Page 60 of Cowboy

“Give it to me, sweetheart,” I say. “Give it all to me.” Give me a life with you, and I promise I’ll make it all good.

“Oh. God. Bull.” She stutters through her orgasm, breathless as it hits her. She doesn’t scream so much as open her mouth wide and ride out the sensation. In an instant, I’m filling her, going off like summer fireworks inside her. She holds still while I pulse within her, giving her my all.

When I’m finally replete and emptied of all that I have, I reach up for the back of her head and pull her down to me. Finding her mouth, I kiss her hard, pouring the rest of me into that kiss.

Be mine forever.

They’re words I can’t say, though I think them all the time. She will be mine as we parent together, but it’s not going to be enough.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I admit to her mouth still over mine. It’s been less than two days, and I missed her in my bed and in my arms. I missed how easily we worked together seamlessly as though she’s been here my entire life.

“I’ve missed you too, honey.” No words sounded sweeter, but I don’t want her to miss me. I want her to know I’m here with her on every day that ends in day and all the nights as well. “I’m not going anywhere, Scarlett. Thanks for rushing in with me,” I say.

“Happy to oblige anytime, partner,” she teases, drawing us back to that first night when she called me that. Her head tips to the side, her cheek pressing over my heart, and a fingertip draws over my chest as I wonder if she’ll ever call me something else—like husband perhaps.

19

Actions Speak the Loudest

Scarlett

Three days later, Bull squeezes my hand as the amniocentesis procedure is done. For those few days, we’ve been shy around one another, still feeling a tenderness from the tension once around us. At night, though, we find our way back together in Bull’s bed.

“The doctor will call you with the results,” the technician says. Bull already swabbed his cheek and sent it to the necessary labs. My doctor explained how things would work with the baby’s sample.

“You might experience some cramping or light spotting, but that’s normal. Any concerns should be addressed with your doctor.” I’ve been fortunate so far in my pregnancy. Other than the swelling of my hands and feet, which dissipates typically once I lie down and lift my legs for a bit, I’ve found the pregnancy easy. At least compared to the horror stories I’ve read about geriatric pregnancies. The label still makes my blood boil.

“Shouldn’t be more than a week.” The technician continues to discuss the lab results. “But normally, it only takes about three days.”

As the technician cleans off the instruments, Bull helps me sit upright.

“Let’s get lunch,” he offers. “And how about some retail therapy?” He wiggles his brows. Bull thanked me for the flowers on the porch, telling me the decorations made the place look welcoming, which was exactly what I wanted.

Once I’m dressed, I find Bull waiting for me outside the room. As we’re in Montpelier, and it’s a beautiful summer day, we find a place to park and stroll around the area. My hunger is always bigger than my stomach can handle, but a turkey club calls my name. I’ve been told to watch my diet, especially as I’m at risk of gestational diabetes, which could result in permanent diabetes at my age.

At my age. Always my age.

I’m feeling strangely positive about the future results of both the genetics test and the paternity test, and I’m excited to finally know the elephant in the room will have an answer. As we stroll through town on our way to a diner, a baby store looms ahead of us. When we near the shop, it hits me again.

I’m having a baby. At my age.

“Should we go inside?” Bull asks. Staring at the display window, I note the little clothing intended for a miniature human. I’m due in the winter, so the summery outfits aren’t appropriate for my newborn once he or she arrives. Still, everything is so tiny.

“Okay,” I whisper, beginning to sweat from the reality of what’s ahead for me. I’m going to be responsible for a little person, and I really don’t want to screw this up. Will I be nurturing and open-minded? Will I be able to take care of someone other than myself? Can I give unconditionally when I’m sleep deprived, leaking from my breasts, and still overweight a little bit? These are all things I’ve read about happening to new mothers. Sleepless nights. Days without showers. Breast leaks. Sore nipples. Stretch marks. Weight retention. The list goes on and on.

Entering the store, I find it’s a sensory overload of cribs, baby apparatus, and doll-size clothing. Bull looks out of place as he squeezes his large body through the displays.

Eventually, he stops next to a white crib near the back. “We should make some decisions because I want to start working on the nursery.” Bull’s already mentioned turning his upstairs office into the baby’s room. We’ve discussed neutral colors and baby bedding, but staring at a beautiful white crib puts things into perspective. Soon, it’s not going to be just Bull and me.

“Scarlett?” I hear Bull’s voice, but my eyes roam the displays around us. The responsibility to feed, clothe, bathe and love a little person overwhelms me. Diapers and changings. Breast pumps, bottles, and baby bibs. Mini-bathtubs and baby-safe soap. How will I keep my child safe from things that aren’t material, like people gossiping about him? Protecting him from a bully? The possibility of someone hurting him?

My heart races at all the things I’ll never be able to control and scare the ever-living crap out of me.

“Sweetheart?” Instantly, firm arms surround me, pressing me into his chest, and my cheek rests near his heartbeat. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m going to be a mother,” I say, my voice no more than a croak. A firm palm strokes up and down my spine.

“Yes, you are,” he proudly states, calmly as can be while his heart beats rhythmically under my ear.