Page 87 of Cowboy

As we sit in the hospital, the final moments come back to me. I delivered my own child as the ambulance arrived. Scarlett was dead tired, but she’d produced a beautiful baby boy.

Blade sits next to me in the waiting room, his head tipped back and his mouth hanging open as he snores. My brother has already told me he might be scarred for life witnessing Scarlett squeezing out a tiny human. I didn’t want to remind him it’s no different than birthing a cow. Scarlett would hate the comparison.

We’ve been told to wait out here as mother and baby are checked out due to the conditions of delivery. A cold night. The back seat of my brother’s barely clean truck.

I ask myself again what Scarlett thought she was doing up there.

I wanted to ask you to marry me.

She couldn’t have been serious, but I glance down at my finger staring at the titanium band on my third finger.

“Mr. Eaton. You can see your wife now.” I don’t correct the nurse as I jump from my waiting room seat and hastily follow her. Stepping into the hospital room, Scarlett is sitting upright, holding a baby to her breast who eagerly eats.

“He’s starving,” she says, staring down at the infant while her finger coasts over his cheek. While my eyes are drawn to her touch on the baby, I go for Scarlett first. My hands cup her cheeks, and I turn her face to me.

“You are so beautiful,” I tell her, holding her eyes. “He is beautiful.” Before she can respond, my mouth meets hers, taking her lips slow and sweet. When I pull back, Scarlett’s eyes remain closed a second longer, and I rub my nose against hers before I lean over her, watching Sprout suckle.

“We need a name,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb him. We discussed names and agreed on Eleanor Rose for my mother if we had a girl but hadn’t narrowed down the male names even though we were more certain of a boy.

“Harland Bull Eaton the fourth. We can call him Harley.”

“Harley Eaton.” I nod to agree with the name, and Sprout pulls free of his mother, looking up at me as though I interrupted him.

“Say hello to Daddy,” Scarlett coos.

I’m a father. This beautiful woman gave me a child, but she’s also filled my heart with her love.

“I’m going to have a hard time not calling him Sprout.”

Scarlett looks up at me. “We can pick another name.”

Our eyes meet. “No. I love what you suggested, but we’ll call him Sprout as a nickname while he’s still little.”

“I like that,” Scarlett admits turning back to the baby. “Want to hold him?”

“You know I do,” I say, reaching out with grabby hands for my son. “And while I’m holding him, I want you to explain everything to me.” Tucking Sprout into my left arm, I take a finger to his cheek, stroking his soft cheek. His dark blue eyes match mine although they could change color. Most newborns have blue eyes.

Scarlett sighs.

“It’s best to start at the beginning,” I state to the baby but addressing Scarlett. The statement feels very déjà vu. Our son is the reason for everything. Then I realize that isn’t true. Scarlett and I had an instant attraction, and we both agreed to keep it to one night in hopes of setting us both to rights. We never could have predicted setting us to rights meant bringing us together. I glance over at her. “What were you thinking in a snowstorm?”

Scarlett shrugs. “I’m wanted to surprise you. I knew you’d never ask me to marry you, so I wanted to ask you.” Her dark eyes express a mix of emotions.

I lower for the edge of the mattress. “Tell me what you had planned.”

Scarlett shakes her head, lowering her eyes. “I screwed it all up.”

“I want to know. Let me see it in my head.”

“I had the lights on the tree. That beautiful tree that’s so special to you. And a picnic dinner for the back of the truck and blankets and the—” She stops short as her eyes land on my left hand, holding a sleeping babe in my arm.

“Keep going,” I whisper, wanting all the details of how it could have been.

“And a ring.”

“This ring.” I tilt my hand upward as best I can, flashing her the backs of my fingers.

“Yes,” she says, staring at the band surrounding the base of my third finger.