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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Skylar jostled the bin of washed feed dishes onto one arm to fish the phone out of her pocket—her kennel up a couple dogs from last week—when Travis swiped the bin from her grip and carried it as they walked. Always a gentleman, as a teen and even now. She flashed a smile. He flashed one back.

Anita’s name lit up her screen. On a Saturday afternoon, no less. Her smile fell.

“Ugh, stellar timing, Anita,” she mumbled.

Sonot the person she wanted to talk to, especially with Travis having just gotten here after a week of late-night calls and aching over his confessions and realizing that she might have harbored hard feelings, but she’d been exuding mixed messages, too. If she wanted him, she couldn’t keep pulling back.

“Sorry, hang on—” She swiped it. “Hi, Anita,” she answered brightly and noted how Travis smirked at her false cheer.

“Hi, Dr. Rivers. Just checking in on Brandon’s progress from the accident. He had his follow-up visit, I see.”

“He’s doing great! Healing well. The sling came off Friday, and we’ve already scheduled our next physical therapy appointment to begin learning shoulder exercises.”

“That’s great news. How’s his behavior? Improving?”

Skylar sighed audibly, drawing to a stop. Brandon was in the barn washing Handsome before the van came to pick him up for his peer counseling session—an afternoon once a month in a room with several other teen boys to talk about anger management, his “reward” for the fist fight—and this conversation didn’t sound like one Brandon needed to overhear. Travis stopped beside her, his brow furrowing. She took in his tall, lean frame, old jeans and tight baseball T, arms sun-bronzed, scuffed shitkickers, and that old cowboy hat, she noted fondly. Looking like a muscled version of his teenage self fresh off Cimarron’s back or jumping down from his dad’s tailgate with a roll of fencing propped on his shoulder.

Dammitthat Anita was ruining this moment she’d anticipated since he left last week.

Brandon’s behavior was actually a little improved this week. He was still distant, sarcastic, and those shrugs could kill her patience faster than Raid on a cockroach. But there was something about his demeanor, the way he watched her and pitched into help around the barn, that was…gentler.

“Oh no, Dr. Rivers,” Anita said at Skylar’s silence, resignation heavy in her voice. “Please tell me Brandon hasn’t pulled more of his nonsense. It was only a matter of time—”

“God no, Anita. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” Try as she might, Skylar couldn’t mask her incredulity at the way in which Anita had jumped to conclusions.

An audible exhale blew through the speaker. “You worried me that there was another incident of theft.”

Skylar shook her head. Mentioning the incident in question was a surefire way to ensure Brandon clammed shut like a door to solitary confinement. There was much more to that altercation, Skylar sensed, that had resulted in Brandon showing up on her doorstep with a split lip, smug chin lift, and a chip on his shoulder.

“Nope, he’s responsible and trustworthy. I’m actually not convinced he stole anything. He’s really settled in.” Panic lilted her words.

“You keep telling me that, but he’s gonna have to tell me that himself. About living on your ranch and about the theft. So far, he refuses to talk about that incident, just shrugs and says that I clearly think he’s guilty,” Anita replied.

If the shoe fits.But Skylar bit her tongue. Anita wasn’t some jacked-up pickup truck driver who’d hit a dog and run, that she could shout at down the road. One wrong thing said and the state could make whatever decision they wanted about Brandon. Her lips thinned. Travis’s hand tightened on hers.

“I’ve got a meeting lined up for him Monday afternoon,” Anita continued.

“His PT appointment is Monday,” Skylar argued, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can this one wait a day or two?”

“Hmm, normally, yes, but I had a slot open on my schedule and given the urgency with which we want to come to a decision, I don’t have a choice. My next available isn’t until two weeks from now.” She didn’t elaborate on what that decision was, but Skylar knew: leaving him here or moving him to a new placement. “It’s time for our monthly check-in anyway, so I’ll do both at the same time. I’ll pick him up at one thirty, since I know your patient load has increased.”

Skylar tensed. Shook her head. Could already feel Brandon slipping through her fingers. The way Anita had said that, it sounded as if she thought Skylar was too busy for Brandon already. But Anita was right, too. Brandon needed to speak up instead of clamming up, full of attitude in Anita’s office, refusing to cooperate. He needed to tell Anita what he wanted and how he felt—because Skylar could fight for him all she wanted, but if Brandon refused to talk, Anita would do what she felt was best, even if it wasn’t.

“Keep me abreast of the physical therapy, okay?” Anita added, the telltale clicking in the background indicating she was typing notes in his file.

Skylar rolled her eyes unabashedly.

“What’s wrong?” Travis whispered, and as she glanced at him, she saw that protective tightening of his jaw.

She answered Anita. “Will do, but I have to reschedule it now. It’s crucial that we stay on track with PT. You know, Anita, the PT specialist said that if Bran complies with his therapy, he’ll be healed up in time to go out for baseball in the fall…when he starts school.”

She hedged hopefully. Please don’t move him, Anita. Give him time.

“Okay,” Anita said. “That’ll be a good note to put in his folder, should we rehome him.”

Rehoming.Like a pet being surrendered to a shelter. “Sorry, the dog wasn’t a good fit for our family so just take him back, please.” How many times had Skylar had to bite her tongue at the shelter as a teen when people surrendered a dog because they didn’t want to put the effort into working with it? How many times had she sat in a kennel with an elderly dog that had been discarded like an old shoe to make way for the fun new puppy on Christmas morning? How could people talk about others as objects to be regifted at a white elephant exchange because it just wasn’t worth keeping?