Page 77 of Cowboy

Two days after his birthday, Bull was still upset with me. He used the barn as an excuse to rise early and work late, falling into our shared bed but not drawing me into him as he always did. I hated it, and I slept terribly. Shelton and I didn’t sleep pressed up against one another but rather on our own sides of the bed. Bull liked to be right in the middle with me tucked into him.

I missed Bull. I missed our night’s cuddling and his hand stroking over my belly, speaking to Sprout with his touch.

We have plans to attend a fall party at Speakeasy. I was seven weeks out from having Sprout and really needed a break from the house. I wasn’t quarantined to bed rest, but I did lounge around more than I ever had in my life. Keeping my feet up and my blood pressure down took work. No more sad movies, Bull warned me months ago. I read a copious number of romance novels, which really heated things up between Bull and me. Not that we needed help in that department as my pregnancy hormones were still off the charts. It’s another reason I missed Bull these last two evenings.

The plan to attend the party had another purpose, one which includes the fact Canyon will be playing his guitar this evening as a part of the entertainment. I was hedging bets that the place would be busy, filled with locals wishing to support the party. It was something I was counting on happening. Begrudgingly, Bull agreed to still go in support of his brother. He’d hardly been able to look at me as I walked around in just a towel, not even feeling remotely sexy but still trying to draw his attention to me as we used to do to one another when I first moved in.

While I didn’t doubt Bull’s feelings for me, I was suddenly doubting his feelings about me living with him. I didn’t want to lack confidence in our situation. All would be revealed soon enough, but the silent treatment unnerved me. Maybe I was making a huge mistake.

Speakeasy is another bar located on the old gin mill property where the new Gin Mill bar exists. The Busy Bean Café also sits on the same land. The microbrewery is another combination of Rossi and Shipley with Zara’s brother, Alec, being part owner and Griff Shipley, Audrey’s husband, being part investor. The large open layout houses a viewing window of brew tubs to the left with a giant oval bar in the center of the plank wood floors. Exposed brick and wrought-iron chandeliers give the place a rustic vibe. A patio runs the expanse of the back of the building, overlooking the Winooski River.

In the corner is a small stage for entertainment, and we quickly find Canyon setting up. He was formerly in a band, but he’s mellowed his tune into a singular guy with a guitar. Bull told me Canyon has always fiddled with his instrument, but living away from the main house means we don’t hear him practicing. Still, sometimes, he’ll take his favorite strings to the fields, and the slight echo carries to our house. Bull jokes that it’s been a long time since Canyon sang before a crowd other than our milkers.

Once we find a table near the stage, I can’t sit still. My foot taps. My fingers rap on the tabletop. I can’t drink, but I wish I could sip some wine to calm down. Eyeing the crowd, I see it’s a full house, and I nod at a few people I recognize. Bull gazes at me, noticing my jiggling fingers but not mentioning it.

Finally, I see who I’d been counting on attending the party. To my surprise, though, he has Louisa Miller on his arm. After putting Redd in his place a few months back, I realize things could go one of two ways. Redd could ignore Bull because he’d been schooled by a woman, or he could be pissed off that a woman schooled him before fellow farmers. I was counting on the latter and was lucky to find Redd Bottom was so easy to predict.

“Well, what do we have here? Farmer in the dell and . . . a bun in the oven? Did he finally take a wife?” Bull glares up at his nemesis, and I reach for his forearm. I hate that he bristles under my touch, but I keep my hand there as both a way to steady him and myself. I need Redd to stick around a bit.

“Not yet,” I tease while adding some sassy. “I’m thinking of asking him.”

Bull’s head pops up, and his entire forehead furrows. Unable to meet his eyes at my suggestion, I focus on Redd instead and Louisa glancing over her shoulder, feeling uncomfortable near our table.

“Don’t want to jinx the bull. Maybe he’ll be the one to run for the hills this time,” Redd mocks.

Before I know what’s happening, Bull is standing to his full height. Chest out, arms at his side in fists, his jaw clenches. I can’t stand as quickly as him, and while I’m struggling to get upright, preparing to place myself between two large men, Blade walks in with Clayton behind him.

“I might have swollen ankles and fat feet, but I’d still chase him.” This comment doesn’t even tip Bull’s head in my direction, but his eyes shift my way.

“What’s going on here?” Blade asks, meeting his brother’s gaze and noting the stature of both men. I wait on Bull to answer, but Redd interjects.

“Nothing.” His lips purse. “We’re stepping out for some fresh air as it smells like bullshit in here.” Redd wraps his arm around Louisa’s neck, nearly choking her as he tugs her into his side.

“Better than smelling like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” I add. Redd’s brows pinch like I’m one strange bird before he tugs Louisa behind him, and they head for the patio.

“What was that?” Blade questions, watching Redd walk away before looking at his brother. “You feeling alright?”

Blade must know what I’ve already surmised. Bull is not one to fight. Not when it comes to juvenile, immature, full-grown adults.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lies, lowering back to his chair. I want to return my hand to his arm, but the vibe coming off him says don’t touch him. He addresses his brother and his friend instead. “Take a seat.”

Bull nods to the other two chairs at our table, and the men join us.

“And look at you all feisty with her sheep’s clothing comment,” Blade teases.

“Too much?” I ask, as I often have in the past. I’ve been known to be over the top at times. It’s one way a woman could make it in a man’s business world.

Thankfully, Canyon walks onto the stage and introduces himself.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. I’m Canyon Eaton.”

“You’re Canyon Blaze,” someone shouts from the back, and Canyon sits up taller at the recognition of his former stage name.

“Now, I’m just Canyon.” He smiles sheepishly, and I see the rock star behind the smile. The man who wooed groupies and got one pregnant on his road to success. He strums at this guitar and introduces the song over a few practice chords. “This one’s a favorite called ‘Fools Rush In.’”

My neck cranes as I glance up at the side of Bull’s face. He slowly shakes his head with only the hint of a grin.

“Dammit,” he mutters as Canyon breaks into the opening line of Elvis Presley’s famous song. My hand is covered by Bull’s.