“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 night 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.