Song for a Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Yes. Of course.” But guilt made her stop. “This is all my fault. If there’s a penalty for disrupting a game… What can I do?”

  “Miss King.” The referee sighed, tapping his watch. “We will discuss this after the game.”

  “Right.” She nodded, glancing beyond the referee, beyond the players laughing over the slow-motion replay of her kitten rescue, searching for Brock. He was getting an earful from their coach. And it was her fault. The last thing he needed was trouble with his team. He’d been benched for his injury. His leg. She stopped again, but one look from her security-guard escorts got her moving.

  He hadn’t been cleared to play. He shouldn’t have been chasing after her—protecting her.

  She stared down at the wide-eyed kitten. Which was worse? That her actions could land him with a substantial penalty and prevent him from playing once he’d been cleared to come back? Or that he might have reinjured himself protecting her?

  She was all smiles and waves en route to her family’s box. But once she was inside and there were no prying eyes or cameras, she sat, kitten held close, and slumped down in her seat. For all the kitten’s fluff, the little thing felt fragile in her hold. “Melanie?” Emmy asked. “Can you get the kitten some milk or cream or something?”

  “I’m on it.” Melanie nodded and hurried from the box.

  “Little thing all right?” Daddy took one look at her and patted her knee. “Ankle okay?”

  The kitten curled up in her lap and began purring. “I think so.” She hadn’t given a thought to her ankle. She ran a hand over its silky fur, shaking her head. What was I thinking?

  “Can’t deny it didn’t liven things up a bit.” Daddy winked and turned around, leaning forward on his elbows to watch the game.

  Travis was sitting behind her. As soon as their father was preoccupied with the game, he leaned in and whispered, “That was interesting. Brock going all Hulk protecting you.”

  Yes. No. He was in trouble. Because of her. Not that she’d made him run after her…but he had. “Not now.” She frowned at her brother, shooting a silent plea at her sister and Jace.

  Krystal rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Trav.”

  “What?” Travis’s gaze narrowed. “She should know how many people ran after her.”

  “How many?” This wasn’t bad—this was a nightmare. “I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble.” The kitten was asleep on its back, paws in the air, fluffy tummy exposed.

  “It’s okay, Em.” Krystal pushed Travis’s shoulder. “Can you please be nice? She’s upset.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Travis sighed. “Don’t sweat it. Brock was the only one. You’d barely put one foot on that field and he was already covering you. Pure instinct.”

  Brock had fast reflexes. He was acting on instinct. It didn’t mean anything.

  “I noticed that.” Jace nodded, looking her way. “Not exactly a tool move. More like a good, decent guy thing to do.”

  “Exactly.” Travis nodded. “Decent. Unless he’s after something.” He was smiling from ear to ear. “You’ll have to talk to him to figure out what that might be.” He winked. “Or you can let a different instinct kick in. Sex can diffuse a lot of tension. I agree with Jace, you’ve got options.”

  “No.” Jace shook, looking downright horrified. “I didn’t say that at all.”

  Emmy could only shake her head. Just when she thought her brother couldn’t do or say something to shock her, he did. “You’re going to bring that up now?”

  “That? You mean sex? Yes. Jace and I are both guys. Might want to listen to us.” Travis nodded, on the verge of laughter.

  Jace opened his mouth but Krystal cut him off. “There’s no point, Jace. He thinks he’s hilarious.”

  “Stop worrying.” Travis was laughing now. “You know what’s good for stress? Se—”

  “Travis, if you say or hint about…sex one more time…” Emmy’s words ended when their father glanced back at them.

  “You’ll what?” Travis asked, smiling.

  “I don’t know.” She stroked the kitten’s tummy. “I hope his leg is okay…” And just like that, she’d said too much.

  Krystal gave her a long look. “Nobody made him, Em.” She sighed. “I mean, I don’t like him. But…what he did didn’t suck, okay? Let’s leave it at that.” She paused, shrugged, and looked at the kitten. “It’s so cute. Think Clementine will eat it?”

  Emmy looked down at the tiny scrap of fur. “I hope not.”

  “Em?” Krystal groaned. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but maybe Travis is right.”

  Travis whispered. “Sex will fix everything.” He burst into laughter.

  “No,” Krystal snapped. “About Brock keeping an eye on you. Not all stalker-y—just aware. Of you. He always was that way with you.”

  “Who knows? Some good press might keep him from getting fired.” Travis shrugged, then winced as Krystal smacked him in the back of the head.

  Emmy felt downright sick. Fired?

  “Don’t listen to him.” Krystal hugged her. “Everything will be fine.”

  Emmy wanted to believe that. But what if it wasn’t? What if her spur-of-the-moment act cost Brock the one dream he had left? Even though his accusation still stung and it would be awkward, she had to talk to him. She had to know and, if possible, find a way to make amends.

  * * *

  Brock kept his head down. The team was still on a high from their win—fourteen points up. It was too much to hope that his team would forget what had happened in the first five minutes of the game. It was damn lucky they’d won the game—everyone was in a good mood.

  Everyone but him. Watching Emmy run onto that field had triggered something. He didn’t think or question or have any sort of plan beyond protecting her. He wasn’t willing to risk one or both of the huge Broncos going through Emmy Lou to make a touchdown. It wasn’t like either of them would have been on the lookout for a woman, or a kitten, on the field. Going after her, protecting her, was what he had to do—no matter what the consequences.

  Once Coach McCoy was done with the postgame press conference, he expected Brock in his office. After the stunt he’d pulled today, he didn’t know what to expect. The whole country had witnessed his antics. Between the sports commentators’ comedic narration and the challenge that this year’s championship halftime show wouldn’t be able to compare to this, it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His teammates would make the most of it. If he thought all the underwear was bad…

  “Brock?” Russell leaned into the locker room.

  Brock nodded, grabbed his bag, and followed Russell to Coach’s office—knowing every player, trainer, and staff member watched him go. Michelle gave him a sympathetic wave and a wink before she closed McCoy’s office and he braced himself for what came next.

  “Sit,” Coach said.

  He and Russell sat.

  Dale McCoy sat behind his desk and stared at Brock for a solid five minutes before he said, “That little stunt you pulled? It’s a twenty-five-thousand-dollar fine.” He leaned back, his hands behind his head. “Hell, the league could pursue legal action if they wanted to.”

  Brock didn’t argue. He knew better. And in any other situation, he wouldn’t have set foot on the field. It hadn’t been a conscious decision—it was Emmy. “I’ll pay the fine.”

  “No, hell no.” Coach McCoy laughed. “Hank King already paid it. If he hadn’t, I have a handful of people who would.” He leaned forward, pushing a stack of notes around. “Michelle says the phone calls keep coming in. American Feline Association, Black Cat Rescue Group, cat food companies. There’s more.” He pushed the notes aside. “I’m pretty sure the league won’t pursue anything. It was a damn kitten. Emmy Lou King. And you.”

  Hank had paid the fine? He didn’t know how to feel about that.


  “Can’t buy that sort of publicity,” Russell Ewen added. “It’s the feel-good story of the season.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the fines or the publicity. Do you know what I do give a shit about?” Coach McCoy pulled off his cap, ran a hand over his head, and put it back on. “Getting your ass off the bench and back on the damn field. Your appointment is tomorrow. Let me know what Dr. Provencher says.” Coach McCoy sat forward. “And I mean as soon as you know.”

  Brock left soon after. His phone kept vibrating the entire walk to his truck.

  Connie sent a screenshot. Emmy Lou King, holding up the smallest black kitten Brock had ever seen. She had captioned it “Meet Watson,” with the hashtags #mommasboy, #loveatfirstsight, and #fearlessfeline. She tagged Brock and added the hashtag #myhero.

  He stared at the image, saved the picture, and stuck his phone back in his pocket.

  His phone vibrated again. Connie’s enthusiasm was a good thing, but right now, he needed a hot bath and a long sleep. He waited until he was in his truck to answer it.

  It’s Emmy. Aunt Mo gave me your number. He stared at the screen. I’m so sorry about today.

  Don’t be sorry, he typed, then deleted, then retyped another text, but instantly regretted hitting send. It read, Watson, huh?

  She sent back a laughing emoji. It fits. And it’s a way to say thank you. Another text popped up. Krystal and I are also leaving a thank-you apple pie for you at Aunt Mo’s.

  He put the truck in gear, his heartbeat picking up. You there now?

  Headed that way.

  He made the trip to the ranch in forty minutes. When he got there, no one else was parked out front of the ranch house.

  “Surprise, surprise. I should have called you to get ice cream.” Aunt Mo offered her cheek for his kiss. “I figured you’d come running for the apple pie the King girls dropped off. Figured it’d be tomorrow.”

  Dropped off. Meaning she was gone. He swallowed down his disappointment. He didn’t need to see her to know she was okay. She was. That was all that mattered. “You know I love apple pie.” Emmy Lou knew it, too.

  “Go on and help yourself.” She smiled. “Plan on staying?”

  “Sounds good.” The idea of driving back to Austin wore him out. Out here, he could get his head on straight and face whatever backlash tomorrow brought. For now, pie and bed sounded good. He headed for the kitchen and a monster slice of pie. Maybe he’d eat the whole damn thing.

  “We’re back.” The front door opening. Emmy Lou. “I bought Old-Fashioned Vanilla. It goes best with apple pie. Want another piece?”

  Damn his fool heart for speeding up at the sound of her voice.

  “Oh, maybe just a sliver.” Aunt Mo was smiling, he could tell.

  Aunt Mo and Krystal were talking, but he didn’t hear a word once Emmy walked into the kitchen.

  “Hi.” She stopped, a recyclable shopping bag hanging off her arm and sliding to the floor. “Brock, I’m so sorry.”

  All the panic and fear he’d bottled up since she’d run onto the field flooded his veins. Don’t do it. Don’t. Fuck it. He was walking toward her—aching to pull her against him—to wrap her up, hold her close, and breathe her in. Somehow, he managed to slam on the brakes before he reached for her.

  Her gaze locked with his, an unmistakable spark in her emerald eyes. “I am sorry. I keep causing problems…”

  She wasn’t wrong. Every damn time he saw her—she caused all sorts of problems. Like this. Right now. Pulling her into his arms when he knew better. This was a big damn problem. But she felt so good in his arms. Safe. Warm. Her head on his chest. She fit. She always had.

  “Put on a pot of decaf coffee, too, won’t you, Brock?” Aunt Mo’s voice echoed down the hall. “Goes good with pie.”

  He called out, “Yes, ma’am.” Enough now. She was fine. This was over. It hurt like hell to let her go. He managed, but it wasn’t easy.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “You said apple pie.” That was his excuse and he was sticking to it.

  “I wasn’t sure how else to get you here,” she whispered, nibbling on the inside of her lip.

  And just like that, his heart was hammering away.

  “I can’t wait for some pie,” Krystal announced, stepping extra hard on the wooden floor. “Almost to the kitchen. For my pie.” She peered into the room, her eyes narrowing as they landed on him. “Brock.”

  “Krystal. Nice to see you,” he said, heading toward the coffeepot.

  “Is that the same coffeepot?” Emmy Lou smiled. “She’s had that for years. I learned to make coffee in that.”

  He remembered. There were so many good memories between them. He swallowed hard. “You know Aunt Mo.” No matter how many times he’d offered to buy things for Aunt Mo, she refused. Eventually, he’d let it go. If she wanted to keep the vinyl wallpaper in the bathrooms and her ancient icebox—it was too old to be called a refrigerator—he’d let her. Her happiness was a priority. Of all the women in his life, she was the only one who stayed.

  “Good coffee,” Aunt Mo said, sipping the freshly brewed cup.

  He heard it then—a high-pitched squeal of a meow. There, among the bundles of multicolored yarn by Mo’s chair, was the fluffy, black kitten. Brock picked up it up and gave it a quick once-over. “For something so little, you sure caused a big ruckus today. You know she saved you, don’t you?” The kitten stared at him, reaching out a paw to swat at him before yawning. “Good to see you’re appreciative.”

  Emmy moved over on the couch, reaching for the kitten. “He’s had a big day.” She laughed, placing her pie plate on the table and patting the couch beside her.

  He smiled. The plate was scraped clean. It was one piece of pie, but it was a start.

  As soon as he sat beside Emmy, the kitten jumped into her lap, purring. “He sounds like a motorboat.” Brock laughed.

  “Aw, you guys have a Beauty and the Beast thing going on over there.” Krystal pulled out her phone. “Hold up your baby. This will make a great Christmas card.”

  “Aunt Krystal is sarcastic, Watson. You’ll get used to it.” Emmy leaned in close and held up the kitten. “Smile,” she said, shooting Brock a look. “Both of you.”

  Krystal blinked, giving them a long look before she took a few pics.

  “I can’t wait. I’d turned off the television, so I missed all the excitement,” Aunt Mo said, sipping her coffee. “Can’t watch the game with that Ames boy playing; my blood pressure can’t take it.”

  “I’m not a fan,” Emmy agreed.

  “He’s definitely your fan,” he grumbled.

  Emmy’s gaze met his—sweeping over his face to linger on his mouth. Was she thinking about kissing him? Now? Considering the varying degree of hostility Krystal was sending him, she might use one of Aunt Mo’s knitting needles on him.

  “News should be on.” Aunt Mo was clicking through the channels. “Found it. Oh my. Well, goodness. You look good, Brock. They never saw you coming.” She chuckled.

  “The clip has people speculating,” the newscaster said. “Take a closer look.”

  Brock glanced up to see video of himself—followed by video of Emmy. Once he’d been back on the sideline, he’d been looking for her. From the video, she’d done the same.

  “I’m not the only one that thinks something is going on with these two.” The newscaster grinned.

  “No, you’re not.” Krystal’s whisper wasn’t really a whisper.

  “It’s got people talking. Hashtag #BrockplusEmmy is trending. We’ve come up with a survey, so you be sure to let us know. Are you pro-Brock and Emmy or anti-Brock and Emmy? We’ll say good night with another look at today’s excitement.” The clip played again, in slow motion, with dramatic music added.

  Krystal had her hands press
ed to her mouth, trying not to laugh. “A survey? Seriously?”

  Emmy Lou glanced Brock’s way, not nearly as amused. If anything, she looked panicked. Really panicked. “We should go.” She stood, cradling the kitten.

  Krystal caught sight of Emmy then. “Right, we should.”

  “You girls come back real soon and stay awhile.” Aunt Mo clicked off the television.

  “We will, Aunt Mo. We’ll clean up real quick.” Emmy nodded, heading down the hall, Krystal on her heels.

  “You listen to me, Brock.” Aunt Mo pushed out of her chair, whispering. “I’m not sure you’ve been right since the two of you went south, but I’m telling you now, leave those past hurts alone. Seems a shame to let a second chance at happiness slip away.” She hugged him, giving his back a solid pat. “I’ll mind my own business now.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

  Once Emmy Lou and Krystal came back, they gave Aunt Mo hugs, exchanged quick goodbyes, and headed to the door. Whatever had set her off, Emmy looked on the verge of flight.

  “You two have everything?” he asked, following them onto the front porch.

  Krystal rolled her eyes. “Yes.” She mouthed Hurry at Emmy and ran to the waiting black Mustang with sparkling silver racing stripes.

  “Everything okay?” They were in such a hurry, it seemed like a valid question.

  “I just… Momma… You don’t know Momma.” She shrugged, tension bracketing her mouth. “We need to get home.”

  He knew CiCi King well enough to know that she and Emmy Lou were close. CiCi had made damn sure he understood that. His gaze raked over her face. Or were they?

  “Thank you for…everything.” She opened her mouth, then stopped.

  “Let’s go, Em,” Krystal called from the driver’s side window, then looked his way. “I’ll be sure to send you the survey results.” With a sassy wave, she rolled up the window and headed down the dirt road back to the highway.

  Brock stared after the red taillights with a million questions running through his mind. Aunt Mo had said to forget the past and start fresh. If he did that, only one question was left. Was Emmy willing to give them a second chance? Hell, did she even want to?