Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  There had to be a way to say no? “Margot, are you sure you’re up for this? Shouldn’t we get home so you can rest?” She winced, hating herself for using Margot’s weakened state to get out of this.

  “How about you two come out to the homestead and let us take care of you?” Hank gave Margot a concerned once-over. “But only if you’re feeling up to it, of course.”

  “I’m fine.” Margot shook her head. “Damn cancer doesn’t know who it’s messing with.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Loretta had to smile at that.

  “So, we accept your invitation.” Margot looked pretty pleased with herself.

  Fine. If that’s what Margot wanted, Loretta would deal with it. What happened the night of the IMAs had been a fluke and, as long as she kept her distance and curtailed any tantalizing daydreams, nothing would happen. Not a thing.

  “Barbecue, lemonade, buttermilk pie, watch the sunset off the back porch—slow things down a little.” Travis winked at Margot. “Might even get a serenade too.”

  “Sold.” Margot was all smiles. It was almost impossible to resist Travis’s flirty side.

  Almost impossible.

  The elevator doors opened and the four of them took the short stroll down the hall to the offices of Ethan Powell. While the outside of the building was all glass and mirrors, the Wheelhouse Records floors stood out. Heavy wooden beams had been installed overhead. The room was outfitted with leather furniture, mounted instruments signed by famous musicians, and a wall of all the gold and platinum albums they’d produced. The wall ran the entire length of the hallway.

  This is why you have to play ball with them. Loretta scanned the names and albums. Sure, she and Margot could go somewhere else…but this was where she wanted to be. When she and Johnny had started out, it was Wheelhouse that recruited them, honed their sound, and built them up. Right or wrong, loyalty mattered to her—in business and in life.

  Her gaze wandered to the Frederic Remington bronze statues of bronc riders and cowboys to the ornately framed Charles Russell painting hanging on the wall behind the reception desk. She got the feeling these weren’t reproductions.

  Wheelhouse Records could afford to buy originals and install beams that served no structural purpose and put calf-skin leather chairs in their waiting room—and they wanted anyone who stepped foot inside their corporate offices to know that.

  The woman behind the desk was pushing sixty, but that didn’t stop her from trying to look like she was thirty. Blond hair ratted high and all but lacquered into place with hairspray. Her nail extensions were pointy and tipped with glitter. She wore a shirt that revealed the girls—all hiked up and strapped into a bra with impressive endurance.

  She’d been clicking, with her pointer fingers, on her keyboard until she spied Hank King. Then she was up, coming around her desk to give him a hug.

  “Good to see you, Hank,” she said, pressing a sticky pink lipstick kiss on his cheek. “Mr. Powell just buzzed to see if you and Travis were here.”

  “You too, Peggy.” Hank kissed her cheek in return. “And here I thought we were early.”

  “That’s what I told him.” Peggy waved a dismissive hand. “He’s just excited. And you know how he is when he gets excited.” She gave Travis a quick hug before turning to them. “Margot, I’ve been thinking of you every day.” She came forward to hug Margot, lowering her voice as she said, “You know my sister had breast cancer. She ended up with a double mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, and a brand-new husband to boot. Now she’s healthy as a horse—and she has the boobs of a twenty-year old.” She winked.

  “I’ve never had the patience for a husband, but I won’t rule anything out.” Margot chuckled. “I appreciate you thinking of me, Peggy. Now, I know I’ve been a little distracted but, did I get my days wrong? I can’t see how Mr. Ethan Powell can meet with us and the Kings at the same time.”

  Peggy smiled. “Don’t you worry about that. Hank and Travis. If you two will head in, right there, to that boardroom?” She pointed to a set of doors on the far left, off of the waiting room. “And you and Loretta go in there on the right.” She pointed to a different set of doors, at the opposite end of the waiting room.

  “We’ll see you back here shortly.” Hank’s voice turned raspy, prompting him to cough and clear his throat.

  Loretta had noticed Hank do something similar several times before. And the way Travis glanced his father’s way—concerned.

  “You better.” Margot winked. “I’m already looking forward to the barbecue and the serenade.”

  Peggy corralled Hank and Travis toward the door so she and Margot headed the other way.

  “You heard that, didn’t you? Hank’s cough,” Margot murmured. “That doesn’t sound too good.”

  Loretta nodded, pulling open the boardroom door and stepping aside. “I’m sure he’ll get it taken care of.”

  “You better believe it.” Margot walked through the door. “That man is about as business savvy as they come—” Margot came to a stop, her mouth hanging open as she stood just inside the door.

  “Margot?” Loretta followed. “What’s wrong?” But she then she saw exactly what was wrong.

  From his seat at the head of the very long conference table, Hank King chuckled. “I bet Peggy got a real kick out of this.”

  Loretta’s faint concern had officially turned into mounting panic.

  “Hysterical,” Margot said, giving her arm a comforting pat. “Breathe, Loretta,” she murmured softly. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation for this.” But Margot didn’t sound like her usual confident self.

  And that was when Ethan Powell walked in, followed by four people Loretta had never seen before. Peggy followed and made her way around the table, passing out folders with a smile on her face.

  “Thank you,” Margot said, instantly opening the packet.

  Loretta couldn’t bring herself to look. She knew. Deep down, she knew what was coming. A teeny-tiny part of her clung to the hope that she was not here to discuss some sort of further collaboration with the Kings—namely Travis. But then Margot reached over to rest a hand on her arm and said, “Let’s hear this out and think things through before we react.”

  Loretta nodded, staring blindly down at the packet. The cover read, “The Trail Blazer Tour, North America.”

  She ran a hand over the glossy cover, the blood in her ears roaring as Ethan Powell and his team of market researchers laid out the where, when, and how of the way they saw things moving forward. They even had a nice PowerPoint presentation complete with bullet points and images from her and Travis’s IMA performance.

  That was what they wanted moving forward.

  Loretta, on tour with the Kings. She’d partner up with Travis to sing LoveJoy songs and anything new they came up with—with plans to cut an album in the next year. And, because Mr. Powell knew how much Loretta wanted it, she’d get a couple of solo songs too.

  Because she wanted it. Not because she was talented enough or that she’d earned the chance to go solo. It was a token—like they were pacifying her…

  The words risk and risky were used more than a handful of times too. She understood what they were saying. They were doing them a favor. She and Travis. They were both risks. Her, because her success was tied to LoveJoy. Him, because he was a recovering addict backup singer—who happened to be a King. In a way, she guessed they were doing them a favor. They hadn’t dropped her. They’d put together a snazzy PowerPoint to try to sell her on performing with Three Kings. Three Kings, for crying out loud. She should be over the moon happy. Besides, it’s not like I have other options.

  But another slide popped up and she couldn’t look away. She and Johnny had been LoveJoy. The name they picked for her and Travis… The urge to giggle was unexpected but—come on—really?

  TrueLove.

  Chapter 6

 
“It wasn’t like you weren’t already here. Baking,” Travis said, standing aside as Krystal pulled the pie from the oven.

  “Uh-huh,” Krystal said. “I wasn’t making buttermilk pie.”

  Travis shrugged. “Daddy’s idea.”

  “It was?” Krystal smiled up at him and placed the pie on the marble countertop. “Interesting. Here, I thought buttermilk pie was your favorite.”

  “It might be.” Travis shrugged, chuckling when she shot him a look. “Fine. It is. Have I said thank you?” He leaned forward onto the marble countertop and smiled. “Thank you, little sister.”

  “Whatever.” Krystal rolled her eyes. “If you want me to make a buttermilk pie for Loretta Gram, fine. But, nice to Daddy or not, I’m not sure I’m a fan.”

  “She’s been through some shit, Krystal.” He shook his head. “Maybe think about cutting her some slack.”

  Krystal’s narrow-eyed assessment was obvious. “Uh-huh.” She stared up at him. “You had your meeting this morning?”

  “Never miss one, you know that.” He winked at her.

  “I do.” She paused. “I’m proud of you for working so hard. You’re in a good place, Trav. You don’t need to complicate your life.”

  Travis didn’t bother arguing. If Krystal wanted to read between the lines, there wasn’t a thing he could do or say to stop her anyway.

  “Stop hiding out in here.” Krystal poured lemonade in daisy-covered glasses, put them on a tray, and held the tray out to him. “Here.”

  He wasn’t hiding, exactly. He was giving Loretta space. Hell, he was giving himself space. Ever since he’d climbed into that elevator, he’d been hard-pressed to ignore the pulse between them. If he was too close to her for too long, he was treading water—and she was the undertow. Whatever had been started in the hallway of the MGM Grand Garden Arena, there was no going back.

  “Besides, Daddy shouldn’t be doing all the talking,” Krystal reminded him. “His appointment is tomorrow?”

  Travis nodded. It had taken a hell of a lot of strong-arming—including threatening to not go to today’s Wheelhouse Record meeting—before his father relented.

  “You are going with him, aren’t you?” The mix of hope and concern was something they were all feeling.

  “I’m going.” Travis shook his head, sighing. “He’s not happy about it and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to change his mind but—”

  “You won’t let him,” Krystal finished.

  “I won’t let him.” He wrapped his sister up in a big hug. “But don’t worry too much about his voice for now. Knowing Margot Reed, she’s doing most of the talking.” But he picked up the tray and made his way to the back of the house. After years of constant renovation, the house was a mishmash of style. The entry and formal living room still had the white marble tiles shot through with golden metallic veins, each room sporting an oversized golden chandelier dripping crystals and a multitude of gold chains. The furniture was post-modern—that’s what Momma called it. To Travis, that meant boxy and uncomfortable furniture. Every time he walked through the front door, he felt like he was in a confused airport or waiting room.

  Travis kept right on going, down the hall, through his father’s “man cave” and out the wide-open doors on to the back porch.

  Margot was chattering away, sitting opposite his father in one of two large wicker rocking chairs. Loretta was sitting on the edge of the porch, her feet resting on the lower step. She had Krystal’s three-legged dog, Clementine, at her side. Loretta was crooning softly to the little dog, earning her a ninety-mile-an-hour tail wag from the internet famous Chinese crested dog.

  “Lemonade?” He handed out glasses, saving the last for Loretta.

  Loretta eyed the glass but shook her head. “No, thank you. But you can point me in the direction of the washroom.” She stood, smoothing the skirt of her lavender polka-dotted dress.

  Travis gave her directions and took her spot on the top step.

  Clementine burrowed into his side, wiggling.

  “I know.” He chuckled. “You’re getting a whole heap of extra loving today, aren’t you?” Clementine promptly dropped onto her side, then rolled so that all three legs stuck up into the air. Travis laughed and gave her a good tummy rub.

  “That was some meeting today,” Margot was saying. “I tell you, Lori-girl needs a break. Not that she’d ever let on, mind you. Life has made her a little tough.”

  “She reminds me a little of my Krystal,” his father said. “Holding the world at arm’s length.”

  “It can get awfully lonely.” Margot sighed. “But sometimes the risk isn’t worth it.”

  There was that word again. Risk. It seemed to be Ethan Powell’s—the self-inflated prick—favorite word. And every damn time he’d used it, he’d been looking straight at Travis.

  As if he needed to be reminded that he was still considered a wild card. Or that he was damn lucky to be sitting across the table from him. Hell, that he still had a record label at all. One incredible performance with Loretta Gram didn’t erase the years of scandals and headaches and fires to be put out—fires he’d caused.

  Living life in the public eye meant there was no escaping the past. From photos to fan videos to television interviews, Travis had grown up with the whole world watching. He’d been barely eighteen when Three Kings started drawing serious attention. After that, the world was at his feet. A dangerous thing for a boy that age. Had it taken him a hell of a long time to get his shit together? Yes. There had been nothing subtle about his fall from grace. One minute, he was a charmer with a minor drinking problem, the next he was an alcoholic with rage and control issues. There were videos and countless photos to prove it.

  He’d been relieved the whole video nightmare thing hadn’t been mentioned. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that night would be forgotten, but hopefully that meant they were, all of them, moving on.

  Moving on enough to trust him to carry a duo with Loretta Gram. That was damned flattering.

  Loretta might want nothing to do with any of this—him included—but Travis hoped she’d take time to think this through. Ethan Powell had worried aloud over where to put Loretta—until they hatched this collaboration. There was doubt Loretta understood the message. This was all Wheelhouse Records had to offer her.

  And what an offer. Travis sighed, giving Clementine a scratch behind the ear. “I feel for her,” he said to the dog.

  A recovering alcoholic partner, sharing the spotlight and tour billing, a record with her recovering alcoholic partner and, just to keep her placated, one or two solos. After being half of a fairly high-profile duo, it was a pretty pathetic offer. “It was a damn insult, is what it is.”

  Clementine’s little head cocked to one side, her tail thumping against the wide-planked porch.

  Where was Loretta? He’d been sitting here, lost in thought and talking to the dog, for a good ten minutes. She’d be fine. It’s a big house, but not so big she’d get lost poking around inside. Still, he felt compelled to check in on her anyway. “I’ll go see if Jace is here with the food,” Travis said, before heading inside.

  He checked the kitchen first. While he knew Krystal wouldn’t be out-and-out rude to their guest, he also knew his little sister wasn’t the best at schooling her features—or keeping her opinion to herself. And since Krystal had made it clear she was still on the fence about Loretta, he’d rather not leave the two of them alone too long. Lucky for him, Loretta wasn’t there and Krystal was too caught up in a phone call with Jace to do more than wave him away.

  After searching the living room, his sisters’ offices, the media room, and the new home studio, he found her in his father’s office—staring at the framed news clipping and photographs decorating the walls.

  “You’ve spent your whole life onstage, haven’t you?” she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “I didn�
�t even know they made boots that small.”

  Travis crossed, shaking his head. “That was Momma. She’s always made sure we all looked the part. She’s always understood the importance of branding—hell, without her I wonder if Daddy or Three Kings would be where we are today.” The admission left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared at the photo, wishing he could remember times like this. He was maybe three, sitting on his father’s lap. Daddy’s arms were wrapped around him, placing Travis’s pudgy baby fingers on the strings of the guitar Hank was holding. Momma sat on the edge of the stage, smiling and so pretty he didn’t wonder why she’d caught his father’s eye. “Got to the point where that’s all we were doing, though. Onstage and off. Playing a part. Staying on brand.” He sighed, turning away from the photo and running his fingers through his hair.

  “This one.” Loretta didn’t comment. She moved on, leaning in to inspect another picture. “You three were adorable.”

  He, Krystal, and Emmy Lou were all sitting on the back of a massive draft horse. All three in boots and hats. All three grinning from ear to ear. “Past tense? Some would say we still are adorable.”

  That earned him one of her razor-sharp glares so fast he had to laugh. For a minute, he thought she might smile, maybe even laugh, but she caught herself. Instead, she sighed—all exasperation.

  “What do you have against smiling?” he asked, studying her. “Or is it the idea of smiling with me that rubs you the wrong way?”

  She faced him. “Or maybe it’s that you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

  “That’s possible.” He shrugged, wishing she’d let her guard down—even a little bit. Then again, her world had been turned upside down and he’d been forced on her, so. He’d hoped, after Las Vegas, things might have changed but… Apparently not. “That meeting was something, wasn’t it?”

  She deflated a little, resting her hip against the massive record player cabinet that took up most of one wall. “It was.” Her voice was soft.

  “Have any thoughts?” He paused. “Other than Ethan Powell is a prick who was totally getting off on playing God with our future, of course.”