Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “On my way now. I forgot all about it. I’m a little tired after last night.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’d rather be having brunch with you. Or sitting across the table from you. Or staring at your mouth.”

  “It’s a good thing the phone isn’t on speaker,” she whispered.

  “When I get back, we should go for a drive through the hills so you can see the bluebonnets.” It had been a long time since there’d been so many of them. A sea of blue, as far as the eye could see.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be here when you get back.”

  He frowned. Just because she’d agreed to the Wheelhouse Records deal didn’t mean she’d agreed to staying with them until the tour kicked off.

  “All right.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been fun. Take care.” And she hung up.

  By the time he reached the country club for brunch, his mood had taken a nosedive. From the sudden downpour that started halfway down I35, Emmy Lou’s apology text explaining the latest wedding crisis that was preventing her from coming, to Loretta’s cryptic “It’s been fun” parting shot—he was done long before he and his mother took their seats in the club dining room.

  “I can’t shake the feeling you’re somewhere else, Travis.” His mother sipped her mimosa from the crystal champagne glass.

  “I’m right here.” He smiled, slathering butter on a biscuit.

  “You know what I mean.” Momma shook her head then smoothed her platinum blond hair. “How are you holding up? How are your coaching sessions going with…” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “What’s your sobriety coach’s name, again?”

  “Archie? My sobriety coach’s name is Archie.” He smiled and took a large bite of his biscuit, not bothering to lower his voice. “We talk every week. Might even get together for lunch this week, if it works out. I’ll tell him you said hello.”

  She sighed. “No setbacks, then? No slips? It’s natural, of course. And I’d never judge you on that, Travis. But I’ll believe you if you say you’re staying…”

  “Sober?” He nodded. “I am. No slips or setbacks and no plans to change that, either.” It was pretty much the same conversation they’d had at every previous brunch. Part of him wondered if she wanted him to slip just so she could be there for the aftermath.

  After another sip of her mimosa, she was leaning in again. “How is everyone else? I talk to Emmy Lou almost every day of course, about the wedding. I was a little surprised to hear she’d agreed to let Home & Style magazine take pictures at their wedding. That must have been Brock’s choice. Not that I blame them—the money they’re getting is nothing to shake your head at.”

  Did she know Emmy Lou and Brock had agreed to the write-up and photos so they could donate every cent of the money to an anti-drug charity? If she was talking to Emmy Lou daily, shouldn’t she know that?

  “What do you think about Krystal’s new look?” She shrugged. “The whole world knows she and Jace Black are a couple. Was it really necessary for her to ruin her hair with a black stripe in it? Though I suppose it’s better than her getting a tattoo like one of his fangirls.”

  If his sister heard their mother say that, she’d have headed straight to a tattoo parlor just to give their mother the bird. Travis nodded his thanks to the waiter, thankful the food had arrived. He’d eaten the entire basket of biscuits on the table and he needed to keep his mouth full to stop him from saying anything he’d regret.

  “Is your father okay? I’ve heard rumors—”

  “He’s fine.” If his father wanted her to know about his vocal nodules, his father would tell her.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard, Travis.” She frowned at him. “I appreciate your loyalty to him and I respect that. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about your father. I always will.”

  He nodded, cutting into his syrup-drenched French toast. “You know better than to listen to the rumor mill.”

  Her green eyes narrowed. “I hardly think a close, personal friend qualifies as the rumor mill, Travis Wayne.” Her perfectly sculpted nails clicked along the tabletop. “I’m glad he’s well. Emmy Lou should have a perfect wedding day. I know Hank would never do a thing to jeopardize that but, if he’s truly ill, it could complicate things.”

  Only Momma would see things that way. He toyed with the guitar pick in his pocket. This was why Krystal no longer bothered to make up an excuse about coming to brunch. His sister wasn’t capable of letting their mother roll off her back. For her, it was easier to avoid their mother altogether. He suspected Momma was okay with that too.

  “I’m not just worried about your father’s health. He seems to be getting awfully chummy with that Loretta Gram, doesn’t he?” Her smile was pinched but her attention was on her eggs Benedict and bowl of fresh fruit. “I know she’s been through a lot, poor thing. Loretta Gram is one of those people who has nothing but bad luck.”

  If by bad luck, she meant a successful singing career and the ability to do what she loved then sure, Loretta was super unlucky. He swallowed more French toast. He wasn’t going to talk about Loretta with his mother. The whole thing was wrong. From her assumption that her husband would get involved with Loretta to how blasé she seemed about it. Travis speared his French toast, cut off a large bite, and shoved it into his mouth.

  “Travis. You weren’t raised in a barn.” She frowned. “Manners, please.”

  He kept right on chewing.

  “I understand your father has the right to move on, but she’s such a sad thing I can’t help but wonder if she’s using that angle to catch his eye.” She took a tiny bite of her breakfast. “Most men, your father included, love getting to ride in on a white horse to save the day. I guess it’s a virility boost.”

  Clearly, Momma knew nothing about Loretta. If she did, she’d know Loretta would ride in on her own white horse—she didn’t need rescuing by anyone. The other? His father? Hank King wouldn’t move on to another woman as long as he was married. After being married as long as they had, Travis felt confident Momma knew that. But instead of saying a thing, he shoveled in another too-large bite of his French toast.

  “It’s a bit of cliché, isn’t it?” She was leaning forward again. “The May-December rebound romance.”

  Cliché? Travis wiped his mouth and sat back, unable to let that one go. “How old is Kegan Scott, Momma?” He took a sip of his orange juice, already knowing the answer. Every time another photo of Kegan and his mother was printed, their ages were noted within the first line or two of the articles. Kegan was a year older than he was. One year. “Things going well with you two?”

  His mother set her silverware down. “I don’t think I care much for your tone, Travis.”

  He tossed his napkin aside. “Momma.” He stood, bent forward, and kissed her cheek. “I love you but you keep doing what you’re doing and I can’t like you.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction.

  Two sleepless nights caught up with him about halfway home. He cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows, and wished he could start the day over. But the farther he got from Austin, the fewer and fewer cars got in his way. The birdsong, bluebonnets, rolling green grass, and the scent of spring in the air eased some of his frustration before he got home.

  He was whistling when he headed into the kitchen, drawing his father and Sawyer’s attention. “Morning,” he said, pulling a mug from the cabinet for a much-needed cup of coffee.

  His father pushed a tablet toward him.

  Travis turned and read aloud, “How’d it go with your mother?” He shrugged. “No one died.” He tapped the paper. “You know, there’s this thing you can type out messages on—and then you’re not killing trees.”

  His father pulled the tablet back, scowling.

  “Any plans today?” he asked, carrying his mug to the table. “Bachelor living at its finest.”

  One of Sawyer’s brows cocked a ha
lf-an-inch higher than the other. “They went to drop off Margot at the airport and do some shopping. She’ll be back.”

  Travis didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know who she was. He knew. What mattered most? She was coming back.

  Chapter 9

  Loretta sang, swaying along with the music.

  Walking by the river,

  Moonlight up above.

  Hold my hand forever,

  Babe, let’s fall in love.

  Travis strummed the banjo, plucking a few notes to keep the tone light and carefree. His blue-green eyes met hers and she smiled her approval.

  So hold my hand forever and, Babe, let’s fall in love.

  She stretched out the final note while Travis’s fingers flew through the notes and the song ended.

  “Yes?” Travis asked, a pencil in one hand.

  “I like what you did there.” She pointed at the sheet music. “The banjo is better.”

  “You could say I’m a musical genius.” He grinned.

  She laughed. She’d been doing that a lot recently, thanks to Travis. And now? That grin was testing her whole “one night” plan. Who was she kidding, he was testing her “one night” plan. It would have been completely different if their one night hadn’t been so…so…

  “Don’t you think?” Travis asked, running his fingers through his hair. “If we change the tempo there?”

  Since she hadn’t been listening to him, she decided teasing was the best way for her to save face. “As the musical genius, I’ll let you decide.” There was no way she’d admit her thoughts were distracted. By him. And last night—all the images from last night.

  There were oh so many to choose from.

  Now was not the time for this. She was the one pushing professionalism. Daydreaming about Travis was in no way, shape, or form professional. Calming breaths. Appropriate thoughts. Focus and clarity. She tucked her hands between her legs and concentrated on looking anywhere but him.

  Travis had gone through the trouble of digging up some songs he’d been tinkering with on and off for a while. She’d been surprised he hadn’t shared these songs with his sisters, knowing how close they were. Not that she was complaining. So far, she’d be more than happy to sing a handful of songs with him. These were more upbeat and playful—unlike the hotter-than-hell duet they’d sung together on the back porch.

  “It’s a dancing song.” Travis nodded, tapping his pencil on the edge of the music stand.

  “Dancing songs are always good.” Which was true, especially in country music.

  “They are.” He stood, carrying the banjo back to its stand on the shelf.

  Loretta was astonished at the number of instruments Travis could play. Harmonica, bass guitar, pedal steel guitar, banjo, and the dobro—Loretta didn’t know anyone who played that anymore. He tinkered on keyboards too. As far as she could tell, he could play—and play well. The new home studio had a wall of cases built specially for the instrument collection.

  She watched him carefully consider each instrument before reaching for a wooden Rogue Dreadnought guitar, slipping the strap around his shoulder and tuning it as he carried it back to their stools.

  “You like dancing, Loretta Gram?” he asked, sitting on his stool and adjusting the strap.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been dancing. When was it? With Johnny? And since most dance halls served alcohol, she didn’t have many memories that ended well. But he hadn’t asked her that. He’d asked her if she liked dancing.

  “If you have to think about it, maybe we should refresh your memory?” He plucked out a few notes, then turned a tuning peg.

  The gruff throat-clearing from the corner of the room reminded her they weren’t alone. Sawyer sat in the corner of the studio, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at something on the computer.

  “You can come too, if you want, Sawyer. Get you out of the house so you’re not hanging around in corners being creepy.” Travis shrugged, then lowered his voice. “I have to give him shit. It’s what I do. He’s been looking at blueprints of the tour venues most of the morning.”

  “That’s very thorough of him.” Loretta risked a look at Sawyer, Margot’s comments—and Krystal’s reaction—springing to mind.

  From this angle, he could be Travis’s doppelgänger. A doppelgänger bodyguard. There were several differences, obviously. Travis and his hair. Sawyer had dark hair, cut close—not a curl in sight. Sawyer’s eyes were dark blue, not nearly as vivid and rich as Travis’s. Sawyer was a little taller than Travis, but they were pretty equally matched physically. Both of them were in tip-top physical condition.

  “That’s Sawyer.” Travis nodded. “He doesn’t like surprises.”

  Sawyer’s gaze darted their way, lingering on her face—more like judging her. “Why don’t you have security, Miss Gram?” he asked.

  Travis looked up from his guitar then. “There are plenty of crazy bastards out there.”

  “I’ve never had everyday security. I never needed it, I guess. When there’s an event, the label hires someone to accompany me. The same on tour.” She shrugged. “I’m not as high-profile as the King family. Thankfully.”

  “You will be,” Travis said, his gaze shifting from her to Sawyer. “You’re touring with us now. Singing with us. Might be worth looking into.” He paused. “You know anyone?”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary.” She waved her hands.

  Sawyer’s slight headshake was almost imperceptible. Clearly, he disagreed.

  “Think about it,” Travis said. “It’s definitely one of those things you’ll appreciate having when you need it. Sawyer’s good at what he does. He takes his job seriously.” He broke off and whispered, “A little too seriously at times.” He sat back, smiling. “He heard about a fan breaking into some actor’s house, I don’t remember who. Anyway, Sawyer got all fired up about it. He’s got this place tricked out with cameras and sensors and tons of high-tech shit. The tour buses too. Drivable Fort Knox. Damn CIA doesn’t have anything on the King’s Coach I or II.” He strummed his fingers along the strings. “Whatever Sawyer thinks we need, my father listens.”

  The one person she needed protection from wasn’t a physical threat. Her father was too smart to try something like that. He’d mastered the art of manipulation with just the right amount of pushing to get what he wanted then pull a Houdini until the next time he was in need. Pretty sure security can’t protect you from parental extortion…

  Travis’s gaze locked with hers. “You good?”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  “Tired?” he asked, that grin of his making her insides give and ache. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

  That look had her spiraling. And his words? All of a sudden, she could hear the rasp of his breath against her ear. Feel the grip of his hands holding her hips. Taste the salt on his skin. Maybe I do need protection—from myself.

  She tore her gaze from his. “I’m a little tired. But I shouldn’t have any problems sleeping from now on.” She started flipping through the pages he had brought with him. Because we agreed it was a one-night deal.

  Travis’s knee pressed against hers, warm and solid. “Guess we’ll see about that—”

  “Hey, Sawyer,” Emmy Lou sing-songed, holding open the studio door. “Look at you two.” She headed toward them. “Getting down to business.”

  “What are you working on?” Krystal followed, carrying a guitar case.

  “Hope we’re not barging in.” Jace paused inside.

  Emmy Lou and Krystal both stopped, their movements almost synchronized. Confused expressions. Inspecting her and Travis. Then looking at Jace incredulously.

  “Barging in?” Krystal rolled her eyes. “The tour starts in three weeks. Three. Weeks.” She held up three fingers.

  “Are we barging in?�
� Emmy Lou asked, dragging a stool over to join them.

  Loretta shook her head, thankful for the interruption. “And Krystal is right. I’m the interloper here. I don’t want to slow you all down or step on toes.”

  Emmy Lou shook her head, her blond curls bouncing. “Nope.” Her attention shifted to the sheet music. “What is this?”

  Travis grabbed for the pages before his sister could. “Nothing.”

  He didn’t want his sisters to know about his songs? Interesting.

  “I love you to the moon and back big brother, but you just guaranteed we will harass the shit out of you until you hand over the pages.” Krystal set down her guitar case and faced her brother.

  From the set of Krystal’s jaw, Loretta didn’t doubt it. Still, she felt for Travis. If he didn’t want to share his music, he had his reasons. But he’d shared his music with me. The surge of happiness was unexpected delight.

  “I’m afraid she’s right.” Emmy Lou nodded and held out her hand. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

  Loretta was laughing then. They all were. Emmy Lou putting her foot down was a sight to see. Somehow, she managed to threaten her big brother while staying all sweetness and light.

  “I wish Brock had been here to see that.” Travis was still laughing as he shook his head. “Then he’d see what he’s getting himself into.”

  “He knows.” Emmy Lou smiled. “And he adores me anyway.”

  Loretta still hadn’t gotten used to this. Any of it. Not the rapid back and forth between the siblings or the devotion between the sisters and their beaus or the open display of affection among them all. It wasn’t just the ease with which they teased and laughed. It was the security. There was no denying the love among them. Real love. Unconditional and unwavering… She’d begun to think that sort of love was just a myth. Great for songs and poems and movies but no one had ever truly seen it or experienced it firsthand. No one in my world, anyway.

  She’d only ever had her father and Johnny and neither of those were healthy relationships.