Page 16 of Cowboy

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.

I rip at the not so artfully wrapped paper and dive into the box. Staring at the item inside, I feel my eyes prickle and blink away the threatening tears. This crying business needs to stop.

“For the baby,” he says, his voice lowered but still rough while hesitant.

“For the baby,” I repeat, staring at the little brown overalls from the tractor supply store. “Thank you, Bull. This means a lot to me.” Stepping up to him, I kiss his cheek and then step back, taking a second glance at the thoughtful gift.

“Scarlett, I’d like to make a proposal.”

Oh no, I’ve heard about these things from him.

“I’d like to suggest you live with me.” My mouth falls open, and Bull steps forward, jumping into the rest of his speech. “I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance of being the father, right? And you already said you aren’t going back to your husband. Hell, you even said you’re hoping it’s not his, so let’s say for now, it isn’t. Move in with me and let me take care of you.”

“Bull, don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

“I’m not suggesting marriage. Absolutely not asking you to marry me.” He makes a face, cringing at the thought. “Just me watching out for you and the little one. I want to share this experience with you, in case it is my kid. You can still work. We’ll just be partners, roommates, and take it day by day.” His face brightens a little before he adds, “Maybe, consider benefits occasionally.”

“Benefits?” I choke.

“Then again, you did get sick the last time we had sex.” His hopeful expression falls.

“Bull.” I laugh. “I wasn’t sick because of you. It was because of the baby. I hadn’t eaten that morning and all that jostling around we did just shook me up.”

“No jostling then. Got it.” He grins, the hitch to one side of his mouth grows bigger. “Look, I figure you can’t keep staying at the Green Rocks resort. You need a place to live if you’re staying in Vermont.” He pauses, looking at me to confirm my calendar.

“I’m staying. At least for the next several months, and you’re right. My rental time is up tomorrow, actually, and I still haven’t found a place to live.”

Bull exhales. “Okay, for the next few months, then.” Bull looks toward the ceiling as if he’s calculating something. “You’ll be pregnant three-hundred days, give or take a day, which is only a few days longer than the gestation of a cow, so—”

My mouth falls open. “Did you just compare me to a cow again?”

“Just wanted a second chance to do that.” He winks at me, and I slap his chest with the box in my hands.

“I don’t want to miss any more days, though, Scarlett.” Hugging the box in my hands to my chest, I look around the comfortable room and sigh. It really is beautiful, but Bull is too much. I hold the present away from myself, staring down at the overalls. He says he wants to share this experience with me, and as I have no idea what I’m doing, it would be nice to have a companion on this journey. A partner, he said.