Page 9 of Cowboy

“We should be going,” I’d muttered instead, ignoring my cup of coffee on the low table and the muffin I no longer had the stomach to digest. Louisa wasn’t happy, and I’d like to have said I’d make it up to her, but I knew I wouldn’t. I’d be chasing down a woman who I let slip away from me instead.

Returning the following day, a startled Scarlett watches me stalk to the counter. Since two days prior, her color has returned. I’d never seen a person turn that shade of molten gray, not even my youngest brother, Blade, when he drank too much on his twenty-first birthday.

“Scarlett.” My voice comes out a little breathless, considering I’m trying to play it cool and not rush to the questions hammering inside my head.

“Bull. What can I get you?” Her voice is tight, pinched even, which is not how I remember her. She nods at the menu.

You? “Dark roast, black only.”

“Thank God,” she mutters, turning around and working a machine that looks like one of our milkers. An awkward silence fills the air around us as the only sound is the stream of coffee pouring into a mug. Scarlett turns back to me, hands shaking and coffee wobbling against the insides of the ceramic. Without thinking, I reach for it, steadying her fingers with mine over hers.

“I got it,” I whisper. Scarlett releases the mug to me, rings up the order, and I pay, but I don’t take my eyes off her.

Once my transaction is complete, Scarlett turns around to poke her head into the kitchen behind the counter. “Bathroom break,” she announces to someone. “Just a few minutes.”

“Take ten,” Zara’s voice wafts out to the main café, and I watch as Scarlett quickly walks to the hallway where the restrooms are located.

Oh no.

Rushing after her, I catch the door to the ladies’ room, and Scarlett spins to face me.

“You really need to go, sweetheart?” I nod toward the toilet.

Her shoulders fall, and her face turns away from me. “Bull, I—”

Stepping forward, confident she’s only avoiding me, I lock the door behind me and lean against it, watching her.

“You stayed,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on her. She’d told me she wasn’t staying in town. Did she lie to me? Then again, we agreed on only one night. Still, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head, and here she is.

“I can explain. Sort of.” I wait her out. “I didn’t think I was staying, but then I changed my mind. My life was falling apart . . . is falling apart . . . and this place just feels like a good fit for a while. Until I figure things out for my future.”

“And your future is being a barista in Colebury?”

“For now.”

“For how long?” I ask, unease coming over me.

“I don’t know, Bull, honestly. I’m confused about . . . a lot of things.” Her head pops up, and she swipes back at her hair, holding her fingers in those lush red strands on either side of her neck. She cut her hair a little shorter, and it springs in loose curls around her head. “You were gone the next morning.”

“I had milking to do.”

“Excuse me?” Her head tilts.

“I need to be up at four each morning to milk the cows.”

Scarlett turns her face away from me. “You left me alone in bed to milk some cows.” Her arms cross, disbelieving such a thing before she glances back at me. “That is the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. It’s like me saying I have to wash my hair to get out of a date.”

I snort. “Do you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That you need to wash your hair to get out of a date.”

“No.” She snorts, scrunching up that elegant nose, which accentuates her freckles at bit. “I don’t date.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not’?”