Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  What did she think? She didn’t normally wear much makeup so she wasn’t one to judge. But she was pretty sure that wasn’t the right answer and since five women were all waiting for her opinion, she opted for the truth. “I’m speechless.”

  “Excellent.” The makeup artist sighed, her smile relieved. “If you don’t make the Best List tonight, it won’t be my fault.”

  “She will.” Bree carried the peacock dress forward. “She will be at the very top.”

  Putting on the dress was a production in and of itself. At least this part of the evening was done; she was officially one step closer to this night being over. Now all she had to do was smile her way through the evening. It wasn’t like this was her first awards show—she’d been to a dozen. But this was the first time she was going solo.

  No, that wasn’t exactly true. Walking the red carpet on her own wouldn’t be too trying since it was all about the photo ops and quick interviews lined up into the auditorium. Once she was inside, she’d be sitting next to the Kings. Lucky for her, she was seated by Hank King because the less time she spent with Travis King, the better.

  ***

  Travis glanced at his sister, Krystal. She sat facing him in the rented black limousine, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. “What?”

  Krystal pointed, indicating all of him. “Stop.”

  “I’m going to need more to go on.” Travis tugged at the collar of his white dress shirt as if that would ease his anxiety.

  “Stop getting in your head.” Krystal leaned forward. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s not like you can’t sing. Or fans don’t love you. Or you’ve suddenly stopped being the second-most attractive man on the planet.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her beau, Jace, to whisper, “Because you’re the most attractive man.”

  “Pretty sure he picked up on that.” Travis shook his head. “He’s not just a pretty face.”

  Jace chuckled and bent to kiss Krystal’s cheek. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I don’t think so,” she argued, all sass, “I know so.”

  Travis groaned. “Please.” He turned his attention to the tourist-lined Las Vegas sidewalks outside, considering Krystal’s words. She was right about one thing—he was definitely his own worst enemy right now. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop the worry. Tonight wasn’t just about proving himself to Wheelhouse Records; he needed to do this for himself. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he hadn’t been paired up with a woman who’d already written him off as a failure.

  Krystal’s phone pinged. “Emmy Lou.” She shook her head, her fingers tapping out a response. “She said she’s worried about Daddy.” She frowned. “Have you noticed him coughing, Trav?”

  “A little.” Travis shrugged. “He said he was fighting a cold.”

  “Well, Emmy Lou thinks it’s something more.” She turned, looking out the window at the limo in front of them, where Emmy Lou was. “I wish we’d all ridden together.”

  “We’d have been packed in like sardines.” Jace took her hand. “I think that’s what you said.”

  “Your dress does take up a whole seat.” Travis glanced at her. “But you look beautiful so I guess it’s worth it.”

  “Damn straight.” Jace smoothed a long, blond curl from her shoulder. “I’m a lucky bastard.”

  “Yes, you are.” Travis agreed. He liked Jace Black, liked the way the man treated his sister. But if there was ever a time he thought Jace took his little sister for granted—Travis would make sure Jace would answer to him.

  Krystal smiled at him. “You two clean up pretty well yourselves.” Krystal cocked her head, eyeing him. “I guess you and Sawyer living at the gym is what’s turning you into a muscle-man.”

  Travis tugged at his shirt collar again. “Right.”

  “Um, right.” Krystal rolled her green eyes, her tone dripping sarcasm. “Do you own a mirror?”

  He had to laugh then.

  The limo slowed as it pulled up in front of the MGM Grand Garden Arena. The traffic came to a stop a few feet from the red carpet. Limos, town cars, and larger SUVs were grouped together, being directed by the police who’d been tasked with managing tonight’s production. The carpet had metal control barriers running down both sides, additional security placed at regular intervals between the barriers. Not that the fans cared. They were bunched together, screaming and waving and craning their necks to see who was coming next.

  “Is that Loretta?” Krystal asked. “Holy shit. I mean, seriously. Wow. She looks incredible.”

  “Who?” Jace asked, leaning around Krystal. “In the blue?”

  “Yes. Look at the skirt.” Krystal wasn’t easily impressed.

  There was a knock on the passenger side window. Their father waved, gesturing to them to get out.

  Travis had forgotten just how deafening the fans could be. Nothing was as humbling as hearing the way the fans reacted to them—Three Kings. Their loyalty was second to none. Emmy Lou did the lion’s share of the work. She kept her millions of social media followers close, posting daily snapshots of whatever struck her fancy. Music she was listening to. What her cat, Watson, was up to. Lots of selfies of Three Kings together. She connected with the fans in a way he and Krystal hadn’t mastered.

  Emmy Lou went first. She and Brock Watson held hands and looked suitably smitten with each other. Fans ate it up.

  Jace and Krystal followed, her arm tucked through his—keeping her tight against him.

  “Guess we’re bringing up the rear.” His father clapped him on the back and smiled.

  Travis nodded, sliding his hand into his pocket to rub the guitar pick inside. He’d held the anxiety and panic at bay all day but, here—now—all the tiny fears and insecurities felt magnified. The noise kept coming, rolling over each other in various pitches and tones. It was hard to make out actual words, but the energy of the crowd helped. Not enough to remove the fear that this whole enterprise had the potential to go horribly wrong—but at least now he was excited about it.

  “That’s for you too,” his father murmured. “See that?” He nodded at a group of young women holding a poster board covered in large letters and glitter that read, “Travis King’s #1 Fans!”

  He’d been accused of being a cocky bastard, having a big ego, and thinking he was the center of the universe—mostly by exes or musical rivals. Up until a year ago, that was true. Still, he had to admit the cheers and excitement, all for him, had him feeling pretty damn good.

  Travis grinned and ran his fingers through his hair—Krystal’s advice. Then he smiled—Emmy Lou’s reminder—and the resulting surge of near-frenzied yells and cries had his father chuckling.

  “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?” Hank was studying his son closely. “You hold on to that and sing for them and you’ll always give your best.”

  We have a career because of our fans. It was Emmy Lou’s response every time he or Krystal gave her grief for how active she was on social media. She had a point though. So did his father. Maybe it was time to subscribe to the Emmy Lou and Hank King playbook—making this about the fans. And it would keep him out of his head.

  “Is that Loretta?” his father asked. “Who is she here with?”

  Bits and pieces of her phone conversation came back to him then. She’d said she couldn’t get a ticket. For tonight? She’d rather come to a three-hour award show alone? He hadn’t meant to search her out, but that’s exactly what happened. His gaze caught and held. Incredible? Is that the word Krystal had used? True. More than true. Seeing her… Damn, she was something to look at. Those eyes. Her hair. That smile. For a second, he forgot how quick she’d been to write him off. Hell, for a second, he forgot to breathe. She was…beautiful. Blindingly so.

  “Travis?” His father nudged him.

  “What?” Had he missed something?

  The c
orner of his father’s mouth kicked up. “You should see if she wants to join us?”

  “She won’t.” Besides he wasn’t exactly pro-Loretta at the moment. So why did his gaze keep shifting her way—over and over? Because she’s beautiful. Hostile and sanctimonious as hell, but beautiful nonetheless.

  “Might be worth asking.” His father’s gaze tightened. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather she wasn’t left alone to deal with the likes of him.”

  Travis followed his father’s gaze. Shit. Mickey fucking Graham and his smug-ass smile. He’d caught sight of Loretta, all right. It was the way the asshat was looking at Loretta that dictated he take the high road. He wouldn’t wish Mickey Graham on his worst enemy.

  But his father beat him to it.

  “Hey, big brother. I didn’t get a chance to tell you how handsome you look tonight,” Emmy Lou said once he’d reached her side. “But I think they beat me to it.” She turned, smiling at the group still screaming his name.

  Travis waved again—sparking another wave of enthusiastic fandom.

  “What’s Daddy doing?” Emmy Lou asked.

  “What Daddy does. He saw Mickey closing in and…” Travis explained, continuing down the red carpet—still smiling, still waving.

  “Rescue mission, eh?” Emmy Lou’s nose wrinkled, the only outward sign of her agitation.

  Travis nodded. Mickey was an asshole; he’d always been as asshole. The sort of asshole that treated women like second-class citizens, used his private life for press, and didn’t even try keeping his hands to himself. He’d made the mistake of tangling with Krystal a few years back, but, from all reports, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

  That’s why his father stood, waiting as Loretta had a thousand more pictures taken from every possible angle. Sure, his father was talking to reporters and entertainers and being his normal jovial self, but it was clear he—Hank King—was waiting for Loretta Gram. And it was drawing attention.

  “Daddy and his big heart.” Emmy Lou was Daddy’s little girl. To her, their father could do no wrong.

  “Speaking of which, any sign of your mother?” Brock Watson, Emmy’s fiancé, asked.

  Travis knew exactly what Brock was asking. He wasn’t the only King facing potential humiliation and scandal. If his mother showed up with her reported boyfriend Kegan Scott, things were bound to get awkward as hell for his father—for all of them really.

  Travis sought out his father. “No sign of Momma.” His father was walking back to them, Loretta Gram on his arm. “Or Kegan Scott.”

  “No.” Emmy Lou waved as they made their way, slowly, along the carpet. But she must have been thinking along the same lines because she said, “That’s just talk, you know that. Momma thrives on drama, but our family has always come first. She wouldn’t bring another man here tonight. She wouldn’t.”

  Travis and Brock exchanged a look, but conversation came to a stop as they approached one of the night’s red carpet emcees. A live two- to three-minute soundbite to give at-home viewers a better look at the musicians and celebrities in attendance.

  When Travis saw their emcee, the knot in his throat eased—just a bit. Molly Harper was one of the few reporters that had never treated his family with anything but respect. And, for that, Travis was a fan. Krystal liked to tease him about it—she’d even bought him a coffee mug that read Molly Harper’s #1 Fan.

  Right before they stepped up onto the elevated stage where Molly waited, Loretta whispered something to his father and let go of his arm. Instinctively, Travis searched for signs of Mickey Graham.

  For the first time that evening, his gaze collided with Loretta’s. The smile on those red lips never wavered, but her topaz eyes flashed with hostility. She almost made him laugh. Why the hell did he think she needed protecting? All it would take was one of those looks and Mickey Graham wouldn’t know what hit him.

  It was a solid reminder. She is not my problem or my responsibility.

  Travis stepped up on to the dais, holding out his hand to assist his sisters with navigating the steps without tripping over their voluminous skirts.

  “We can all squeeze in,” Molly said once they were crowded together on the small platform. It meant a great deal when Molly accepted his hug and whispered, “It’s good to see you back, Travis. I believe in you.”

  Hugs all around and they waited for Molly to count down.

  “I’m here, live, on the red carpet, and look who’s here?” She turned. “The King family. Hank, Emmy Lou, Krystal, and Travis. It’s so wonderful to see you here tonight. And, may I say, all four of you look smashing.”

  Travis tuned out as his sisters listed off the designers of their dresses and the cost of the jewelry they’d been loaned for the evening.

  “Travis, you’re wearing?” Molly asked, waiting.

  Travis glanced down. “Armani.” He resisted the urge to tug at his collar.

  “I’m loving the exaggerated shawl label of the jacket. And, look at you, leaving your dress shirt unbuttoned. Very Travis King.” Molly’s smile was sincere.

  “Thank you?” he asked, uncertain.

  “You’re welcome.” She laughed. “I know I speak for many folks here tonight, especially your fans, when I say we are glad to see your return to the stage. You look like you’re feeling well. You’ve been working out.” She shrugged. “I, for one, didn’t think it was possible for you to get more handsome. It seems I was wrong.”

  Travis blanked. Was he supposed to say something witty? I got nothing.

  “What have you been doing to prepare for tonight?” Molly’s question caught him off guard.

  He cleared his throat, knowing all eyes were on him. “Rehearsing mostly. Lucky for me, I know some people willing to help with that.” He paused, glancing Loretta Gram’s way. “But seeing as I’m getting to perform with one of the most talented artists out there, I’m pretty sure no one will be paying much attention to me.”

  “Three Kings are up for Song of the Year and Hank, you’re up for Album of the Year. Good luck tonight. I’ll be rooting for you.” Molly smiled into the camera until she turned. “All clear. Thank you so much.”

  Things wrapped up quickly. Jace helped Krystal, Emmy Lou took Brock’s hand, and his daddy followed him down.

  “Shit.” Travis heard Krystal’s whispered curse word. “Momma.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her. His mother. And she wasn’t alone. So far, Daddy hadn’t spied them… If he could steer them all inside, there was a chance the strained reunion wouldn’t happen before several hundred cameras and reporters ready and waiting to pounce.

  “Mr. King.” Loretta’s voice was soft. “I hate to hurry inside, but I think the sun is getting to me. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” his father assured her, patting her hand. “I’m not too partial to the Nevada sun, myself. You need something cold to drink, a little air conditioning, and some shade.”

  “I think you’re right.” Loretta sounded relieved. “Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you said something, Loretta.” Emmy Lou flanked their father’s other side. “My dress weighs a ton. I think I’m melting.”

  “Well, then, let’s get you two inside.” His father picked up the pace, steering Emmy Lou and Loretta through the crowd—and farther away from his wife.

  Travis followed, doing his best not to stare at Loretta Gram’s back. It was hard. The ribbons lacing up the back of Loretta’s dress fluttered in the mild breeze, drawing his attention. Once he was looking at the ribbons, it wasn’t like he could ignore the rest. That dress, on Loretta, had him caught. A fly in a spider’s web. He’d try to look away but got tangled up in the sway of her hips or the way she smoothed her curls over her shoulder to expose the column of her neck.

  A year ago, he’d have gone out of his way to wine her, dine her, and wear her out in bed—regardless of the tension betw
een them. Hell, a little tension and fire made sex more fun. And while there was a part of him that was tempted by the dining and bed part, her accusations were like barbs sunk deep. Until he cleared the air between them, he couldn’t get them out.

  “Guess we can all be thankful your singing partner got overheated just in time to dodge a bullet.” Krystal squeezed his arm when they reached the lobby.

  “You think she did it on purpose?” Jace asked, tilting his head so Krystal could adjust his collar. “Better?”

  Krystal nodded, her gaze locking on Jace’s mouth. “You look good enough to eat.”

  “No,” Travis interrupted them. “I don’t think she did it on purpose. Why would she care?”

  But seconds later, Loretta was peering over her shoulder. Not at him, but beyond him—searching, a deep V between her brows. As covertly as possible, he turned to see who or what she was looking at. The answer was there, in a bright red dress and blond hair piled high. His mother. He turned back just in time to see Loretta asking for help to find her seat. Of course, his daddy volunteered.

  She’d known exactly what she was doing. She’d spared his father public humiliation and, likely, heartbreak too. It was decent. More than decent. Dammit all. Travis ran his fingers through his hair, then slipped his hand into his pocket—worrying the guitar pick between his fingers. After he’d set her straight about his recovery and after he’d accepted her apology for jumping to conclusions, he’d thank her.

  He’d thank her, they’d sing their song, they’d go their separate ways, and Travis wouldn’t have to deal with Loretta Gram or her beautiful, angry eyes ever again.

  Chapter 4

  “I don’t know if I can go out there in this.” Loretta’s reflection stared back at her, her eyes wide with terror.

  “You look amazing,” Bree said.

  “Not to be rude but you have to say that, don’t you? Since you’re the one that put me together like this?” Loretta shook her head. “How do I look?” she asked Gina.