by L. B. Dunbar
Roderick nods once. “Want to talk about it?”
Despite shaking my head, I answer. “He hates me,” I whisper, feeling fresh tears blur my vision once again. How can I keep crying? I thought this emotional stuff disappeared at the end of the first trimester.
“Hate is a strong word, honey, and I doubt that’s how he feels. Maybe sad. Maybe hurt. Rejection is a hard pill to swallow.” Roderick knows all about rejection from the ignorance of his parents and the bullshit of a former lover. He’s referring to the original topic of Bull as the Bovine Bridegroom. His initial rejection was our folly. We chased his story because of the twist in the circumstances with no thought to the heart of a man left behind. What was wrong with us? Where was our compassion for his heartbreak?
“I’ve hurt him,” I admit. “And I’m so embarrassed.”
“Then you say you’re sorry.”
“It’s never that simple,” I state, and Roderick nods.
“Sometimes, a simple apology really is enough.”
If only.
“Hey,” Audrey calls out as she enters the kitchen and her cheerful tone addresses me. “What are you doing back here?”
“Zara sent me in here.” Audrey’s brows pinch in question, so I explain. “People were talking about me.”
Her brows lift. Perhaps she’s the only person who doesn’t know what’s happened. I give her the shortened version, and Audrey takes in my story.
“This community can really stick together. When I started working the area, trying to collect produce and products for the restaurant company I worked for in Boston, Griff told every farmer within a fifty-mile radius not to sell to me.”
Is she kidding me? “Why would he do that?”
“Because he wanted fair market value, and he didn’t trust me. Yet.” She winks. “Give Bull time. He’ll come back around.” Her confidence in Bull’s emotions does nothing to assure me he’ll forgive me. Wanting fair prices isn’t quite the same as scandalizing Bull’s past relationships or turning the dairy into mud.
Zara waltzes into the kitchen as Audrey finishes her story and offers additional advice. “Ignore people. Bunch of busybody know-nothings. When I was a teenager, everyone around here called me a slut.”
“You were a slut,” Roderick teases, winking at her.
“Yes, well, we all grow up and grow out of our phases. Just give people time, but most of all, give Bull time. He deserves it.” It’s a reminder this all blew up only last night.
Time. At this point, we only have to wait for the paternity test. If Bull isn’t the father, he won’t want to spend any more of his time with me anyway. If he is the father, he’ll have a lifetime to hate me.
15
90-Day Guarantee
Bull
The following day Scarlett had off from the Busy Bean, but I’m quick to exit the house once again. I’m still angry over what we’ve learned. Why didn’t she tell me? Did she not recognize me? Was the story so inconsequential to her that she didn’t recall it?
I wish I had answers, and I hate that I miss her in my bed. This is the exact reason I didn’t want to get involved with someone again. The Bovine Bridegroom does not need more heifer heartbreak. Scarlett was supposed to be a one-night stand, but I don’t fault her directly. When I found her still in Colebury, I could have walked away. I should have walked away. I shouldn’t have turned back for that damn café wanting to talk to her, wanting to know more about her. One and done. Why can’t I adopt Canyon’s philosophy?
Of course, now there’s the added complication of Sprout.
Swiping a hand through my hair, I stalk into the barn. The sun will be up soon as it’s summer, and the heat is already heavy. I enter the small office inside our dairy barn to find Blade and Canyon already present. Canyon is on the computer while Blade is flipping through a catalog. Our insemination technician will be here soon.
I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee when the office door swings open.
“Good morning, Eaton brothers.”
“Scarlett,” I hiss after she greets the room. Her false cheer blinds me. I’ve been trying to avoid her for the past twenty-four hours, but even with the forced smile, I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Where can I help today?”
“We’re working fence repairs,” I mutter, making it clear this work is not for her. We have Clayton and Blade on milk duty this morning.
“Look.” Scarlett sighs, swiping a hand through those loose red curls I love to fist in my fingers. “As long as the three of you are together, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am. We didn’t think. It’s not an excuse. Our ignorance isn’t even worthy of an apology. We were misinformed, and that piece shouldn’t have ever been a story.”
Canyon glances over at me, waiting out my reaction. Taking another deep breath, she carries on. “Bull already knows I have a history of screwups.” Tears well in her eyes, but she rapidly blinks them away. It’s a good thing because I hate when women cry, especially when it seems sincere instead of a ploy. When I glance away from her, she continues. “I’m not making excuses for myself. I’ve done you wrong, your family wrong, and I’m just so sorry I hurt you.”
My head lowers as I feel her eyes on me.
“I’d like to learn more. How a dairy farm works. Educate me on the process. Maybe there’s something I can do around here.” Her arm flails out. “I’m a selfish city girl, and I hadn’t considered how milking happens. I mean, I know milk comes from cows, but I didn’t know the hard work behind the process, or the real people, doing honest work. I’m sorry I was so shallow.”
When no one speaks, each of us avoiding eye contact, Scarlett babbles on.
“I figured putting me to work would teach me a lesson. Let me get my hands dirty and put my back into things and—”
“You can’t work here. You’re pregnant,” I blurt, unable to hold back my concern for her despite my anger. “You shouldn’t be putting your back into anything.”
Blade’s head shoots up, wide eyes looking at Scarlett while Canyon turns his gaze to me. His mouth falls open before clamping shut. When Scarlett licks her lips and bites the lower one, I need to look away again. Silence lingers.
“Fine.” Her voice lowers, defeated. “I know where I’m not wanted. I’ll just get out of your hair.” With that, Scarlett exits but the quiet tone of her rejection echoes in our small office.
“She’s pregnant?” Canyon blurts out the second Scarlett exits.
“When did that happen?” Blade adds.
“No thanks to you,” I mutter to both of them. “Remember that one night you dared me to ask her for a drink?” Canyon slowly smiles. However, it’s still possible that’s not the night Scarlett got pregnant, and I hate to think about such things. The emptiness in my stomach fills with an unsettling feeling. As much as I don’t want to consider it, the truth is she might be carrying that city schmuck, doctor dick’s baby, and maybe a paternity test sooner rather than later is a good thing. But it’s not going to change my mind. I want that baby, and I’m concerned about this test to determine the father. I don’t want her putting herself or the baby at risk.
“Are you letting her leave?” Canyon asks, shifting his gaze to the door.
“What do you want me to do?” I snap, exasperated by this entire situation. She hurt us. She hurt the farm. And she hurt me, but can I really fault her for doing her job? Yes, I decide. I can. What a shit job she had.
“I don’t think you should let her run off,” Canyon adds, turning for the window which Scarlett just passed, heading for the lane. Her bright red hair bobs as she hastily walks away.
“Why? Fuck her,” Blade says.
“Hey,” I mutter. That’s a little strong.
“We almost lost the farm,” he reminds me. It isn’t exactly true. People closest to us believed in us and not the slur of walking our cows through their own shit or producing unsanitary milk. We struggled with a few buyers, and there was the hassle of the inspections, but some of it w
as stuff we might have encountered on any other day. MoosHaveRights2 is a bastard of a group finding fault in the oddest of ways, and we still don’t understand how they got involved other than illegally sneaking on our land.
“You know I wish I’d known about Joey from the start. Her mother might be a bitch, but I still wish I’d been there. Known my child existed from day one.” Canyon’s voice lowers as he reminds us all of his history. He didn’t know he’d gotten a groupie pregnant until a ten-year-old showed up on the scene without her mom. It was complicated and changed everything for Canyon. “I don’t think you want to miss out on this.”
Glancing up at the window, I stare at the now-vacant drive. Did I really want Scarlett to go? What if the baby is mine in every sense of the word? Hadn’t I already told her I wanted Sprout no matter what? I’d meant it, but I was still angry.
“Well, if you ask me, good riddance,” Blade mumbles.
“No one asked you,” Canyon interjects before I can speak. “And you wonder why you’re alone,” Canyon continues, rubbing in the perpetual bachelorhood of our brother.
“Fuck you,” Blade says, turning back for the cow catalog he’s been flipping pages in but not reading. Canyon ignores our youngest brother and turns back to me.
“She’s not a groupie,” he says, keeping his eyes on me. “She’s not looking to gain something by being with you or blabbing to the world she slept with you.”
“Isn’t she?”
Canyon tilts his head. “You don’t really believe she’s here for a second scoop, do you?”
I’d like to think not, and within a heartbeat, I realize I don’t. Scarlett might be a lot of things, but devious just doesn’t seem like one of them. Plus, there’s nothing exciting to report. There wasn’t anything worthwhile in the past either. So I got dumped, and it hurt, but it happens. Maybe not three times, but it still happens to everyone. Even Scarlett had her heart broken by her husband. In some ways, that sounds worse because the commitment to love and honor her was already in place when the cheating occurred. He should have been faithful to her, keeping his promises of loyalty. For a second, I’m grateful I haven’t made those kinds of promises myself to Scarlett.
“If only women came with a ninety-day guarantee,” Blade says, flipping through the cow catalog. “Although she did sound sincere. I mean, she could have started sobbing and wailing, pouring on the waterworks, but she stood here, head up, and said she was sorry.”
My lips twist, contemplating what Blade said. She did sound contrite, but it takes more than an apology to make things right. I’ve heard I’m sorry too many times in my life.
“Wish someone had apologized to me,” Canyon adds, recalling once again a daughter showing up without explanation or apology for keeping the truth from him for nearly a decade.
“It’s also a little ironic that the best woman to cross your path in . . . forever . . . is the one you’re pushing away,” Blade mutters, flipping another page of the catalog without looking up. “But no one asked me, so what do I know?”
“Two seconds ago, you said fuck her,” I remind him.
Blade’s brows lift. “Yeah, and now, I’m thinking, as you already did, and she’s carrying your child, you can’t just let her leave. Plus, people change. See, I just changed my mind.”
“That sounded so stupid it almost made sense,” Canyon says, rolling his eyes at our brother. “Bull, get out of here. Go after her. At least talk to her.”
When did he get to be the rational one about women? His rule of one night only started this whole thing. One and done. Of course, I can’t remember the last time he’s been out and done such a thing. And one night with Scarlett was never going to be enough.
“Fuck,” I groan, yanking my cap off my head and swiping fingers through my hair as I turn for the door.
“Scarlett,” I call out, hoping she’ll slow her pace. She’s traveled pretty far in the time it’s taken my brothers to reprimand me. Jogging down the road, I holler for her again. Unfortunately, she’s at her little sports car, slipping in and backing out of the drive by the time I near the house. Blocking her exit down the lane, Scarlett stops before me, and I round to the side of her BMW.
I’m not certain what I’m supposed to say to her, and when I see her face, my tongue freezes even more. She isn’t sad. She isn’t angry. She’s resolute as if she’s just had enough. Like me, who has had breakup after breakup and then this scandal, Scarlett’s had a shitstorm of events in the past few months with losing her job, finding out about her husband, and getting pregnant with a virtual stranger. She looks finished, and nothing scares me more.
“What do you want, Bull?” The sharpness of her question startles me. What do I want from her? What have I wanted from any of the women in my past?
“Where are you going?” I ask instead of answering her. She slips on a pair of sunglasses.
“I need some . . . retail therapy.”
Is that a thing? “What is that?”
“Look, I just need a day alone, I guess.” She doesn’t look at me. With her eyes forward and large sunglasses covering them, I can’t read her well enough to answer my biggest question: Will she be back?
“What time will you be home?” The need in my voice annoys me, and I hate its presence.
“Home?” she mutters, turning to face me with those oversized glasses blocking her eyes from my sight. She pauses on the word, hesitating over it as though it’s unfamiliar to her. Does she not view my house as her home? Is she going to leave? My eyes drift lower even though I can’t see her belly. What about the baby?
“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Scarlett states, turning her head away from me again. “But I’m not leaving. I know you feel I’ve failed you, and I admit I have. But I’m asking for a little faith in me. I won’t be going anywhere unless you make me leave. Do you want me to go?”
Her determination to stay surprises me, and I don’t know what to make of it. I also don’t respond to her question, and without looking up at me, she puts her car back in drive, and I push off the roof. Sticking around says more about her than running away, and admittedly, Scarlett’s facing us Eatons head-on.
I watch as her car disappears, still worried she doesn’t mean what she’s said but telling myself to believe she’ll be back. We just need some separation for a day . . . or two. Kicking at the dirt, I make my way back to the barn and throw myself into a long day’s work.
Do I want her to go?
It’s a recurring thought as I work the post hole digger into the packed dirt where I need to replace a strip of fencing.
Can I trust her? Like Canyon asked, do I really think she’s here for a second scoop? I don’t. I’m not certain why Scarlett’s in my path, other than the baby, and Sprout weighs heavily on my mind.
The baby is our glue. Parenting partners. Is that all I want from Scarlett? I’ve said I’d never ask her to marry me because that only leads to disaster, but at the moment, I can’t imagine things getting worse than they already are.
When I was with Jennifer, it was young love and twentysomething lust that drew us together. Or maybe it was Jen’s complacency and willingness to give in to whatever I wanted. Her need to be a mother was her strongest ambition, and we were kids who couldn’t seem to survive troubling marital issues like infertility. Scarlett and I are past those younger years of indecisive decision-making. I’d like to think we could act more adult in problem-solving. In good times and bad.
Sabrina had been a relationship of sex and companionship. She filled a void for me, which wasn’t fair to her, and probably explains her search for something deeper with someone else. She was also greedy, which Scarlett is not. Sabrina wanted material things from me more than she wanted me. For richer and poorer.
Finally, Gisela’s wild desires lead to something out of control. Her reckless behavior and artistic ideals just didn’t match who I was. Again, she filled another hole, but then she stole from me, and it was easy to let her leave. Scarlett hasn’t stole
n anything but my heart, and once more, the fissure inside aches. To love and honor.
Why have I always fallen so quickly? My mother would mockingly say I was a lover. I wanted a wife. I wanted what I witnessed between my parents. I wanted someone to warm my bed, hold my hand, and laugh with me. However, I’ve come to learn wife is more than just a label, and marriage is more than a decree. It’s something that needs a commitment to survive. Something that isn’t greedy but needs communication and understanding with compromise in the mix. It’s something that includes recklessness and creativity but boundaries of trust. A true marriage involves a soul mate as a wife, and I thought Scarlett might be it for me.
We differ in so many ways, but most of those differences endear her to me. She’s lively and vibrant, filling the quiet that’s consumed me for years. She’s generous with her time, spending it with my family and me, and I’ve missed cuddling with her on the couch. Finally, she’s sexy in all kinds of ways she doesn’t recognize in herself, like the way she smells, how she’s willing to let me do what I want with her body, or how she purrs when I enter her. Scarlett and I are compatible in one area that surpasses all the others, and I can’t deny sex is a huge part of communication for me.
Touching her allows me to tell her how I feel when words escape me. When she touches me, I feel the same is true of her. She’s communicating how much she appreciates me, how much she likes living with me, and how much she wants to be near me.
Am I misreading all the signs once again? My history proves I’m not good at interpretation.
“Heard you had a fight.” Dad’s words break into my rambling thoughts. I hadn’t heard his truck pull up.
“Yeah,” I say, no sense denying things as I slam the post hole digger into the dry dirt again. Fence repair is typically a two-person job, but no one wants to work with me this afternoon.