“Over my dead body,” I growl. Gripping her upper arms, I beg her with my eyes not to leave.
“Which is what I told him.”
Scarlett told me how he wanted sex with her, and that’s why he’d shown up at the farm. He wanted her back because he was a horny bastard. However, he cannot have his wife back. He cannot have Sprout. They are mine.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the top of her head. God, I’ve missed her. Instantly, one hand falls to her belly, and her hand covers mine. The thought of her leaving makes me sick. If she went back to Boston, would she think the farm wasn’t enough for her? Would she fall in love with the city again and decide Vermont was too quiet, too peaceful, too . . . anything other than the city? Would she want her old life back?
“Stay with me,” I whisper to her.
“I’m not going anywhere unless you go with me, Bull.”
Once we return to the house, I just need a minute, and I use checking on the cows as an excuse to get time to collect my thoughts. Scarlett certainly laid a lot on me in the parking lot at the Goat. First, her feisty spirit had me rocking a hard-on even as she schooled me with my fears. She was right about everything she said, but I’m still not certain I agree with her.
I want to be good enough.
I want to be worthy of her love.
I want her to stick around.
I take a long walk in the summer evening before returning to the house. Momentary panic seizes me when Scarlett isn’t in the guest room, but then I find her curled up on my bed. Standing beside it, taking a long minute to observe her, I fight the questions in my head. Should I ask her to marry me?
She said she understood why I haven’t and accepted how we are, but is it really enough for her?
“Bull?” she questions, her voice foggy. “You okay?” She offers no explanation for being in my bed.
I’m not going anywhere without you.
“I’m good,” I say, finding I partially believe myself. I have a few things of my own I’d like to tell her, but her sleepy state tells me now isn’t the time.
“Come to bed,” she whispers, and my chest caves when she holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers for me to take. Pressing a knee to the bed, I lower to my side, facing her. For a long minute, we stare at one another.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Her soft voice encourages me to speak my piece.
“I’m not going to say it didn’t hurt having all that shit stirred up again, but apology accepted.”
“Really?” Her dark eyes dance in the dim moonlight coming into my room.
“As much as I didn’t like having my private life blasted through the public like that, I can’t change the past. I don’t like what’s been done, but it happened, and I can’t go backward. It’s over.”
Scarlett swallows, and her voice drops as she says, “Thank you.”
“But I have some conditions of my own. I never want you to work for that rag or any other thing that reports in that manner again.” Scarlett can be strong willed, and I expect her to fight me on this concession, but she acquiesces easily.
“I promise. I’ll never go back to work for them again.”
Taking another moment to watch her face, she chews at her lip, waiting me out as if she knows I have more to say. As if she knows I need a minute. As if she knows me, maybe better than I know myself.
“It’s hard for me to trust people,” I admit, as she called me out earlier. “It hurt when Jen left even though there wasn’t much between us anymore. I hated feeling like a quitter. And it stung to stand at that altar waiting on Sabrina, only for her not to show and then finding out it was because of another man. As for Gisela, well, even after spiraling out of control, it was hard to accept I’d made such a wrong assessment of her.”
Sighing, I roll to my back, unable to face her any longer. “How’s that saying go? Fool’s rush in. I’ve been the biggest fool of all. I leap before looking all the time. I did the same thing with you. What’s more foolish than a one-night stand?” Turning back to her, I catch her eyes. “And here we are.”
“Are you saying we made a mistake?” Thickness fills her voice.
“No.” I shift my body to mirror hers. “But . . . I’ve gotten ahead of myself once again.” How do I tell her all the feelings I have for her? I’ll jinx myself by admitting I want more from her. “Just know that I heard what you said, and I’m still here for you and Sprout. I still want us. Parenting partners.”
Even though I termed it myself, I’m getting sick of the concept. It’s not that I only want to share in parenting with Scarlett, but I want to share my life with her. I want to be a part of what she does, and where she lives, and who she wants to be in the future.
“As for the paternity test, I understand why you want it. I don’t like it. I hate that it is another risk, but we need to rule out Shelton.” I’m refusing to believe he’s the father, and if we find out otherwise, I’m prepared to tackle that when it happens. I’m not giving up Sprout without a fight either.
“Okay, Bull,” she agrees softly, reaching out to cup the side of my face, stroking over the heavier scruff I have by the end of a day. I inch closer to her, and she wraps her hand around my head. I’m not certain if she’s pulling me closer or I’m leaning in, but just like when we crashed together in the restroom of the Busy Bean, our mouths meet, and all the conflict inside me seems to subside. This woman is my future. This woman is my home. This woman is my family.
Lost in the tenderness of her mouth underneath mine, I don’t want to talk anymore. Slowly, Scarlett tips to her back, and I lean over her breasts, keeping our mouths fused as one.
Quickly, Scarlett pulls back and glances down at her belly.
“What?” I question, following her gaze. Her hand covers her stomach, but she reaches for my hand and pulls it to below her belly button. “Is that . . .”
Scarlett slowly smiles as my eyes widen. “Sprout doesn’t like it when I’m on my back.”
“Was I hurting you?”
“No, babe. You would never hurt me.” The truth in her words and the trust in her voice have my mouth meeting hers once more, hoping to swallow her faith in me as I work on my faith in her. My hand still presses to her belly, and Sprout rolls again. Quickly, I pull back, staring down at my fingers, spreading over the T-shirt she’s wearing to sleep in. My T-shirt. But I want to feel her skin underneath my palm. I want to feel our baby playing kickball inside his mother.
We both watch our hands over her stomach another second, and my heart races. There’s new life under my hand. A new life with Sprout and Scarlett, and I need to get over my fears to accept what she’s giving me. This is what I’ve always wanted.
“If Sprout doesn’t like that position, maybe we need to get you off your back,” I tease.
“Want me on my knees instead?” Fire sparks in her eyes. Is she flirting with me? That connection we have ignites, and I tug at her hips, drawing her over me.
She straddles me, and my hands sweep under her T-shirt, pushing the cotton material upward to expose her to me in the soft glow of the night. She’s wearing this skimpy bikini underwear, saying it’s the most comfortable for now, as it rests just under her growing belly. With a sharp tug at one hip strap, the material snaps, and Scarlett shifts so I can move the strip of fabric to one side.