Song for a Cowboy

by Sasha Summers

  “What changed?” He stepped closer, smoothing a lock of hair from her shoulder.

  She didn’t want to answer him. Her long pause told him that. The way her gaze fell to the ground and she was drawing into herself.

  “Hey.” He took her hand. “You can tell me.”

  It took a moment for her to look at him, longer for her to whisper, “For the first time in my life I wanted something, even though she was dead set against me having it. The more I wanted it, the more doubts and fears she planted. In me, her daughter.” She shook her head. “She’s my mother. But I don’t think she understands what it means to really love someone. If she did, she’d listen to what I wanted—not expect me to replace it with what she thinks is best.”

  Brock hugged her then, running his hands down her back. Krystal had hinted that Emmy wasn’t happy, but he’d never imagined it was this bad. How could the woman look her daughter in the eye and know she was depriving her of happiness? “What can I do?”

  Her hand slid up, along his shoulder and around the back of his neck. “You’re doing it.”

  He kissed her until she was swaying into him and any and all thought beyond the feel of one another no longer mattered. Long after she’d fallen asleep, still tangled in his arms, he sorted through everything she’d said. No matter what CiCi King had done or said to him, nothing compared to what the woman had done to her own daughter. Love was a gift, not a tool. Emmy needed reminding of that. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to be the one to remind her.

  Chapter 17

  Emmy stared at the glossy Wheelhouse Records folder, full of dates, locations, and opening acts. “Wow…just wow. Europe?”

  “Wanted to make sure there wasn’t a problem with the dates.” Daddy sipped his coffee. “Your sister and Jace are fine with it.”

  “I am, too. In case you wanted to know.” Travis winked at her. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asked, sliding the bakery box across the table.

  “Wouldn’t want to deprive you of breakfast.” Emmy laughed.

  “Oats. Raisins. That’s healthy.” He shrugged, continuing to chow down on the freshly baked oatmeal cookies he’d had delivered to the Kings Coach II.

  The first date was March. In London. Football season would be over. Brock had said “us.” She’d liked the way it sounded. Brock and London and March.

  “Emmy?” Daddy was watching her. “Do these dates work? I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be more excited.”

  “She might not be, but I am.” Travis spun the glossy folder, eating another cookie. “Weeks in Europe. Hot French chicks for me and Sawyer. They dig cowboy hats and boots,” he said to Sawyer. “We’re going to have a good time. Guaranteed.” Daddy sighed, shaking his head, but Travis ignored him and glanced her way. “Why the long face, Em?”

  “I was just a little caught off guard.” She shrugged.

  “When have we ever gone more than eighteen months without hitting the road?” Travis pushed. “Or are you worrying about leaving Watson?” He was smiling so big, she almost stomped on his foot under the table. He knew she was thinking about Brock. And she knew he was using Watson as code for Brock. “I don’t know what sort of papers he’s going to need. He eats a lot, too, so that might be hard to keep up with. And he needs exercise… Or you could leave him here with Momma.”

  She was almost laughing.

  “I’m missing something here, I know.” Daddy rubbed his eyes, looking confused. “Not sure I want to know what it is, though.”

  Travis grabbed another cookie, threw it up in the air, and tried to catch it in his mouth. It bounced off his nose, but he caught it before it fell.

  “Natural talent,” she said. “Daddy, you know what other natural talent Trav has been using? He’s been writing songs with Jace. Some good stuff, too.” She knew Travis was shooting daggers her way but ignored him. “That he could sing.”

  “Is that so?” Their father looked at Travis. “Might be that we need to have a talk?”

  Travis stared at the cover of the tour folder, the Three Kings logo enlarged with metallic touches. “Where do we start? Music? Or our family?”

  “Whatever you have to say, Son, I want to hear it.” Daddy’s voice was gruff.

  Emmy Lou heard the plea in their father’s voice. He was extending an olive branch to his son; now all Travis had to do was take it.

  Instead, Travis pushed the folder across the counter, to their father, and reached for a cookie.

  The bus doors opened, and the click of heels was followed by, “I smell cookies. Hank, you better not be eating any more cookies.” Momma joined them, the scent of her perfume following her into the bus’s compact living and dining space. She tucked a swath of her platinum hair behind her ear, showing off a massive diamond stud, and shifted the oblong box she cradled against the front of her cream linen shift dress. “I won’t be too long. We’re leaving at one?” She waited for Daddy’s nod. “I’ll be back by then.”

  “Where are you going?” Travis asked, giving their mother the once-over. “Pretty fancy duds for a visit with your shrink.”

  “I am not going to see my psychiatrist, Travis.” She sighed. “I’m having lunch.”

  “You look pretty.” Their father smiled. “What’s in the box?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Her mother’s smile tightened.

  Emmy Lou eyed the box, her blood going cold. She knew what was in the box. She’d picked up the pages off the printer before Momma had rushed in to collect them, tucking them into the box she was currently clinging to. Her mother had typed up the journal pages she’d had spread all over the hotel suite a week ago. Now Momma was dressed to the nines, taking her neatly typed pages to lunch? Even though Emmy’s hands were shaking and something hard and jagged had lodged itself in her throat, she knew what she had to do. “Is it your book, Momma?” She did it, forced the words out and into the open.

  “Book?” Travis repeated, sliding back into the booth with a massive glass of milk. “What book?”

  Daddy eyed the box with new interest.

  Even Sawyer, who’d been silently drinking coffee on the other side of the bus, reacted—the tiniest eyebrow twitch.

  “No, no, not a book.” Momma actually blushed. “It’s just my thoughts is all. Part of my therapy.”

  “Why are you taking your therapy notes to lunch?” Travis asked, resting his elbow on the kitchen counter.

  “Oh, I forgot.” No reason to stop now. Emmy drew in a deep breath and said, “You asked me to find out about Elaine’s Book Club picks. I need to check and see if the production assistant sent me that paperwork. Though the assistant said they rarely pick memoirs for Elaine’s Book Club, she’d consider it—once it gets published.”

  “Memoir?” Daddy frowned. “Published?”

  “Memoir, as in you?” Travis echoed. “Or memoir as in us?” He pointed at each of them. “And Krystal and Jace?”

  “Well…” Momma shrugged. “I’m not an island, sugar. You are my family. And, of course, my family is part of my story.”

  “Why didn’t I know about this, CiCi?” Daddy’s tone was sharp.

  “What do you need to know?” Her voice rose. “This is something to help me get better.”

  “Your notes are.” Daddy nodded. “Publishing them? How is airing our family’s business to the world part of that?”

  CiCi’s voice was soft. “I thought you’d want this for me? I thought you’d understand how important this is.” She was shaking, on the verge of tears.

  “What is more important than healing? Your mind and body? Healing our family?” He shook his head. “How about we do what we’re supposed to do and protect our family?”

  Emmy Lou had never seen her daddy like this: red-faced and tight-jawed—his voice raised just enough to make sure there would be no interrupting. Or arguing. Daddy rarely laid down the law,
especially when it came to Momma. But the set of his jaw told them all that he wasn’t budging.

  Her parents’ staring contest stretched on until the entire bus felt ready to combust. Eventually, Momma’s gaze lowered and she sighed.

  “Hank.” Momma placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know everything I do is for you and our babies. If it means that much to you, of course I won’t publish it.”

  Emmy Lou was stunned. Travis’s jaw dropped, regardless of the amount of cookie he had in his mouth.

  What just happened? Did she mean it? It seemed so…so easy. Too easy. Especially since she couldn’t remember a time when Momma hadn’t won.

  Her momma pressed a kiss to their father’s cheek and took his hand, catching sight of the folder. “Daddy showed you? What do you think? I’m pretty sure we are the first country music band to have this many locations and dates.”

  “We’re still hammering things out.” Her father picked up the folder.

  “What things?” Momma frowned, her gaze swiveling to Emmy. “Emmy Lou?” She sighed. “Tell me this isn’t about Brock Watson.”

  “CiCi.” Her father sighed. “Let’s not start this up again.”

  “What?” Momma shook her head. “Stepping up? Protecting her? Don’t you see that?” She rested her hand on Daddy’s arm. “Our baby girl is still pining for the man who broke her all those years ago.”

  “Momma, what do you have against him?” She pressed her hands on the countertop. “Besides our breakup, years ago?”

  “Em, you can’t be serious? Let’s set aside the fact that this Bremmy spectacle has restored his all-American-boy status. You’re not eating. You’re wasting away. Your father and I are making sure you get the best therapists and doctors and food, but we’re supposed to stand by while you attach yourself to someone who is toxic?”

  Daddy frowned, his gaze shifting between the two of them. But he didn’t argue.

  “What happens when he and his agent decide they don’t need us anymore?” Momma paused. “If your daddy hadn’t put in a good word with the owner of the Roughnecks, do you think Brock would have been drafted?”

  “Now hold on.” Daddy shook his head. “That never happened. I was prepared to say something, but Ed had made up his mind about the boy long before I had a chance.”

  Emmy Lou swallowed. “You mean he was signed on his own? Without using me?”

  “Why are you trying to make me the villain, Emmy Lou? Because I’m so worried about this? It took you a year to get over that boy. A year. You didn’t sing; you barely smiled or ate. Now he’s back…” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re an adult. You have every right to make your own choices. But you need all the information to do that.”

  Travis groaned. “Momma—”

  Momma held up her hand. “Hear me out and I’ll leave it alone.”

  “Fine,” Emmy murmured. Since there were witnesses, maybe she’d keep her word.

  Momma risked a look at their father. “I went to see Brock in San Francisco, Emmy.”

  “You did what?” Travis covered his mouth with his hands.

  “CiCi.” Their father was just as stunned. “What are you thinking?”

  “He was getting ready to entertain a young woman. While you and I and your sister were having sushi.” She shook her head, her reproachful tongue click following.

  Emmy Lou’s gaze fell to the floor, knowing full well who he’d been waiting on. It wasn’t her mother’s business. None of this was.

  Momma sighed. “Did he tell you he gave his ex-wife money? That they took a road trip to Georgetown, just the two of them?”

  No, he hadn’t said a thing. About the money or the trip. But he would have had a reason. A good reason.

  And yet, it was there. Doubt. About Brock. And his ex-wife. If she could just see him—just look in his eyes… All of the ingrained doubt and worry and insecurities resurfaced, twisting things so she wasn’t sure what was true.

  “I think that’s enough.” Hank glanced her way, concern lining his face. “Emmy?”

  “I’m fine, Daddy.” No, she wasn’t fine. Her insides were broken. But it wasn’t all Brock’s fault. Her mother had laid the groundwork long before he’d come into her life. She took a deep breath and met her mother’s gaze. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone just wants to love me?” I’m not going to cry. Momma thought she was weak enough without her expressing real emotion. “For no reason. No ulterior motive? Just to love me?”

  Whoever spoke next, she didn’t know. She had to get out of there—had to breathe and be strong. She ignored the raised voices of her family, shut out their words, and hurried down the hall to her sleeping quarters. A few more steps and she’d be in her room. If she could hold it together until then… But she was crying by the time she reached the door, crying hard.

  “Emmy Lou.”

  She jumped.

  Sawyer’s hands rested on her shoulder, turning her slowly to face him. He whispered something that sounded a lot like, “What is wrong with them?” For the first time, he wasn’t trying to hide his pain—or sympathy. He hurt. For her. He wasn’t looking at her like he was her bodyguard; he was looking at her like he was her brother. “You cry.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  Brock glanced at the clock. Emmy Lou was home for one night and he’d made big plans. In a couple of hours, he and Emmy Lou were meeting at Aunt Mo’s, then making the drive to Lady Bird Lake. He’d rented out a paddlewheel boat for the evening. First, they’d watch the bats, sail until it was dark, then head to the little honky-tonk that had been one of their favorite spots in high school. And, if things went the way he hoped they did, the night might end with a ring on Emmy’s finger. He’d seen it and known it was hers. An emerald, like her eyes, surrounded by diamonds.

  He was shaving when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

  “Brock.” A sob. “Brock, I’m so sorry to bother you.” It was Vanessa.

  “V, I can’t—”

  “He kicked me out, Brock.” She sniffed. “Mark found out about the money and my mom and said he couldn’t live with someone who lied.”

  After she’d left, his conscience wouldn’t let him rest. If things had been reversed? If it were for Aunt Mo? The only solution was to drive with her to the mortgage lenders, transfer the money to her there, and watch her write the check out. He’d told her not to keep it a secret… But it didn’t sound like she’d listened to that part.

  “I’m sorry, Vanessa.” He meant it. While he understood where her fiancé was coming from, he didn’t understand the dynamics of their relationship. Not my business.

  “All I have is my phone. I don’t have my purse or money or any place to go.”

  He leaned against the bathroom counter. “Did you call Janine?”

  “She’s on her way back from Dallas. They just left.”

  Meaning it would be four hours before Vanessa would have help. She needed it now.

  “You’re the only one I can call.” She sniffed. “That doesn’t use, I mean. I can’t go somewhere where that is an option right now.”

  She knew her limits. Good. “What about your mom?” There had to be an alternative.

  “Antiquing in Fredericksburg. I’m not sure sitting in her empty house is a good idea. I can’t be alone. I’m sorry, Brock. You’ve already helped me so much—with everything.” She sucked in an unsteady breath. “But…I don’t trust myself right now. I’ve got no one else to call.”

  He’d been clean and sober for four years. Vanessa had slipped twice. How could he turn his back on her? Fuck. He couldn’t. He slammed his razor on the counter. “Where are you?”

  Once he had directions, he hung up, wiped off his face, grabbed his keys, and climbed into his truck. He called Emmy Lou, but it went straight to voi
cemail.

  “Fuck.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel and waited for the beep. “I hope you haven’t left yet, Em. I can’t make it. I’m sorry. If it wasn’t important, you know I’d be there. See you soon.” He ended the call and turned the radio on high, bass thumping.

  Vanessa was pacing outside the front of a Super Snak and Corner Gas station. Her makeup was smeared down her face and she was wearing silky pajamas with a suit jacket over the top. Not exactly the safest getup for this part of town. “You should have waited inside, V.”

  “There’s alcohol in there.” She climbed into the truck and put on her seat belt.

  “I thought you didn’t have a purse?” He pulled back onto the highway.

  “I don’t. It’s amazing what a guy will do for a pretty girl who smiles and says thank you.” There was bitterness in her voice.

  Weird clothing and streaked makeup aside, Vanessa was gorgeous. She’d known her limits and hadn’t tested them. “I’m proud of you for not going in.”

  She looked at him, smiled, then dissolved into tears. “Why am I so stupid?”

  He reached over, opened his glove box, and pulled out a napkin. “Here.”

  “You still do that?” she asked, reaching for a napkin. “You’re the only guy I know who hoards drive-through napkins in their glove box.”

  “Aunt Mo. The woman taught me to be frugal.” He tuned the radio to something soothing and left her alone. He wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. Until Janine was back in town, he’d keep an eye on her—that’s it. After that, it was up to Vanessa’s sponsor to help her get things sorted out.

  By the time he’d parked in front of his rental house by the stadium, she was sobbing all over again. He went around, opened the passenger door, and helped her out. When she leaned into him, he hugged her. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re doing okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her inside.

  “Coffee?” he asked. “Tea?” He opened the refrigerator. “A three-pound hamburger?”

  Vanessa laughed, wiping the tears. “No. Thank you. As appetizing as that sounds.”