Page 31 of Country Music Cowboy
“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.”
“Of course.” She smiled then.
Damn but she was beautiful. And her smile? At the sight of that smile, it took effort to gather his wits enough to form a coherent question. “I’m guessing this isn’t the way you’d imagined moving forward?”
She shook her head, her attention wandering around the room. “It isn’t like they ruined my master plan. I guess I thought—I hoped—I’d be involved in deciding what I’d be doing next. With who. And where.”
“That sounds pretty unreasonable to me.” Teasing her was taking a risk but, if he kept her smiling, it’d be worth it.
The flash of anger in her eyes cooled when she realized what he was up to. “Ha ha, very funny.” But there wasn’t a hint of anger to her words.
“See, I can be funny.” He winked.
She shook her head, regarding him with amused tolerance. But the longer she looked at him, the more those topaz eyes seemed to laser in on him. “I don’t feel like I have all the information. They didn’t exactly welcome questions, but there are a few things I’d like to know.”
He nodded. “Like?”
“What sort of time-range will this arrangement go on?” She pushed off the cabinet and walked across the room, her gaze returning to the photos on the wall. “Will all marketing be joint? Or will there be individual campaigns too?” She paused in front of his father’s first guitar, safely stored inside a glass front display case. The old wooden Martin DXMAE acoustic-electric guitar had many a mile on it. And it showed. Momma had offered to clean it up, but Daddy said he didn’t want the wear and tear and stories to be buffed out of something so dear to him.
“I remember wanting a guitar like this when I was younger. I scrimped and saved until I had enough to buy the only one I’d found at a secondhand store.” Her whole face softened, her smile warmer—sincere. “As soon as I had the money, I ran there.” She shook her head. “It was gone.”
Travis frowned, disappointment pressing in on his chest. “That’s the saddest damn story I’ve heard in a while.”
Her laugh was husky—and sexy as hell. “It’s not, I promise. I was brokenhearted, cried all the way home, to find Johnny sitting on my front steps. He was holding the guitar, a bright green bow on it.” She faced him, shrugging. “He did things like that.” But her gaze fell away and her voice wavered when she added, “When he wasn’t high or drunk, he’d do something special. It was his way of apologizing for letting me down.”
Travis swallowed hard, the pressure in his chest increasing by a hundred.
“He was two different people.” Loretta wrapped her arms around her waist. “The one whose smile could light up a room. He loved music and writing songs, he loved life and making people happy.” She hugged herself. “The other Johnny got stuck in a…a darkness with only one escape route.” When her gaze met his, the defeat was staggering. “As much as I loved him, I know how screwed up our relationship was. I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to set myself up for that kind of hurt.” Her eyes stayed locked with his. “I don’t want my career and my future to be tied to that again.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I can’t. I won’t.”
Now he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “And you think partnering up with me will do that.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
She didn’t answer him. But she didn’t have to.
“I feel certain that you know this, but I am not Johnny.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “For one thing, I’m not near as talented as he was.” He shook his head. “The rest? I can tell you that it’s taken a year to be able to look myself in the eye without hating who I saw. I’m not going to jeopardize that. Recovery isn’t about pleasing other people, it’s about being honest to myself—and being true to who I am. That’s what I’m doing. Every damn day, I get up and recommit to myself.” He sighed. “I know I have to live with this for the rest of my life and I will.”
Travis had never been afraid of silence. In a family like his, silence had always been a rare gift. Time to think. To listen. To be quiet. But this quiet wasn’t like that. The way Loretta was looking at him right now set his nerves on edge. It had nothing to do with today’s meeting or the possibility of them working together. This was about her, believing him.
Until that moment, he didn’t realize how much that mattered.
“One more question.” She smoothed her hair from her shoulder, her gaze bouncing from him to the guitar and back again. “Do you want to be my singing partner, Travis?”
***
Her voice wobbled.Dammit.Instead of coming across strong, like she’d wanted, she’d sounded…needy and weak. All because he’d been so…so impassioned. Like he meant what he said and he wanted her to believe it.And he might mean it, right now.But tomorrow? Or next week?
Words are just that, words, and she’d been fed what she wanted to hear one too many times. This time, she wasn’t going to let what she wanted get in the way of what was real.
“I’ll be honest, Loretta.” The corner of his mouth kicked up enough for her pulse to take notice. “After everything I’ve put Wheelhouse—hell, everyone—through, I feel pretty damn lucky to still be here.” He shook his head, those curls of his falling onto his forehead in a way-tooGQmodel sort of way. “If this happens, working with you will be my privilege.”
She had to admit it, he did have a way with words. Wasn’t that part of his reputed charm? Being a silver-tongued devil? Rather, the Silver-Tongued King? She’d almost forgotten about that nickname. But now that she’d remembered it, it cast a shadow of doubt over everything he’d just said.
Trust wasn’t a concept she had much experience with. Growing up, the only thing she could trust her father to do was say one thing, do the opposite, and leave her to pick up the slack. Before the age of ten, she’d learned to write checks and mail bills, do the grocery shopping, cook dinner, and make coffee—to help sober up her father when he was fall-down drunk.
She’d made gallons of coffee for her father, gallons for Johnny, but she’d be damned if she did the same for Travis.
