Song for a Cowboy Read online

  “They would if Daddy asked.” His grin tightened.

  That was it. Not knowing if he was wanted or if they were just doing Hank King a favor. Her heart ached for him. She removed his sunglasses. “I think you should do it, Trav. You deserve some time in the spotlight. I want that for you.”

  Travis tried to hold his long-suffering expression in place. But it didn’t work. He tugged her into a monster bear hug. “You’re a good sister, you know that?”

  She hugged him back. “Because I love you and believe in you?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He let her go. “I know that can’t be easy.”

  “Loving you and believing you?” She laughed. “It is so easy. You’re my brother. And even though I worry that you’re going to wind up with some horrible disease that will make your man parts rot off or you’ll drink until your liver explodes, I love you dearly.”

  The horror on her brother’s face had her laughing all over again.

  Sawyer tried to cover his laugh with a fake cough.

  Melanie didn’t even try to hide it. Her high-pitched wheezing giggle wound up making them all laugh.

  “Who said Krystal was the wordsmith in the family?” Travis leaned back against his seat, laughing—but still horrified.

  “Hold it.” Emmy Lou held her phone up and snapped a picture of her brother. “I will post that.”

  “Of course you will.” He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and held her phone up for another picture. He was tickling her and trying to take it, so the picture was at an odd angle, but they were both smiling. “Post that.”

  “Fine.” She did, adding hashtags like #siblinglove, #bigbrothers, #hedrivesmecrazy, and #boundaryissues. “Better?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Now your fans won’t worry something happened to you.”

  She shook her head and went back to staring out the window, her foot resuming its restless tapping against the floorboard of the black suburban.

  She’d been so excited about this. Drug Free Like Me was such a great program for so many kids in need. She was still excited for the most part. But now that she knew who she’d be working with, there was also an element of…anxiety. Yes, today was only a photo shoot—something she’d done more times than she could remember—but this was a photo shoot with Brock. Brock, who was one of the main DFLM ambassadors. She was a professional. She could do this. I got this. But she was having a hard time convincing herself.

  “Who else is doing this?” Travis asked. “This ambassadorship thing.”

  She pulled the folder from her bag and handed it to him.

  “Or you could tell me.” He took the folder.

  “Leon Greene.” She ticked off. “Linebacker for—”

  “I know who Leon Greene is.” Travis opened the folder. “He’s sort of a legend. And…” He started flipping through the pages of the glossy folder the Drug Free Like Me marketing team had provided.

  Emmy had made sure to do a little research on the players she’d be working with. Clay Reese was a wide receiver for the Green Bay Bears. He was ranked third in number of yards last season and, from online sound bites, a healthy dose of self-confidence.

  “Aw man, Demetrius Mansfield? Tree-Man? No shit? He’s the best. Untouchable. Still pisses me off he was traded to the Miami Raiders.” Travis shook his head. “Good guy. And Brock, too, huh? That’s it? There aren’t more of you?”

  “The AFL supports a lot of different charities, but these are the players I’ll be working with.” Too bad she’d picked the one charity Brock was involved in.

  “Momma’s got to be thrilled.” He snorted, flipping through the pages.

  Emmy glanced at her brother, unwilling to voice her suspicions.

  “Oh.” Travis’s eyes met hers and widened. “She doesn’t know. If she did, she’d be here.”

  Emmy chewed her thumbnail, her stomach churning.

  “My lips are sealed. I’m not opening that can of worms. But, you know, let me know when that little nugget will be shared so I can get a front-row seat.” He hugged her again. “If it comes up, I mean.”

  “If you’re trying to make me laugh, it’s not working.” She frowned.

  “Right. Well, we’re here.” He shrugged. “So you can stop worrying about Momma and go back to worrying about Brock.” He patted her knee, closed the DFLM folder, and slid it back into her black-and-white-striped bag.

  Sawyer pulled into the parking lot outside of a large warehouse. He parked, opened their doors, and trailed behind them across the parking lot.

  “Vitamin water.” Melanie held out Emmy’s bright-pink insulated thermos.

  “Where’s mine?” Travis asked.

  Melanie didn’t acknowledge the question.

  Emmy grinned, peeking over her shoulder at Sawyer. He was scanning the parking lot, on alert. Since the whole nightmare of an attack on her sister, her father insisted Sawyer never leave her side. They’d always had security, but this was different. Before, their security guards—the Kings Guard—hung back and blended in. Now, they were front and center and unmistakable. A warning to anyone who felt the need to come after a King.

  If anyone needs a massage, it’s Sawyer. But the idea of Sawyer relaxing on a table while a stranger touched him was ridiculous. She smiled at him as he held the door to the warehouse open for them. “Thanks, Sawyer.”

  His nod was slight, his blue-green gaze sweeping over the parking lot before following them inside. She’d always considered Sawyer a monster of a man…until she walked into a room with four professional football players. A wall of lights was set up, a large step-and-repeat hung—the Drug Free Like Me logo stamped at regular intervals—and a photographer was already snapping pictures.

  Instead of scanning the room for Brock, she focused on the photo shoot in progress. Demetrius Mansfield posed, arms crossed and scowling at the camera. Encased in his uniform, it was impossible to miss just how massive the man was.

  “Like a statue,” Melanie whispered, her mouth hanging open. “I’ll get some pics and video to post later.”

  Emmy nodded, the familiar chaos of the photo shoot oddly comforting.

  “This is going to be a serious ding to my ego,” Travis whispered in her ear.

  Emmy laughed, tempted to point out that these men were professional athletes—their bodies were their business.

  “You, too, man. Next to him, you’re a slacker,” Travis said to Sawyer. “Maybe we need to hit the gym?”

  Sawyer glanced between the athletes and Travis. “How much time are you willing to put in?” A flicker of a smile, then it was gone.

  “Harsh, man.” Travis shook his head.

  “Miss King. I’m Shalene Fowler.” A woman in a Drug Free Like Me T-shirt and jeans hurried across the room, dodging the maze of cords and plugs as she went. “It’s so nice to meet you. Really. I’m the marketing and event manager for the DFLM Foundation. I can’t tell you how excited we are that you’ve decided to help with this year.”

  Emmy shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks for having me, since I’m not a player and all.”

  “Well, you’re the new voice for AFL, so that’s pretty close. And if you’re agreeable to it, we’d like to make you an honorary player. I know you’re on a schedule, so we’ll do this as quickly as possible.” She smiled. “We have hair and makeup this way.”

  Emmy Lou followed Shalene to the mobile vanity in the back corner of the room.

  “We have a jersey for each of the teams.” She pointed at the clothing rack. “We tried to get the players to agree on one but, as you can see, that didn’t go over well.”

  “Team loyalty, I guess.” Emmy Lou smiled.

  Once she’d donned the blue-and-grey jersey of the Miami Raiders and her hair and makeup was camera ready, she was ushered to the Drug Free Like Me step-and-repeat and Demetrius Mansfield.

 
“Miss King.” Demetrius held out his hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”

  “Emmy, please.” She stared up at him, shaking a hand that was bigger than her head. “Great to meet you. I’m a big fan. I—we—” She broke off, pointing at Travis. “We were all sad to lose you to Miami.”

  “Roughnecks fans?” he asked.

  “Always.” She smiled.

  “Can’t fault you there. Good team.” He nodded. “Number three, huh?” He eyed her jersey.

  “You know, Three Kings?” She glanced down at the large three on her jersey. “I guess you could say it’s my lucky number.”

  He chuckled.

  “Emmy, can you hold the football?” the photographer asked. “Can you hold it between your palms, like this? And scowl, like Demetrius?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Demetrius. “I don’t think anyone can scowl like him.”

  Demetrius smiled, instantly changing everything about the man.

  After the initial awkwardness faded, she started to enjoy herself. Demetrius was a gentleman. Leon was all business. Clay Reese was way too full of himself, but she had more than her fair share of dealing with self-inflated egos, so it was easy enough.

  After…well, that left Brock.

  Once she’d changed into the red-and-blue Roughnecks jersey and had her hair and makeup touched up, she stared into the mirror and gave herself a mental talk-down. This wasn’t about her. This wasn’t about Brock. Whatever past they had was ancient history. This was an important cause now. One she was proud to be part of. You’re a King. A professional. Not a pathetic, lovesick teenager who got weak in the knees over Brock Watson. Head held high, she headed back to the step-and-repeat.

  Brock was waiting.

  Brock and his all-American poster-boy looks. Dimples. Blue eyes. Light brown, close-cropped hair. And, of course, that body. Which, according to Men’s Fitness Today, included twenty-one-inch biceps. He stood, spinning the football in his hand, without a care in the world.

  If Krystal were here right now, she’d be giving her the don’t-let-them-see-they-got-to-you look. But Emmy had never learned the whole whatever, disinterest thing Krystal had mastered early on. Hopefully she wouldn’t act flustered—and no one would hear the wild thump of her heart.

  “Water?” Melanie asked, holding out the water bottle. “Emmy Lou?”

  Emmy Lou faced her assistant. “Wishing Krystal were here.”

  “Right. Well, um, she sent me this.” She held up her phone, cleared her throat, and read, “Ignore him, and remember he’s a total dick. An asshat. And no one would blame you if you kicked him in the balls.” Melanie’s cheeks were dark red. “That’s it.”

  “Sounds like Krystal.” She was laughing; she couldn’t help it. “Sorry about the language.”

  “She’s right.” Melanie leaned closer. “He’s just some guy now.”

  Emmy Lou smiled and took a long sip of her vitamin water.

  “Ready?” the photographer asked.

  No. She nodded. Smile. “Totally.” She’d smiled through much worse situations than this. This was nothing. So why did it feel like something?

  * * *

  He focused on the ball in his hands, turning it over and over. Not Emmy Lou…in a Roughnecks jersey, with her long, blond hair fluffed out, and her pink lips glossy. The ball stopped moving, his grip tightening until his fingers ached. Staring up into the lights overhead made it easier to ignore the increasing tension building at the base of his head. Get it together. He rolled his neck, shook out his arms, and glanced at the photographer—then beyond.

  Demetrius was shaking hands with Travis, the two of them sharing a laugh before they both turned to look between him and Emmy Lou.

  Brock frowned. The two of them together? Could be trouble.

  In another life, Travis King had been one of his best friends. Travis had been a talker. When he wasn’t talking, he was listening. A trait he’d likely picked up from his mother, the infamous CiCi King. Travis had had front-row seats to his and Emmy Lou’s relationship. Hell, he’d probably known they were doomed from the start. Which was more than he could say for himself.

  Demetrius had been his teammate for years. More importantly, they were friends. If he remembered correctly, he might have overshared some of his and Emmy Lou’s history with Demetrius. Unintentionally. He still had gaps in his memory… He’d lost too much to the damn pills. Luckily, his friendship with Demetrius wasn’t one of them.

  The two of them, swapping stories? Not good. One more reason to hurry this whole thing up.

  Travis King’s gaze met his, narrowing slightly as he gave Brock a head-to-toe once-over. While it wasn’t exactly friendly, he did give Brock a nod. Brock nodded in return. Demetrius only shook his head, pointing. At…Emmy Lou. Standing right beside him. Smiling. Ready for pictures.

  “When all eyes are on her, she is in her element.” CiCi King’s words were just as clear today as they’d been all those years ago. “Emmy Lou King is a star. It’s her whole life, who she is.” The pure disdain, almost sympathy, on her face had said enough. “There’s nothing she loves more than her fans—making them happy.” She hadn’t needed to tell him he was lumped into that nothing. “She always comes back to that—always puts that first. Keeping that spotlight zeroed in on her. No distractions.” That’s all he’d been. A distraction. Nothing more. That was what he needed to remember.

  Remembering the electric current they’d had, the constant need to touch each other, the way she’d seemed to light up when he’d walked into a room… None of that was real. That was the shit he needed to forget. Yeah, for a blip of time, he’d been a shiny, new toy. But once she’d been done playing, he’d been discarded—without a word from her. That was the shit he needed to remember. That had been real. So were the wounds she’d left.

  The minute her gaze met his, the pressure on his chest intensified, forcing the air from his lungs. He’d forgotten how green her eyes were. “Emmy Lou.” He cleared his throat, looking for something else to say. “I brought your umbrella.”

  “Oh.” Her voice high, breathy. “Thanks.” She paused, her gaze falling from his. “It’s broken.”

  He found himself staring down at the top of her head. She was smaller than he remembered, thinner. Maybe, if he forced himself to look at her, really look at her, he’d see she wasn’t what he remembered. How could she be? There was a time she’d been near perfect to him. He’d made a damn fool of himself over her and lost her anyway. Lesson learned.

  “Let’s get you two back to back.” The photographer made a spinning motion with his hand. “Can we get them both a ball?”

  He tore his gaze from the top of her head and turned away from her, waiting.

  “Move in.” The photographer waved them closer. “You know, back to back?”

  Condescending son of a bitch.

  “I don’t think we’ll be back to back.” Emmy spoke up. “He’s a good foot taller than me. More like his shoulder to my, what, head?”

  There was laughter from those watching.

  The photographer did not. “Fine. That. Do that.” A few clicks and he stood. “Good. Give me a minute.”

  “Someone needs more coffee.” She said it under her breath, but he heard her.

  He hadn’t meant to react. But he did. He tried covering his chuckle with a forceful throat clearing. It didn’t work. If it had, she wouldn’t be staring up at him in surprise.

  Her smile hadn’t changed. She was still beautiful. On the outside, maybe. The inside? He shook his head, forcing his attention elsewhere. Anywhere else.

  “How about we do something different?” The photographer was smiling now. “We found a few pictures from your homecoming game and dance. We want to re-create those. It’s the sort of thing fans will go crazy over.”

  Not just no—hell no.

  But he could hear C
onnie, his agent, in his head then: Never pass up a chance to make your fans love you. They want to—so give them a reason. He was pretty sure this was one of those times. Connie would eat this up. If he said no? Walked out? That wouldn’t go over well.

  If he’d learned one thing from the clusterfuck that had been the last couple of years of his life, it was to listen to Connie. More of his fall from grace had been public knowledge than he’d liked. But she had been there, putting out fires and shutting down stories before they made it to print. Without her, things could have been ten times worse. Maybe more.

  The big endorsements he was up for? She’d busted her ass to get them for him. After all he’d put her through, he owed her. A hell of a lot. He owed her everything—including this. Was reliving high school memories with Emmy Lou a damn hard pill to swallow? Yes. Would he force the damn pill down? Yes, he would. Even if it choked him.

  “Fine.” The word erupted, hard and loud and making sure everyone in the room knew he wasn’t happy about any of this.

  “Great.” Was it his imagination or did the asshole photographer look like he was enjoying himself? “Let’s start with the traditional pose. You know, the prom pose? Brock, stand behind her. Emmy, back to his front. Brock, arms around her. And both of you facing me. You two can hold the football.”

  “Not to question the creative direction you’re going with, but what does this have to do with football?” Travis King asked. “Or being drug free?”

  Brock couldn’t agree more, but his jaw was locked tight—to prevent him from saying a damn thing.

  “We’re trying to reach as many kids as possible, Mr. King.” Shalene Fowler was all calm diplomacy. “Not all of the students we interact with are football fans. Some are Three Kings fans. Even more are Emmy Lou King fans. Your sister is recognizable to ninety percent of the under eighteen crowd. Homecoming, school dances—they’re part of the teenage experience. And teenagers are a large part of the at-risk population.”

  Which immediately made Brock feel like an ass. His childhood had been pretty golden. Even after his mother had left, he’d had his father and aunt and their unwavering support and love. He’d had every opportunity.