull up to the old trail closed off by a metal gate, my heart palpitates, recalling how someone once stole onto our land and took unwarranted images. However, this route will also take me where I need to go.