Cowboy (The Busy Bean) Read online

  Scarlett

  For a few days, Bull and I dance around each other. He’s up and out before I rise, and I’m off to the Busy Bean Café before he returns for breakfast. I assume he’s eating up at the main house, as he calls it, during the meals I’m not present. He told his brother we’d have dinner with the family soon, but I have yet to meet them as Bull’s been careful to keep me away from his father’s house.

  “They’re special and nothing special, all rolled into one,” he tells me, explaining the relationship between the three brothers and their father as just the two of us eat dinner again.

  Bull tells me how he went to college, majored in agricultural studies, and returned to this area, knowing his practical experience on the farm taught him more than any classroom. Canyon ran off to start a country band and returned home one day with a teenage child, and Blade is in love with Carly but won’t admit it.

  “Unrequited love is the worst,” I tease but immediately regret the words. I mean them in reference to myself and my messed-up marriage, but when I consider Bull and me, we are in a similar position. He isn’t going to love me. He feels obligated to me. If this is his child, he wants to be here for the baby experience, not me directly. And if the baby isn’t his child, I’ll soon be looking for another place to live.

  My family is right. I’m still a screwup even over forty.

  Despite the confident woman I am in front of the camera or behind the scenes for research, no one can bring me down more than my mother. When I told her what happened with Shelton, she blamed it on me.

  “You worked too much,” she prefaced as if that threw the ever-working doctor into the arms and bed of someone else. Even admitting his new girl was pregnant was my fault. “You should have gotten pregnant yourself, when you were younger. A child is how you keep a man.”

  I could not swallow her antiquated attitude. However, it concerns me that Bull might think less of me as well. Will he think I’ve trapped him if the baby is his? We’ll be linked for life.

  “Yeah, the worst,” Bull mutters, drawing me out of my head where I’ve forgotten what we are discussing.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Unrequited love. I might know a thing or two about it.”

  “I might have heard a thing or two about some proposals,” I tease, perching my chin on my hand, wanting all the juicy details. It’s weird how sometimes I miss all the gossip I used to report on, and I’m expecting Bull to share some teenage story of angst and broken hearts.

  “My wife left me.”

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry.” My hand lowers for his forearm, and my heart sinks to my belly. Bull loved someone else. Of course, he loved someone. He’s him. But why wouldn’t she love him in return?

  “It’s a complicated story,” he begins. “But the long and short of it is, we were married too young, and she wanted babies.”

  Oh no.

  “And we couldn’t make them. With all the tests and schedules and practice, we couldn’t conceive.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bull.” What must he think of our situation? If this isn’t his child I’m carrying, he’ll feel emasculated.

  “It wasn’t me,” he says, offering a weak smile as if reading my thoughts. “At least, that’s what the doctors said.” He shrugs, looking toward the end of the dining table. Did they sit here every night like we’ve been doing, talking about babies? Bull and I have random discussions about how I’m feeling, our thoughts on a birth plan, and baby names. He knows more than I would have expected about pregnancy.

  “It was still my fault, though. We could have done artificial insemination or adoption, but Jen was on a mission. I reached a point where I didn’t believe it would happen, so I gave up.”

  He speaks as if he’s beat himself up a bit over the years, taking the blame for something that is just biology.

  “Eventually, she had enough, as had I, and she left.” With the faraway look in his eyes, I recognize the sting of a failed marriage.

  “Did you live here together?” I wonder, looking around the room, suddenly feeling like an intruder in someone else’s dream.

  “No. Jennifer left fourteen years ago. We lived in the main house, and sometimes, I thought that was the thing preventing us from getting pregnant. Although my family knew we wanted a child, and how to make that happen, it wasn’t always the most romantic setting, especially when Jen was checking herself for ovulation.” Bull shakes his head. “Once she left, I needed some space. This house didn’t become my project until each of my grandparents passed, which was about ten years after her departure.” He glances up at the ceiling before scanning the large room with pride.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” For all of them. His wife, his grandparents, babies he never had.

  Bull shrugs, gazing back at his dinner plate. Tonight, he made pork chops with diced potatoes and green beans. He’s really too good to me. “I don’t know what happened between Jen and me. One minute, you think you’re in love, and the next, it’s all temperature-taking and baby-making business, minus the tenderness needed to be close to someone.”

  My thumb rubs back and forth at the hairs on his forearm. He’s such a strong man. His arms define arm porn, but it’s his heart that’s the strength of him.

  “It was never the right time to have children with Shelton,” I explain of my own situation. “I didn’t think I even wanted a baby until he was suddenly having one with someone else, and I was left questioning everything in my life.” My other hand automatically moves to my belly although there’s no outward evidence of my condition yet. Bull smiles a little deeper, but it still isn’t setting off sparks in those deep eyes surrounded by thick lashes.

  “I’m glad I’m pregnant now,” I offer, my voice quiet while my thumb still rubs at his skin. Bull’s hand covers mine and lifts my fingers. He turns my hand to press a kiss to my palm, closing his eyes a second before re-opening those beautiful lids.

  “I’m glad you’re pregnant, too.” His words are full of so much sincerity, and I don’t want to disappoint him. It’s embarrassing enough to question who the father is, but it will be devastating to discover it isn’t Bull. I haven’t allowed myself to consider one man over the other. It’s too hopeful for me. For now, I concentrate on how the baby is mine.

  “You’re starting to spoil Sprout and me.”

  “Sprout?” Bull inquires, and I tip back so he can see my hand patting my belly. He pushes back his chair and reaches over for mine as I’m sitting to his left. After pushing it out as well, he drops down to one knee and faces my tummy.

  “Hello, Sprout.” He places a hand over my hand on my stomach and then lowers his head, pressing kisses to my covered belly. I slip my fingers through his hair. He’s so sweet like this, so tender. Every part of me vibrates—my inner thighs, my hammering heart, my shaky fingers. I want to tug his hair and pull him up to me, kiss him with the pregnancy passion churning inside, and tackle him down to the floor, but I don’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Bull to keep taking advantage of him, especially sexually. His heart is too big for just sex.

  He wraps his arms around my back, scooting me to the edge of the seat to hold me like this—his head on my belly—and I send up a silent prayer.

  Please let him be the father.

  The next night, Bull and I walk to the main house for dinner. The sun is up a little longer. The air is heating. Everything is bursting into bloom, and soon, so will I.

  “Let’s not mention our predicament to my family,” he states as we walk down the dusty gravel drive. “Not yet, at least.”

  “Totally agree. What will be our story? How did we meet? Why am I here?”

  “Pretty sure Canyon already told them we had a one-night stand.” Bull cringes as he speaks. “We can say we’re friends. I’m helping you out while you’re between places.” Bull glances off in the distance, not liking his own explanation, but it’s as close to the truth as we can get for now.

  When we enter the main house directly into the kitchen, I’m
accosted by the smell of something mouthwatering and spicy. “What is that?” I ask of the intoxicating scent.

  “Grilled steak and Brussels sprouts are tonight’s specialty,” a feminine voice answers me, and I glance across the kitchen to find a gorgeous woman with raven black hair and deep blue eyes. “Hi. I’m Carly.”

  “You’re stunning,” I admit, not holding back. Her face pinkens at my direct compliment, but when someone is beautiful, it needs to be stated. She has movie-star good looks with high cheekbones and sultry lips. Brushing hair over one ear, she mutters her gratitude at the comment while another person enters the room wearing a ballcap. Nearly as tall as Carly, the body is of someone young, and I surmise this is Canyon’s child.

  “Aw, Carly. I hate Brussels sprouts,” the teen whines. I squint a bit, trying to decipher if this child is a boy or a girl with his or her back to me. The solid shoulders and loose jeans suggest a boy, maybe, but the high voice hints at a girl.

  “They’re good for you,” Carly argues, slapping at the bill of the cap, lowering it over the teen’s face.

  “Since when?” the teenager argues before glancing over a shoulder at me. “Hey, who is this? This the woman shacking up in your place, Uncle Bull.” The kid hitches a thumb at me while addressing Bull, and I’m a little taken aback at the description.

  “Joey, mind your manners,” Bull warns. “Who said such a thing?”

  Joey. Boy.

  “Uncle Blade said you met another damsel in distress and brought her home with you. She from one of those dating apps you were on?”

  Bull rolls his eyes, but I immediately react. “What dating app?” Bull reaches behind his neck, scratching nervously at it.

  “Oopsy,” the child states, hand flying upward to cover thin lips, but the shadowed facial expression shows no sign of remorse. “Uncle Bull is the bull of DatingDairy.”

  “Joey, make yourself useful and set the table,” Carly interjects, placing hands on the teen almost taller than her and redirecting Joey to a room off the kitchen. “And no hats in the house.” Carly tugs at the cap, and a tumble of ginger-colored hair flows from the headgear.

  Oh. Girl.

  “Joey?” I choke.

  “Josephine Elizabeth. My brother Canyon’s daughter. She’s thirteen.”

  “Ah,” I groan as if that explains everything.

  “She’s also being raised by a gaggle of men, and she’s taking on characteristics of being one,” Carly states. “I apologize on her behalf. I’m trying to do my best.” Her eyes lead to where the girl disappeared into the dining room, and Bull shakes his head.

  “You’re not her mama,” he states, making me question where the girl’s mother is. Bull mentioned Canyon just showed up one day with the child next to him.

  “I know,” Carly whispers, and sorrow fills her voice. Looking up at Bull, I’m curious as I thought he said Blade was the one in love with Carly. Was Carly in love with Canyon?

  Oh, this has all the makings of a good love triangle, but I have my own issues.

  “Tell me more about this dating app.” I intend to sound teasingly intrigued, but jealousy lingers beneath the surface. With Bull’s head in my lap the other night, I wanted desperately for him to lift my skirt and nuzzle his face between my thighs, restoring us to who we’ve been together. But I’m the one who set the limits. I’m the one who said we should wait until we have an answer because I don’t want to be unfair. However, I’m dying a slow death over my attraction to him. I want to touch him and have him touch me. I want our mouths to meet and explore like they did during our night together. Fighting off the urge to throw myself at him like I did in the Busy Bean’s bathroom is a constant battle.

  “It’s just something I’ve done in the past,” Bull mutters and steps over to Carly to avoid further explanation. “What can I help you with?”

  Giving me a sympathetic glance, Carly nods at a large bowl with a salad as she answers Bull. “Take that to the dining room and then maybe fill glasses with milk.”

  “Oh, I don’t drink milk,” I state. Like a screeching car crash, everything in the kitchen halts. Carly stares at me. Bull rounds to face me.

  “Excuse me?” he asks, brows raised high.

  “I don’t . . .” My voice trails. I’m on a dairy farm, but I don’t ingest the product. I’d like to argue lactose intolerant, but that isn’t the explanation. I just haven’t drunk milk since I was a child. I don’t like it, but I can’t say that.

  “Blasphemy.” A deep tenor breaks the sudden silence, and I turn to my side, watching a man with long hair tucked into a man bun stride into the kitchen from the outside door. He gives me a smile and then winks.

  “Canyon,” Bull greets his brother. Canyon Eaton should come with a warning of his own. Compared to his brother, he’s just as broad and sturdy, yet Canyon has an edgy and artistic side. He has former musician written all over him despite dirty hands and something smudged on his shirt.

  “Off with her head,” he continues to tease, stepping up to me and playfully wrapping an arm around my neck. He presses an unexpected kiss to my temple before releasing me as quickly as he embraced me. Bull’s eyes narrow on his brother.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns Canyon.

  “Or what? According to you, Red here isn’t yours,” Canyon teases. “And I like me a redhead.” Seeing the dull color on his daughter’s hair, I’d say her mother was a redhead, as Canyon’s hair is dark brown. However, I’m focused on the fact that Bull’s mentioned I don’t belong to him, making me sound available to everyone else. I am not liking that assessment.

  “I’m taken by me,” I state, defending myself and my honor.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Bull growls again at his brother, nostrils flaring with steam like his namesake implies. Then again, Bull has explained that he’s named after his father, Harland Bull Eaton, but goes by his middle name.

  Canyon steps over to the sink and washes his hands while Bull turns away, disappearing into the dining room with the large salad bowl, and I’m left wondering what these brothers have discussed about me.

  “He’s not on that app anymore,” Carly offers, opening the refrigerator and reaching inside.

  “How do you know?” I question, stepping over to her and taking the milk jug from her hand.

  “I’m on there, and he’s not.” She gives me a sheepish grin, and I softly smile. However, I’m still uncomfortable with Bull ever being on a dating app. What’s with this about damsels in distress? Is that how he sees me?

  “You shouldn’t be on that site either, beautiful,” Canyon says to Carly, and she blushes before waving out an arm for me to follow her to the dining room.

  A table big enough to seat twelve is sporadically set, and I assume this has to do with people’s preference in sitting arrangement. After pouring the milk into glasses and skipping my own, I carry my glass back to the kitchen for water. When I return to the dining room, a version of what Bull will look like one day when he’s older sits at the head of the table. With solid gray hair and wrinkled facial skin, he’s still ruggedly good-looking in his mid-sixties.

  “Scarlett, right?” he addresses me, giving me a warm smile. “Canyon was correct. You are beautiful and look just like her.”

  For a moment, I’m thinking he means Bull’s first wife, Jennifer, and I don’t know how to respond.

  “Looks just like who?” Joey asks of her grandfather.

  “Grandma,” he whispers, still watching me round the table.

  “Sit here,” Joey says, patting a chair next to her. “Uncle Bull sits there.” She points at the other seat at the head of the table, making it appear the top two males of the family face one another. I’ll be sitting to Bull’s right. Carly enters with another large platter, Bull behind her, and Canyon follows.

  “Where’s Blade?” the middle brother questions, and we hear the stomping of feet down a staircase somewhere in the house. Canyon smirks and sarcastically remarks, “Right on time to help.�
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  The errant brother rushes into the room and halts when he sees me at the table. “Holy shit.”

  “Language,” Carly groans as Blade stares at me.

  “Did she drop from heaven?” He doesn’t direct the question to anyone, and Joey chuckles beside me. I don’t respond to his compliment other than a deep blush. He’s already seen me the other morning.

  “Actually, she walked into The Gin Mill,” Bull answers.

  “And that’s all it took,” Canyon teases, winking at me over the table.

  “Of all the gin joints,” Blade throws his voice, mimicking Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. I laugh at his impression while Carly takes a seat, and it appears Blade will sit next to her, opposite me. Canyon rounds the table to sit next to his daughter.

  “Harland, grace,” Carly addresses the table once everyone is seated.

  “Joey, your turn,” Harland states, narrowing his eyes at his granddaughter. “I heard what you said in the kitchen.”

  Joey’s eyes shift to me. “Sorry,” she mumbles of her accusation about me. Then she folds her hands in contrition.

  “We are grateful for this bounty, which is always good.” It’s sweet, but Harland shakes his head in disapproval.

  “Next time, rhyme,” Blade teases his niece. The meal erupts into chaos as bowls are passed, and food served, and appreciation spoken for Carly’s delicious dinner. The tender steak strips melt in my mouth, and I hum.

  “Like Bess?” Joey says to me, and Bull pauses his fork midair. Carly drops hers.

  “Josephine Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?” Carly hisses across the table.

  “Who’s Bess?” I ask, slowly chewing the remainder of the meat.

  “She’s in your mouth,” Joey clarifies, and I stop chewing.

  “Excuse me?” I say around the food.

  “Course it could be Ilsa or Esther or—” Joey continues sing-songing the names.

  “That’s enough,” Canyon warns of his daughter, and I glance over at Bull for an explanation.

  “She likes to name the cows.”

  Oh, God. I swallow the remaining lump in my mouth, reaching for my water glass and chugging the remainder of the liquid.