Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “My hands are full.” Emmy Lou smiled adoringly down at her cat, Watson.

  “Mine aren’t.” Brock took the bright pink donut, tore a piece off, and held it up for her to eat.

  “Aw.” Emmy Lou leaned around the donut. “Kiss, first.”

  Brock was all too happy to oblige.

  “It’s great that y’all are here all the time now, but you’ve got to knock that shit off.” Travis waved at Emmy Lou and Brock, then dropped the remainder of his donut onto his plate. “This is a bachelor pad now. Dad and I are living large.” By living large, he meant eating lots of frozen dinner and junk food and not shaving.

  Krystal rolled her eyes. “And dating the same woman, apparently.” Her smile was all mischief.

  From the corner of his eye, the picture of Loretta—in that blue dress—demanded his attention. And that smile? He wanted to make her smile that way. He wanted to make her laugh. An all too vivid memory of her, arching into him as his nose trailed up her neck… When it came to Loretta Gram, there was a hell of a lot he wanted to do.

  He sipped his coffee, his gaze scanning over the paragraph beneath the picture.

  “Krystal,” their father grumbled. “Come on, now.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Krystal was up, hurrying around the table, to hug their father.

  But whatever else his sister said, Travis didn’t hear it. He was rereading the absolute bullshit printed by whatever asshat had written the article.

  While tonight’s performance was riveting, Loretta Gram’s fate is uncertain. Johnny Hawkins, the duo’s lyricist, will be unreplaceable. Does this make tonight’s performance Loretta Gram’s swan song?

  Travis scanned the article until he found the name of the contributor. Evan Johnson. Fuck you, Evan Johnson. His hold tightened on his mug, preventing him from taking his frustration out on the newspaper.

  “Travis?” Krystal’s voice was louder than normal.

  Too loud not to hear.

  “What?” he asked, only half listening. Loretta didn’t need a singing partner to have a career. Johnny’s death sucked—there was no way around that. But she had the talent to make it on her own. If Wheelhouse backed her…

  Krystal laughed. “See?”

  “See what?” He ran his fingers through his hair and turned toward his sister.

  “Just what happened between you and Loretta?” Krystal asked. “Because a little birdy told me you two were getting awfully chummy outside of the dressing room at the awards show.”

  “Sounds like this little birdy is seeing things.” Travis sipped his coffee.

  “This little birdy has 20/20 vision.” Krystal crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I think we’d best leave your brother’s business to your brother.” There was a finality to his father’s words that stunned even Krystal into silence. “I know I’m old and anything I say will likely go in one ear and out the other, but I’m saying it anyway. Your gramma used to say a relationship is built on three things.” He paused long enough to clear his throat. “Any relationship, mind you. Father, uncle, wife, or neighbor. The older I get, the more I agree with her.”

  “What three things, Daddy?” Emmy Lou asked, taking the hand Brock offered and leaning forward to hear what their father said next.

  “Honesty, respect, and loyalty.” He shook his head. “Honesty is a big word when you think about it. It includes things like trust, certainty, morality, confidence—it all means the same thing.” He sat back in his chair. “Now when I say respect, it’s not just respecting the other. It’s about respecting the relationship too. Enough to honor, to preserve and protect and nurture the person or bond you share.” His gaze fell to the paper he’d set aside, the muscle in his jaw tightening. “Loyalty isn’t always easy. Your gramma used to say she went three years not liking my father once, but that didn’t stop her from keeping her word.” He cleared his throat. “Some might say it’s easier to walk away when things get tough, but easy doesn’t mean better. You give up, you’ll be missing out on the good times as well as the not so good. It’s loyalty that gets you through. It’s peace of mind. It’s faith. Devotion. The roots that ground you. Or oath to keep.”

  “What about love, Daddy?” Krystal had walked back around the table to sit in Jace’s lap, wrapped around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Love?” Their father chuckled. “Well, baby girl, you put those things together and, to me, that’s what love is.”

  Travis wasn’t all that fond of the notion of love. Life had twisted and warped in the name of love too many times for the word to conjure anything but unease. Sitting here, it was obvious love wasn’t always tainted that way. Jace had loved Krystal through some of the darkest times a couple could face. And Emmy Lou? She’d held on to the hope that somehow, someway, she and Brock would find their way to each other. Now the two of them would take their vows in what promised to be the most highly publicized wedding of the decade.

  As happy as he was for his sisters, he knew he’d never risk opening himself up for that kind of damage. Love didn’t always end well—his parents were proof enough of that.

  His father glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a call coming.” He stood, walked to the kitchen door, then paused. “You all sticking around?”

  “We’ll be here, Daddy,” Emmy Lou answered for them all, her cheerful self.

  But once the door closed, Travis ran his hands over his face and propped his elbows on the kitchen table. “Nothing like getting life lessons before you’ve had your second cup of coffee.”

  “You’re not worried about him? You didn’t hear his voice? All the coughing and throat clearing?” Emmy Lou asked, her gaze darting back to the door.

  Travis nodded.

  “It’s worse today,” Sawyer said, staring into his mug.

  “He needs to go to the doctor.” Jace shook his head. “He can’t risk his voice.”

  “It’s not like I can force him to go.” But Sawyer and Jace were right. “But I’ll do what I can. I can be just as stubborn as he can.”

  “Oh, we know.” Krystal rolled her eyes.

  “Not just his voice.” Emmy Lou kept stroking her cat’s belly. “The whole thing with Momma—”

  “I’m glad.” Krystal pushed out of Jace’s arms, headed for the coffee, and carried the nearly full pot to the table. “Your second cup of coffee.” She topped off Travis’s cup. “Daddy is better off without her. Back me up on this, boys.” She glanced at Jace, then Brock.

  “I’m pleading the Fifth on this one.” Brock held up his hands. “We might not be all that fond of each other, but she’s still your mother. And, as such, I won’t disrespect her.”

  Emmy Lou leaned forward. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” Brock kissed her cheek. “But I do think your dad’s been done wrong.”

  “Agreed.” Jace nodded. “Not that it’s our place to do anything about it. I get the feeling he’d say we need to let him handle his own business—same as Travis.”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” Krystal turned, her green eyes pinning his. “You know I love you so much it hurts, right? And, just like you want me and Emmy to be happy, we want you to be happy. We’re worried.”

  “We are,” Emmy Lou agreed.

  Travis sighed, his gaze bouncing between his sisters. “Because?”

  “You’re not going out—at all.” Krystal shrugged. “You haven’t been on a date since you got home. Not one. Like, zero.”

  “Pretty sure that’s what not one means.” Jace laughed.

  Brock chuckled.

  “When I heard you were all tangled up in Loretta, I guess I was relieved.” Krystal picked up the paper to stare at the picture.

  Travis smiled in spite of himself. Tangled up? That was about right. He still was.

  “She’s talented and gorgeous and,
I think, the sort of woman who could keep you in line,” Emmy Lou added. “Once she decides to like you, of course.”

  “Look at you, being all sassy.” But it was such a surprise, Travis had to laugh.

  “You were sweet to her.” Krystal was like a dog with a bone. “Above and beyond sweet to her.”

  “Like she was with Daddy.” He shrugged. “Just returning the favor.”

  “Travis, you can’t be happy spending all your time hanging out with Dad and Sawyer, no offense.” Emmy Lou glanced at Sawyer.

  “None taken,” Sawyer answered, toasting her with his coffee cup.

  “I’m not denying Loretta Gram is a fine-looking woman. And, I guess, you might say we had a moment. But that’s all it was. A moment.” He shrugged, doing his damndest to convince himself. “Maybe I like my freedom too much or maybe it’s how fucked up our parents’ marriage is, but I’m in no hurry to complicate my life. Especially with a woman as complicated as Loretta Gram. I thank you but…no thank you.” He smiled. “Now, Jace, did you finish that song yet? If not, I’ve got a few ideas I thought we could try.”

  As distractions went, it worked. He’d meant what he said—Loretta was complicated. But if he ever got a second chance, and if she was willing, he’d sure as hell like to finish what they started.

  ***

  The Wheelhouse Records headquarters were housed in downtown Austin. They’d bought out several floors of a mostly glass skyscraper that had been featured in a handful of movies. As she walked down the concrete sidewalk leading to the giant glass double doors, Loretta couldn’t help but think about one of the movies filmed here. It involved the end of the world, a spaceship, and a very convincing and climactic scene of this building being blown to pieces. Not helping. Sure, Ethan Powell, CEO of Wheelhouse Records, had called her himself to schedule this meeting, but that didn’t mean it was something bad, did it? No. Of course not. So, what was with the sense of dread twisting up her stomach? “You’re sure you’re up for this?” Loretta asked, holding the front door wide for Margot.

  “I’m terrific. I’m having a hell of a good hair day too. Look.” Margot turned her head left, then right. “I’m taking it as an omen of all the good things to come.”

  “Your hair is on point.” Loretta was grateful her manager was here with her. If there was a person who could go toe-to-toe with Ethan Powell, it was Margot.

  “Wasn’t that movie made here?” Margot asked, her heels clicking on the marble floor as they headed to the bank of elevators. “The one where—”

  “The building explodes?” Loretta nodded, waiting for the elevator doors to open.

  “What? No?” Margot followed her into the elevator and pressed the button. “The one with the superrich guy and the whips and all the sex.”

  Loretta was in shock.

  “Lori-girl, your eyes look like they’re about to bug out of your head.” Margot laughed. “What’s wrong with watching a movie with some BDSM and dirty talk if it helps distract a woman from chemo-induced nausea?”

  “Nothing.” Loretta’s cheeks were on fire, but that didn’t stop her from apologizing. “I’m sorry, Margot. You can watch all the BDSM and whips and dirty talk sex movies you want.”

  “I feel like we should take the next elevator.” A male voice—gruff and a bit raspy—came from behind her.

  “Hank King, you get yourself in here and give me a hug.” Margot laughed.

  If Loretta had been embarrassed before, she was mortified now. To the point she couldn’t bring herself to look Hank King in the eye. It was easier to stare at the ground until the previous comments were forgotten or the elevator ride was over—whichever came first.

  But, according to her view of the ground, it wasn’t just one pair of cowboy boots that had joined them in the elevator. Two. Two pairs of high-end, custom ostrich skin boots. Meaning it wasn’t just Hank King who’d heard her.

  “You get better every time I see you, Hank,” Margot said. “What’s your secret? And don’t tell me it’s clean living, because I know better.” She paused. “I’m thinking you sold your soul to the Devil.” Margot laughed. “Land sakes, look at you. A chip off the old block. You can tell you’re his son. I don’t know what sorcery is in the King genes, but it’s mighty powerful.”

  Hank’s son. His one and only son. No. Please, no.

  “You’re quite the sweet talker, Margot.”

  That voice. Loretta knew that gravel and velvet voice. That voice had pulled her from her sleep more than once since the IMAs. Travis. Travis was here. Right next to me. Right now. With his sapphire eyes and his just-right mussed hair and that smile.

  The elevator dinged, the doors closed, and a moment’s silence ensued.

  Just so we are clear, I plan on kissing you, Loretta Gram.

  How many times had she replayed that? Not by choice. It just happened. She could be washing dishes or doing her morning yoga routine or knitting blankets for the local animal shelter. Out of nowhere, she’d hear his words and wind up aching and distracted for an hour or more.

  She’d done the right thing. She’d do it again. Because kissing Travis King would lead to more than kissing and that would be a colossal mistake. But maybe… A mistake worth making.

  Thankfully, Margot seemed to have been carrying on a conversation the whole time. “Congratulations on the win. If I was a betting woman, I’d have bet every cent I had on that album. One of the best albums in years.”

  “I appreciate that, Margot.” There was an odd rasp to Hank’s voice. “It was quite a night.”

  Quite. She toyed with a strand of hair, focused on calming her heart, and managed to acknowledge Hank—and Travis—with a sort of smile. At least, she hoped it was a smile. From the odd look on Margot’s face, maybe not.

  “As nice as it was to win, it wasn’t the highlight of the evening.” Hank clapped Travis on the shoulder.

  Travis rolled his eyes and acted like his father’s praise wasn’t a big deal, but Loretta knew the truth. Travis King loved his father—admired and respected him. Likely, Hank’s praise meant the world to his son. Not that she had much experience with that. The only time her father ever had anything nice to say was when he had an ulterior motive. Namely, money. It was always about money.

  She allowed herself another quick peek at Travis. He was wearing a cowboy hat. She had a thing for cowboy hats. But Travis in a cowboy hat? Would this ride never end?

  “It was one hell of a performance.” Margot nodded. “I was proud of Lori-girl for getting through it. And proud of you, Travis, for giving her a hand when she needed it.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Travis cleared his throat. “She’d have done just fine without me.” He was lying through his teeth and they both knew it. It was sweet and irritating. He was so…so frustrating.

  The doors opened and, once they realized Hank King was on board, the two waiting executives stepped in. Little things like personal space went out the window in situations like this. A minute alone on an elevator with a big star like Hank? It didn’t matter if it meant being packed into an elevator—you took the elevator.

  Hank didn’t seem bothered by it.

  But Loretta was. More so with each passing second. Because of Travis.

  He stood right behind her. Right behind her. They were all squished together, and she could feel his breath against the back of her neck. Smell the mix of mint and leather that stirred an instant softening deep inside her. Her gaze fixed on the numbers, climbing higher as the elevator rose. This is the slowest elevator known to man. She took a deep breath and tried to shut out the warmth rolling off of Travis. The number changed. One level higher. Five to go. This is why the aliens blew up the building. They’d been stuck in the damn elevator for too long.

  The elevator pinged, the doors opened, and the two executives lingered long enough to take a few selfies with Hank before they left.


  Loretta stepped aside, gripping the metal handrail with both hands and pressing herself against the side of the elevator. The space made it easier to breathe. But it also made it easier to see him.

  Travis. In his tan cowboy hat. Starched jeans, with a nice crease running down the top of his leg. His leg. His very muscular thigh. Being pressed up against him the night of the awards show had revealed that most of him was muscle. What are you doing? This wasn’t the time to mentally examine Travis King’s attributes. She had way more important things to worry about right now.

  Namely, this meeting.

  “What brings the Kings into town?” Margot asked. “I’d think folk would come to you by now.”

  “You think so?” Hank shook his head, a tightness to his jaw. “I’ll tell Mr. Powell you said so.”

  For the first time, Margot’s smile slipped. “You two are here to meet with Mr. Powell?”

  Travis nodded. “The great man himself.”

  Loretta didn’t like the flicker of alarm his words triggered. Or what this might mean.

  “I wish he’d let us know there’d been a change in schedule then.” Margot sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

  A schedule change was a logical explanation. But…

  “It’s not like Loretta or I live down the street.” Margot shrugged. “But when the suits call, you come a running.”

  “Damn inconsiderate of him, though.” Hank nodded, frowning. “You two in a hurry to get back home?”

  Home. For the moment, Loretta was homeless. There was no way she could stay in the duplex she and Johnny had shared—not after he’d died there. The duplex was identical, a reflection of one another. Which meant every time she walked into her bathroom, she remembered walking into Johnny’s… Finding him, in his bath…

  “This little miss is heading home with me to Bakersfield and my little golf course side bungalow,” Margot offered up. “And since I’m in no hurry to head home, neither is she.”

  Loretta didn’t like where this was headed. Not one bit.

  Hank chuckled. “Well, how about we offer you a little Texas hospitality?”