Page 47 of Cowboy

“I’ve got work to do,” Bull mutters, turning for the door, but Blade’s circling me, glaring at his brother.

He mumbles to his eldest brother, “Be nice.” Then he slips through the door, leaving Bull and me alone.

“I’ve got to get to work, and you should still be sleeping.” He isn’t looking at me as he speaks but staring toward the door as if he’s longing to make a break for it. He can’t get away from me fast enough.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” I admit, missing him behind me, his arms around me. Shelton and I never slept close to one another, and I’ve grown accustomed to the warmth of Bull.

He huffs in response.

“Harland knows I’m pregnant,” I say, and Bull turns back to me.

“Did you tell him?” His voice rings incredulous as though I’ve betrayed him once again. It hurts that he thinks such a thing of me, but it’s not without reason. I shake my head.

“He said he just knew.” I recall his kind words about glowing. “He also mentioned it might be a good time to start learning about this place on a deeper level as I’m carrying its future.” My hand covers my lower belly. Does Bull still want this? I’m wearing knit leggings with some stretch and one of Bull’s T-shirts that fits almost like a dress. I’m warm, but I didn’t know what to wear.

“You might not be.” The strike hits its mark as Bull glares at me. After all his professions of wanting to be Sprout’s daddy no matter what, the words hurt. I should have known. My gut told me to wait. Don’t get involved with him. Stick to roommates.

Before I speak, I take a deep breath, fighting the pain in my chest. “Maybe we should find out sooner rather than later.” Bull has pushed for us to wait until the baby is born before taking a paternity test. While I want him to be Sprout’s daddy in every way, I also want to know the truth. I don’t want to feel like I’m still holding onto a piece of Shelton. After all that has happened, it’s time to learn the truth because I’m the one suddenly wading in muck, stuck up to my knees in love with a man who hates me.

“How?” Bull snaps.

“I’m sixteen weeks along, and I can have an amniocentesis.” I should really wait until I’m twenty weeks when I have another ultrasound, but I don’t want to put this test off any longer.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a genetic test. As I’m considered at risk due to my age, the test detects possible birth defects like Down syndrome and spinal bifida, but it can also determine paternity. We just need to swab the inside of your cheek for your DNA.”

“Birth defects?” Bull questions. “But you’re healthy.”

“Healthy as a cow.” The saying is healthy as a horse, but Bull doesn’t even crack a smile at my cow-comparison joke, and I swallow. “Anyway . . .”

“What about the baby?” Bull huffs, crossing his arms. “You can’t just draw blood from him.”

“The amnio uses a large needle to extract cells from around the baby. The sample holds Sprout’s DNA.”

Bull’s arms fall apart, fists forming at his sides. “Is that even safe?”

“Women have them all the time. There’s a risk, just like with everything else, but we need this.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “We need the truth so we can move on from the unknown.”

“The truth,” Bull huffs. “I didn’t think you dabbled in truth.”

I take the sting of his words, understanding he’s still angry.

Bull stands taller, his expression hardening. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, though? To know the truth means you can move on.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to fight the words ready to lash back at him. I don’t want to move anywhere. I don’t want to be anywhere but here with him, but I understand he can’t accept I made a mistake. A horrible, horrendous, ridiculous mistake.

“I think we both deserve an answer,” I say, glancing down at my feet, wiggling my toes in the large rubber boots. Whose are these anyway?

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.” Bull turns for the door, tugging it open and leaving me in someone else’s shoes. I’m not liking the feel of them.

My eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from more tears by the time I get to the café. There’s work to be done, so I keep my head down, but I’m not fooling Roderick or Zara once she comes in. The morning rush is steady as it always is, and I’m more a bumbling barista than ever, especially when a customer makes a comment.

“Aren’t you that woman reporter from that television program?” Glancing over at Zara, I don’t know how to respond. My bosses know the truth as I’d put it on my application, but I’d assured them it wouldn’t ever be an issue. Who would recognize me?

“Would you like anything else?” I ask, ignoring the gray-haired woman’s question.

“You were on that show last night.” Her friend snaps her fingers to help her think faster. “The one reporting on our sweet Bull.” Her eyes narrow as full recognition takes over.