Page 88 of Cowboy

“I think that’s my word. Yes.”

Her head tips up, wide dark eyes staring at me.

“How would you have asked, other than screaming at me while you were in labor?” I smile to show I’m teasing her.

“You once said you’d do anything for me. Anything means marrying me. I know you’re against it, but I thought it was worth a shot to ask. I wanted you to know that a woman really wants you, wants to love you, but not just any woman. Me. I want to marry you. I want to love you. I do love you.”

“You said that part while you were yelling,” I remind her. “And I love you, too, sweetheart.” The relief in telling her is like air being let out of a balloon. It’s not deflating but weightlifting and freeing. Hesitantly, she smiles at me.

“I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you one night, and it’s grown every day ending in day.”

Scarlett giggles. “Every day.” She nods at Sprout. “We have a lot of days ahead of us.”

“We have years,” I say, wiggling my finger at her. “Ask me.”

“Here? Don’t you think I’ve botched it up enough?”

“I think it’s been perfect.”

Scarlett straightens the blanket over her waist. Combs her fingers through her hair, which is marked by the hat she wore, flattening the top while the ends against her neck curl. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Bull Eaton, I’d really like to be your wife. Will you marry me?”

Leaning forward, I keep the baby tucked to my chest as I kiss her and blink back the liquid in my eyes. “I would love to be your husband, Scarlett Russell.” Our lips meet again for a minute before Scarlett pulls back, swiping at her own eyes.

“Why now?” I ask, still curious how she could think proposing at the Engagement Tree during a snowstorm was wise.

“I wanted to ask you before the baby was born. I wanted it to be that you chose me for me, not just the baby. And I wanted you to know, I chose you for you, not just because of Sprout.”

“I’ll always want you, sweetheart. You because you’re you,” I say, smiling at her.

“And you’re you,” she says back before cupping her hand over the head of our sleeping son.

“And he’s ours,” I whisper.

“Ours.” Scarlett holds up a finger. “But if you say partners—”

“You don’t like partners? What’s wrong with that word?”

“It’s too business-y sounding. I like husband and wife better. Mom and dad work, too.”

Leaning forward, I kiss her again before standing and placing Sprout in the baby bassinet provided. I don’t want to set him down, but I want to hold my future wife even more. Climbing up next to her, she rolls to her side, and I scoop her into my chest.

“How about if we just call us a family?” I say into her hair, and Scarlett snuggles closer to me, wrapping her arms over mine around her body.

“I like the sound of that. Family.”

Epilogue

Scarlett

Five months later

It’s a beautiful May day. The sun is shining. A slight breeze warms the air, and Bull and I are under the Engagement Tree. Last night, our five-month-old slept through the night for the first time, and we both feel a little stunned by a good night’s sleep.

“We need to celebrate,” Bull suggested, so we drove here. I watch as Bull carves our initials into the sacred family tree. B.E. + S.R. A heart surrounds the initials once he’s done.

Bull’s wearing my ring, and I’m wearing his mother’s engagement ring with a wedding band Bull purchased. It’s the first diamond he’d ever given a woman, and we were married at Christmas in a small ceremony by a family friend priest in Colebury.