Page 6 of Cowboy

I shake my head. “Maybe it’s normal for someone like Bull to have one-night stands. Love ’em and leave ’em style.” Even as I say the words, I don’t think they’re true. Bull wasn’t so cavalier unless he’s a damn good actor and lover, which he was damn good on the lover level. He was generous. God, was he generous. He made sure I came first and often, and then when I was finished, he made certain I was satisfied before moving forward. Unlike Shelton, who typically came first and offered me assistance second, Bull was attentive and considerate. I’d hate to think his generosity was a performance on his part.

“Honey, that does not sound like Bull Eaton. Not one iota.”

I stare at my friend, waiting for further explanation.

“Rumor has it he’s asked five different women to marry him. He has commitment written all over him. A man who makes engagements does not forget to leave his phone number.”

Apparently, Bull did not want commitment from me. But I’m not in a position to start a relationship anyway.

“Five engagements? That sounds a little desperate, and since when do you believe rumors?” Rita’s an attorney. She thrives on facts, not hearsay.

“Since it’s all I have to live off as you won’t share details.” We both laugh at her emphatic answer. “I’m not saying the rumors are true. It’s just . . . Bull doesn’t seem like a one-night stand kind of guy, even if I did push you in that direction.” Rita’s voice softens, expressing her concern and compassion for my situation.

“You didn’t push me. And thanks again for coming out with me to The Gin Mill. Was that difficult for you?” My friend is a recovered alcoholic, and going to a bar might have been the last place on her list of good times.

“Not my first choice of hangouts but also not the most difficult place to hang. I know my limits, and I’d have let you know if I reached them. Did my own stud finder scope out while I was there.”

“Stud finder?”

“You took the bull. I need a stud.” A moment passes before I catch her meaning, and I bend at the waist, laughing a good hard laugh. I have really missed this woman.

“I promise we will get you one the next time.” Although, I’m not certain there will be a next time. I don’t know how to do the day after, or in this case, two days later, when I don’t know how to find Bull.

“I could get you Bull’s number. Quick little social media check or database search.” Rita wiggles her brows.

“I don’t want to hunt him down like some stalker, and I’m going to ignore the fact you mentioned database searching. You shouldn’t abuse your attorney privileges.” I wink at her. I’ve done my own sleuthing like that in the past, seeking the next great gossip before it broke wide, but those days are over now. “I’m not in a position for long term. I have bigger issues, like finalizing my divorce with Shelton, finding a new job, and deciding what’s next for me.”

Rita nods, accepting the hard truth of my messed-up life. “What do you think should be next?”

As it will take three to four months to finalize my divorce in the state of Massachusetts where Shelton and I resided, I just have to wait out that time. I can’t think about a new job just yet, uncertain the entertainment industry is right for me anymore, which leaves me with my final decision.

I look around the coffee house and take a deep breath. It’s been roughly ten days since I left Boston.

“I think I’d like to stay in Vermont a little longer. I’ve checked with the rental office at Green Rocks, and I can keep my place until May first.” It’s mid-March, and the continued rental gets me through April.

My friend’s brows lift. “That’s wonderful.” Her genuine smile reassures me of my plan. “Can you afford it?” Then she laughs. “Of course, you can afford it, what am I saying?”

Not only was my husband the lead heart surgeon at Boston General, but I have financial stability in my own right from my career, and it might be time to splurge a little on me for once.

“I’d still like a job. Just something to keep me busy, and in the middle of people. I don’t think I’ll be good company with myself.” It’s not that I can’t be alone; it’s that I don’t want to be alone. I’ll spend too much time self-evaluating, wondering where I went wrong in my marriage and career. Admittedly, I have negative self-esteem issues from my parents who laid the groundwork, so I don’t need the self-demoralization.

As I look around the room, I notice a sign in the front window. Help Wanted. Like the phone call I received from Rita on the day I lost both my husband and my job, I feel like this is another message from the universe.

“I could work here,” I say, glancing back at Rita.

“What do you know about making coffee?”

“Nothing, but how hard can it be?”

More than a month later, I still don’t quite have the hang of it, but the owners Zara Rossi and Audrey Shipley are more than patient with me. The café is busy, and another warm body actually helps out. I don’t mind the menial work of wiping off tables and straightening chairs, restocking the pastry case or even washing out coffee pots. It gives me a chance to talk to people, and I love a good gossip story.

The other thing about me is I’m timely. I have nothing else going on in life, so why not take any shift offered, even the ungodly early ones. My divorce is proceeding as we aren’t contesting anything. I don’t want the apartment especially after my delinquent doctor husband moved his little pregnant med student into our home, and Shelton isn’t disputing that he pay me my share of the property. It feels like dirty money to me, but I just want to be done with him. Happy ex-wife equals happy life. I should write that on the chalkboard beams.

I am happy, mostly. I spend time with Rita. I explore Vermont, and steer clear of where I think Bull Eaton might be. No more The Gin Mill. No Dunham where I’ve learned his family owns a dairy farm. Dunham is a small community, and I vaguely recall the name from a story I reported on a while back. Something about cows, as a matter of fact, but I can’t remember the headline. As if my thoughts conjure the only dairyman I know, Bull enters the café.

With a woman.

Blinking to clear my vision, making certain it’s really him, I drop behind the peach couch, falling to my hands and knees. Crawling to the edge of the furniture, I watch Bull place his hand on the small of the woman’s back—a possessive move if I’ve ever seen one. He strokes up her spine, and I feel a little sick watching him touch her so intimately. Actually, I’ve been feeling a little sick a lot lately, and I chalk up the current nausea to the upheaval in my life.