Chapter Twenty-Seven
Skylar peered into Brandon’s room. The faint flickering of his video games was emanating into the room, making the walls look bluish gray. He’d fallen asleep, slumped on his pillows, a controller in his hand and Courage curled up beside him.
It wasn’t that late yet, but he’d holed himself in his room after his meeting with Anita today. He hadn’t spoken about it. But the sullen, angry-faced kid with an attitude the size of Texas who’d showed up on her doorstep all those weeks ago had today, strangely, been brewing on his face again. The intensified sullenness had her on even more edge. For some reason, a foreboding feeling had worked its way into her gut, sinking its talons of worry into her thoughts.
She went to the monitor on his desk and flipped off the baseball game Travis had introduced to him the night before. Smiled fondly as the room dimmed into twilight shadows, except for the boiling orange-and-red sunshine hovering over the western horizon out his window, sinking down behind the land. She crept back out, pulling closed the door, and pattered down the stairs. There was still so much to do, and she threw on a baggy flannel over her tank top and scrub pants from work, slipped her feet into her muck boots, and slipped out the door, creaking across the steps.
Headlights, in the distance, bobbed like two bright eyes far down the ranch road. Was Jasper driving over for something? Or maybe, was it Travis? He’d gotten off work a couple hours ago but hadn’t mentioned that he’d be coming over tonight, especially with a five a.m. surgery bright and early in the morning.
Her pulse gave a needy jump. She hadn’t wanted him to leave Saturday, hadn’t wanted to lose his reassuring touch or encouraging words, that they’d get through this together. With so much up in the air with Brandon, and now two desperate weeks to wait to see if a pregnancy test came up positive or not, his promises had been an anchor to hold on to.
She crunched into the barn, the far-off vehicle grinding louder and louder, and hurried through her final chores. On the verge of flipping off her office lamp, she paused: the letter from Alpine. Opening it didn’t feel so daunting anymore. She tore it open and skimmed the words, then reread them, her eyes widening…
Inheritor of Rhett Rivers’s two acres of land and of course the trailer. Rhett hadn’t named her as an inheritor, but as his sole survivor, it was hers to sign for or sell. Sell it. Burn it. But so swiftly…she pondered it. Alpine, as Travis had pointed out, was a hop, skip, and jump from Fort Stockton. She hadn’t been able to find suitable land for a clinic in Fort Stockton, but if Travis convinced Lopez to buy from Dixon Cattle in Alpine…maybe this would make a prime place for her expanded clinic, too?
Huh. She set it down to dig into more later, but after finally confessing the miscarriage to Travis, the contents of that manila envelope in her desk drawer suddenly didn’t seem so threatening, either. She hadn’t looked at them in so long. And yet she’d never gotten rid of them.
She wanted to see them now and pulled open her drawer. Reached tentative fingers in and pulled out the package. The typical memories didn’t assault her now like they normally did when she touched it. Perhaps having told Travis just how deeply his loss had affected her had eased the sting.
Holding it close, she flipped off the light, bending up the brass brads and slipping open the flap as the headlights flashed upon the house and wheels crunched loudly to a stop. Red Lightning.
Her pulse fluttered.
He killed the engine, pushed out of the door, and took her in, his head and face shadowed beneath his Stetson. A smile creased his face, made that dimple pop, stoked that burning feeling within which only served to get them into trouble. He needed a shave after a long day, his stubble turning his jaw shadowy. She gazed up and down his long, tall frame; his rumpled jeans; belt buckle; boots as he slipped his shades from his eyes and tossed them onto the dashboard. So boyish.
In his hand was a plastic grocery sack. He held it up on his hooked pinky.
“Cherry Garcia still your favorite, babe?”
Her heart squeezed. He had ears to listen was what he was saying. He was here for her. Ice cream had always been his language for such words when he’d snuck through Rhett’s window.
She grinned, clenched the manila envelope across her chest, and strode to him.
“I can’t jump in and take off into that sunset with you this time, Trav.”
He slipped two spoons from his back pocket, twirling them playfully as if he spun a pistol. He’d remembered everything, chewing his cheek thoughtfully even though his pleased smile still hinted at the corner of his lips.
“Naw. No need now. We’re right where we need to be. Come ’ere. I got a different idea.”
He patted the roof of his truck, the engine ticking as it cooled down. Furrowing her brow, she still couldn’t help smiling.
“What are you doing?” She walked toward him.
His eyes never leaving her, traveling over her body, soaking her in as if she strutted in a runway show and not her dirty boots, old scrubs, and oversize fleece. His appreciative look didn’t dissipate as she stepped up against his chest, and he dropped a kiss to her lips.
He tasted like breath mints, smelled like fresh sandalwood soap.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as he landed a final kiss upon the frayed knot of hair bundled atop her head.
She snorted, curling against his chest as his arms and the bag came around her to rest, sweating pints of cold ice cream draped upon her lower back, her fingers snaking up between them to toy with her unruly hair. “Pretty sure ‘deranged troll’ isn’t the latest fashion statement.”
He batted her hand away. “You could wear mucked-up Carhartt’s and you’d still be hot,” he teased, nibbling his way back to her lips, extracting a preposterous laugh from her throat. “And I don’t ever want you to change. C’mon. I got a song for you.”
“Seriously, what is all this?” She gestured to the open truck door and the ice cream as he released his hold on her.
Now that she was closer, she could hear the music coming faintly from his speakers. He tossed the bag and spoons on the seat, leaned in, and cranked up the volume, cutting off the current song and arrowing forward a few songs, when the twangy, familiar guitar lead-in indicated their song.
A grin pulled up his lip and he quirked his brow. “You remember, don’t you? Come on, let’s stumble through it together.”