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

Surprised, Travis chuckled. “Damn straight. On both accounts.” Yoda trotted beside him as he walked. “But I came to see you, too. Got something to show you I thought you might like.”

Curious, even though he masterfully maintained a bored face, Brandon turned back to face him as Travis climbed the steps, his weight creaking the wood. He eyed Yoda, who circled around Brandon, then sat beside him, nestling against his thigh. Shit, he might very well have been replaced after all. He looked at Yoda’s paw, wrapped in paw-printed bandaging, and felt his mouth tug up at the corner.

Brandon eyed him, settling on Travis’s uneven gait. “How’d you hurt your leg?”

Travis cocked his brow. “Sure you wanna know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Brandon snorted.

Travis hesitated. Another inquisition? Was he sure Brandon wasn’t related to “New Skylar”?

“Stepped on an old Soviet landmine,” Travis ground out, trying to maintain an amicable expression. No sense in sugarcoating it, but the question surprised him. He tried to joke, “I give it one star. Don’t recommend it. I was only, oh, four years older than you.”

Brandon quieted and concern flitted across his face. “That guy on your arm?” he hedged. “The same landmine?” He didn’t need to elaborate; Travis knew the question.

Travis relaxed his face, the inquiry having caused his muscles to jump. Shook his head.

“Was he, like, right beside you when you stepped on it?”

“I feel like you got something else you want to really ask.” Honestly, what was with this kid’s curiosity about his tattoo?

“I feel like you got something you really wanna avoid saying,” Brandon lobbed back.

“Ah, Skylar said you liked baseball, but she didn’t mention you were a hard hitter, bro.”

“Why did she say that? I don’t play baseball.” Brandon rolled his eyes. “Just asking, God, forget it.”

“She didn’t say you played; she said you liked. There’s a difference. What, you don’t like it? That Rangers T-shirt begs to differ.”

“That shirt was just some crap I got at my last group home from a donation bin,” Brandon argued. “Now everyone thinks I’m a fan, and Skylar went out of her way to get me a ticket.”

Shit. Maybe he had missed the mark on this kid. Maybe there were harder feelings surrounding this topic than he realized.

“Okay.” He turned around, gripped the railing, and started back down the steps. “Guess I’ll put this back—”

“Wait, what d’you got?” Brandon caught him. He forced a smile, but shoot, talk about the hot seat. Thank God that bullet about the landmine was dodged, at least for now—

“And you didn’t answer my question,” Brandon added, as if to prove him wrong.

Travis took a steadying breath. In truth, it hadn’t been so bad, mentioning just now what had happened to Boss. The earth hadn’t erupted in hellfire and he hadn’t shrunk into oblivion, either, even if he’d swallowed once at the thickness that wanted to claim his throat.

“Okay, so nope, he wasn’t beside me. He was on my back, bleeding out from a roadside bomb. I was carrying him to find him help.” But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help the need to pump his jaw muscles again to get himself in check. “Turns out, I was shitty help.” He chewed on his cheek.

“Did you know him well?”

“He was my best friend ever since basic.” He cleared his throat. “But I didn’t come here to walk down memory lane. You wanna see these?”

Brandon scrutinized him, and the way his eye squinted as he did so caused that wary premonition to once more spike through Travis’s blood. He let the sentiment linger. There was no explanation for it. As if coming to a conclusion, Brandon looked down.

“I used to play,” Brandon finally admitted, sullen yet soft-spoken. “Before my mom went off the deep end on drugs and the state took me away.”

Travis thought. Brandon’s dad had been killed overseas. When?

“How come you don’t now?”

Brandon shrugged, looked away. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Naw, bro, you asked me some crazy personal stuff and I answered you. Batter up.”