Page 31 of Cowboy

The memory of confronting her when I saw her wearing my grandmother’s ring made acid boil in my stomach. When I confronted her about it, she accused me of not trusting her, saying I didn’t love her enough, and if I did love her, I should have given her that ring anyway.

“The breakup with her was public as she threw my grandmother’s ring, which I hadn’t given her, back at me, stating I was reserved and standoffish and didn’t give her what she needed.” Whether she meant sexually, spiritually, or otherwise, I would never know. Gisela ran off one night without another word to anyone in the area. We later learned she’d stolen my mother’s china serving platter and a silver gravy boat for whatever reason.

I quiet, recalling a nasty headline once reported about me.

“Mr. Not Quite Right, an article read,” I whisper, and Scarlett’s fingertips pause.

“Those women don’t know what they could have had,” Scarlett generously states. “It’s their loss, although I’d say you dodged a couple of losers there, Bull. And that article got it wrong. You’re perfect.”

I smile at her kind words.

“Anyway, I swore off women but quickly realized that wasn’t possible. I like women too much,” I joke, squeezing at her lower belly. “Blade and Clayton thought they’d be childish dicks and signed me up for MateMe and DatingDairy to get me back out there, proving to myself I could get worthy women.” I huff. “I’d only gone on a few dates before I swore it off. I needed more than a profile to assess a person. Women aren’t cows to be purchased from a catalog.”

I pause, waiting for Scarlett to admonish the full confession, but she doesn’t. Her body holds still, but her fingertips continue to rub up and down my arm.

“Well, thank goodness you think that,” Scarlett teases, playfully swatting at my arm. “Otherwise, I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t qualify under home goods or domestication products.”

I snort. “I don’t want to domesticate you, Scarlett. You have nothing to worry about. I’m no longer interested in marriage.” Well … that isn’t exactly true. It’s just not at the forefront of my thoughts, as it seems to be an eternal impossibility for me.

“Would Louisa have been under home goods?” Scarlett says, her voice lowering.

“It was only coffee,” I say, reminding us both of the day Scarlett was behind the couch in the Busy Bean Café. The day I learned she was still in town, and I wanted to kick myself because she was so close, and I was unaware. “I’d put you in the lingerie section because you’re so sexy.”

“Oh, you shop for lingerie often?” she teases, and I laugh but release her. I roll to my back as much as the couch will allow. Reaching for a cushion behind me, I toss it off the couch, providing more space for me to lay flat.

“I sound like a loser,” I admit, staring up at the low ceiling and swiping fingers into my hair. Scarlett shifts beside me, almost falling off the couch until I catch her. I tug her forward until we lay face-to-face. Her fingers play with the collar of my short-sleeved shirt.

“I don’t think you sound like a loser. You sound like someone who easily gives his heart, opening it wide to possibilities, and has had it trampled on a few too many times. I’m sorry all those experiences happened to you.”

Her eyes focus on the buttons of my shirt as she speaks, and her fingers move to my chest, toying with one.

“My mom used to say everything happens for a reason. She died between Sabrina and Gisela, and I think it’s another reason I fell for Gisela. She filled more than one void, which sounds heartless on my part.”

“Bull, don’t try to justify the actions of someone who did you wrong. All those women hurt you, and it’s okay to accept that it wasn’t you, but them.”

I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. When those dark eyes finally glance up at me, full of sympathy, I lick my lips. She’s so close with her head on my arm, and our bodies lined up.

“If I were to catalog you, I might put you in the toy section.” My gaze falls to her mouth. “Sex toys, that is.”

She laughs, jiggling against me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you?” I tease in return, but the heat in her eyes answers my question, and a part of me rises with this teasing discussion.

“Are you considering me a plaything?” Her voice drops as she bites her lower lip in that sexy way she does, letting me know she wants me. With two fingers, I lift her chin so our eyes catch each other.

“I consider you many things, Scarlett, but a plaything is not one of them. You’ve been played yourself, so you know how much it hurts.”

“I do,” she whispers, and for some reason, that phrase does something to my chest. However, I dismiss the ache as another part of me surges for attention from her.

“It’s so hard not to kiss you.” The fingers at her chin drag along her jaw until they dip into her hair at the side of her head. Combing to the back of her head, I give the short strands a little tug, and her breath hitches, causing her lips to fall open.

“I’m sorry, Bull. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be like those other women.”

I nod, releasing my fingers and smoothing my hand down her arm, ignoring the sting of being shot down while she presses against me.

“Maybe I’m protecting my own heart,” she says. “I’d been such a fool with Shelton. His affair blindsided me, but I’d feel even worse if something started between us and the baby isn’t yours.”

I nod again as if I understand. It’s practical and reasonable, but I’d also like to make my own decision regarding another man’s child and the woman carrying it, especially when said woman is in my arms. It’s a strange position to be in, that’s for certain, but Scarlett doesn’t seem to realize I don’t care about her ex. As long as she isn’t going back to him, I’m here for her and Sprout. But perhaps, she’s correct in guarding herself. I don’t want to be the one to hurt her as I’ll never be in the market to marry again. And I need to tell myself this over and over because the warning bells in my head tell me I’m at great risk of falling for her and wanting something I never get—a wife.