Cowboy Page 12

  “Scarlett,” he whispers beside me, still holding my hand, which feels like it’s going numb from the pressure and tension suddenly vibrating off Bull.

  “Let me deal with him,” I say, twisting my neck to give Bull a momentary glance and a weak smile. Everything in me wants to tug Bull’s hand up to my lips and kiss his knuckles to assure him this is nothing, Shelton is nothing, but something stops me.

  Did I conjure up Shelton? Did my thoughts of him minutes after the pleasure with Bull bring Shelton to this doorstep? Of course, that’s ridiculous. It’s more than two hours from here to Boston. It’s also a Tuesday afternoon, and I don’t understand what Shelton is doing here. Slowly, I pull my hand from Bull’s and slide across the bench seat to exit the passenger door. With a quick glance back at Bull, I slip out the door. As soon as I’m standing on two feet, facing my soon-to-be ex-husband, I hear the heavy slam of the driver’s door.

  “Scarlett.” Shelton exhales my name in relief.

  “Shelton, how did you find me?” I hadn’t forwarded an address or anything to him when I left. I disappeared the next day and filed for divorce with Rita’s help. As I’m divorcing him in Massachusetts, she hooked me up with a lawyer friend of a lawyer friend in Boston. I assumed Shelton would use our personal attorney, Artie.

  “Artie has your information. I got your message.”

  “What message?” I haven’t spoken to Shelton since I left. Not one for long bouts of tears or drawn-out pleas, I wasn’t going to beg him to come back to me or demand an explanation for his actions. His message was received loud and clear—he wanted another woman.

  “I received the papers.” Shelton glances down at his rolled sleeve, adjusting what’s already perfectly folded up to his elbow. Uncertain how to respond as he’s simply made a statement, I don’t speak. Bull does.

  “Scarlett, you okay?” he asks, standing near the hood of the giant truck. At his voice, Shelton looks up and over at Bull as do I. The contrast between the two men is striking. Bull’s gray is more distinctly mixed into his once dark locks. His heavier facial covering is an artful mix of dark and light. His skin is tan from hours in the summer sunshine. He’s tall and narrow like Shelton, but there’s a certain solidness to him. I’m well aware of the muscle definition on him from hard labor. Bull also wears dark jeans and a short-sleeved button-down with pearl snaps. He’s completely the opposite of Shelton, and it’s everything I love about him.

  Well, not love. Not really, right? I can’t possibly love a man I’ve known for such a short time. One who’s been extremely kind and good to me, supportive of me, and wants to be involved in my life, my decisions, and my baby’s future.

  Let me be Sprout’s daddy. The words tumble back to me as I return my gaze to Shelton.

  “What do you want, Shelton?” My voice is edgy with his presence as is my body.

  His eyes shift from Bull to me and back to Bull. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

  “I think you’ve said plenty,” I snark. “I got your message as well. Loud and clear and due in nine months.” Probably more like six months or less, I suspect, for him and his med student lover.

  Shelton shifts, stepping closer to me, and it prompts Bull to round the front of his truck, coming to my side.

  “Who’s this?” Shelton asks, peering from me to Bull. His eyes narrow. Eyes I once thought lit a room and were only looking at me. What an idiot I’d been.

  “Shelton Blake, this is Bull Eaton.”

  “Bull?” Shelton huffs like I must be joking. Only Bull stands taller, crossing his arms, and looks rather imposing, causing my lingering libido to take a little leap. Shelton’s visit has just killed Bull’s and my plans for an afternoon delight. When Shelton sees Bull stiffen and I don’t respond to his laughter, his chuckle dies.

  “Nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand, cordial and trained in his manners. Bull hesitates. Not that he doesn’t have the same manners, but he takes another second to size up Shelton. There’s no comparison. If it came down to a fight—which I don’t want to happen—Bull would win hands down. He could wrestle a cow, and something about that thought has me picturing it with a sense of familiarity I shouldn’t have.

  Bull eventually reaches forward and offers a shake that’s a potential warning to Shelton. My husband’s brows rise in surprise as he peers back at me before the two men release hands.

  “Could you give us some privacy?” Shelton states to Bull, who in turn looks at me.

  “Sweetheart?” Bull questions, the endearment flipping my insides.

  “Just give us a few minutes,” I say, struggling to find my voice as Bull’s eyes say everything. He doesn’t want to walk away from me. He doesn’t trust leaving me here with this other man. I don’t want to hurt him, and I’ll explain that to him once I get rid of Shelton.

  Bull slaps the hood of his truck and nods once.

  “Yeah, I’ve got work to do.” He turns on his heels and steps around Shelton’s fancy car, kicking up gravel as he stalks toward the low porch. The front door slams with his disappearance, and my shoulders fall.

  I can explain, whispers through my thoughts until Shelton speaks.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  If there’s one man I don’t wish to explain myself to, it’s the one still standing before me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, exasperated by his presence.

  “I want you back.” The directness of his comment startles me, and both my brows lift so high they ache.

  “What?” I had to have misheard him. He can’t possibly mean what he’s said.

  Shelton steps forward, and I take a step back, only I don’t have space to move and bump into the side of Bull’s truck.

  “This thing with Brittney and me isn’t working. She’s always whining. She’s tired. She’s crabby.” His voice rises as does a hand for his hair, swiping it back in frustration. “She isn’t you. I miss you.”

  I huff. “Why?” If he missed me so much, he should have come to me and said as such, before he dipped his scalpel into someone else’s heart. He could have said he wanted to spend time with me. He could have planned a weekend away, or heck, even a vacation, which we both desperately needed and hadn’t taken in years.

  “I haven’t had sex in months.”

  My mouth falls open. He cannot be serious.

  “Brittney never wants it anymore, and honestly, she’s getting fat.”

  “She’s pregnant,” I defend, although I owe the woman nothing.

  “That’s just it. I don’t think I’m cut out for fatherhood.”

  My arms cross over my midsection, my own belly protruding just the slightest bit. My heavy breasts truss upward with the motion, and Shelton’s eyes fall there on my body.

  “You look good, Red.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap, but he’s licking his lips like he does. His eyes smolder as he narrows in on my enlarged breasts. I recognize all the signs of him wanting something from me, only he’s not coming anywhere near me.

  “Please, Strawberry. I want us how we used to be.” His use of my childhood nickname bristles up my spine, and his statement doesn’t settle well with me. He’s not saying take him back, forgive him. He’s not even saying he loves me. He only wants sex.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt. As much as I didn’t want to tell Shelton, the words tumble out like a shield of protection. He stumbles back like I’ve struck him. His hands flare out at his sides before bracing him against the edge of his sporty convertible.

  “With him?” His voice drips incredulous as though it’s unbelievable I’d choose to sleep with someone else after he did the same to me.

  “It could be yours.” It’s a possibility. Still, I realize the second I say the words they’re bitter and choking. I don’t want this child to belong to Shelton. I don’t want anything more to do with him.

  “That can’t be.” The doubt in his voice drives my desire to be rid of him deeper.

  “We slept together the nigh
t before I left. The night before I learned you were with another woman, probably in our own bed. The same bed you slept in with me.” I step forward, all my energy turning into a need to slap him, and I’ve never hit anyone in my life.

  Slowly, Shelton smiles, a devious grin appearing on his pretty face before it registers that he’s possibly gotten two women pregnant at the same time. The smile quickly fades. “This cannot be happening.”

  As if sleeping with a med student and getting her pregnant while still married to me isn’t scandalous enough, the idea of having two women pregnant by him sounds worse.

  Shelton tips his head, and his eyes narrow. “You’re lying.” His voice grows tighter as his fingers curl against the edge of his convertible.

  My mouth falls open. “Why would I lie about being pregnant?”

  “Scandals are what you live for, and you want to hurt me.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “You’re saying this to get back at me. I don’t want to be a father, and I’m upset about Brittney’s pregnancy. You’re trying to scare me off, but it’s not going to happen.” He presses off his car and steps up to me, crowding my space. He lifts one arm and secures his hand near my shoulder over the open bed of Bull’s pick up. “There’s no way you are pregnant, sweetheart.” He hisses the term Bull used, but I will not let him taint it for me. “You’re too old.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I snap, pressing at him, pushing him to move away from me. While Shelton isn’t as solid as Bull, he’s still strong, and he hardly flinches at the pressure I put on his chest. Using the truck as leverage, he tugs himself forward, pinning me with his body to the side of the large vehicle. His face dips for my neck, and he mutters near my ear.

  “We were always good together like this. Your fiery spirit mixing with my big dick.”

  I gag over the dirty words that would have turned me on at one time. My hands press harder at him, struggling with his nearness but not feeling truly threatened by him.

  “Well, your big dick dipped into someone else, and it’s not coming anywhere near me again.”

  Shelton shifts as if grinding against me will remind me of how good we once were. He should have remembered all those times before he decided to dally with the dollop under his instruction. My hands push harder at his pecs, and the strangest thought occurs to me. It doesn’t feel right touching him. His isn’t the firm chest I want to run my hands over. His aren’t the arms that I want to hold me. And his big dick isn’t that big.

  I’ve had bigger, better, and someone with more heart behind his worth.

  “Get away from me, Shelton,” I demand, pushing at him once more.

  Thankfully, he puts distance between us, but he doesn’t release his hold on the truck. “Are you really pregnant? Is it mine?”

  Holding a figurative stake for his heart, I do what years of entertainment news has taught me to do.

  I lie. Maybe. “Nah. It’s his.”

  Shelton pushes off the truck, no longer stumbling but placing more space between us.

  “You really know how to wound a guy,” he snarks, and my eyes widen. “Are you listening to yourself?” I bark as the question mixes with a laugh of disbelief.

  “And here I was ready to take you back,” he says as if I should be grateful for the offering.

  “It should be me taking you back, Shelton, not the other way around. I’m not the unfaithful one, and I don’t want you back.”

  “Because of him,” Shelton states, his voice tensing again.

  “Because of you, Shelton. It’s over. We’re over.” As soon as I make the statement, I realize we had been over long before his infidelity. We weren’t connecting like we once had. We weren’t those young, hungry people, eager to please each other while high-strung on our careers. We’d separated emotionally long before we physically had. If we had noticed sooner, if we had seen what was happening before . . . Well, I can’t predict the past. We didn’t recognize what was happening to us, and it led to this.

  “I hope you’re happy.” His tone lacks any sincerity and comes out as pure sarcastic malice. He points at me as he says, “You did this to us. There’s no turning back.”

  “No, Shelton,” I say, saddened by the truth. We both had a part in our demise, so I won’t take full responsibility. Shelton is clearly insane if he can’t see his role in our failed marriage.

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” The divorce papers have already been served to him, but he’s just trying to have the final word. His threat hits me only moments after he’s back in his car and stirring up gravel as he exits Bull’s drive.

  My concern isn’t for me. I don’t want anything from him other than the baby I’m carrying, which might be his, and he’ll be in the fight of his life if he tries to take Sprout from me. Then again, Sprout could be Bull’s, and Shelton would never be the wiser for it.

  12

  Unpacking

  Scarlett

  When I enter the house, Bull isn’t present. Assuming he went out the back door, I don’t think he could have gone too far as his truck is still out front. For a moment, I soak up the guilt of lying to Shelton. I’m not really a devious person, and lying to him doesn’t settle well with me. I really do need to know the truth, if for no other reason than my own sanity. I’d feel better if the baby isn’t Shelton’s.

  However, there’s another concern on my mind. I don’t like the possibility that all Bull wants from me relates to the baby. The thought hints at why I didn’t press kisses to Bull’s knuckles or try to reassure him of my status with Shelton before exiting his truck. Bull is definitely concerned about me ending my marriage, but what’s upsetting to me is we aren’t discussing the start of a relationship between us. Where do I fit in his life? Is it really just parent partners with benefits? What do I really want from him? I’ve always been an independent woman. Can I rely on him?

  I’m not asking you to marry me, Scarlett.

  The sting of his words rings like a gong in my head. I was the one who panicked for a minute, interrupting him because I was worried he was going to ask me to marry him. But I’m a living contradiction. I want to be with Bull, only I want it to be for us, not just the baby.

  With that thought in mind, a knock comes on the front door.

  “Scarlett Russell?” the deliveryman inquires once I open it. I glance around him to see the moving service van in the driveway, and my heart skips a beat. “We have a few boxes for you.”

  I smile as he hands over the electronic signature pad.

  “We can bring them inside the door for you.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, smiling back at him. What are the odds that my things would arrive on the day of Shelton’s visit? I didn’t have many belongings remaining at the apartment, but I do own more clothes, some books, a couple of awards, and a few personal effects. I loved my desk and a comfy chair in my home office, but I was willing to part with both items. I don’t want any reminders of my old life, especially as I’m undecided if I’m returning to it. Once I moved to Bull’s as a more permanent residence, I called my former cleaning service and asked Vonda to pack up my things. She’d easily recognize what was mine, but I also submitted a list of items just to be clear. After scheduling a pickup date, I paid the moving service in advance and prepped Vonda to pack on a day Shelton was out of town.

  There aren’t many boxes, and I have the movers place them in neat piles near the door. After tipping the men, a weight feels lifted from my shoulders.

  “You’re truly stuck here now, Scarlett,” I say to the piles, but I don’t feel stuck. I feel liberated and right where I belong. Whether Bull wants me or not, I don’t feel as untethered as I first did upon arriving in Vermont.

  With the stench of Shelton in my nose and his presence lingering against my body, I decide to take a shower. I need to wash away Shelton’s nearness and his hurtful words.

  You did this to us.

  When I first left Shelton and called my parents, thinking they
should know where I was, my mother accused me of the same thing. I hadn’t satisfied Shelton. I hadn’t given him a baby. I had been too career driven. There was no concern for me and how unsatisfactory Shelton had been toward me. He was the one who hadn’t wanted a baby. He was equally driven in his career. I wish my parents could have had my back, and I silently vow to Sprout I will never be a parent like them.

  I glance down at the mother-child charm dangling from my wrist. Mother’s Day. I’d ignored it, choosing to bypass a phone call and send my mother a floral arrangement instead. She texted me, demanding I call her, but I’d ignored her request. I used to meet my parents once a month, which I considered a courtesy where I would check on their health, and they would berate me for little things in my life.

  “This is all your fault, Scarlett. A man wants to be the center of your world.” My mother had said when I told her Shelton and I were divorcing. Shelton had been the center, but in hindsight, that might have been a part of our problem. I put his needs first. Not that I’d known how much I wanted a baby until I was having one, but I hadn’t considered it on a deeper level, giving in to Shelton’s argument that it wasn’t the right time until it felt as if too much time had passed.

  How dare he call me old. I’m forty-two. That’s not ancient, and it’s a hit below the belt, considering he knows I lost my job due to my age, and he took a younger woman to bed. Then again, I shouldn’t expect Shelton to be considerate. He wasn’t in our bedroom or our marriage.

  The thought saddens me, but not from a sorrowful point of view. It’s more from the fact, I’ve been missing out. One night with Bull Eaton showed me all I’d been longing for physically, and what a truly compatible sexual partner could offer. The memory heats my cheeks as I stand under the hot shower spray, upset that Shelton ruined our afternoon. Technically, Bull and I have only had sex twice, and my body craves his despite the split in my heart.