Cowboy (The Busy Bean)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Want to talk about it?” The question startles me as my dad isn’t one for communication. That was Mom’s jurisdiction, and on a day like today, I miss my mother. She’d know what to say or what to do, or just remind me that things happen for a reason. Maybe discovering the truth about Scarlett and her involvement in that news story is a sign that things aren’t meant to be between us.

  When I don’t answer Dad, jabbing the hole digger at the ground once more, he speaks. “Your mother was a feisty woman, too. Ran me in circles at first. Like to think it was that red hair.” He chuckles softly, and I recall my mother’s faded rust coloring. “But I think it was her heart. She was well-intended.”

  My arms thud on the hole digger as it hits a solid patch, and I still, turning to face my father. “How was reporting that shit about us relevant to anything?”

  Dad shrugs. “It wasn’t. Not the personal bits or the parts about our farm. It was hurtful but not spiteful. Damning but not intentional. Scarlett didn’t set out to harm us. She set out to do her job. The overzealous activists are the ones who really hurt us. That’s the thing when what we do in life involves passion. There’s a risk. Doing what feels like the right thing to one might be the wrong thing for another. I’m not saying I agree with Scarlett’s employment or even her motives, but it’s not my place to judge her, nor can I condemn her for what she thought was right at the moment.”

  As my moral compass isn’t perfect, I understand what Dad is saying, although I don’t like it. “That’s where consequences come in. Think before you act. I recall a certain someone saying that often.” I tip a brow at my father, who easily dispensed that advice when I was younger.

  “If you want to discuss consequences, perhaps you should have thought before you acted with Scarlett.” It’s the first and last comment my dad will make on my decision to have a one-night stand.

  “And at the time I offered that advice, I was hoping it might rub off in other decisions you’ve made with women, but did it?” He pauses for effect, knowing full well it didn’t stop me from leaping before I looked. “You’ve always been so eager to have someone at your side, but it can’t be just someone. It’s a certain someone. And now, she’s here.”

  I glance back at the handles of the hole digger.

  “You’re in a bit of a pickle with Scarlett. There’s a reason there’s a saying about learning to love. It’s a lesson. It takes time and energy. I’m not saying Scarlett needs to be your wife. She doesn’t even need to stay on this farm if you don’t want her to, but she’s going to be part of the rest of your life. And I’d be sad to see that baby of yours gone. I’d actually miss Scarlett, too.”

  We haven’t explained the possibility Sprout might not be mine. It still doesn’t matter. If Scarlett wants to know for her own peace of mind, I understand, but it’s not going to change mine. I want that baby. In my soul, I feel that Sprout belongs to me, and so does Scarlett.

  “I respect that you’re rightfully upset, but just remember, making her leave can have long-term effects. She might never come back.”

  And that’s my biggest fear. If I don’t trust Scarlett, how will she trust me to take care of her and the baby? If I don’t have faith in her intentions now, what’s keeping her with me? Why would she stay by my side if I can’t stand by hers?

  “This is just a fucking mess,” I mutter, slamming the hole digger one more time into the packed dirt, twisting it to loosen the soil.

  “If it isn’t messy, it’s not love.”

  My head shoots up at my father’s words. Jennifer slipped away easily. Sabrina fell right through my fingers. I should have run from Gisela, but Scarlett . . . she’s not going to be so easy to let go. And the truth is, I don’t want her to leave. I just don’t know how to get past what’s been done.

  Dad slaps me on the back and turns for his truck, leaving me to continue this two-person job alone.

  “Thanks for your help,” I mutter, referring to the post digging, but accepting I also mean his advice. If I push Scarlett away, there’s no reason for her to come back to me.

  “Seems you can dig your own hole without any help,” he sarcastically says, waving over his shoulder.

  Have I dug a hole? Why does it feel like things are suddenly my fault?

  16

  Big Burgers

  Scarlett

  Rita and I enter The Mountain Goat, a bar just outside Tuxbury. Zara told me how she once managed the place since it’s owned by her uncle Otto. He still owns it, but it’s under new management. Rumor has it, it still serves a decent cheeseburger, and I need one the size of my head to stave my hunger and lose myself in my misery. Although it’s a tavern, Rita accompanies me to the local favorite to commiserate through food love.

  “I’ve really fricked up this time,” I say to Rita as we sit across from one another in a booth.

  “You really had no idea?” Rita isn’t judging me. She’s just curious how I could have forgotten such a report and not connected Bull’s name with the Bovine Bridegroom I invented.

  “We never said his name in the reel.” Most likely because we didn’t have his permission to run the story. I’d have to go back through files I no longer have access to in order to find out how we got the information about Bull in the first place.

  Was it an anonymous tip? Was it something one of our interns read while searching the internet for outlandish stories? How did this story cross our desks and earn our interest? I didn’t always question what I reported when I should have done better, been better, but I’m determined to get answers—correct answers.

  Should I have recognized that now-familiar, firm backside which I so foolishly ogled on the update segment?

  “I’m a horrible person,” I say to Rita.

  “Yes, you are,” she agrees, gazing at me through those fun, red-framed glasses. She sips her cola after speaking, and my mouth falls open. “What? Isn’t that what you want me to say? You want me to tell you I agree with you. Does that make you feel better?”

  “No,” I admit.

  “Then stop beating yourself up. You’ve had your twenty-four-hour grace period to pity yourself; now it’s time to rectify things with Bull. If that’s what you want.” Rita sits back in the booth and stretches her legs so her construction boots land on the edge of the bench seat next to me. She’s working on her passion project this summer, building homes for those in need, and I really admire her commitment. I don’t have passion. I don’t have commitment. Gah, I’m self-deprecating again.

  “Yes, I want to make things right with Bull.”

  “So you’re sleeping together again, correct?” As my sole friend in the world, Rita knows too much about me. “I’d suggest sexy lingerie and a night of heavy apology sex for starters.”

  “Rita.” I choke. “I’m pregnant. My body is like a misshaped pear. That’s not sexy, and I don’t think Bull will come within ten feet of me. He’s not just angry; he’s furious. Like never want to see someone again angry.”

  “If that’s really true, why are you still living with him? He’d have kicked you out if he felt that way.”

  Admittedly, what she says seems true. Bull did not rush after my retreat this morning to tell me to get the heck out of his house. Instead, he cautiously asked me when I’d return as if he was worried I wouldn’t be back. Then again, maybe he just wanted to know my timing, so he could kick me out when I returned. Or better yet, he could toss all my things on the lawn before I arrived home again. Maybe I should have done those things to Shelton. I should have burned his clothes and lit our mattress on fire. Honestly, Bull doesn’t seem to be the type to react in such extremes, though, and I’d already been back to the house to find all my belongings still intact.

  “I have the damsel in distress syndrome, and apparently that’s Bull’s thing.” Recalling what Bull’s told me about his previous relationships, I fit the mold. Although, I’m not certain I see the distress in the women of his past. Jennifer sounded weak-willed and unsure of herself other than
her desires for motherhood. Sabrina sounded needy, greedy, and unworthy of Bull, and that Gisela woman sounded like a kinky whack who stole from him.

  “You do need a bit of saving. From yourself,” Rita adds. “Look, we all make mistakes. Every person in the world makes them. Some of the stuff you reported on him might be unforgivable. I don’t know. I don’t watch that kind of thing. Sorry, cookie. But I know you. You aren’t that malicious. You aren’t in distress. You’re pregnant, and that makes you forgivable in several ways. But let’s go back to making things right with Bull. Just explain yourself. It was your job, Scarlett. Maybe you should have left it long ago, especially if your conscience was catching up to you, but you can’t beat yourself up for what you should have done. I’ve done hundreds of risky, unnecessary, and downright stupid things while drinking. Some, I dare say, might be unforgivable as well, but I can’t go back. Moving forward is a huge part of my recovery. Acceptance of what you cannot change. Courage to change what you can. Wisdom to know the difference.”

  I sigh, knowing Rita’s had a rough road even if she appears put together. More guilt consumes me that I hadn’t been here for her when her life crumbled. She was so good at pretending she was all put together, I hadn’t had a hint of her struggles.

  “Accept this happened.”

  “But Bull needs to accept I never intended to hurt him.”

  “And he will, in time.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Rita pauses, looking at me over the worn-wood table. “You said he wants to be the baby’s dad. He doesn’t care about the label of biological father, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Bull will come around.”

  For Sprout. Not necessarily for me, but for the baby. Everything for the baby. I should make a plan in case Bull does want me to leave. I could do this on my own. Plenty of women are successful single mothers. I’d dealt with Lex’s daily tantrums, Shelton’s needy behaviors, and the whims of superstars. I should be able to wrap my head around raising a baby alone.

  Only I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to leave Bull. I want to be with him. Plus, if I leave, then I really am like the other women in his life. I’ll have left behind a good, kind, decent man who wants to be good, kind, and decent to my baby. I owe him. He deserves to see that one woman has staying power, and that person is me. Like I told him earlier, he needs faith that I won’t go anywhere unless he asks me to leave. It’s his choice.

  Bull would be the father of my dreams to my child, and maybe one day, he could open that big heart of his to me. If only he could forgive me and give me a chance to prove to him that I’d be here for him like he’s been for me. I love him, dammit. Oh, my goodness. I’m in love with Bull.

  However, I cannot settle for less than him loving me. I’ve already done that with Shelton. Still, I don’t want to give up what Bull and I already have, what he’s already given me, even if it is only a sliver of who I know he can be.

  Our burgers arrive and true to their reputation, they are large, juicy looking, and smell delicious. In addition, a side of greasy, salty fries that would make me retain water and my ankles swell fill a plate between Rita and me, and I am going to devour every bite. Picking up the heavy burger, I moan around the first taste. It’s grilled perfection, or maybe I was just that hungry.

  After leaving the farm this morning, I’d spent time at the tractor supply shop, purchasing flowerpots, an array of mid-summer flowers, and wrought-iron hurricane candleholders. With tips from the service clerk in the garden department, I filled three pots to overflow with red geraniums, blue salvia, and something dainty and yellow I couldn’t recall the name of. Pregnancy brain. I arranged the two candleholders, filling the bottom with sand and adding a thick pillar candle to each. The final touch was a welcome sign. The inside of Bull’s home was homey, but the outside needed to say come in and stay a while.

  I wanted to brighten Bull’s day—and every day ending in day—when he returned to his house to find the new things decorating his porch. It wasn’t a gesture of apology as much as a statement. I wanted to stay a little longer.

  “The offer still stands for you to move in with me if you need.” Rita has been generous with the suggestion, but I don’t want to walk away from Bull. If he wants me to leave, that’s a different story, but I want to stick it out with him as partners, like he said. Although I’m beginning to hate that word.

  I also owe it to his entire family to face them and their farm. The first place I felt I could do better was learning more about the dairy.

  “Well, look what the cows brought home,” Rita teases, and I turn in the booth to see Canyon and Blade enter after a set of women. I swallow the bite of burger, now a lump in my throat, and turn back to Rita.

  “Excuse me a second,” I say, sliding out of the booth. The women have gone left, making it clear they didn’t enter with the brothers, who only held the door open for them. When I approach the younger Eatons, they still, crossing their arms and spreading their legs as if they are taking a stance and blocking my exit. The position is similar to bodyguards I’ve had to talk my way through in order to get into a club and scope out who was hanging out with whom inside. But I’m not that person anymore.

  “Hi, guys.” I give them a weak wave. “Can I buy you guys a beer or dinner maybe?” I point toward Rita. “My friend and I are just having a burger.”

  Blade doesn’t say anything while Canyon takes a second to assess me. “You doing okay, Scarlett? Feeling okay?” His eyes lower for my belly, and my hand falls there out of habit.

  “I’m good, Canyon. Thanks for asking.” I peer around him, obviously looking for the third part of this brother trio. He couldn’t be home waiting on me, could he?

  As I glance around Blade, he shifts right, preventing me from seeing the door.

  “What . . .” the frick is this?

  “How about that beer, Scarlett?” Blade asks, his voice straining as though he’s protecting something or rather someone.

  “Sure,” I say, dragging out the word. “Join Rita and me.” I step aside so Blade can pass me, and as he moves forward, I slip behind him, heading out the front door of the Goat, and find Bull in the parking lot in Louisa Miller’s arms.

  17

  Stood up

  Bull

  I’m so tired.

  It’s been a long day after fighting with Scarlett, fixing fences, and reflecting on my dad’s advice, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out for a beer. In fact, I’d been hoping to sit at home and wait on Scarlett. She’d obviously been back as my front porch was decorated like something out of a home and garden magazine. Flowerpots. Candleholders. A welcome sign. The burst of color was all Scarlett, and my insides did a little line dance of relief.

  “She planted flowers.” Canyon clarified after picking me up and taking an appraising look at my front porch.

  “Well, she put them in pots.”

  “What’s the difference? It’s a sign of permanence,” Canyon stated as we drove to the Mountain Goat, a less touristy, more for locals spot owned by Otto Rossi. Speaking of permanence, though, Scarlett’s car was not parked by my truck despite the fact she’d been back.

  “Just a quick beer,” I warn my brothers as we pull into the gravel lot of the bar. As Canyon is the driver, I trust him to exit us early tonight. Only as soon as we are crossing the lot, the crunch of running feet over gravel catches my attention, and before I can turn around, two arms wrap around me from behind. Two female arms.

  “What the—”

  “Bull, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Louisa Miller whines at my back. The truth about Louisa and me is I’ve known forever that Louisa had a crush on me. She wasn’t even subtle about it, and something told me to stay away from her. When I saw her that time in the tractor supply store, and she flirted hard, she’d somehow worked us into a dinner date. Eventually, I’d chickened out of dinner with Louisa, opting for a coffee date instead. After my one-night stand, the guys were p
ushing me to get back out there, and I’d proven I could do it—spend one night with a woman and walk away. However, I hadn’t really proven anything. Or maybe that the universe is talking, hinting that the one-night stand had more in store for me than one night. I hadn’t been able to forget Scarlett, and now we had months to learn about each other because she was having a kid.

  We would be joined for eternity as parents. It was a commitment I separated from marrying her. But my fear was, if Scarlett left, another man would step in, sweep her off her feet, and want to take care of her and Sprout. I did not like that idea, not one bit.

  “Hey. Louisa,” I stammer, working at the arms wrapped around me like a coiled rope. Instantly, I smell the alcohol wafting off her. She’d arrived with two friends, and I nod at them once I have Louisa free from me. One of her friends says they’ll head inside for a table.

  “Just give us a second. I’ll be right in,” I tell Canyon, whose eyes narrow at me before leading Blade behind Louisa’s friends.

  “Louisa, I’m sorry I didn’t call again.” It’s a long-overdue apology after cutting our coffee date short and ghosting her afterward. Caught up in Scarlett, I hadn’t given Louisa another thought. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Still, wanting to do the right thing, I needed to apologize for my behavior.

  “You could make it up to me,” Louisa flirts, reaching for the button closure of my shirt and giving it a playful tug.

  “Louisa, I’m with Scarlett.”

  “After what she did to you?” Her playful expression shifts as if she’s fighting something distasteful in her mouth. She actually pouts, reminding me of her young age.

  “Yes.” Despite what Scarlett has done to me, I’m still with her, if she’ll still have me. Cupping Louisa’s shoulders, I press her back from me again but quickly release her. Her eyes glance up at my face.