Country Music Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  The older her father got, the less tactful he grew. He used to cajole her, sweet-talk her, do something nice with the end game in mind. When she was little, she’d lie to the principal or CPS so they wouldn’t take her away and he wouldn’t lose his government support. When LoveJoy entered mainstream music, he swooped in to remind her of how he’d always been there for her—supporting her. Now that he was older and unable to work, he needed her to be a good daughter and help him out from time to time. The thing was, she never remembered her father working long-term. He wasn’t a fan of work. He wanted a get-rich scheme, even if the scheme was guilting his daughter into giving him money whenever he wanted it.

  Johnny was a different, but the same. He’d moved to Cartwright freshman year of high school. They clicked and, almost immediately, he was spending most of his time at her house. It took a while to figure out why. His stepfather was an addict. An abusive addict. And though she’d tried to help Johnny see that he wasn’t the cause of his stepfather’s behavior, he never quite believed her. He’d been such a beautiful soul, so gentle and vulnerable, that Loretta had felt fiercely protective of him. She was the one who dragged him to Nashville. She was the one who pushed and pushed until LoveJoy started to get noticed. And once they were noticed, his stepfather—like her own father—reached out to Johnny. He and his stepfather’s final conversation had been angry and hostile. So much so that Johnny was certain he’d caused his stepfather to take his life. Johnny was never the same. Johnny’s wounds were too big and all-encompassing for her to ever add to his troubles.

  Being here, with the Kings, made her wonder what it would be like to have people that you could unburden your soul to. People who wouldn’t judge—just listen.

  “I remember this song,” Emmy Lou said now, snatching one sheet of music. “I loved this one.”

  Travis hooked an arm around her neck and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Which is the only reason I sang it—for you. It’s a bad song.”

  After spending the morning going over his attempts, Loretta seriously doubted that. He might not want everyone to know it, but he was talented.

  “It is not.” Emmy Lou cradled the page close. “It’s full of happy memories, so be nice.”

  “Which song?” Krystal asked, smiling.

  “Does it have a title?” Emmy Lou asked. “Trav, please sing it. Please. It would mean the world to me.”

  Loretta was beyond curious now. Not just to hear the song but to see if Travis gave in to his little sister.

  “Emmy Lou,” Travis groaned. “I wrote this when we were kids.”

  “Please, please, please.” Emmy Lou hugged him tight and smiled up at him. “Please.”

  He shook his head, placed his fingers on the guitar, and sighed. “You cannot say a word,” Travis said to Krystal.

  “Cross my heart,” Krystal said.

  “Remember, you asked for this.” Travis gave Emmy Lou a hard look.

  Emmy Lou nodded, all smiles. “I did.”

  Travis glanced at Loretta then, his expression almost apologetic. After a few wavering notes, he started to sing.

  Don’t you cry, I’m right here, listen to my voice.

  Stop you tears, take a breath, time to make a choice.

  Shut me out, close the door, face the world alone.

  Let me in, take my hand, trust what we have sown.

  Tried and true, standing tall, I will never bend.

  Black and blue, fly or fall, always your best friend.

  All Loretta could do was stare. At Travis. His voice, those words, the notes his fingers set free. Did he not hear himself? Truly?

  I’ll be your knight in shining armor.

  I’ll be your shelter from the storm.

  I’ll hold you close when you are frightened.

  And I’ll protect you from all harm.

  You’ll be my princess in the tower.

  You’ll stand beside me through the rain.

  You’ll let my strength give you power.

  You know I’ll chase away your pain.

  My love is true, never fear. My love for you is here. Never fear.

  Travis played a few more notes, then stopped, resting his hand over the strings to stop the vibrations.

  “You wrote that?” Loretta asked, her throat so tight it hurt. “Travis…”

  “I know.” Travis sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you happy now, Em?” Was he blushing?

  Loretta’s heart was thumping like crazy. He had no idea how good the song was—how good he was. Honest to goodness. She turned to look at the Emmy Lou and Krystal. Exactly. She wasn’t the only one in shock.

  Jace—even Sawyer. All eyes were on him. And no one was laughing. At the moment, everyone was pretty speechless.

  When Emmy Lou didn’t answer, he looked up—braced.

  “You have no idea.” Loretta shook her head. “Travis, that song is beautiful.”

  Emmy Lou was crying. “I forgot… How could I forget?”

  “Trav.” Krystal blew out a slow breath. “I mean. Damn…” She shook her head. “I feel like you’ve been holding out on us all this time. Why?”

  But Travis looked confused. “You’re serious?” His blue-green eyes bounced around the room, then sought her out.

  “One hundred percent,” Loretta said. “This is a showstopper, Travis King.” She was happy for him. And proud. “I love every word and note and chord. You need to sing this. This needs to be on the radio.”

  He was smiling—not his usual bone-melting, panties-on-fire sort of smile. This one was sweet and uncertain. Shy, almost. It might be Loretta’s favorite Travis smile so far.

  ***

  Travis was glad he’d convinced everyone to get out of the house. Schmitt’s Store was a little biergarten off the beaten path that was full of nothing but good memories for them all.

  Travis popped another fried pickle into his mouth. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asked Loretta.

  “A fried pickle?” She frowned. “I’m sure.”

  “Have you ever had one?” he asked, pushing the basket her way. “You can’t judge if you haven’t tried them. Besides, nobody makes them this good. Nobody. Schmitt’s Store has a reputation for their fried pickles.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re making that up.” Loretta’s skeptical eyebrow raise aside, she was picking up one of the crispy and golden pickles. “One bite.”

  “You’ll thank me.” Travis waited, watching her. “That doesn’t count. That’s not a bite, that’s a…a nibble.”

  Loretta sighed louder this time and took a large bite.

  “Better.” He nodded, waiting for her to chew and swallow before asking, “And?”

  “Fine. They’re delicious.” She admitted defeat—not that she was pleased to do so. “Happy, now?” She took another pickle.

  “Yep.” He slid the bowl of ranch dressing closer. “Dip it in that. Heaven.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling. “Anyone else? Before Travis eats them all?” Loretta pushed the basket into the middle of the table.

  “Oh, don’t you worry.” Krystal laughed. “They know Travis. For him, it’s a bottomless pickle basket.” She took a pickle.

  “Which is good or he wouldn’t share.” Emmy Lou nodded. “It has been a long time, though. They might have forgotten.”

  “Nope.” Travis smiled. “Mr. Schmitt saw us—and gave Dad a big ol’ hug.”

  His father smiled. He seemed…relaxed. Everyone was. Everyone, except Sawyer. Hell, he seemed more uptight than ever.

  “What’s up?” Travis asked. “Expecting a raid or something?”

  Sawyer barely acknowledged him.

  “We’ve never brought you out here, have we?” Krystal asked, leaning into Jace. “It has been too long since we’ve been here.”

  “Thi
s is where Daddy cut his teeth.” Emmy Lou smiled. “At least, that’s what Daddy likes to say, right?”

  Their father nodded.

  “I think it goes something like…” Travis cleared his throat and did his best Hank King impression. “Long before you all were born—” He broke off, smiling at the laughter his not so good impression caused. “Before your mother or my record contract, I was just some kid with a banged-up guitar and a big dream. I spent most weekends playing on that stage right there.” Travis pointed at slightly raised wooden stage on the far side of the wooden-planked dance floor. “Did I cover everything?” Travis asked his father.

  His father rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  Travis had been teasing, but he knew how much this place meant to his father. There were times he’d still come with his guitar, just to play and sing without all the ruckus that went along with stardom. And since Joseph Schmitt considered Hank near kin, he went out of his way to make sure the Kings were always taken care of. Not just with endless baskets of fried pickles, but privacy. If any patrons started hounding them for autographs or encroaching on their privacy, Joseph had no problems showing folk to the door.

  “It had been a long time,” Krystal repeated. “The last few years have been…nonstop.”

  “I like it,” Brock said, grabbing the basket of pickles and leaning back in his chair. “Nice to be someplace where you can sit and breathe for a while.”

  There were murmurs of agreement and nodding heads around the table.

  Brock wasn’t a musician, but he was one of the most recognizable faces in professional football. Ass, too, since he was the spokesperson for an underwear line. Nothing like seeing your future brother-in-law’s ass on a fourteen-by-forty-eight-foot bulletin board along the interstate to make a man proud. Still, endorsements were endorsements and a body couldn’t keep taking that sort of abuse forever. If anything, Travis respected Brock’s decision to have a backup plan. One that paid pretty damn well too.

  “You two should think about having your wedding reception out here.” Travis could barely get the words out before he was laughing.

  “If you’re going to start to pick, I’m going to dance.” Emmy Lou stood. “Come on, Daddy.” Emmy Lou tugged their father’s hand. “Come dance with me.”

  Their father was up and leading his daughter on the dance floor before she asked twice.

  On the other side of the table, Jace, Krystal, and Brock were talking—heads bent together and voices too low to hear. Which was fine by him. Outside of music and earth-shattering sex, he and Loretta hadn’t done much to get to know one another. He’d like to change that. Not just because they’d be spending the next couple of months in close quarters but because…he wanted to know her.

  Right now, he wanted to know what Loretta was thinking. She sat beside him, her head cocked to one side, watching his father dance with Emmy Lou. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips.

  “Are you a daddy’s girl too?” Travis asked, smiling.

  Loretta’s smile vanished. “No.” She sat forward, smoothing the red and white checked skirt over her knees before crossing her arms over her chest.

  The word was hard and fast. The fidgeting. Her posture. He’d unintentionally hit a nerve and he wasn’t sure how to respond. Emmy Lou was the one that stayed clued in on the tabloids and entertainment news. Maybe he needed to find out a little more about Loretta before he started asking about things that clearly bothered her.

  He decided humor was the best way to go. “Me neither.”

  Loretta turned to him, frowning. “You neither, what?”

  “I’m not a daddy’s girl.” He winked at her.

  She tried not to smile—she tried hard—but she wound up smiling anyway. “Ha ha.”

  He chuckled.

  “Travis.” Joseph Schmitt shuffled toward their table. Travis had no idea how old the man was. From the pictures on the wall—pretty damn old. Mr. Schmitt was mostly bald, stooped over, wore suspenders to keep his pants up, and used a knobby topped cane when he walked. “Pete, here, brought you more of your favorites. Where’s your daddy at?”

  Pete Schmitt, Joseph’s son, shook Travis’s hand. “He thought you’d want more of these,” Pete said, putting two baskets of fried pickles on the table.

  “He’s a mind reader.” Travis nodded. “Daddy’s out there dancing with Emmy Lou.”

  “Course he is.” Mr. Schmitt nodded. “Well you tell him to come round to the bar when he gets a chance. We found a whole trunk of pictures, and there’s one or two he might find interesting.”

  “Anything scandalous?” Krystal asked, raising her voice over the music from the jukebox. “Daddy denies it, but I keep thinking there will be something wild from his past.”

  Mr. Schmitt chuckled. “I don’t know about wild, but I think there’s one picture in particular he’ll want to see. He and a certain little gal he was sure sweet on. Before your momma, that is.”

  Travis and Krystal exchanged a look.

  Mr. Schmitt started laughing. “Pete. You go on and get that packet for me, will you? I’ll rest my bones a bit.” Sawyer stood and pulled a chair back for Mr. Schmitt. “Thank you kindly, son,” Mr. Schmitt said, using the chair arms to slowly lower himself into the chair. “It’s hell getting old. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “This one, Pop?” Pete asked, holding a manila envelope tinged with age.

  “That’s the one.” Mr. Schmitt’s knuckles were gnarled with age and his hands shook, but he managed to pull the photos out—even if a couple fell to the floor.

  “I got it.” Sawyer stooped.

  But their father and Emmy Lou had been heading back, so their father beat him to it.

  “Damn.” Their father’s voice was a rusty creak.

  “Daddy.” Emmy Lou’s tone was stern.

  But their father wasn’t listening. He was staring at the photo, eyes wide, mouth parted, carefully smoothing a bend at the top corner.

  “Daddy?” Emmy Lou repeated.

  Travis wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his father look that way before. The smile was new, that was for sure.

  Mr. Schmitt pulled a pair of readers from his pocket. “That the one?” he asked as he looked at their father. “I’d say that’s the one.” Mr. Schmitt chuckled. “You two singing.”

  But Daddy didn’t respond right away. “Been a long, long time,” Daddy’s voice rasped, patting Mr. Schmitt’s shoulder.

  “Don’t I know it.” Mr. Schmitt nodded. “I wasn’t sure but I figured you’d remember Ruby.”

  Ruby. Their father had been sweet on a girl named Ruby. A singer. He risked a glance at his sisters. Likely they were just as focused as he was—making all sorts of mental notes of things they’d overanalyze and talk about later.

  His father’s smile didn’t dim, but his voice cracked when he said, “I remember.”

  Travis knew he wasn’t the only one staring at their father. Everyone was.

  “Dad.” Krystal pointed at her own throat. “Please.”

  That was the first time their father seemed to remember where he was and who he was with. He nodded.

  “You can keep it, if you like,” Mr. Schmitt said. “I framed the other one and hung it on the wall of fame over yonder.” He cleared his throat. “Whatever happened to her? I remember her momma getting into an accident but, after that, I lost track of her.”

  Hank shrugged. “Me too,” he murmured, holding up a hand to stop any further chastising.

  “Damn shame.” Mr. Schmitt shook his head. “She had talent. Real talent.”

  Their father nodded, taking a final look at the photo before handing it back to Mr. Schmitt. Mr. Schmitt seemed just as surprised as the rest of them. The way he’d lit up over the photo, Travis had assumed he’d never let it go.

  But his father’s smile was gone and he sat, looking
worn out all of a sudden.

  Travis managed not to snatch the packet of pics from Mr. Schmitt as the old man carefully returned the photos to the manila envelope. Instead, he sat, tapping his fingers against his thighs, until Loretta placed a hand on his knee.

  She was smiling ear to ear and shaking her head. Beautiful.

  He sighed, stopped tapping his fingers, and—on a whim—caught her hand in his. For a brief moment, their fingers explored, his thumb traced the inside of her palm, and a slight shudder raced along her arm. But then she wriggled her hand lose, excused herself, and headed for the jukebox.

  And, yes, even dying of curiosity over the photos, his gaze followed her. He liked watching her. The swish of her hair. The flutter of her red and white skirt hanging just above the top of her plain brown leather cowboy boots. The sway of her hips. Those hips. He knew all too well how soft her skin was—how she moaned when he’d lifted her hips just enough to make her fall apart. His fingers bit into his thighs.

  He wasn’t the only one noticing Loretta, either. One cocksure Ricky Rodeo was sizing her up from his stool at the bar. If he kept staring at Loretta’s ass like that, he and Ricky were going to have a serious disagreement. Luckily, Loretta was headed back their way before Travis made an ass of himself by going all territorial on her.

  She’d probably be more pissed at him for feeling protective of her than she’d be over the wannabe cowboy checking out her ass. He tore his gaze from hers before she caught him watching her. And that’s when he noticed Sawyer.

  His bodyguard was normally intimidating. Right now? He looked downright threatening. And even though Sawyer had been around for a couple of years, he was still more of a stranger than not.

  All Travis knew was what he’d learned the first month Sawyer had become a member of the King’s Guard security team. One, Sawyer was uptight. Two, he was fanatical about working out—Travis regularly regretted asking Sawyer to train with him. And three, Sawyer had an intel military background. So now, when it was obvious that something was weighing on Sawyer, Travis had no way of knowing what or who or why.

  Emmy Lou was up, coming around the table. “I’m stealing some of these.” She grabbed one of the pickle baskets, then leaned forward. “You should ask her to dance. It’s less obvious than you staring at her like that.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and carried the pickles back around the table.