City Country

by BA Tortuga

  He was hunting a girl, all right, but not that kind. Just one. Just Emmy.

  God, the van smelled bad, like Kynan’s old socks, and he didn’t even have Packer to bitch at. Him and Adrian had gotten a room—with a bed.

  Sighing, he did the only thing a boy could do. He got out his cell and called his momma.

  “Hey, baby! How are you?”

  “No good, Momma. Not good.”

  “Are you hurt? Do I need to come get you? Bring your truck?”

  “No.” He brushed crumbs off the blanket by his butt, figuring he needed to open up the door and air shit out. “I did a stupid thing, Momma. With Emmy.”

  “Oh, honey. Did you sleep around on her? That’s not like you at all.”

  “No! No, but I hurt her feelings bad, and now I can’t find her.”

  “Can’t… Well, baby, it can’t be that hard. You know where she lives.”

  “Not anymore.” Shit, he couldn’t believe Emmy would just…up and move. Sure, he’d been an idiot, but she was such a smart girl. She would have to know he could explain. She’d have to.

  “What does that mean?” Exasperation sounded plain in his momma’s voice.

  “She’s moved. Her phone’s off. Like disconnected. I don’t…” Cotton swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “What do I do?”

  “What do you do? Jesus, honey, what did you do to send her running that way?”

  “I don’t know!” He shouted a little, letting it out. “I was real dumb and I let my sponsor set me up on a date with this girl and Emmy saw, but there wasn’t nothin’ to it! I just didn’t have a chance to explain.”

  “Huh.” His momma paused a moment. “Don’t you yell at me, boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I got to tell you, son, that sounds weird. I mean, I woulda hit you with a shovel, but I sure wouldn’t have moved.”

  “I know!” Cotton sighed again. “The van is stinky and I miss her and I want to see you, and…”

  “Well, I tell you what. Where are you next weekend? Gainesville?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’ll come see you. We’ll have a shop. I’ll leave your sister at home. We’ll figure it.”

  Oh. Oh, that would rock. Might even be worth making nice with the sponsors, if he could do it without being ’eligible’. That way he could get a hotel. “I’d like that, Momma.”

  “Me, too. I promise, honey. We’ll get it all sorted out.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby.” Momma chuckled, warm and fond. “Even if you are stupid.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cotton had visited with his momma. He’d made nice with the sponsors to the point where he was back in a hotel again, and not dating some hoochie girl. He had even got him a new pair of boots. He’d won an event, so he had an in at the finals and a bye coming to him.

  What he hadn’t done was found Emmy.

  He was gonna go crazy.

  Kynan and some kid he’d never met were hunched over his laptop, so he didn’t even have that to distract him. Packer and Adrian were off showering, which he wasn’t about to tell Kynan and the new kid, and God knew he didn’t want to contemplate that too much.

  Shit, if it wasn’t for the fact that Kynan often came in still wearing the evidence of a conquest, Cotton might think he was the only straight bull rider on earth.

  “Woo hoo. Would you look at that?” The new kid whistled, hunching up behind Kynan. “That’s hot, man.”

  “No kidding. This one is better, though. Look at her butt. It’s like someone’s been spanking on her.” Kynan paused, and Cotton felt the air shift or something. Something weird. “Kinda seems like that girl you was dating Cotton—only skinnier.”

  Cotton didn’t want to go see. He just didn’t. A girl who looked like Emmy on the kind of skanky porn sites Kynan gawked at might break his heart.

  He went, though, didn’t he?

  It wasn’t a skanky porn site. It was a mildy racy pin-up girl place, one of those new Bettie Page things. Hell, he only knew Bettie Page’s name because of Emmy.

  And that sure looked like her. Emmy, not the other lady. She was all dolled up in a bra and little black ruffly shorts and fishnets with the clips on the thighs, and her butt…

  “Dude, her butt’s like a baboon’s.”

  Boom. The new guy went down under Cotton’s shove, bouncing off one of the beds to plop down on the floor. Too bad he didn’t have the sense to stay down.

  “What the fuck, man?” The kid hopped up, fists clenched, and waded back in, swinging at Cotton like a rusty gate.

  Oh, hell yes. It felt so good when his fist connected with the kid’s jaw that he did it again, just for shits and giggles.

  “Boll! What the hell!” Kynan came in, too, trying to cut him off low. He popped his buddy right on the nose for it.

  Kynan grunted, but took the hit way better than his friend, coming up to get Cotton with an uppercut to the ribs.

  Shit. He grunted, absorbing the blow and taking a few more of his own. They crashed down when the new kid came at them, taking out the little armchair that all hotel rooms had. Damned things were always uncomfortable as fuck.

  “Cotton. What the hell, mate?”

  All of a sudden it got real complicated, with two naked, dripping Aussies wading into the fray. He would swear that Packer was shouting, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie,” as he fed Kynan a haymaker.

  “Christ! These dudes are naked, Ky.” The new kid climbed to his feet and backed off, staring with wide eyes at Adrian, who was pulling out some kind of karate mojo on Kynan.

  Kynan shook his head. “This is some messed up shit, Boll. We’ll have a beer later?”

  “Yeah.” Cotton grinned past his split lip. “Go on, now.”

  “You got it.” Kynan pulled his poor buddy on out of the room.

  Cotton turned on Adrian and Packer, who were sort of gravitating toward each other. “Don’t even think about springing wood in front of me. Back to the shower or out to the van.”

  “Right.” Adrian flushed bright, but grinned and grabbed Packer’s hand, dragging him back to the bathroom.

  Cotton shook his head, sighing, heading for his computer. He sat in front of the little screen, staring at Emmy, wondering where everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.

  She looked skinny. Was she not eating?

  He clicked on the little link next to the picture, trying to get to the homepage to see if the website had, like, an address. A phone number. Someplace that he could get a hold of her.

  What he got was Em’s profile, with a fake name. Auntie Bettie. If he had any doubt that it was his Em, though, that candid photo took them all away. She was wearing his shirt, the one she’d had on in Houston.

  She had a new tattoo, too. Right there on the top swell of her left breast. Even in that small picture he could see what it was. It was a little bitty cotton boll.

  Cotton’s whole body went tight, and he was the one springing wood. To hell with calling or writing or whatever.

  He was going to go find her.

  Now.

  * * * *

  “Shit, girl! Look at you!” Mouse stared at her as she came into the store, his eyes comically wide.

  Emily grinned, preened a little. She’d stayed in Houston with her brothers for six weeks, mourning and pouting and working out with her trainer sister-in-law.

  She’d lost thirty pounds and three dress sizes. She looked like a brick shit house, and she knew it.

  That’s why she’d come back.

  To show off a little.

  “Hey, y’all.”

  “Jesus, Auntie…” Mouse came over to her, hands sliding down along her hips. “Yum.”

  “Thanks, Mousie.” She kissed his nose. “Been working out.”

  “I can tell.”

  “I can, too.” Jeff came wandering up, then hugged her tight. “Girlfriend, you had us worried! You just disappeared.”

  Mouse nodde
d, big body propping up on the counter. “That guy called a bunch, asking for you.”

  Emily shrugged. “Fuck him. He needs a little country girl with a tiny butt and blonde highlights. I’m too much for him.”

  She hadn’t even told Cotton goodbye. She couldn’t.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cotton shifted from foot to foot, his boots creaking a little against the wooden floor. The studio door seemed like the kind of thing you saw in the old detective movies. It had a glass pane and gold letters that said, ‘Shuttered Bettie’. Cotton half expected to walk in and have someone ask him if he was there about a dame.

  Which he was, so it would work.

  He didn’t knock. It was a business, right? He just walked in.

  A bald girl blinked up at him with great big blue eyes. “Hey, there! Can I help you man?”

  “I…” Shit. What was he supposed to say? I need one of your models because she’s mine, not yours, and I want to kick someone’s ass?

  “Candy? Candy, can you tell Mitch that this fucking thing looks stupid, please?” His Em—his Em, god damn it—came out in a little…sweater and poodle skirt and cat’s eye glasses.

  Well. There. He didn’t have to say anything. He took off his jacket and thrust it toward Emmy. “Put some clothes on, woman.”

  Emmy caught it—staring at him for about three seconds, then she threw it back. “I have a shoot to do.”

  “No. No, you don’t.” His knuckles creaked just like his boots had. He clenched his fingers so tight. “Emmy, I need to talk to you.”

  “Why? There’s cameras in here, Cotton. Someone might record the fact that you’re talking to a freak, ruin your career.”

  “You stop that right now.” Damn it, he’d never once said it. Never even thought it. Okay, so he’d been stupid as hell, but he was not skanky!

  “Come here.” She turned around, heading down a little short hallway, that tiny, obscene little fake poodle skirt bouncing and showing off ruffly panties and garters holding up her stockings. She’d lost weight, was toned and shit.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell at her for changing or fall down on his knees and kiss her thighs. Maybe he’d do both. For now, he followed.

  She opened up a door to a little dressing room, let him in then shut the door behind her. “Look, Cotton. I love you, you know that, but I’m not dating a man that’s ashamed of me. I won’t. There are guys that think I’m hot, that don’t care if I’m big and inked and a geek and shit.”

  “What?” He blinked. “Slow down, honey. Did I ever tell you, even once, that I thought you weren’t pretty?”

  “You didn’t have to.” She actually teared up a little, turned away from him. “I was different and new, but not the kind of girl you admit to fucking, man.”

  A knock came to the door. “Emily? Emily, honey? Are you okay?”

  “I’m cool, Mitch. I’ll be right there.”

  “Emmy.” He put a hand on her arm, trying to get her to look at him. “I never even got a chance to talk to you. I was never ashamed of you.”

  In a hurry, confused about the way his sponsors were acting, awfully careless and stupid, yes. Never ashamed.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Had she said she loved him?

  “You didn’t even acknowledge that I was there. I was the freak that the clown made fun of.”

  “I tried.” He tightened his hold, swinging her around. “I love you, too.”

  “What?” Jesus, she was pretty, all made up and wide-eyed.

  “You heard me. You have any idea how hard it’s been to track you down? I wouldn’t do that for someone I don’t love.” He reeled her in and kissed her right on the mouth.

  She went stock still for a second, then she made this soft little sound and pressed against him, kissing him back for all she was worth.

  Oh, thank God. It wasn’t gonna be this easy. She’d turned off her phone. Hell, she’d moved. It was a start, though.

  Em pulled back as the banging rattled the door again. “Emily? I need you bent over a desk. Now.”

  “Okay. Okay, Mitch.”

  “No. Emmy, come on. Come with me to—” What the hell time was it? “Supper.”

  “I have a shoot to do then my roommate’s picking me up and—”

  “Emily! God damn it!” That guy sounded pissed.

  Em stormed to the door, flung it open. “Don’t you fucking snarl at me, you asshole! Every other girl in this fucking outfit can play games and shit, but since I’m not sleeping with you, you keep pushing! I’m having a motherfucking conversation!”

  The dude—who was sorta hairy—blinked at her. “Your lipstick’s messed up.”

  “She’s been busy.” Cotton stepped around and got in the guy’s face. “You’re teetering on the edge of a fist sandwich.”

  “Is this the asshole that you’ve been crying over?”

  “Mitch!”

  “I may be an asshole, but I’m her asshole, and you’re just the guy she won’t sleep with.” Now he was good and mad.

  “Actually, I’m her boss.”

  “Oh, stop it! You’re a killer photographer, but don’t—just don’t.” She was fixin’ to cry. He could tell. He knew her, damn it.

  “Mister, I’m not sure you got it right, but I’m not gonna make Emmy cry today.” Hopefully not ever again. Well, at least not over nothin’ serious. Women cried. “I’m taking her somewhere to eat. Go on, now, and let her change.”

  “I need this shot, Emily.”

  She shook her head. “I look silly. I can’t… I need to… Y’all two just get out of here a minute.”

  She pushed him out and just shut the door behind him. Locked it.

  The photographer dude sighed.

  “I don’t need this. Tell me again why we fucking put up with women?”

  Cotton rolled his shoulders and pondered answering. He gave up three seconds later and clocked the man on the chin.

  The guy stumbled back, staring at him for about half a second before collapsing in a heap. Ah. Glass jaw. Damn. That might cost Emmy a strip of skin. Not that this dude was gonna get his hands on her ever again. Cotton’s fists clenched when he thought of that one picture, and he was drawing back his boot to kick the asshat when the door opened.

  “Cotton! Jesus fuck!” Emmy grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “He touched your butt. I’m gonna kill him.” That was all right, wasn’t it? A man had to defend what was his.

  “What?” He looked at her, in a tight little black sweater and a tiny jeans skirt and leather boots that went all the way to heaven, and his mouth went dry. She went out in public like that?

  No way. What happened to the rockabilly skirts and dresses? “I like you better in my shirt.”

  “Me too.” She headed for the door, grabbing an umbrella on the way, before glancing over at the bald girl. “If Jeff calls, tell him to call my cell.”

  “You got it, Auntie.”

  Cotton followed, stuffing his hands in his pockets for the time being. He’d manhandle her again later. “Who’s Jeff?”

  “My roommate.”

  “You moved in with a man?” His voice rose, but he couldn’t help it. He’s been hunting her, and she’d been shacking up?

  “Yeah. He’s a good friend, and I needed somewhere to stay. He had an extra room.”

  “Why couldn’t you stay at home?” He just didn’t get it.

  “Because I needed a change. Because I felt stupid and dumpy and ugly and like a freak and Jeff’s house is freak friendly and I wasn’t just sitting and thinking all the time.” One hand fluttered, and her cheeks went a dark, painful red, before she looked away. “Because fucking Fractal Monkeys went under right after Christmas.”

  “Oh, honey.” Damn. After Christmas? Shit. She… Well, he’d known the software place wasn’t there anymore—that was the first place he’d checked—but he’d just assumed they’d moved, too.

  “It’s cool. I got a gig, and Mouse is lett
ing me work at the shop on the weekends. Things are slow all over.”

  “Well, maybe you need more of a change.” He couldn’t not touch her, so he reached out to put a hand under her elbow.

  “How much more could I? I haven’t eaten meat in two months, I’m running three miles a day, and I’m a model.”

  “Want to go to Whataburger?” Not eat meat for two months? Jesus.

  “God, yes.” She huddled in her sweater a little, lips pursing. “It doesn’t mean I’m making up with you, though.”

  “Come on. Truck’s out there in the parallel.” The parking gods had smiled on him, because if she had to go too far, she might bolt.

  “How long are you in town this time?” She stopped, lips pursing. “No. No, don’t tell me. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter, right? Right.”

  Stubborn girl.

  “Emmy. Stop that. Let’s just get somewhere where we can sit and talk.” She had to stop second guessing him. And her.

  She nodded and stepped forward, toward him, close enough that he thought he could smell her perfume. They got to the truck, and she let him open the door for her, let him help her up. That was a good sign. Her hair was darker than it had been, longer, less pink.

  Cotton resisted the urge to tug at it like a five year old. He kissed her cheek instead before shutting the door and hustling to the driver’s side.

  She didn’t say a whole lot, but she watched him. She watched him like a damn hawk. He kept clenching his hand, because he wanted to put it on her knee. Her phone rang as he pulled onto I-35, and she answered it. “Hey. No. No, I’m good. Am I? I’ll apologize to him, huh? I’ve got a ride home. No. No, Jeff. It’s cool. Yeah, I know. Okay, man. No, I have it. Really. I’ll call.”

  Cotton waited until she got off the phone, and he tried not to snarl. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  She stared at him, and that look was purely hurt for a second, then it went to mad. “That’s none of your motherfucking business, is it?”

  “Well, what am I supposed to think?” He hated that she was hurting, but he was like a bear with a sore paw, too. “You moved in with a man!”