Page 70 of Cowboy

“I’ve been known to go out on occasion, but it’s been a while.”

Scarlett perches up on an elbow, glancing down on me. “No, you’re a hunter. You go after what you want.” Her eyes meet mine, trying to tell me something, but she doesn’t explain what she sees.

“I have something for you,” she says as she bites her lower lip. Her face nearly glows with excitement.

“What?” I tease, finding the gleam in her eyes contagious. She pulls two envelopes from her dress pocket, and I wonder how I missed those inside her clothing. She holds them both upright. One is pink and one is blue.

“Pick one.”

“Is this a test?” I question, playing along with her. We’ve been referring to Sprout as him, but he could just as easily be a she. For a moment, I picture waves of red curls running through this field, giggling as I chase a little one in cowboy boots and ruffles to the fort off in the trees. I’ll need to reinforce that thing before any child of mine climbs up to the platform. Snatching the pink one from her fingers, I ask, “Are you trying to tell me something with these?”

“Yes.” Her voice drops a little, and I stare up at her.

“Did you find out about the baby’s sex?” We had agreed to wait unless it was obvious with her next ultrasound. However, the doctor warned the amniocentesis test would tell us the DNA of our baby, thus revealing the gender.

“Like a gender reveal? No, this isn’t something like that.” She smiles to reassure me.

“But you know I’d be just as happy with a little girl as I would a boy,” I say. She smiles larger.

“I know, Bull.”

“As long as he or she is healthy, that’s all I really want.” And if the baby isn’t perfect by some societal imposed standard, Scarlett and I will love Sprout no less.

“I know, honey.” She nods at the envelope in my hand. Opening it, I pull out a thick set of folded papers. The top line reads divorce decree. My eyes blur as I attempt to read the remainder of the page.

“What is this?” I ask with a shaky voice, although I should recognize it. I have one of these myself with Jennifer.

“It’s my divorce. It’s over with Shelton.” I drop the papers and sit up, forcing her back and kissing her hard. Our mouths fuse, and my tongue surges forward. I don’t think I realized how relieved I’d be once her divorce was final. It’s over. She’s really free of him. She’s free to be mine.

The thought pulls me back from her, although I still grin a goofy smile of relief.

“And what’s in the other envelope?” My voice shakes as I think I know what’s inside.

Scarlett holds it to her chest while I perch over her, balancing on an elbow to keep my weight off her.

“No matter what it says in here, you’re Sprout’s father. In my heart. In his heart. You will be his dad.” She tips the envelope at me. “I haven’t opened it.”

Nodding, I take the slim form from her and peel back the flap. My heart races as I pull a paper from the envelope and open it next. Again, my vision blurs as I scan the numbers and the explanation until I find what I need.

A match.

We match.

Scarlett’s brows pinch in concern as I don’t speak a moment, staring down at the words once more. More relief floods my body, and I’m ready to howl at the moon myself.

“Just ki—” The word cuts off as my mouth falls on hers once again, drawing in her breath to feed my lungs. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding mine with every motion of removing the page until I read what I wanted to read. Not that it mattered. No lab result would change how I feel inside for a child not even officially born yet, but it’s still a relief to know Sprout belongs to me.

Scarlett and Sprout are both mine.

23

Working Mothers Work

Scarlett

As July bleeds into August, I reach six months and the start of my third trimester. When I take my monthly urine sample and the gestational diabetes test, I almost fail both. Bull couldn’t attend this visit with me as he had an auction to attend that only happened on this day. I would have rescheduled myself, but my visits are on a regimented calendar. I told him not to worry about missing this one. The tests were routine and he wouldn’t miss anything, like our second ultrasound, which we attended together last week. Measurements of the baby in utero during the ultrasounds determined I’m on schedule for the second week in December due date.

“I’m so fat. Like everywhere,” I groan.