Page 39 of Cowboy

I lie. Maybe. “Nah. It’s his.”

Shelton pushes off the truck, no longer stumbling but placing more space between us.

“You really know how to wound a guy,” he snarks, and my eyes widen. “Are you listening to yourself?” I bark as the question mixes with a laugh of disbelief.

“And here I was ready to take you back,” he says as if I should be grateful for the offering.

“It should be me taking you back, Shelton, not the other way around. I’m not the unfaithful one, and I don’t want you back.”

“Because of him,” Shelton states, his voice tensing again.

“Because of you, Shelton. It’s over. We’re over.” As soon as I make the statement, I realize we had been over long before his infidelity. We weren’t connecting like we once had. We weren’t those young, hungry people, eager to please each other while high-strung on our careers. We’d separated emotionally long before we physically had. If we had noticed sooner, if we had seen what was happening before . . . Well, I can’t predict the past. We didn’t recognize what was happening to us, and it led to this.

“I hope you’re happy.” His tone lacks any sincerity and comes out as pure sarcastic malice. He points at me as he says, “You did this to us. There’s no turning back.”

“No, Shelton,” I say, saddened by the truth. We both had a part in our demise, so I won’t take full responsibility. Shelton is clearly insane if he can’t see his role in our failed marriage.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” The divorce papers have already been served to him, but he’s just trying to have the final word. His threat hits me only moments after he’s back in his car and stirring up gravel as he exits Bull’s drive.

My concern isn’t for me. I don’t want anything from him other than the baby I’m carrying, which might be his, and he’ll be in the fight of his life if he tries to take Sprout from me. Then again, Sprout could be Bull’s, and Shelton would never be the wiser for it.

12

Unpacking

Scarlett

When I enter the house, Bull isn’t present. Assuming he went out the back door, I don’t think he could have gone too far as his truck is still out front. For a moment, I soak up the guilt of lying to Shelton. I’m not really a devious person, and lying to him doesn’t settle well with me. I really do need to know the truth, if for no other reason than my own sanity. I’d feel better if the baby isn’t Shelton’s.

However, there’s another concern on my mind. I don’t like the possibility that all Bull wants from me relates to the baby. The thought hints at why I didn’t press kisses to Bull’s knuckles or try to reassure him of my status with Shelton before exiting his truck. Bull is definitely concerned about me ending my marriage, but what’s upsetting to me is we aren’t discussing the start of a relationship between us. Where do I fit in his life? Is it really just parent partners with benefits? What do I really want from him? I’ve always been an independent woman. Can I rely on him?

I’m not asking you to marry me, Scarlett.

The sting of his words rings like a gong in my head. I was the one who panicked for a minute, interrupting him because I was worried he was going to ask me to marry him. But I’m a living contradiction. I want to be with Bull, only I want it to be for us, not just the baby.

With that thought in mind, a knock comes on the front door.

“Scarlett Russell?” the deliveryman inquires once I open it. I glance around him to see the moving service van in the driveway, and my heart skips a beat. “We have a few boxes for you.”

I smile as he hands over the electronic signature pad.

“We can bring them inside the door for you.”

“Wonderful,” I say, smiling back at him. What are the odds that my things would arrive on the day of Shelton’s visit? I didn’t have many belongings remaining at the apartment, but I do own more clothes, some books, a couple of awards, and a few personal effects. I loved my desk and a comfy chair in my home office, but I was willing to part with both items. I don’t want any reminders of my old life, especially as I’m undecided if I’m returning to it. Once I moved to Bull’s as a more permanent residence, I called my former cleaning service and asked Vonda to pack up my things. She’d easily recognize what was mine, but I also submitted a list of items just to be clear. After scheduling a pickup date, I paid the moving service in advance and prepped Vonda to pack on a day Shelton was out of town.

There aren’t many boxes, and I have the movers place them in neat piles near the door. After tipping the men, a weight feels lifted from my shoulders.

“You’re truly stuck here now, Scarlett,” I say to the piles, but I don’t feel stuck. I feel liberated and right where I belong. Whether Bull wants me or not, I don’t feel as untethered as I first did upon arriving in Vermont.

With the stench of Shelton in my nose and his presence lingering against my body, I decide to take a shower. I need to wash away Shelton’s nearness and his hurtful words.

You did this to us.

When I first left Shelton and called my parents, thinking they should know where I was, my mother accused me of the same thing. I hadn’t satisfied Shelton. I hadn’t given him a baby. I had been too career driven. There was no concern for me and how unsatisfactory Shelton had been toward me. He was the one who hadn’t wanted a baby. He was equally driven in his career. I wish my parents could have had my back, and I silently vow to Sprout I will never be a parent like them.

I glance down at the mother-child charm dangling from my wrist. Mother’s Day. I’d ignored it, choosing to bypass a phone call and send my mother a floral arrangement instead. She texted me, demanding I call her, but I’d ignored her request. I used to meet my parents once a month, which I considered a courtesy where I would check on their health, and they would berate me for little things in my life.

“This is all your fault, Scarlett. A man wants to be the center of your world.” My mother had said when I told her Shelton and I were divorcing. Shelton had been the center, but in hindsight, that might have been a part of our problem. I put his needs first. Not that I’d known how much I wanted a baby until I was having one, but I hadn’t considered it on a deeper level, giving in to Shelton’s argument that it wasn’t the right time until it felt as if too much time had passed.