Page 83 of Cowboy

“Whoa,” I gasp, bending forward at my waist at the sharp pain. This isn’t like the time I was dehydrated and stressed over my parents, although I’ve certainly been stressed for the past forty-eight hours. There have been moments I’ve wondered if what I was doing was too much.

Bull certainly had doubts about us, and I hated that I played into them just a little bit back in October to get some answers for him. That night, I learned that despite my grand gesture, Bull wasn’t going to take action unless my gesture was even grander. Like the grandest gesture I could pull off, and I really wanted to pull this off. I’d noticed that every time I mentioned the Engagement Tree, Bull refused to confirm going back to it. I’d suggest picnics or date nights moon gazing, and he’d always shrug, brushing me off with a maybe. Then he’d never mention it again. The tree scared him or I did, and I couldn’t figure out why until I put two and two together. Or rather, Bull’s fear of two and two, leaving only one person standing under the tree.

Now, I was in the same position. I’m afraid I’m about to fall flat on my face, and Bull isn’t going to show because of the tree. Putting myself out there in a way I never have, this could either be glorious or the biggest mistake of my life.

“Wow,” I grit through clenched teeth, stopping next to the truck to hold the side as another wallop of pain rushes through me. The snow is falling pretty heavy, but surprisingly, I’m not freezing. A chill seeps through my jeans, but I’m still warm enough.

It’s all the baby heat, I tell myself. I’ve been exceptionally hot during pregnancy, hardly needing a coat some days despite the colder temperatures. It could be the elevated blood pressure, although I have the preeclampsia under control. Or so I think when another stab of pain bends me forward for my knees, which I can’t reach.

“Settle down, Sprout,” I demand, keeping a hand on the side of the truck as I slip with my first step in the freshly fallen snow. Using the edge as a guide, I return to pacing a few times before opening the truck door and reaching for my phone in the cup holder. The engine still runs as does the gas generator. Blade was hesitant to leave the machinery in the bed of the truck but being full of gas, it was too heavy to move alone.

“Don’t leave,” he warned me, as the generator is connected to the power cord, leading to the lights, which illuminate the tree. Blade did a beautiful job of hanging Edison bulbs on an outdoor lighting string through the lower branches of the tree. I really wanted to picnic here, despite the cold temp, covering up under heaps of blankets in the back of the truck, but the snowfall worries me. And the generator is louder than I predicted. Bull and I wouldn’t be able to talk, and I have so much to say.

Another whammy of pain rushes over my middle, causing it to harden, and I pause, unable to move under the shooting rush. Standing still, I hold my phone. Five twenty-two.

At what time do you call defeat? It’s been twenty-two minutes since he was supposed to be here, and he hasn’t shown. He didn’t even respond to my text.

“This was all a mistake.” I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, I do know what I was thinking, what I was hoping would happen, but Bull isn’t coming. I went too far.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I struggle to remove my gloves, fumbling my phone before cold fingers press at the screen for Bull’s number. As I wait for the phone to ring, I pull back the silent device when no dial tone occurs.

No service.

“Frick,” I hiss aloud. Stepping toward the tailgate, I’m wondering if I can simply unplug the lights. Blade explained how there’s a switch on the side of the generator to cut the power, but he also mentioned Bull would know how to take care of everything.

Bull, who didn’t show.

Once I reach the end of the truck, I realize the tailgate is not lowered. I’d have to climb up on the bumper to hitch my legs over the barrier to enter the bed and flip the switch.

Unfortunately, I can’t lift my leg. To angle my leg to the left, bending my knee around my belly and awkwardly trying to position my foot on the bumper, another shot of pain rips up my middle, and I bend forward instead, gripping the metal bumper as I scream.

“Scarlett?!”

My name is an echo in the whirling wind, and I straighten as best I can, holding onto the edge of the truck to round the corner of it. With the generator so loud, I hadn’t heard the approach of another vehicle.

“Bull,” I whisper. Rushing to me, his hands grip my shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“You came,” I say through clenched teeth, holding my belly with one hand while my other curls around the edge of the truck.

“I told you once, I’d always find you. I’m sorry I’m late, but what is all this?” His eyes lift for the lights circling the tree and highlighting the trunk.

“I wanted to ask you something, but oh God . . .” I groan, my knees bending under the weight of the contraction. Bull’s eyes focus back on me as we wait out the tightening in my belly. Once it subsides, I try to speak again, no longer able to remember all I wanted to say.

“This is really important,” I begin, but the words are strained as my stomach clenches once more.

“Just relax,” Bull says, ignoring me as he lifts his gloved hand for his teeth and bites at the leather. With his left hand free, he reaches into his pocket, and it reminds me the item I need is still sitting in the cup holder. Bull holds his phone, watching me.

“I need to ask you something,” I grit out.

“Scarlett, are those contractions coming sooner than five minutes?”

I shake my head. “It’s just Braxton Hicks. I’m not going into labor,” I say, but the second I speak, reality hits me. Could I be going into labor early? I’m two weeks early.

“Sweetheart?” Bull questions, holding his phone as he looks at the screen.

“Maybe,” I say of the timing and moan again as my knees give out a bit. Bull catches me under my arms and yells over his shoulder. “Blade!”