“I hate that you doubted me,” Scarlett softly said as we lay on our bed. The one we hadn’t shared in the manner I like to share it for two full nights.
“I hate that I doubted you,” I admitted to her.
“Why would you do that?”
“It just seems more believable you’d rather leave than stay. Back to city life. Back to the flashy job.”
“Bull, have I given you the impression I want to go?” she questioned, keeping her eyes lowered while her finger ran along my collar.
“No.” No, she hadn’t, so I shouldn’t have been pushing her away, which was what I was starting to think I was doing. Was I forcing her to leave because I wasn’t giving her a reason to stay? I wasn’t considering I was enough. Or the farm. Or my family. But Scarlett had not been the one doing that to me. I’d been doing that to myself.
And still, I didn’t tell her I loved her. I didn’t ask her to marry me because I did not want to lose her.
We celebrated Thanksgiving with much gratitude this year as we are thankful for Scarlett and the anticipation of Sprout’s birth.
I’d been off to the tractor supply shop for a plow part, hoping to return before the heaviest snow fell. That damn tractor needs a new wedge for the small plow. We really need to replace the thing next spring, but replacing farm equipment is expensive. Being a farmer, one learns to be thrifty, and I’ve been putting away my own money for a while, saving up for the likes of someone like Scarlett. A certain someone.
As I pull up to the dairy barn while the day grows dark early, Blade exits the building and stops short when he sees me getting out of my truck.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, staring at me before looking over my shoulder at my truck.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m working.” I snap, stepping toward my brother, who blocks my way. “Blade, move.”
“Where’s Scarlett?” His eyes widen, searching my face.
“Home.” Stepping right, Blade follows again, blocking my path. “Dammit, Blade.”
“Didn’t Scarlett call you?” Blade questions, his voice a drop of concern.
“Why would she call me?” Instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I reach for my phone in my pocket to find a text I’d missed. She’d contacted me an hour ago.
Meet me at the Engagement Tree at five.
My eyes drift to the time. It’s five thirteen. On top of that, it’s pitch-black out, and the snow is coming down heavy. Instantly, I dial her number, but it goes to voicemail.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my stomach flipping as there’s no way Scarlett could have gotten to that old tree. There’s no discernible driving path leading to it, and walking would have been dangerous in her condition plus with the weather. “What did you do?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Blade, you have half a second to speak.”
“It’s a secret. A surprise.”
“It’s also fucking snowy and she’s pregnant,” I remind him.
“She’s at the tree waiting for you.”
“I’m thirteen minutes late,” I snap. She had to have left when I didn’t show. “Why is she there?”
“I can’t say, but she’s probably still there. She couldn’t leave.”
I press her number again on my phone, waiting on her response, and see red despite the whiteness swirling around us. She doesn’t answer again. “What do you mean she can’t leave?”
Blade swallows. “Well, the generator is kind of connected to the tree from the back of the truck and—”
“What the fuck?” I snap, swiping my cap off my head and running gloved fingers over my hair. “I need to get up there. Where’s your truck?” The plow is on the front of Blade’s truck as he was given the responsibility to clear the drive and the lane in my absence. Blade’s head turns, looking away from me. “I need the plow to get up there.”
“Well, it’s . . . actually . . . it’s already there.”
“What?” I bark again. Glancing down at my phone, I press her number one more time with no success, as Blade explains. “I plowed a path for her and left the truck.”
“You left a pregnant woman in a snowstorm?” I glare at my brother, completely flabbergasted by this action.
“She said she’d be fine. You’d be there soon enough, and everything would be better.”
Hissing his name, I turn for my truck. “Get in,” I snap over my shoulder, demanding he come with me because if I get stuck, I’m going to need his help to get out of the rut. Blade follows my quick pace, climbing into my truck at the same time I do.
“Start talking,” I demand, wanting to know just what the hell Scarlett intended to do with a generator, a plow truck, and that old tree.
“No way. She’d have my balls if I tell you anything.”
“I’m going to have your balls if you don’t talk.”
“No offense, Bull, but I’m more afraid of Scarlett.” I’d chuckle at his response if I wasn’t so angry as well as anxious. This is not a good scenario. With Scarlett due in two weeks, I can’t believe she’d put the baby at risk. I can’t believe she’d do something to herself.
Too upset to consider all the bad things that could happen to her, I peel down the lane, the truck fishtailing a bit on the freshly fallen snow.
“If anything happens to her—” I hiss.
“Nothing’s going to happen.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound so sure as the truck struggles for traction on the slowly mounting snowfall.
“Blade,” I growl. He doesn’t answer, tipping his head into his hand as his arm perches on the passenger door. As we turn in the direction of the tree, lights illuminate the dark up ahead. “What the hell?”
Risking a quick glance at Blade, he smiles to himself.
“It’s a surprise,” he whispers, and before me, it certainly is.
27
Birth Plans
Scarlett
I’d been sitting in the warm truck ever since Blade left me. The plan was for him to plow the path, and I’d follow in my car, which he’d drive back to the house. But as time passed, and Bull wasn’t answering my text, I stepped out of the truck to pace. It’s cold, but I’m sweating with nerves. I’m also cramping a bit, and the doctor had told me walking can rid me of false contractions. I’m two weeks away from my due date, and my hand rubs over my tightening belly.
“Whoa,” I gasp, bending forward at my waist at the sharp pain. This isn’t like the time I was dehydrated and stressed over my parents, although I’ve certainly been stressed for the past forty-eight hours. There have been moments I’ve wondered if what I was doing was too much.
Bull certainly had doubts about us, and I hated that I played into them just a little bit back in October to get some answers for him. That night, I learned that despite my grand gesture, Bull wasn’t going to take action unless my gesture was even grander. Like the grandest gesture I could pull off, and I really wanted to pull this off. I’d noticed that every time I mentioned the Engagement Tree, Bull refused to confirm going back to it. I’d suggest picnics or date nights moon gazing, and he’d always shrug, brushing me off with a maybe. Then he’d never mention it again. The tree scared him or I did, and I couldn’t figure out why until I put two and two together. Or rather, Bull’s fear of two and two, leaving only one person standing under the tree.