I shudder at the thought. However, I also have this weird sense it isn’t Shelton’s child. Like I’d just know if it was. Maybe it’d be a sense of the devil inside me, but I don’t truly feel that way. No matter whose child this is, it’s not something evil, though I’m scared out of my mind.
Am I too old to have a child?
“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I want to consider your husband right now.” The words are said with teasing sarcasm, but it’s a hint to his alpha-ness. He’d be fiercely protective of his woman. Instantly, I recall our night together. He was all about me. What I wanted. How I felt. How I made him feel.
“Right, of course. And he’s soon to be an ex. There’s no going back,” I remind Bull. I will not be getting back together with Shelton, although I suppose he deserves to know about my condition. The thought makes me sad, and I glance up at Bull one more time. Would it be wrong to want him to be the father?
“You’re going to be great.” His voice is low while he concentrates on our hands.
I huff. “How can you even say that? You don’t know anything about me, and I’m obviously a hot mess lately.” I’m not being defensive, just stating the facts.
Bull shrugs, squeezing my hand. “While this might seem like a crazy situation, I just have a feeling about you, Scarlett Russell. It’s like with my cows. I just know which ones are good and which ones are done.”
My mouth falls open. “You did not just compare me to your cows.”
He chuckles. “’Fraid I did.”
“Do not do that again,” I demand.
“Are you saying I’ll have the opportunity to see you again?” His eyes focus on where his hand is still skimming over mine.
“Not if you’re going to compare me to your cows,” I tease, and Bull smiles, spreading my fingers with his, then linking them together. His hand is a comfort I didn’t know I needed, and I wish he could just keep holding mine. Collectively lifting our clasped hands, he presses another kiss to my knuckles.
“Then I’d like to see you again. Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Things are so messy right now.” Middle of a divorce. No career path. Uncertainty of the father of my child. Need a place to live. I don’t think I need to spell it all out for him again.
“Then let’s get messy together,” he states, and I blink at him. “Tomorrow.”
That’s all he says before kissing my fingers one more time and standing. Releasing me, he walks away, and I watch his retreat, longing filling my chest. Complicated does not begin to describe our status.
A River Does Not Run Between Us
Scarlett
True to his word, Bull appears at the café the next afternoon near the end of my shift. I don’t know how he knew when my shift ended, but I’m blaming Audrey and the sly smile she gives me when she sees him enter the coffee shop.
“Bull,” she elongates his name. “What can I get you this afternoon?”
“Scarlett,” he says like I’m an option on the menu, and my insides do a little flip flop. The crooked smile he’s giving me is like a beacon in the night and lights me up just as much. I want this man when I have no business being with him until I know who this baby’s father is. I haven’t called Shelton, and it feels like that says something about us. I don’t want this child to be his, even if he is the biological parent. He’s made decisions without my input—aka, sleeping with someone else and impregnating her—so I don’t see how being pregnant myself, even if it is his child, is his business.
Rita tells me he has a legal right to know, though, and I know I have a moral obligation to tell him. But not yet. I’d like to know something certain before I share anything with Shelton. Plus, I’d like to give Bull a chance, which is just crazy as we’ve only had one night together and fifteen minutes of paradise in a public restroom. Still, something draws me to Bull. Maybe it’s the baby. Maybe it’s my sense that he’s a good man.
After collecting my things, I clock out and circle the counter. Bull holds the door open for me, and I step outside the café. It’s another glorious spring day. The sun stays up a little longer each afternoon as a sign of good things coming soon.
“I was wondering if I could take you somewhere.” His eyes shift as we stand between a truck and my sporty BMW, a gift from Shelton when I turned forty.
“Sure.”
Bull reaches for the door handle of the truck and opens it. He holds out a hand to help me up the running board and closes the door once I’m settled. He’s a perfect gentleman, and I’m a little stunned for some reason. Not that he wasn’t a gentleman the night we hooked up, but this is just different. Shelton didn’t do doors—cars, stores, or restaurants. He was a get your own door kind of guy, and I admit I might have been that kind of woman. I can open my own door, thank you very much. But it’s still sweet and considerate.
We ride along quiet streets and curvy roads until coming to a gravel drive marked by a sign.
Eaton Dairy Farm.
Once again, the last name sounds familiar, but it’s basic enough it doesn’t trigger anything in my memory. The truck bumbles and bounces down a stretch of rocky road, passing a two-story farmhouse, a long, large white barn with silos behind it, and a traditional red barn next to them. Following a split-rail fence, we continue down the gravel drive to a smaller, more traditional looking farmhouse, and Bull pulls up before it.
“Home sweet home,” he announces. I stare at the building that looks storybook yet slightly more modern than the larger house down the lane. With a white tin roof and fresh siding, it’s pristine looking with character, but it needs a splash of color on the low front porch.
I follow Bull as he leads me inside and find the space within an open concept. The kitchen is to the left, while the living area is to the right. In the middle, a chimney with a wood-burning stove faces a dining room table that seats eight, dividing the overall space in half. The woodstove chimney acts as a natural barrier to the kitchen. Double doors behind the dining table lead outside. A fieldstone fireplace is the focal point of the living area.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper of the quaint space with New England charm while modernized just a touch. It’s also the complete opposite of the sleek apartment where I once lived in Boston with its steel and glass décor. Bull’s color scheme is muted browns and earth tones, softly masculine, farm-ish, and homey.
“My grandparents lived here. My dad built the front house when he married my mother. After my grandmother died a few years back, I inherited this house and fixed it up.”
Bull proudly gazes around the rooms.
“That’s impressive.”
“I’m good with my hands.” His innuendo is accentuated as he smirks. Don’t I know it, partner.
“I have something for you.” Bull steps up to the table and lifts a package poorly wrapped in brown paper. “The wrapping paper gave me trouble.” As he holds out the gift, he scratches under his chin at the scruff creeping down his neck.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I say. “But I love presents.” Shelton and I stopped exchanging gifts, minus my BMW, opting for vacations instead of items for birthdays and holidays. However, I can’t remember the last vacation we took.