“Whoa, so—” Travis was interrupted by Clementine and Watson’s circuit around the seating area before thundering back down the hallway. “That’s gotta stop.” Travis pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Shush.” Krystal slid into the booth beside him, dismissing Travis with a wave of her hand. “Now, spill.” She finished scrolling through the pictures. “Who took all of these? Was someone wearing a spy camera or something?” She handed off Emmy’s phone to Jace.
Jace held the phone out to her, the only one to look remotely apologetic over her phone being snatched.
“Go ahead.” Emmy smiled. “I think Momma was the one who had the pictures taken. Or maybe Brock’s agent?”
All three of them looked at her.
“Like…an orchestrated sort of thing?” Travis scratched his head.
The bus door opened and Sawyer joined them, a large brown paper bag in hand. “Food.”
“I love you, man.” Travis smiled, reaching for the bag.
Sawyer opened the bag and handed Emmy a clear plastic to-go box.
In the span of four hours, Daddy had located an anorexia nervosa therapist willing to do video sessions and a dietitian who specialized in developing individual meal plans for people with eating disorders. “Thanks, Sawyer.” She managed a smile for him.
The corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitched down. “What’s happening?”
“Not sure, but it sounds like Momma is up to something.” Travis shrugged. “So, the norm.”
Sawyer nodded, taking the phone from Jace. His blue-green gaze shifted from the phone to Emmy.
“Go ahead. Everyone else already looked.” Emmy took a bite of yogurt and granola.
“Last night. Start from the beginning.” Krystal pulled Jace into the booth beside her. “Scoot over, Trav.”
“Hold on, let me take off my left arm and leg to make more room.” Travis shot Krystal a look.
“Okay.” Emmy took a deep breath. “He was there. We were happy to see each other. At least, I was happy to see him. Then Momma was there—”
“Hold up.” Travis held up his pointer finger. “We’re now admitting you have a thing for Brock? We’re now allowed to openly tease you and talk about it?”
Krystal covered Travis’s mouth. “What makes you think she had something to do with this?”
“She said so. She said we were happy to help Brock out, but we needed to keep our relationship mysterious for the Bremmy thing. How they couldn’t have planned something as perfect as Watson’s rescue.” She shook her head. “Some big plans for Brock’s career and future and how this is good for him.”
“So she implied Brock is using you…which I’m guessing hurt.” Krystal frowned. “And then implied you, we, were helping out because he needed help. Which would have hurt him.”
“She’s trying to keep them apart?” Jace asked, sitting back in the booth.
“Don’t you think that’s a little drastic?” Travis yawned. “A lot drastic?”
“Yes, it is. But have you met our mother?” Krystal asked. “Maybe she really believes she’s protecting Emmy. I mean, to give her the benefit of the doubt, Emmy was crushed by the way it ended last time.”
“Can I ask a question? If she’s just doing this to help Brock, what does she get out of it?” Sawyer asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Or what does he have on her?”
She blinked, staring at Sawyer. “Brock?”
“He’s got a point, Sis.” Krystal took her hand. “I know it sounds harsh and I know you and Momma have a better relationship then Momma and me. But bottom line, Momma would never do something for nothing. This isn’t adding up to me.”
An extended silence settled. She didn’t know what was more upsetting: her momma manipulating things to keep her from the only man she’d ever loved, that they were all considering this as a possibility, or that Brock was doing everything Momma said.
The bus doors opened again. Only this time, it was her father… and Momma, too. Momma, who looked less than her perfect self.
“That looks good, baby girl.” Daddy eyed her plate. “Strawberries.”
“Want one?” Emmy Lou held it up.
“That’s all yours.” He smiled. “I don’t know whether to be happy you’re all together or worry over what you’re all up to.”
Travis sat forward. “Funny you should say that, Dad—”
Emmy stomped on his toe, hard, under the table. Sharing things with her siblings was one thing. But dragging Daddy into this, when there was nothing but speculation, felt wrong. She was still struggling with misplaced guilt—according to her first session with her therapist—for burdening her family with her eating disorder. “There are bagels if you’re hungry.”
“That’s an awful lot of carbs to start the day.” Momma sighed.
“I love me some carbs in the morning.” Travis stood, stretched, and carried his cup to the counter. “Are we up for a King family meeting? War council? World domination? What? After I have two or three bagels, with a side of extra carbs.” He was all smiles.
“Poke all you want, Travis. You’re not getting a rise out of me.” Momma stood, her arms crossed over her waist. “Daddy and I figured we’d check on you all before we started driving.”
“Well now, that’s…” Travis paused, taking a massive bite out of his bagel. “Mighty unusual.” He grinned.
Emmy turned all her attention on Watson. If she didn’t, she’d laugh. Momma might tolerate all sorts of teasing and shenanigans from Travis, but one thing she would not tolerate was laughter at her expense. Watson was all too happy to roll over for a belly rub.
“Everything okay?” Krystal asked, her gaze fixed on Daddy.
“Everything is fine.” Daddy nodded, looking at Emmy’s breakfast. “Just checking in.”
Emmy swallowed another bite. “On me?” Once the carton was empty, she held it up. “All good?”
Daddy nodded but Momma stood, placing a hand on Daddy’s arm. “I need a minute, Emmy.” She glanced pointedly around the room. “It won’t take long. I know we need to get back on the road.”
Emmy held her breath until they were in her room, bracing herself for who knows what.
“I owe you an apology.” Momma cleared her throat. “I acted poorly.”
Emmy pushed her brush aside to sit on the edge of her bed. “Why, Momma?”
Momma picked up her brush. “Let me?” Emmy nodded, turning so Momma could brush her hair. “I used to do this for hours when you were little. You remember? You’d let me braid and clip and give you fancy twists. You’ve always had the softest hair.” She kept brushing Emmy’s hair. “A sweet smile and a big heart, too. You give people the benefit of the doubt, even when they don’t deserve it.” There was a sheen in Momma’s eyes. “But not him—not again. I talked to him at the field and again last night, did you know that? He’s so jealous of you and your success. It’s almost like he’s come back wanting to hurt you. And he has, leading you on this way.” She kept brushing. “If his agent hadn’t called to thank me, I’d never have known how important this Bremmy thing is for him. It’s already changed his life. He just signed a seven-figure deal with Alpha Menswear—after all this went viral. That’s why he came to the concert.” She stopped brushing Emmy’s hair and crouched by her side. “I get upset and I get all momma bear. But I am trying harder. I’m just so worried about you. Daddy, too. We love you so much, baby girl. This not eating thing…” She drew in a deep breath. “That comes first. You being healthy. I can’t lose you, too, Emmy.” She took her hand. “Yes, I’m trying to protect you. I always will… All I can think about is what happens if he hurts you again. You took it so hard last time.” Momma burst into tears. “You’re not strong enough, Emmy.”
Emmy pulled her close, crying, too. “Momma, don’t cry.” Barbed wire seemed to wrap itself around her lungs.
&n
bsp; “Can you forgive me?” Her arms tightened around her. “Can you understand? You’re my whole world, Emmy Lou. My baby girl. I have to do what’s best for you.” She peered up at Emmy, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Even if, sometimes, it hurts.”
It was easier to hug Momma again and hold her tight than it was to look her in the eye and lie. As earnest as her mother appeared, a sliver of doubt remained. She needed answers, and the only person who could give them to her was Brock.
* * *
Brock pulled off his worn leather gloves and threw them into the cab of the ranch truck. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, tucked his keys into his pocket, and climbed up the front steps of the ranch house.
“Get it all done?” Aunt Mo asked, sitting on the front porch with a bag of snap peas in her lap and a bowl on the swing beside her.
“Yes, ma’am. If we get an early storm, they can pen the herd in the north shed. Heat lamps are working, and I went ahead and replaced the bottom strand of wire. Didn’t like the look of it.” He leaned against the porch railing, watching Aunt Mo’s quick work.
Brock’s phone was ringing from inside the house.
“That phone has been ringing since you left.” She shot him a look. “If I knew how to turn it off, I would have. Can hardly hear myself think with all that racket.”
“Sorry, Aunt Mo.” He smiled, but he didn’t move.
“Don’t sit there. Answer it or turn it off.” Aunt Mo frowned. “But from all the ringing, I’m thinking you should go on and answer it.”
He pushed off the railing and headed inside. There was a reason he’d left his phone here. It had been a long time since he’d been this wound up, but he knew he wasn’t fit for conversation.
Until he saw who was calling. “Connie.” He barked her name.
“Sounds like someone is having a rough day?”
“Well, it hasn’t been good.” He cleared his throat, the anger he’d been fighting damn near making him shake. “Did you talk to CiCi King?” He paced the length of the family room.
“What?” Connie asked.
“Did you call her?” He paused, staring at the framed collage of family photos over the mantel.
“I returned her phone call.” Connie paused. “Which, I’ll be honest, was out of nowhere. What the hell is going on? I don’t appreciate the tone.”
“I don’t appreciate having the rug pulled out from under me by a woman who I know has some sort of ax to grind with me.” Calm down. Breathe. Deep down, he knew Connie would never do or say any of the things CiCi had hinted at.
“Brock Nathaniel Watson.” Aunt Mo chastised him through the screen door. “I taught you manners. Use them.”
He sighed. “Sorry, Connie. I’m acting like an ass.”
“You are.” Connie sighed. “Why don’t we start over?”
“Sounds like a good idea.” He took a deep breath. “Why did CiCi King call you?”
“At first she was looking for advice. Something about a new musician needing an agent or manager. I gave her a few recommendations, but that’s not what I do.”
Brock smiled. When it came to sports, Connie was the best. Entertainment? If it wasn’t sports, she wasn’t interested.
“Then she mentioned you. She’d heard about the Alpha deal and asked if that was a done deal. I didn’t answer, since it’s none of her business. But she kept talking. It became clear she was trying to get me to say the Bremmy thing was the reason the Alpha deal had gone through. I didn’t say a thing. As you know, I don’t discuss my clients’ endorsements or negotiations.”
He sighed. “She made it sound like the two of you had some mastermind plan and Emmy was my fucking golden ticket.”
“Brock,” Aunt Mo hissed.
He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. “I don’t know why I let it get to me, but it did.” He knew why. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew.
“I don’t, either. And, honestly, I’m a little pissed off. I’ve micromanaged the shit out of your career for the last five years to put you in the best position.”
“And I appreciate it. I appreciate you.” He cleared his throat. “I owe you for sticking with me when no one else would.”
“Next time, remember that before you snap at me.” She cleared her throat. “If I was going to recruit backup—I wouldn’t—it sure as hell wouldn’t be CiCi King. I’ve never heard anything good about that woman. Only to watch your back when she’s around. It sounds like you might need that advice right about now.”
“Sounds like it.” He got himself a glass of water and drained it.
“What did you do to CiCi King? Or her family?” Connie chuckled. “Must have been something.”
He filled up his glass again. “I’ve been trying to figure that out since I left.”
“The logical conclusion would be you and her daughter. You know, America’s sweetheart. The one who makes you grin like a schoolboy—don’t deny it, I have the pictures to prove it. Me and anyone on any social media platform. Anywhere.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Maybe she thinks you’re going to break her daughter’s heart again—”
“I didn’t break her heart. But she damn near totaled mine.” He slammed the cup onto the counter.
Aunt Mo’s firm touch startled him.
He did his best to smile when he said, “That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago,” Aunt Mo mumbled.
“It’s my job to give you advice.” Connie paused. “I’m not much of a romantic, Trish will back me up on this, but it sounds like you need to talk to this girl. No audience or distraction or interfering mothers. What’s that old saying about a picture?”
“A picture’s worth a thousand words,” Aunt Mo said.
“This is a private conversation, Mo.” He shook his head, but he was smiling.
“You should have thought of that before you came into my kitchen to have it.” Aunt Mo started pulling things from the refrigerator. “You’ll have to finish your private conversation somewhere else because I need to make you dinner.”
“Hi, Molly.” Connie started laughing. “You better tell her I said hello.”
“Connie says hi,” Brock repeated.
“I heard her.” Aunt Mo’s smile was huge. “Still hoping you and Trish will join us for Thanksgiving.”
“We would love to,” Connie answered. “Tell her we said yes.”
“You want the phone?” He held the phone out to his aunt.
“What is the matter with you, son? You’re all out of sorts.” Aunt Mo shook her head. “Good thing you’ve got practice tomorrow. You need to tackle some people.”
“Have I mentioned how much I adore your aunt?” Connie asked.
“Not recently.” But Brock knew firsthand just how easy it was to adore Aunt Mo. Even if she was nosy and bossy. “Want me to tell her?”
Once he’d finished his call with Connie, he went back outside to wrap the pipes on the main house. Since Aunt Mo was too stubborn to make improvements to the hundred-year-old home, Brock made sure to do as much preventative work as he could.
He was crawling out from under the house when his phone started vibrating.
Thanks for the other day.
Vanessa.
I just wanted you to know I did go to a meeting and I’m fine.
He stood, dusting the grass and dirt from his jeans. He typed his response and hit send. Glad you’re taking care of yourself. Keep it up.
“You going to wash up?” Aunt Mo called. “Dinner’s about ready. After, maybe we could take a ride down to the tank. John Wayne’s been out to pasture too long.”
“I’m not going to say no to that.” He kicked off his boots on the back porch and headed inside, leaving his phone on the counter. “Give me five minutes.”
“Five.�
� Aunt Mo nodded, turning the massive chicken fried steak. “Gravy will be done and you’ll have a feast fit for a king.” She frowned. “I wasn’t poking at you.”
He frowned. “What?”
“King.” She stared at him. “Emmy Lou? Oh, never mind.” She shook her head. “Go clean up.”
A warm shower, a hearty dinner, and a long horseback ride down to the big tank was a perfect way to round out the evening. For all his complaining, he understood why Mo didn’t make any improvements. Being here was like stepping back in time. When he was here, he knew he’d work hard, sweat enough to wring the wet out of his shirt, eat well, and slow down enough to appreciate the little things. Out here, nothing changed.
Not the land or Aunt Mo’s horse. John Wayne was twenty years old, slow and steady, but he loved Mo and her pockets full of apples and sugar cubes. The horse looked miniature next to Brock’s horse Granite, a Percheron mix. Then again, Aunt Mo looked pretty tiny standing next to Brock.
“Been too long since we did this.” Aunt Mo slowed John Wayne when they reached the hill leading down to the tank. “I know you were riled up when you got here, but I’m glad you came. It was nice having you around—spending some time away from the hospital.”
“I’ll do better, Aunt Mo.” He sighed, resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle and letting the sunset ease the last of the stress from his shoulders. “I haven’t been there as much as I should—”
“You’re doing fine.” Aunt Mo cut him off. “You are, aren’t you, Brock?”
He looked at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I heard your phone call, Brock.” She shook her head.
“I know.” He smiled.
“I didn’t go snooping, now, so don’t get sassy with me. Your phone was pinging again, and I looked that way and I saw Vanessa’s name pop up.” She frowned, shaking her head again. “I wish the girl well, but I also wish her far from you.”
“You don’t need to worry about that, Aunt Mo.” He nodded.
“I didn’t think so. Especially after hearing all the carrying on you did with Connie.” Aunt Mo was shaking her head. “You should listen to her. She’s all kinds of smart.”
Song for a Cowboy Page 19
