12. Skylar
12
SKYLAR
My first patient had been a crotchety old guy whose wife’d secretly arranged for me to come out. He wasn’t super thrilled to see me, but did admit that his elbow felt better after I worked on it. I even got him to sign up for my subscription service, where I’d email weekly exercises and come by once a quarter to check on him.
As it happened, he knew a couple of other old crotchety dudes who needed similar help, and now they’re all signed up.
I was probably right about not wearing any makeup to my first session, but by the end of the first week, I had determined to slow play these ranchers. I’d get them used to seeing me, then add a touch of makeup with each new visit. By this time next year, I’d be back to full glam.
Talk about your gay agenda.
The rest of the week went a little slower than I’d hoped, but I’d seen six people by the end of it. I’d still be living off my savings for a while longer, but I was still counting this week as a win.
Already grinning at the progress I was making as I turned into the sanctuary’s driveway, my smile widened when my phone buzzed in my bag. I recognized the heartbeat pattern I’d set for Kit. I made it through the automatic gate and up the hill before grabbing my phone, then read the text as I put my bag over my shoulder and walked into the cabin.
The animals of the sanctuary weren’t quite used to me yet and had been keeping their distance. All except for the big emu, who was, in my opinion, a little too curious about me.
Bandit, however, came racing up in all his three-legged glory and herded the emu back to the tree line, then sat like he was waiting for me to go inside. I’d never had a pet before, but I could see the appeal.
Kit: How’d your first week go?
Me: You know exactly how it went. I have texted you after each and every one of my visits.
Kit: Those texts were about making sure you were safe.
Kit: What I want to know now is . . . did you enjoy it?
I ran my teeth over my bottom lip and tapped out my answer.
Me: More than I thought I would.
Me: It’s been a lot of work and a lot of stress, and the business probably won’t be solvent for a while, but turning skeptical looks into relieved faces is a new favorite pastime of mine.
Kit: I’m glad to hear it. I know how much you like helping people to feel good.
The devilish part of me wanted to reply with something along the lines of I wish I’d made you feel as good as I’d wanted to , but stifled it in the name of not scaring the straight boy. We’d been doing a pretty good job of ignoring what’d happened between us that one time, and I didn’t wanna rock the boat. I mean, did I want to see exactly how talented those hands could be? Sure, but if I’d learned anything from my time as a sugar baby, I knew how dangerous wishful thinking could be. That he hadn’t overtly renewed his interest since kissing me— have I mentioned what a good kisser he is? —told me it was best to stop reading into his extra attention.
So, I responded with a neutral and entirely true statement.
Me: It’s a lot more fulfilling than I would’ve guessed.
Kit: And the cabin? Are you acclimating to life in the country?
Me: Sorta? I made a new friend.
I took a picture of Bandit waiting at the tree line and sent it to Kit.
Kit: Could use one of those at the dude ranch, considering I’m basically a glorified zookeeper at this point.
Me: Aww, now I’m picturing you in those cute little khaki shorts.
Kit: I’m changing the subject.
Kit: I know you were planning on keeping your weekends free, but would it be too soon to ask for a favor?
Me: Did you hurt your knee again? Also, you know I’ll show up for you whenever, right? Especially if you wear those shorts.
Kit: My knee is okayish, and there’s no way in hell I’m wearing those shorts.
Kit: But a good friend of mine has been stubborn about his shoulder, and I told his husband I knew someone who could help.
Me: His husband, huh? That might be worth going out on a Saturday.
Kit: They’re a great couple, and something tells me you would get along with Sam.
Me: Lemme guess: Sam is a twink with a sassy attitude?
Kit: Maybe.
Kit: Was that the wrong thing to say?
I giggled. Making straightish men uncomfortable was a fun pastime.
Me: Nah, I’m just giving you shit. What time I should show up on Saturday?
Kit: Well, since this is a bit of an ambush, the earlier the better.
Kit: And I should probably go with you to smooth things over.
Me: I’m not gonna get shot by a gay rancher, am I?
Kit: Trip is bisexual.
Kit: And he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Me: Then I’m happy to go see him. Can you give me Sam’s number so we can make a plan?
Kit sent over the number, and then said nothing else. No goodbye, no have a good day . It didn’t feel rude, though, merely efficient. Something I liked a lot about him.
Shaking my head, I cleared my mind of any sneaky little daydreams of Kit ever truly doing something about the energy between us, then pulled up Sam Goodnight’s information.
Me: Hi there, this is Skylar Whitmore. Kit Baker gave me your number and said I would be plotting with you to work on your husband’s shoulder tomorrow.
The three little dots started jumping immediately.
Sam: Oh my God, yes. THANK YOU. Trip is being so bullheaded about his shoulder.
Me: I’m new to the area, but I’m already picking up a theme out in these here hills.
Sam: One of our dearest friends is a rodeo champion who knows a thing or two about fucked up shoulders . . . and he still won’t go to the doctor unless his husband forces him to.
Me: His husband? There’s another queer couple out here?
Sam: Oh, sweetheart. That doesn’t even scratch the surface. We’ve got queers crawling all over this place. Hope you’re comfy with the rainbow.
Me: Please. This is me at work and me at play.
Me: scrubs.jpg party.jpg
Sam: Oooh, I love your style!
Sam: This is me on the ranch and me on a date with hubby.
Sam: ranchystuff.jpg sexyhubby.jpg
Me: Nice hat. And it’s good to know there’s queer-friendly places out here. Maybe I’ll find me a hot cowboy after all . . .
Sam: . . .
Me: ?
Sam: Sorry, maybe I was misreading things, but isn’t Kit your hot cowboy?
I choked on my own spit, not sure how to take his meaning.
Sam: Did I make it awkward? Are you two not together?
Me: As far as I know, Kit’s straight.
Sam: . . .
Me: . . .
Sam: ANYWAY. If y’all can come out tomorrow before breakfast, I’d appreciate it.
Me: You got it.
Kit showed up with coffee and an apologetic smile.
“Kit Baker, it is five-thirty in the morning,” I grumped, still in my shorty baby-blue silk pajamas.
“These ranch boys start early,” he explained with an apologetic tip of his hat.
I let my eyes drop to his knee as I took the coffee. “It’s a damn good thing you’re wearing that brace. Otherwise, we’d be going back to your place.”
“And that’s why I’m wearing it.”
I shut the door, letting Kit wait outside as I changed from my pajamas into my favorite sky-blue scrubs. Knowing I was going to a queer-friendly place, I took a few extra moments to add a bit of mascara, blush, and my favorite lip stain for the occasion. I walked out, sipping the delicious coffee, and Kit did a double take.
“You look nice,” he said, almost shy.
“Sam and I are already practically best friends. I knew I’d be in good company.”
We climbed into Betsy and headed out to Rebel Sky Ranch, arriving right as breakfast was being served in the main house.
“They used to host breakfast all the time, but now I think they do it once a month,” Kit explained as we got out of the car. “Trip does a great job with this place. Though I do wish you had been around to meet his parents.”
“Oh, did they die?”
“His mom did. Super-fast-moving cancer. His father is still alive, but lives out in Bee Cave.”
An amused expression crossed Kit’s face, and I lifted my chin. “What’s this look?”
“Oh, I was reminded that the father—Wyatt—he’s now married to his late wife’s brother.”
I stopped, tracing an imaginary path in the air to follow what he said. Trip’s mother’s brother? Iiiinteresting.
“Man, Sam wasn’t kidding when he said their ranch was crawling with queers. And I can’t wait to hear that story.”
“I’m sure Sam’ll tell you everything. He and Desi—the brother—are thick as thieves.”
We made our way up the front porch steps, and Kit removed his hat as the front door swung open wide. I immediately recognized Sam, who was wearing shorts and a loose silk top.
He looked me up and down and smiled widely. “Oh my God, are we wearing the exact same blush?”
“Luminous Silk in Ecstasy?”
“Yes, girl!” He gave me a huge hug. “A bitch with style. I love it.”
Sam led us into the living room and up into the kitchen area, which was filled with all sorts of hot ranch action.
“Damn,” I cursed, getting in line behind what appeared to be a throuple. “I should’ve made this move sooner.”
Kit grumbled something under his breath, and I grinned. Could I be making my crush a little jealous? Heaven forbid.
The gentleman in front of me, slightly older than Kit, with a head of thick gray and silver hair turned, sending me a gorgeous smile. “Are you the traveling ortho specialist?”
His accent was thick, his voice was deep, and I appreciated the flirty look in his eyes. The other two—this was definitely a throuple—turned to face me.
“Well. Hello there,” the strong, handsome one said with a leer.
I gulped, taking in all the delicious man meat.
“Don’t let Wick’s hotness intimidate you,” the freckled, slightly chubby one said. “He’s a horn dog and will try to get you in our bed at some point. Don’t take it personally.”
The hot one—Wick, apparently—pushed his lover aside. “Please take it as personally as you’d like.”
“You’re up,” Kit grunted, pointing at the food line.
Wick held up his hands. “Sorry, didn’t realize he was taken.”
“I’m not taken,” I practically yelled out after them.
Kit grabbed my arm. “You are not going with them. They would chew you up and spit you out.”
I held up my hands. “You’re not making a very good case for staying away, Kit. Chewed up and spit out sounds like a damn good time.”
“You’re here in a professional capacity.”
I grimaced. He had a point.
“But if they should so happen to find me on the hook-up apps,” I said loudly, “I make no promises.”
Kit’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re on the hook-up apps?”
“Oh, sweet summer child. Woody mentioned it used to be slim pickings out here, but I could pull up the app right now and find a friend for the night in under five minutes. Probably on this property.”
He adjusted his collar. “I’ll remind you again that you’re in here in a professional capacity.”
“Of course.” I patted his arm, placating him. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Well.” He crushed his hat in his well-worn hands. “Stop sayin’ it in earshot of those three.”
I chuckled, not sure exactly what to do with all of that . We quickly grabbed our breakfast tacos, and Sam led us back to the front porch, where sat a handsome, disgruntled cowboy, eating his breakfast taco like it had offended him.
“Skylar, I’d like you to meet my husband, Trip. Trip, Skylar.”
The put-upon cowboy carefully placed his taco on the plate and slowly rose to face me. Holy hell. Good job, Sam. Good fucking job.
I mean, the man was mixing his plaid button up with an unfortunate A&M T-shirt, but he was tall, built like a brick wall, and had the most beautiful blue eyes. Even though he was younger than me, his hands had the same pattern of callouses I saw on Kit’s hands.
And based on the way he guarded that left shoulder of his, this poor cowboy was in a world of hurt.
“There’s nothing wrong with me a little Advil can’t fix,” he muttered.
I wasn’t about to contradict him, so I glanced at Sam. He held up his well-manicured hand and walked over to his husband.
“Trip, baby, you can’t even pick up our children.”
That got Trip’s attention. “Who told you?”
“Renée. She said Daddy couldn’t pick her up, and she was sad because she could tell you were in pain.”
“Darlin’, I know she worries, but I don’t have the time to deal with this.”
Sam went toe-to-toe with his husband, tipping his head back to look into Trip’s eyes, annoyance and affection playing out in his expression. “Darlin’, you are drowning in highly qualified people who would love an opportunity to step in. You mean to tell me Wick and Joaquin couldn’t run this place blindfolded? And what about Junior?”
I sent a pointed look to Kit, who had the grace to look at his boots.
“Fine,” Trip practically growled, “but I’m not going in for an MRI.”
I hip-checked Kit. “Is this a cowboy thing? What is it with y’all and MRIs?”
“They’re expensive, and ain’t nobody needs to see all of my insides,” Kit grumbled. “It’s invasive and unnecessary.”
Meanwhile, Trip was sawing his jaw back and forth as he tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. After a beat, he softly answered, “I just haven’t had any good experiences with MRIs.”
Sam wrapped his lanky arms around his husband’s waist. “Baby, I know. But it’s important, and I know your mom would hate it if she were the reason you weren’t taking care of yourself.”
Damn, that’s right. His mom died of cancer. Bet he’d taken her to a few scans.
Before I could reassure him, Kit stepped in. “I hear what you’re saying, man,” he said to Trip, then looked over at me. “But I’ve been paying attention, and according to Skylar, a joint like that only gets worse with time. It’s not typically the kind of thing that resolves itself. He’s pointed out all the old cowboys walking around funny, and I know it’s because they didn’t want to go to the doctor. I sense Sam is not about to allow you to become one of those men. So, while Sky’s here, you might as well let him see what he can do to help you feel better now. Hell, I know MRIs are tough for you, but he might convince you that the imaging is important.”
Trip raised his brow at Kit and gestured at his knee. “You get that thing looked at yet?”
“No, but I’m older and way more stubborn.”
Sam snorted while I struggled to keep my face neutral. I wasn’t about to remind Kit of his appointment, nor was I going to let him know how much Sadie and I were colluding to make it happen.
Sam smiled up at his grumpy husband. “You know he’s right.”
“Even if he is a hypocrite?”
I crossed my arms and gave Kit my best told you so look, and he once again had the grace to avoid eye contact.
“Fine,” Trip said to Sam, then turned to me. “My mother did raise me to be more welcoming. I just . . .” He crumpled his baseball hat between his large hands. “I apologize.”
I waved off his concern. “You’re not even the orneriest cowboy I’ve dealt with today,” I said, surreptitiously thumbing a gesture at Kit and his knee brace.
Trip laughed, and Kit’s mouth fell open. I reached out and touched his chin. “Don’t want you to go catchin’ flies now, cowboy.”
Sam caught my eye. I lifted a shoulder.
I don’t know what to tell you about this one.
By the time we went back inside, all the hands had taken off to get the day started. We sat at the kitchen table and talked through Trip’s symptoms, and I spent a little quality time on the joint while Sam and Kit hung back and talked about their kids.
Sam and Trip suspected their little boy, Jayden—who they’d adopted a couple of years ago—was on the autism spectrum, though it was tough to tell because of his past trauma. His symptoms definitely differed from Reed’s, but Kit was kind and explained how that sort of thing was tested to avoid a misdiagnosis. He gave Sam the name of Reed’s therapist and assured him that, even though their son’s case seemed milder than Reed’s, it was good to know where they stood so he can get help sooner, and so he could understand himself better.
Right as I was explaining to Trip that he had a frozen shoulder and would benefit from a corticosteroid injection—as opposed to the shoulder transplant he’d been envisioning—a familiar man walked into the house.
Why do I know who he is?
“Luke McCall?” Kit asked, hopping up.
Well, as much as one can hop up in a brace.
“Holy hell, Kit Baker. What’re you doin’ here?” the Luke guy asked, quickly closing the distance. I couldn’t remember why I knew the name, but then I recognized that wiry build. This had to be one of Kit’s old rodeo buddies.
Realization struck, and I turned to Trip. “That’s the Rodeo King.”
“One and the same. Though you’ll embarrass him if he hears you call him that.”
Trip, it turned out, was not nearly as grumpy as he’d initially seemed. As soon as I mentioned that we could probably square him away with a simple injection, I was suddenly his favorite person.
“So . . . we can get this done now?”
“Yep. Though you really shouldn’t use the shoulder for at least twenty-four hours. No heavy lifting, maybe avoid getting on a horse for a day or two.”
Trip started to protest, but Sam clapped his hand over his beloved’s mouth. “Sounds great, Skylar. I’ll make sure the guys know not to let him lift anything, and we’ve got a Mule he can use to get around.”
Sam removed his hand, and Trip thinned his lips, but sent me a begrudging nod.
I tapped my chin. “You should still get some imaging, though I won’t hold it against you if you don’t go that route.”
“Maybe. If this doesn’t fix it.”
“Deal,” I said, sending Sam a wink.
As I prepped Trip for the shot, Luke and Kit started reminiscing, and Trip suggested they go out to the stallion barn to check out their newest rescue horses. A few more things clicked into place. This was the ranch where Emery and Woody got Stevie’s horses. I remember Rowdy talking about this place. It was special, what they had going on out here.
I had Trip remove his shirt— well done, Sam —and sit with his arm at his side. After sanitizing and anesthetizing the area, I administered the shot and let the cowboy get redressed.
Sam helped him with his shirt and gave him a saucy kiss before sticking his finger in his face. “I’ve got eyes everywhere, lover. If I hear you’ve been using that shoulder, you’ll be sleeping out in the stallion barn with the horses.”
Trip gave Sam a crooked grin, and I bet it was Sam’s favorite. “Yeah, but the tack room is in the stallion barn, so . . .”
Sam rolled his eyes, gave his man another kiss, then smacked his ass and sent him on his way. Once Trip was out of earshot, I gave Sam a high five.
“So, that’s how you get a cowboy to accept some damn help.”
He laughed. “I do what I can.” Gesturing at the empty house, he said, “Looks like Kit and Luke are gonna be busy for a while. Wanna take a quick tour of the place?”
“Lead the way.”
We didn’t get very far—not even past their pool in the back—before Sam turned to me, a glint in his eye.
“Surely you can see why I thought you were two were together, right? I mean . . . Did you see how jealous he got when Joaquin and Warwick hit on you?”
“The two gentlemen in line ahead of me? They’re in a throuple with the cute cub, aren’t they?”
“Colt. And yes,” Sam said, smiling thoughtfully. I wondered what their story was. “Fair warning: if you gave the slightest hint you’d like to be any part of that meat sandwich, they will take you into their bunkhouse,” he said, pointing at the bunkhouse in question, “and keep you there until you have been drained of all fluids.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Though, I have to say . . .” His smile was sly. “Kit didn’t seem to like that idea at all.”
My response was automatic. “Kit doesn’t have any say in what I do or don’t do.”
“You sure about that? You should’ve heard him talk to Trip about you.”
“What did he say?”
“Put it to you this way—his recommendation of you was enthusiastic . And kinda long winded.”
“Long winded? Kit?” I stopped to admire the pool with its grotto, surrounded by trees.
“He spent ten minutes telling us all about how you stay on top of him while helping him remain mobile.” Sam popped his brows. “He said you have magic hands and was smiling and blushing the whole time.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
I growled under my breath. “That man.”
“Been sending mixed signals, has he?”
“If you could call him laying one on me while very drunk, then asking me to pretend it never happened a mixed signal, then yes.”
Sam whistled under his breath. “That sounds a bit complicated.”
“You have no idea. And I have no clue what to do with him.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t take it further than the kiss.”
“Absolutely not. I’d been there taking care of his knee, and even though he seemed into it enough to go farther, I didn’t trust him to not freak out after.”
“I can see that,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Though . . . Kit Baker’s good people.”
“Oh, he’s the best,” I agreed heartily. “You should see how he is with his folks out at the dude ranch. I know he runs a ton of other businesses, and I bet real money he runs them all the same. He’s been great at helping me get this business spun up. I just . . .”
I huffed out a breath, annoyed and leery of going into my sordid past. Sam was cool, but I wasn’t sure he was that cool.
“You just what?” he asked kindly.
“I have a history of being into guys who can’t commit for one reason or another.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s just say my type liked me to look pretty on their arm and keep my mouth shut.”
“Huh.” Sam looked me up and down. “I wonder if your history has any similarity to my history.”
I crossed my arms, debating.
Ah, fuck it.
“Anyone ever call you a sugar baby?”
“Nope. Rest stop hookers and Only Fans stars get called sluts,” he said, pointing to a faint scar that ran from the corner of his lip all the way up his cheek.
He saw my face and then patted the air. “Sorry, it was all very dramatic, but that life is in my rearview. I’m an upstanding citizen now, can’t you tell?”
“Yeah, me too,” I said, then we looked at each other and cracked up.
I had indeed found a new friend.