Cowboy (The Busy Bean)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Lay down in the back,” he commands as he shifts me so he can tug the front seat forward, and I scramble to the back. Groaning once more, I begin to shake uncontrollably.

  “What the fuck?” Blade mutters just outside the door as I lower for the seat.

  “I think she’s gonna have the baby right here,” Bull says over his shoulder, climbing in after me.

  “I am not having this baby in the back seat of a truck.”

  “It’d be appropriate if that’s where it was conceived,” Blade states, and Bull and I both yell for the youngest Eaton to shut up.

  “Scarlett, I don’t think we have a choice. An ambulance is on the way, but it could take half an hour or more. If you need to push, you’ve got to tell me.”

  “Why?” I moan.

  “Because I’ll have to deliver the baby. I’ve delivered hundreds of calves. I can do this.” I’m not certain if Bull’s trying to talk himself into it or convince me, but the idea of him delivering our child in the back seat does not sit well with me.

  “Are you comparing me to a cow?”

  “Dammit, woman. You aren’t a cow. You’re the woman I love, and we need to do this.” The words hang in the air as Bull’s eyes leap up for mine, and he freezes, hovering over me.

  “You love me?”

  His eyes close, and a painful expression crosses his face. “I didn’t mean for that to come out like that.” His voice softens.

  “So you don’t love me?” I whine as another contraction claws at my belly. I twist under pressure, and Bull stays quiet as I ride out the clenching.

  “It’s not that I don’t love you—”

  “You don’t have to make it sound like you’re doing me a favor. I get it. I asked you to be here at five, and you didn’t show.”

  “I hadn’t seen your text until I got back from the tractor supply store, and don’t turn this around on me. What the hell were you doing up here?” he snaps again.

  “I wanted to tell you I loved you,” I bark through another wave of pain. My head tips up as I yell at him, but it falls back as the wave crests, and I clutch at my belly. Tears rush from my eyes. A gush of warmth flows between my legs. I curse my weakened bladder. “Frick. I just wet myself.”

  “Ah, Scarlett, sweetheart, your water broke.”

  “No,” I yell. “That means the baby is coming.”

  Risking a glance at Bull as I feel like I’m in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in, I find him smiling at me.

  “What?” I snap, sticky and wet as the cold is catching up to me.

  “The baby is coming,” Bull slowly repeats, his voice soft and sweet as his hand comes to my ankle. He’s unlacing my boots. “Maybe we should get you out of the wet things.”

  “No,” I hiss again, but my body jackknives, and I clench my teeth as I groan through the pain.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Breathe for me.” Bull repeats the breathing technique he used with me in the baby store when I had the panic attack last summer. Breathing with Bull calmed all my fears then. He was with me. I was safe. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I follow his lead as he shifts, looking over the front seat and finding the stack of blankets I brought.

  He snags one and pulls it into the cramped space we occupy. Then he removes my boots and slips down my jeans. The cold rushes up my legs, but Bull has one thick sleeping bag under me and wrapped around my legs before another wallop of pain hits.

  “What can I do?” Blade mutters from where he stands just outside the slightly open door.

  “Get in here and close that door,” Bull commands.

  “I’m not coming in there and listening to her scream.”

  “Get in here and help me,” Bull demands, struggling as he keeps his hand on my knee while reaching over the front seat. “Thank God there are so many blankets in here. Ready to tell me why?”

  My mouth opens, but another wave of pain hits me, and I turn for the back of the front seat, screaming through the pain.

  “I’m out,” Blade states. “I’ll check on the ambulance status.” Blade slams the driver’s door closed, enveloping Bull and me in darkness minus the lights streaming through the back window from the Engagement Tree. That beautiful tree. My moment is ruined.

  “I’m so sorry, Bull,” I whimper, tears leaking down my face.

  “Why are you sorry, sweetheart?”

  “I wanted to do it right. I wanted you to know I love you.”

  “You love me?” he chokes.

  “I do,” I groan as another wave hits me.

  “Breathe,” he whispers to me, and I try, I really do, but the pain is more than anything I’ve ever felt. Bull stretches his body over the front seat before turning his head to look at me. “There’s a picnic basket on the floor.”

  Yep. I had it all planned. The picnic in the bed of the truck. The warm blankets. The . . .

  “What’s this?” Bull holds up the small black box and more tears blur my vision. I’ve messed this all up. Screwup Scarlett. It’s not going to get any worse than this.

  “I wanted to— Ahhhhh.” I scream. Bull settles back to the seat as best he can. He barely fits where he’s wedged his body, and his hands come to my knees again, watching me through the pain. His fingers clutch at the box balanced on my knee.

  “Scarlett, just hang on, sweetheart.” He encourages. “You’re doing great.”

  “I screwed up,” I yell through the subsiding wave.

  “Nothing’s screwed up,” Bull says.

  “I had it all planned. The tree. The dinner. The ring.”

  Bull stiffens.

  “I just wanted to do this right.”

  “Do what right?” he quietly asks.

  “Ask you to marry me.”

  Bull doesn’t move. I’m not certain he’s even breathing, but I’m huffing and puffing, trying to make it through the pain. “Bull, I need to push.”

  My knees bend upward, and I shift my tired body. Bull slips the ring box into his coat pocket, and he loosens the sleeping bag around my legs.

  Shifting up on my elbows, I bear down, screaming through the pain as the driver’s side door opens and just as quickly closes. When the pain stops for just a second, my head falls back.

  “You’ve got this, Scarlett,” Bull says, lifting his arm and pounding his fist on the driver’s side window. Blade opens the door again.

  “I’m not looking. I don’t see anything,” Blade yells.

  “Where’s that fucking ambulance?”

  “They’re struggling through the snow but still on their way.”

  “The baby is coming,” Bull yells.

  “So is winter,” Blade jokes.

  “Are you referencing Game of Thrones?” I snap.

  “Yeah, have you seen it?” Blade says, shifting so his head pops into view, but just as quickly, his face disappears again.

  “Busy here,” Bull hisses.

  “Never mind,” Blade states, closing the door once more.

  “Bull, I don’t think I can do this,” I whimper.

  “Marry me?” Bull questions, his voice full of incredulous hurt.

  “Have the baby,” I cry, rolling my head side to side.

  “You can, Scarlett. You’re strong. You can do this.” While I want to yell at him that I don’t need a fricking cheerleader, another wave hits me, and I sit upward, knees to my shoulders, clenching. I don’t even hear what Bull says to me. The next thing I know, my jacket is opening, and Bull is unbuttoning the cute new flannel shirt I bought for this occasion. The proposing occasion, not the birthing scene, which is happening in the back of a fricking pickup truck.

  “When Sprout comes out, he’s going to need skin-to-skin contact, Scarlett. He’ll need your warmth until we get you to a hospital.”

  While I agree, I shake my head because I’m so tired. It hurts so much. Another wave of pain rips through me. For a moment, I feel like I’m outside of myself. My eyes roll back. My heart races, flooding all sound in my ears.

  A ru
sh. A gush. And then the cry of a newborn.

  “He’s so beautiful,” Bull says, his voice full of liquid, but I only nod as something warm and slimy is placed over my skin, and red lights filter through the steam-filled windows.

  “The answer is yes, Scarlett,” Bull says before the driver’s door is opened and a blast of cold air hits me.

  “Yes,” I whisper, not remembering the question as my lips find the head of a little being on my chest.

  28

  Family Names

  Bull

  The adrenaline high of the past few hours churns with emotion.

  My baby born.

  My woman admits she loves me.

  My sweetheart asks me to marry her.

  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.

  “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.

  Bull sits next to me, stretching out his legs on the blanket. A picnic basket rests in the corner, but for now, we’re just enjoying the sound of a light breeze and the rustle of the leaves overhead.

  That night at the Gin Mill changed everything for me, and like Rita said, change is scary but sometimes necessary. The Busy Bean Café needs that on their chalkboard beams.

  As my red curls blow in the wind, Bull scoops a section over my ear.

  “I love you,” he says so easily, telling me every day that ends in day.

  “I love you, too,” I say before leaning in to kiss him. Harley sleeps in his car seat at the other corner of the blanket, and Bull and I stay quiet. We’re quieter when we make love. We take time to savor those rare moments between duties on the dairy and raising our son. I’ve embraced motherhood. At forty-three now, I lived a full life with a career, but I’m living my best life as a stay-at-home mom. It’s not the most glamorous job. In fact, most days, it’s full of shitty diapers, spit-up shirts, and leaky breasts, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

  “What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” Bull says, breaking me from a stare at our son in the car seat.

  “I’m thinking about that first night,” I say, which isn’t a hundred percent true. “How I would never have thought it’d bring me here.” I look up at the budding foliage.

  “Still like it here?” Bull asks, picking at the blanket before him.