Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “Of course.” She smiled then.

  Damn but she was beautiful. And her smile? At the sight of that smile, it took effort to gather his wits enough to form a coherent question. “I’m guessing this isn’t the way you’d imagined moving forward?”

  She shook her head, her attention wandering around the room. “It isn’t like they ruined my master plan. I guess I thought—I hoped—I’d be involved in deciding what I’d be doing next. With who. And where.”

  “That sounds pretty unreasonable to me.” Teasing her was taking a risk but, if he kept her smiling, it’d be worth it.

  The flash of anger in her eyes cooled when she realized what he was up to. “Ha ha, very funny.” But there wasn’t a hint of anger to her words.

  “See, I can be funny.” He winked.

  She shook her head, regarding him with amused tolerance. But the longer she looked at him, the more those topaz eyes seemed to laser in on him. “I don’t feel like I have all the information. They didn’t exactly welcome questions, but there are a few things I’d like to know.”

  He nodded. “Like?”

  “What sort of time-range will this arrangement go on?” She pushed off the cabinet and walked across the room, her gaze returning to the photos on the wall. “Will all marketing be joint? Or will there be individual campaigns too?” She paused in front of his father’s first guitar, safely stored inside a glass front display case. The old wooden Martin DXMAE acoustic-electric guitar had many a mile on it. And it showed. Momma had offered to clean it up, but Daddy said he didn’t want the wear and tear and stories to be buffed out of something so dear to him.

  “I remember wanting a guitar like this when I was younger. I scrimped and saved until I had enough to buy the only one I’d found at a secondhand store.” Her whole face softened, her smile warmer—sincere. “As soon as I had the money, I ran there.” She shook her head. “It was gone.”

  Travis frowned, disappointment pressing in on his chest. “That’s the saddest damn story I’ve heard in a while.”

  Her laugh was husky—and sexy as hell. “It’s not, I promise. I was brokenhearted, cried all the way home, to find Johnny sitting on my front steps. He was holding the guitar, a bright green bow on it.” She faced him, shrugging. “He did things like that.” But her gaze fell away and her voice wavered when she added, “When he wasn’t high or drunk, he’d do something special. It was his way of apologizing for letting me down.”

  Travis swallowed hard, the pressure in his chest increasing by a hundred.

  “He was two different people.” Loretta wrapped her arms around her waist. “The one whose smile could light up a room. He loved music and writing songs, he loved life and making people happy.” She hugged herself. “The other Johnny got stuck in a…a darkness with only one escape route.” When her gaze met his, the defeat was staggering. “As much as I loved him, I know how screwed up our relationship was. I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to set myself up for that kind of hurt.” Her eyes stayed locked with his. “I don’t want my career and my future to be tied to that again.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  Now he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “And you think partnering up with me will do that.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

  She didn’t answer him. But she didn’t have to.

  “I feel certain that you know this, but I am not Johnny.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “For one thing, I’m not near as talented as he was.” He shook his head. “The rest? I can tell you that it’s taken a year to be able to look myself in the eye without hating who I saw. I’m not going to jeopardize that. Recovery isn’t about pleasing other people, it’s about being honest to myself—and being true to who I am. That’s what I’m doing. Every damn day, I get up and recommit to myself.” He sighed. “I know I have to live with this for the rest of my life and I will.”

  Travis had never been afraid of silence. In a family like his, silence had always been a rare gift. Time to think. To listen. To be quiet. But this quiet wasn’t like that. The way Loretta was looking at him right now set his nerves on edge. It had nothing to do with today’s meeting or the possibility of them working together. This was about her, believing him.

  Until that moment, he didn’t realize how much that mattered.

  “One more question.” She smoothed her hair from her shoulder, her gaze bouncing from him to the guitar and back again. “Do you want to be my singing partner, Travis?”

  ***

  Her voice wobbled. Dammit. Instead of coming across strong, like she’d wanted, she’d sounded…needy and weak. All because he’d been so…so impassioned. Like he meant what he said and he wanted her to believe it. And he might mean it, right now. But tomorrow? Or next week?

  Words are just that, words, and she’d been fed what she wanted to hear one too many times. This time, she wasn’t going to let what she wanted get in the way of what was real.

  “I’ll be honest, Loretta.” The corner of his mouth kicked up enough for her pulse to take notice. “After everything I’ve put Wheelhouse—hell, everyone—through, I feel pretty damn lucky to still be here.” He shook his head, those curls of his falling onto his forehead in a way-too GQ model sort of way. “If this happens, working with you will be my privilege.”

  She had to admit it, he did have a way with words. Wasn’t that part of his reputed charm? Being a silver-tongued devil? Rather, the Silver-Tongued King? She’d almost forgotten about that nickname. But now that she’d remembered it, it cast a shadow of doubt over everything he’d just said.

  Trust wasn’t a concept she had much experience with. Growing up, the only thing she could trust her father to do was say one thing, do the opposite, and leave her to pick up the slack. Before the age of ten, she’d learned to write checks and mail bills, do the grocery shopping, cook dinner, and make coffee—to help sober up her father when he was fall-down drunk.

  She’d made gallons of coffee for her father, gallons for Johnny, but she’d be damned if she did the same for Travis.

  The only person she could truly rely on was herself. Normally, that is. Around Travis? She was beginning to worry she couldn’t trust herself when it came to him. Even now, in the midst of a serious conversation, she was struggling to focus.

  “I’m not taking any of this for granted.” His gaze hung on a particular picture hanging on the wall, the slight tightening of his jaw grabbing her attention.

  It was a family picture—several years old from the looks of it. It was a publicity still but the smiles, and the affection, were real enough. He, his parents, and his sisters. A momentary glimpse into another time. And since this had been taken well before the current behind-the-scenes drama between Hank and CiCi King, chances are this had been a happier time.

  “Here’s the thing, Loretta. I know Wheelhouse has turned on the pressure, but this is your life.” Travis took a deep breath, his blue-green eyes swiveling her way. “Don’t let them strong-arm you into something you’ll regret.”

  Was there a way to avoid regrets? It seemed unlikely. But since she’d already shared way more than she’d planned, she wouldn’t give voice to that question. Instead, she waved her hand around the room at all the years and years of Hank King memorabilia. “What about you? I’m guessing this counts as pressure for you?”

  “Nah.” He was smiling now. “He’s Hank King, but he’s my dad. I’ve never wanted to compete with him.”

  First the eye contact, then the smile…now the rapidly shrinking room. The air seemed to thin, and a rather alarming heat began warming the pit of her stomach. Neither one of them moved—but things seemed to shift nonetheless. She went from being mildly aware of the other occupant in the room, to something else. Something wild and intense and magnetic that twined around her. Around them.

  Just so we’re clear, I plan on kissing you Lo
retta Gram.

  His gaze dipped to her mouth, almost as if he could read her thoughts.

  More likely he can read them on my face.

  “Soup’s on.” Krystal’s voice carried down the hallway. “Come and get it.”

  Seconds later the click of nails and the jingle of Clementine’s collar announced the arrival of Krystal’s three-legged dog.

  “Hello.” Loretta bent to pet the poof on the top of the little dog’s head, giving the dog an adoring smile. “Were you sent to come get us?”

  “She’s here to butter you up so you’ll sneak her some food under the table.” Travis chuckled. “She loves barbecue.”

  “Do you?” Loretta asked Clementine.

  Clementine’s tail wagged so fast, it made her already off-kilter posture more precarious.

  “Come on,” Travis said, scooping up the dog. “Don’t feed her too much sausage. She’s not quite as adorable when she gets gassy.”

  Loretta was so surprised, she laughed. “She does not.”

  “She does so,” he argued, smiling broadly as he led her out of the room and down the hall. “You’ve been warned.”

  Loretta tried not to stare at the opulence of the King home. It was so…so over-the-top that she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. This was their home. Considering how busy Hank and Three Kings’ tour schedules were like, it was a home they probably didn’t spend that much time in.

  “It’s a lot.” Travis nodded, staring around the pristine white entryway. “But it figures. This, all of this, was Momma’s doing.”

  “Oh.” While she wasn’t a CiCi King fan, she wasn’t about to bad-mouth his mother. And her opinion of CiCi had nothing to do with the current state of her marriage and everything to do with a run-in she’d had with her a few years back. It didn’t matter how curvy or soft the woman’s surgically enhanced body was. To Loretta, CiCi King was coldness and pointy edges. “I see.” She did, too. Cold. Impersonal. Intimidating. Glamorous. All words for this room—or CiCi King.

  “I’m hoping Dad will let Krystal and Emmy Lou make some changes.” Travis shrugged, absentmindedly scratching Clementine behind the ear. “Make it more home for him.”

  The formal dining room wasn’t quite as presumptuous as the front rooms, but it wasn’t exactly warm and cheery either. But once they’d all congregated around the fancy table, she didn’t worry so much about the room as much as the people in it.

  She was having dinner with Hank King. In Hank King’s house. Not to mention Krystal and Jace and Travis…Travis who was laughing at something Margot said.

  That laugh jumbled up her insides.

  “Emmy Lou and Brock had that wedding thing,” Krystal said as she collected two of the place settings.

  “Which wedding thing is that?” Travis asked, setting Clementine on the floor and pulling back a chair for Loretta.

  He hadn’t done it for effect—it was all instinct. It made her smile.

  “Some things stick.” Hank caught her eye and winked. “I’m taking credit for that one.”

  “What?” Travis asked, sitting in the chair beside her. “What did I miss?”

  Loretta didn’t miss the now delectably familiar scent of Travis: mint and leather.

  “Something to do with the reception? Lighting maybe?” Krystal scanned the screen of her phone, shrugged, and slid it into her pocket. “The doves or butterflies. Is she still doing that?”

  Travis shook his head. “I’m lost.”

  You’re not the only one. What was wrong with her? Loretta laughed, surprising herself—and Travis.

  “You’re hopeless.” Krystal shook her head. “Let’s eat.”

  The food was making its way around the table when a man poked his head inside. His gaze bounced from her to Margot and it looked like he’d duck out, but Hank waved him to the table.

  “I set you a place.” Krystal nodded at the empty place setting.

  “Sawyer, this is Margot Reed and Loretta Gram.” Travis made the introductions, sucking a drop of barbecue from his thumb, before passing the container to his sister. “Sawyer is the only person who’s stuck around who isn’t blood related or dating one of my sisters. I’d say it’s out of the goodness of his heart but…” Travis scooped some coleslaw onto his plate. “Technically, he’s a bodyguard.” He used air quotes.

  “Technically?” Sawyer asked, sitting between Margot and Jace. “I am a bodyguard.” He thanked Margot for the container of beans. “Your bodyguard.”

  Travis needed a bodyguard? She stole a quick glance his way. The biceps. The shoulders. The chest. Even the neck… He needed a bodyguard? Then again, he couldn’t work the crowd and keep the more overzealous ones from tearing off his shirt.

  The image of Travis, shirtless… She took a long sip of her ice tea.

  “And your stand-in, I’m guessing?” Margot asked, taking a roll and handing the basket to Hank. “You could pass for a King, Sawyer. Same bones. Same height.”

  Margot’s comments had all eyes on Travis’s bodyguard.

  “A love child with one of your roadies, eh, Dad?” Travis tore the corner of his roll, using the rest of it to point between the two men. “He is a couple of years older than me.” Travis winked at his father, laughing. “You were young and wild once, I bet.”

  Hank King shook his head. “Young, maybe. Wild? No.”

  While Travis and Margot started talking about Hank King’s start, Loretta was sidetracked by the tension rising from the opposite end of the table. Specifically, Krystal. From the uneasy way Krystal glanced back and forth between Sawyer and Jace to the pointed gaze all three of them seemed to understand…

  But what had them on edge?

  She hadn’t meant for Sawyer to catch her watching them, but he did. His gaze narrowed, ever so slightly, before his face cleared of all expression and he turned his attention to his food. But, for a second, his jaw clenched tight. When he did that, she could see where Margot was coming from. He did look like a little like Travis.

  Loretta took another sip of her tea, studying the man over the rim of her glass.

  “I think you should,” Margot was saying. “It’s your home, Hank. What’s that saying about a man’s home is his castle? Oh lordy, King? Get it? King? Castle. That is hysterical.” She shook her head. “Gut the whole place and start again.”

  “Except the home studio.” Hank held up his tea. “We just finished that and I’m damn proud of the way it turned out. Did you get a chance to look at it?” He turned to Loretta, curious.

  “I apologize, I got sidetracked in your office.” The confession made her cheeks go hot. “If Travis hadn’t found me, I’d probably still be in there.”

  Hank shook his head. “The door is always open to you.”

  “Which brings us back around, nicely, doesn’t it?” Margot asked, shooting Hank a playful smile.

  “Go on.” Hank cleared his throat and reached for his tea.

  “You sure?” Margot waited for him to nod before saying, “Hank and I were discussing today’s meeting and we think it makes sense for you to move in here.”

  Loretta inhaled the bite of coleslaw she’d been chewing, forcing her to drink her entire glass of tea and accept several sharp pats on the back from Travis before she could answer. Even then, her throat was so tight she only managed to get out one word. “What?”

  “Well, darlin’, you are homeless. I’d love having you move in with me, you know that. But everything is here. The studio. Your singing partner. Your tour collaborators. Wheelhouse Records is right down the road a ways… This makes sense. Flying back and forth from Bakersfield doesn’t.” She paused. “Unless you’re a pilot and I don’t know it.” She chuckled.

  “Brock is,” Krystal volunteered, glancing her way. “If you don’t want to stay here.”

  “Brock has a career.” Hank King pointed out, reachin
g over to pat Loretta’s hand. “Your call, Loretta. I imagine today has been a lot.”

  Loretta nodded, numb. Move in. Here?

  “Can you pass me the ribs?” Jace asked, reaching for the platter—and changing the subject.

  Conversation picked up, overlapping one another, with plenty of good-natured teasing thrown into the mix. But no matter how much she tried to engage, Hank’s proposition kept circling through her mind.

  Assuming, of course, that she agreed to the Wheelhouse Records deal. The thick glossy packet was shoved into the recesses of her oversized bag for airplane reading. Margot always slept through flights, so she’d have plenty of time, alone with her thoughts, to consider all the details. But she was beginning to think the details didn’t matter.

  What other options did she have? Really?

  “Who wants pie?” Krystal asked, standing. “And coffee?” No one turned her down.

  Loretta jumped up. “I’ll help clear dishes.” Better than sitting here, stuck on a hamster wheel, worrying over things she didn’t have the answer to. Not yet, anyway.

  Her waitressing days came in handy. Between her and Krystal, they had the table cleared in no time. But once they were in the kitchen, Krystal didn’t bother with small talk.

  “I get the feeling you’re not happy about this?” Krystal asked, filling the coffeepot.

  Loretta sighed. “Which?”

  Krystal’s laugh was startled. “Well, all of it, I guess.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. I do appreciate it—”

  “Hello.” Emmy Lou swept in. “I’m so sorry we are so late.” She hugged Krystal, then hugged Loretta too—as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “But we didn’t miss pie. And you know how I love your pie.”

  “I made three.” Krystal smiled. “Just in case.”

  “That is why you’re the best sister ever. What did I miss?” Emmy Lou asked, taking inventory of what was still needed. “I’ll get plates.”