Page 32 of Cowboy

A few days later, I’m driving Scarlett to her doctor's appointment in Montpelier, where we’ll be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. While Scarlett and I have discussed potential birth plans and baby names, she tends to cut those conversations short once her eyes start to spark with possibility and hope.

“There’s so much that could happen at my age,” she’d eventually say, closing the door on any budding excitement. “The what-ifs can wake me out of a dead sleep.” My chest tightens when she tells me such a thing. I want to hold her each night, comfort her in my bed, and soothe away those nightmares.

There’s a touch of reality in her fear, though. Because of her advanced age, as she sarcastically states, she could have had a sonogram at her first doctor’s visit when the pregnancy was detected. However, there’s some controversy because of Scarlett’s age around such a test so early on in a pregnancy, and she opted out of it.

“I was afraid it might harm the baby even though the doctor assured me it wouldn’t.” Scarlett erred on the side of caution, and I’m grateful. There was also the possibility of not hearing a heartbeat in those first few weeks, and Scarlett didn’t want the disappointment of a false negative, meaning no heartbeat when there might be one if she’d only waited another few weeks.

I don’t want anything to happen to her or the baby. Even though Sprout, as Scarlett affectionately calls the baby, might not be mine, I can’t help hoping—and thinking—that he is. We will also discuss the paternity test during this visit, but again, I don’t want to do anything that will put Scarlett or the baby at any additional risk. I’ve come to some conclusions myself about Scarlett and her ex. I don’t care if it’s his.

“I want to share everything with you,” I reassured her before we left the house for this appointment.

As we ride in my truck, she’s uncharacteristically silent. I actually admire Scarlett’s ability to talk. She doesn’t just chatter, but she’s truly inquisitive. She wants to know answers, and she’s not just filling silence by speaking. She knows how to be quiet as well, and those moments are just as precious to me. They usually happen when she falls asleep against me while we’re sitting on my couch.

Since the night we discussed my former engagements, we’ve fallen into the routine of cuddling while not taking things to any other level. At times, though, I need to adjust myself, moving back an inch or two from the curve of her backside too close to my front or control the temptation to cup her breasts as my hand skims over her belly, feeling the slightest of changes to her.

Once inside the patient room, Scarlett is asked to undress and lie on the table.

“I can . . .” I point over my shoulder once the nurse leaves.

“If you don’t mind . . .” Scarlett mutters as her face flushes.

Our sexual tension isn’t tamping down, and each evening is a painful reminder of how much I want her, but I’m respecting her position. Watching her take off her clothes for a routine doctor visit might just push me over the edge, no matter how inappropriate our setting is. The bottom line is, I want Scarlett. She’s already in my home, but I want her in my bed. We don’t have to complicate things with promises or proposals.

The room was already dim, and when I return, Scarlett lays on the table wearing a cloth gown. She looks nervous, and without thinking, I reach for her hand, giving it an extra squeeze. The technician returns to the room immediately after me and takes her seat opposite me. Lifting up Scarlett’s gown to expose her belly, there really isn’t much of a bump to her, at least nothing noteworthy, though she’s softer in the middle, and her breasts are huge.

“This might be cold,” the sonographer warns, squirting some kind of gel on Scarlett’s belly before rubbing a special wand over her skin. I’m not up on my baby terminology or even all the tests Scarlett will need, but I want to be here for her. I find myself holding my breath as the technician moves the wand over Scarlett’s stomach, then turns a dial on the machine, and an image appears on the screen.

Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp.

The room is full of a rapid pulsing sound, and Scarlett smiles as she stares at the fuzzy black and white screen. With my fingers wrapped around hers, I lift her hand and press my lips to her knuckles. She turns her head toward me, blinking as a soft tear slides from the side of one eye.

“You’re doing good, Mom,” I say to her.

“Mom,” she whispers.

“Looks healthy, Dad,” the technician states to include me. My mouth falls open to explain our situation, but Scarlett’s fingers squeeze mine. I glance at her, and she shakes her head while smiling at me, and my own heart thumps. I soak up the moment, sharing it with Scarlett as we hear Sprout’s heartbeat for the first time.

“That was amazing,” I say to Scarlett once we’re back in my truck. Taking a second to recover, I tip my head back and blink up at the ceiling. Who would have thought another’s heartbeat could make mine patter as well? Scarlett has been holding the image the sonographer printed. It’s impossible to distinguish anything, so we’ll be back in a few weeks to admire the growth and changes of Sprout. For now, it’s just a relief to hear a healthy heartbeat.

We decided to skip the paternity test for now. I’m the one who spoke up when the doctor entered and presented the facts to Scarlett. There were risks, like anything in life, but I wasn’t willing to take any unnecessary ones. The second the doctor mentioned a risk of miscarriage, I spoke up.

“We won’t be having the test yet.”

The doctor redirected her gaze to Scarlett. Her body. Her choice. I get that, but the pressure I had on Scarlett’s hand must have told her how scared I was for her body and her choice. I didn’t want her to take the chance of losing Sprout.

“Maybe we can wait until the next visit.” I almost fell over her in relief. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering as I muttered my gratitude.

I’m still wound up, and Scarlett’s too far away from me, sitting on the other side of the bench seat.

“Scarlett, sweetheart, get over here.” The demand gives her the chance to deny me, but I’m really hoping she doesn’t. I need a moment with her close to me. Setting the photograph on the dashboard, Scarlett twists and scoots toward me. My arm is extended over the back of the seat, and I wrap it around her, pulling her to me. I inhale her hair, which smells sweet and sugary. Her arms are trapped between us, but Scarlett likes to hug up top, as I call it, so her arms slip upward, wrapping around my neck and bringing her tighter against me. Like this, my nose dips to her neck, and I inhale her floral perfume, mixing with the sugary scent of her hair. My mouth waters, and I can’t help myself. I suck at her skin. The motion is quick, but the suction strong, and Scarlett gasps near my ear.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” I pull back enough to look down at her mouth, and our foreheads meet for a brief second before my lips touch hers. At first, I only intend to give her a tender kiss. We need to celebrate. She’s having a baby, and we heard the heartbeat. She needs to be congratulated. But when her mouth opens, my tongue has its own agenda, rushing forward to sweep against hers. Scarlett leans into me, and all thoughts are lost to the touch of her tongue swirling with mine. My fingers fist the back of her shirt as hers curl into my hair at the nape of my neck. She softly tugs, and I lower to her jaw, sucking at the ridge before moving down to her neck. Scarlett purrs, and the next thing I know, I’m leaning her back, lowering her for the bench seat.

“God, Scarlett, I just want to touch you.” My fingers move for her skirt, pulling up the material along her thigh. I want her right here in the front seat of my truck.

“Bull,” she whimpers as my mouth continues to suck at her neck. “It’s broad daylight.” Quickly, I lift my head as if I’ve forgotten what time of day it is or even where we are. We’re still parked in the medical office parking lot.

“Shit,” I hiss, dropping my forehead to her sternum. Her chest heaves under me as her fingers stroke through my hair. Her touch feels so good, and after weeks without her, I want to be with her again.