Page 30 of Cowboy

At night, Scarlett and I assume our normal position on my couch. A hockey play-off game is on, and Scarlett’s been reading from a baby book. We typically start in opposite corners, but eventually her legs stretch, as if her toes are seeking me, and I tug her feet into my lap, massaging her ankles. Sometimes, we sit closer, more in the middle, and she’ll inevitably flop toward me, as if her head is too heavy. I’ll tuck her under my arm, leaning her against my chest, and breathing in the comfort of all things. It’s been torture.

Tonight, I’m tired myself. We’ve had to make decisions on a few heifers not producing and I had to round them up for slaughter. It’s never an easy decision, but it’s a part of the farm process. When Scarlett’s feet slide across the couch to my thigh, I don’t shift them to my lap like I normally do but slip my whole self behind her. With her back nestled into my chest with each of us on our sides, and we face the television set.

“This okay, sweetheart?” I ask too late as I’m already in position to hold her and not interested in giving it up.

“This is good, Bull.” My arm slips over her waist as we each stare at the hockey game, but I’m hardly hearing the announcer.

“Can I ask you something?” Her quiet voice has me nervous.

“Anything, darlin’.”

“What’s the deal with the rumors about you as the perpetual proposer?”

My forehead lowers for the top of her head, and I close my eyes. This is a conversation I’ve dreaded having. Marriage talk is always an issue for me. However, Scarlett and I are in a different predicament, and we aren’t discussing our marriage, just my relationship history.

Taking a deep breath, I begin my explanation.

“First, there was Jennifer, who you already know was my wife. We were married young and divorced early. Then there was Sabrina.” I take another deep breath as Scarlett’s fingertips stroke over my forearm. “That’s a bit more complicated, but let’s just say she left me at the altar.”

Sensing Scarlett’s shift under my arm, I tighten my hold around her. She attempts to look at me over her shoulder, but I won’t be able to face her until I get this story out.

“Not much more embarrassing than standing at the altar, waiting on your bride to walk down the aisle. Church filled with people who’d been calling you a match made in heaven. Then her father approaches me and leans forward, telling me Sabrina needs to speak with me.”

The memory rushes back to me. Sabrina Carrera was different from anyone I’d ever met before. First, she was ten years younger than me in my thirties. In contrast to Jen’s acorn brunette coloring, Sabrina had midnight black hair and looked sleek in business suits and fitted skirts. She had dreams and ambitions of being something bigger than our small community, but her energy never bothered me. In fact, she was refreshing after Jennifer, who was a little too complacent at times and often gave in to my whims instead of following her own desires. If I liked pepperoni on pizza, Jen liked pepperoni. If I wanted to wear jeans and be casual, Jen wore jeans to be casual. If I wanted to watch a ballgame, then Jen watched a ballgame. Jen only had one focus all her own—a child.

“Sabrina wanted bright lights and big city, so it never made sense for us to be together. She should have gone to New York, but instead, she worked in a bank in Montpelier. I could never quite explain it, but Sabrina was just vibrant. She was also superficial.”

She loved gifts, and the fool that I was, I showered her with them. I gave her whatever she wanted, and in return, I had a young, beautiful woman on my arm, reviving my sexuality.

“After the breakup with Jen, I just needed different, and Sabrina was it. It felt good to be wanted for more than my sperm donation.”

Scarlett stills her fingertips on my forearm, and I mumble an apology. It isn’t like that with Scarlett. Jen and I had become so perfunctory in our relationship, and her ability to adapt to whatever I wanted that it eventually pissed me off. I wanted a woman with a mind of her own. High spirited and definitely spoiled, Sabrina had been the opposite of my first wife.

“I don’t know how we’d gotten to the wedding ceremony itself. It was like one minute we were discussing marriage, and the next thing I know, we are making an announcement. Sabrina was in love with the idea of a wedding. I wanted her to be happy, and I also wanted her to stick around. I didn’t want her to run off to New York.” I’d wanted the farm to be enough for her, but I should have seen the signs. We spent a lot of time at her place in Montpelier. As I partially blamed living on the farm for the breakup of my marriage at the time, as Jen and I never had any privacy, being away from it for a while was refreshing. With Sabrina, we had a ton of separation from the farm while doing the costly things Sabrina wanted to do.

“I never had a hint she was unhappy, or maybe I just wasn’t listening. When an ex-boyfriend came into town a week before the wedding, I wasn’t even concerned. But he’d apparently been making her promises of more, and he was her ticket out of this area. She’d never mentioned to anyone that she didn’t want to be a farmer’s wife.”

I close my eyes, recalling the awkward moment I walked into the bridal room at the church. Her veil removed. Her dress wrinkled. What could be worse than her father walking in on another man up her skirt before the wedding? The thought of it made me sick to my stomach. In order to save his pride, Giuseppe Carrera demanded his daughter face me. I’d paid for most of the wedding when he couldn’t afford all the things his daughter wanted.

“His name was Brett.” Not that that means anything, but I share it anyway.

“We hate people named Brett,” Scarlett whispers in a show of solidarity with me, and I smile as the tension of Sabrina’s memory dissolves.

“It was a blessing in disguise.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Scarlett’s low voice expresses her sincerity, and after her cheating husband, I know she understands.

“Next came Gisela.” I decide to skip over the fine details of Gisela’s wild sexual tendencies. The things she wanted me to do with her could have been criminal, but I loved them. She was very in touch with who she was and what she wanted in the bedroom, and I was happy to oblige. “Gisela was an artist. Painting was her medium, and she felt she’d found her inspiration at the farm.”

Again, Scarlett bristles under my arm, and I press a quick kiss to her shoulder. Her stroking fingertips continue as if coaxing the remainder of my story out of me.

“Gisela was a bit of a Bohemian. Wanderlust mixed with her creativity, and she said the farm fed her spirit but apparently, only temporarily.” Gisela’s blond hair in lengthy dreadlocks gave her an earthy appearance. She made her own clothing of flowing skirts and loose tops out of natural fabrics. She also wore tons of bracelets and necklaces. “Gisela actually lived in Colebury for a while but spent many days out here, feeding her soul as she said. She told people I was her spirit animal, and we would get married one day.”

Scarlett starts out with a soft chuckle, but her body continues to quake, struggling to contain more.

“Don’t laugh,” I teasingly warn, as my tone gives away my own chuckle. My head lowers for the back of hers once again, and Scarlett loses the fight against her laughter.

“We didn’t know she was actually stealing from people in the community. Little things, but items of value all the same, slowly went missing over time.”