The Cowboy's Texas Sky (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 2)

“Growin’ boys,” Travis grinned harder, and dammit, that dimple. That glorious, kissable dimple surfaced just for her. It threatened her resolve and promised to make her stupid again if he kept flashing it at her as he patted his belly like he had a paunch and not a toned, ridged six-pack beneath his stretched T. Her eyes dipped lower, to the belt buckle. To below the belt buckle. Bounced back up to his. He cleared his throat, his eyes darkening with intent. He’d noticed.

“So you’re a super smart and wise good boy is what he’s saying, eh, Master Yoda?” she spoke to Yoda, her pulse fluttering away, still petting him. “He’d adorable. Those ears.”

Travis harrumphed. “Those ears are lady killers, for sure.”

Her smile fell clean off her face. She swallowed hard, eyes frozen upon him at his remark. Of all the dumb remarks to affect her. The old Travis had always been joking and teasing. He’d probably only meant that as a joke. But how many ladies in his life had these ears killed, while she’d been wallowing in such grief? Sickness nauseated her suddenly.

Dammit! There it was again! That betrayal. Once more manifesting itself into anger. It wasn’t fair that he’d moved on so easily. God, it gouged. Her eyes started watering again. She couldn’t control it. Quickly, she ducked her head, but not before she’d seen his smile fall, too.

Yoda stilled, then nudged her hand over and over again, and she tried to play it off with a chuckle to mask the ghostly sheen to her face.

“I don’t have any more treats, buddy,” she croaked, but she sensed Travis leaning a little in her periphery, giving her the look, honing in upon her so acutely she was surprised she couldn’t feel his pulse thumping through her veins. She glanced up. His brows had drawn hard together at the dog’s nudging, flitting back and forth between the dog and her.

Travis strode to her.

“Baby, what’s wrong? He’s never done that to anyone else.”

The dog wasn’t rooting for more treats? A rivet of concern marred Travis’s face as he approached, as she looked up his lean form towering over her, clean up his long legs, past that bulge that still infused her with memories, straight up his chest. She pasted the smile back on, though she knew it was tight. She probably looked as if she grimaced.

“Sky?” he asked, then reached down and took her arm, pulling her up, cupping her cheek again, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. Just the way he said her nickname, that low, baritone timbre, more mature than it had once been… “What’s wrong?”

She gazed at his concerned creases. She tried to turn around and wipe away the stubborn tears that were threatening her composure, but he didn’t let her as his other hand slid onto her other shoulder, feathering down her arm, slipping hesitantly around her waist to palm her lumbar. Fire lapped through her. Flames, long banked, flared to life as ripples of tingling shot across her skin, leaving jet streams of goose bumps.

God, she’d spent all last night hardening her heart to him, and now it melted right beneath his fingertips as if her hardened heart were merely warm chocolate left out in the sun.

“Yoda doesn’t do that unless something’s wrong,” he added, his body pressed to hers more tightly as her breasts pushed into his torso and his iron muscles, warm and protective, came flush with her belly. As that spicy sandalwood teased her nose.

His masculine freshness and salty skin and slight overtone of male sweat from the scorching Texas sunshine…

Dammit, she wasn’t going to be able to resist wilting into him much longer, letting him hold her like he’d once done when Rhett had frightened her, promising her that one day it would be the two of them, free and on their own in the world, and he’d make sure she was okay, he promised she’d be okay.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. It’s been a trying twenty-four hours, considering Brandon’s injury.” But upon that last sentiment, her voice wobbled. Things weren’t okay. And Brandon’s injury was a convenient excuse. “That’s all. Let me check out Yoda’s paw—”

“Bullshit.”

She blinked up at him, tried to step back, but he felt too good, smelled too good, and then his fingers sifted through her hair, now knotted atop her head for the procedure in a messy, heavy bun, tingling her nape. “It’s the truth—”

“Bullshit, baby. And you know how I know it?”

She didn’t need to justify herself to him. He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. She couldn’t bear to feel his body blanketing hers, wishing for a return to innocence, wishing for him to remind her what that burning need felt like sizzling through her when he kissed her as his lips hovered over hers so closely, when he united their bodies, thrust within her, set her world on fire and then danced in the flames with her—

“Because he’s my service dog.” He dropped the yoke of that news heavily on her shoulders. “And it ain’t because I needed a walking aid or was handicapped. It’s because he’s trained to sense shit going on up here.” He tapped the side of her head, gently, the tap turning into a caress that burned down her cheek and over her jaw.

She stared up at his steely gaze. But the intensity on his face wasn’t anger. The steeliness wasn’t empty. His hold upon her wasn’t cold but taunted her senses, demanding that she remain aware of his every heartbeat against her chest, his every lift of the diaphragm against her belly. It was surprisingly warm. It was flooded with emotion and something else, words that seemed stuck on his lips as if a dam holding back water. His jaw clenched as he gritted shut his teeth.

“Like I said, I wouldn’t have been good for you,” he nearly growled. “You didn’t want to see me with those night terrors. And you wouldn’t have liked the strung-out guy with a blown-off foot.”

“What happened to you, Trav?” she whispered, cocooned in his embrace but beseeching. Whatever it was, it needed to come out. It had stood in the way of him loving her for fourteen years, and it looked like he was chewing it into submission by sheer willpower. He shook his head, lips so tight they might disappear. “Have you ever talked about it? With your parents? Your brothers?”

Concern was etched into his face, chiseling it with intensity. He did the pivot he was so talented at. “I saw your memorial wall,” he whispered carefully.

“My what?” she asked.

His dark brown depths bouncing back and forth between hers as if trying to unlock the key to her soul, then glanced past her. It took a moment to realize he wasn’t staring into space but was staring at the far wall.

“Your legacy fund,” he whispered back.

The framed photos. She’d kept the negatives throughout college and veterinary school, a reminder of who she couldn’t replace and for whom she was building her dream.