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.
When I return to my bedroom, I’m only wearing a towel as seems to be the custom between Bull and myself, teasing each other in terrycloth as we cross the hallway. I’ve just entered my room and reach for a lotion bottle when I turn with a start. Bull’s leaning against the doorjamb, focusing on his shirt which he’s holding in his hands. His body glistens. He must have been working in the sunshine, expelling energy. Shelton certainly put a damper on everything.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I say, opening the lotion bottle and squirting some into my hand. Bull doesn’t look up at me. His position reminds me of a sexy cowboy on the cover of a romance novel. Chest gleaming, body leaning, and his thumbs hitched in his pockets while his shirt dangles from one hand.
“I saw him press you up against the truck and kiss you.”
I gag. “He did not kiss me. He just . . . moved in too close.” Hastily, I rub at my arms, smoothing in lotion before tugging at the curled knot of the towel over my breasts.
“What was he doing here?”
“He said he wanted me back until he learned I was pregnant.”
Bull nods in response, keeping his gaze downward. His chest flexes as his hand clutches the plaid material tighter. I want him to look at me, but he doesn’t, so I cross the small space and cup his face, pressing against his jaw so his eyes meet mine.
“Bull, honey, I’m not going back to him. He’s an idiot. He said he’d take me back, but instead, it should be the other way around. I should want to take him back, and I don’t. He should be apologizing to me, but he wasn’t.”
“What if he had apologized? What if he’d recognized the error of his ways?”
“That’d be a small miracle, but even if he did say he was sorry, there’s nothing to go back to. We’re over. We were over long before he cheated. I just didn’t see it until what happened happened.” I shudder to think how much longer I might have lived in the dark about our marriage. Perhaps Brittney’s pregnancy was the wake-up call I needed. Or maybe my own pregnancy is.
I step back for the dresser, reaching for the lotion once more and smoothing some on my other arm.
“And he said nothing about the baby?” Bull can’t comprehend the thought of a man not wanting a child.
“Shelton isn’t interested in being a father.” At least not to my child, which hopefully isn’t his child.
“Maybe you need to back up and explain everything to me.”
I turn and step over to him, noticing his feet are bare and his jeans are dirty. I press at his thighs, so he’ll let stand between his legs.
“He told me Brittney was getting fat, so I told him I was pregnant. I just sort of blurted it out. Then he accused me of lying, making up the story to turn him off. He wanted to have sex with me.” I chew my lip, nervous about offering up this information, but I don’t want any secrets between us, and I don’t want to lie to Bull about Shelton’s reasons for being here. Bull’s head pops up at the confession. “When he asked for clarification of the truth . . . if the baby was really his . . . then I lied and said it wasn’t. That’s when he said everything was my fault.”
I glance down at the shirt still in Bull’s hand. He sets it on the bed next to him and reaches for the hem of the towel at the top of my legs. He tugs me closer to him, spreading his legs wider to accommodate me between them.
“You know that’s not true. This isn’t one of those Screwup Scarlett things you’ve mentioned. This was all him, and he’s a fool for looking elsewhere.”
“That’s sweet,” I whisper.
“I’m not trying to be sweet. I’m being honest. His mistake, though, is my reward because it brought you to Vermont. It brought you to the Gin Mill and Green Rocks, and a night I never want to forget. It brought you right here.” He tugs at the material again, and I clutch at the twist near my chest. If he pulls the towel once more, I’m going to be naked before him. Unfortunately, I sense Bull’s earlier desires have dwindled a bit, as have mine after Shelton’s visit.
“I’m grateful to be here,” I remind Bull because I truly am. He’s done more for me in the last month than Shelton did in our entire marriage. It’s a sad reality.
“What’s with the boxes downstairs?”
“Those are the remainder of my things. I had the cleaning service pack them up and ship them to me. I hope you don’t mind that I had them sent here. I’ll move them out of the way.” I should have done that before I showered.
“You shouldn’t be lifting things.” An edge to his voice punctuates the words.
“I can manage,” I snark, growing edgy myself. “I should get dressed.” I spin around, but as my back comes to him, his arms wrap around my waist, tugging me to his chest, and I stumble onto his lap.