Page 47 of Country Music Cowboy
“Where is here?” His father’s voice was gruff.
“Dad, what are you doing?” He sighed. “You’re not supposed to talk, remember? You can text me—that won’t irritate your throat.”
“It’ll irritateme—”
“Dad.” He groaned. “Is Sawyer there? Or Loretta? Or Margot?”
There was a general crackle and motion through the receiver.
“Travis?” It was Loretta.
“Well, hi.” He smiled. “Miss me already?”
“You’d like that,” Loretta said. Her sigh wasn’t very convincing; he could hear the smile in her voice.
Travis glanced out the window at the bluebonnets blooming along the interstate. “Have you ever seen a bluebonnet, Loretta?”
“What? No.” There was a pause. “Sawyer just walked in. You’re having brunch with your mother?”
“On my way now. I forgot all about it. I’m a little tired after last night.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’d rather be having brunch with you. Or sitting across the table from you. Or staring at your mouth.”
“It’s a good thing the phone isn’t on speaker,” she whispered.
“When I get back, we should go for a drive through the hills so you can see the bluebonnets.” It had been a long time since there’d been so many of them. A sea of blue, as far as the eye could see.
“I’m not sure we’ll be here when you get back.”
He frowned. Just because she’d agreed to the Wheelhouse Records deal didn’t mean she’d agreed to staying with them until the tour kicked off.
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been fun. Take care.” And she hung up.
By the time he reached the country club for brunch, his mood had taken a nosedive. From the sudden downpour that started halfway down I35, Emmy Lou’s apology text explaining the latest wedding crisis that was preventing her from coming, to Loretta’s cryptic “It’s been fun” parting shot—he was done long before he and his mother took their seats in the club dining room.
“I can’t shake the feeling you’re somewhere else, Travis.” His mother sipped her mimosa from the crystal champagne glass.
“I’m right here.” He smiled, slathering butter on a biscuit.
“You know what I mean.” Momma shook her head then smoothed her platinum blond hair. “How are you holding up? How are your coaching sessions going with…” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “What’s your sobriety coach’s name, again?”
“Archie? My sobriety coach’s name is Archie.” He smiled and took a large bite of his biscuit, not bothering to lower his voice. “We talk every week. Might even get together for lunch this week, if it works out. I’ll tell him you said hello.”
She sighed. “No setbacks, then? No slips? It’s natural, of course. And I’d never judge you on that, Travis. But I’ll believe you if you say you’re staying…”
“Sober?” He nodded. “I am. No slips or setbacks and no plans to change that, either.” It was pretty much the same conversation they’d had at every previous brunch. Part of him wondered if she wanted him to slip just so she could be there for the aftermath.
After another sip of her mimosa, she was leaning in again. “How is everyone else? I talk to Emmy Lou almost every day of course, about the wedding. I was a little surprised to hear she’d agreed to letHome & Stylemagazine take pictures at their wedding. That must have been Brock’s choice. Not that I blame them—the money they’re getting is nothing to shake your head at.”
Did she know Emmy Lou and Brock had agreed to the write-up and photos so they could donate every cent of the money to an anti-drug charity? If she was talking to Emmy Lou daily, shouldn’t she know that?
“What do you think about Krystal’s new look?” She shrugged. “The whole world knows she and Jace Black are a couple. Was it really necessary for her to ruin her hair with a black stripe in it? Though I suppose it’s better than her getting a tattoo like one of his fangirls.”
If his sister heard their mother say that, she’d have headed straight to a tattoo parlor just to give their mother the bird. Travis nodded his thanks to the waiter, thankful the food had arrived. He’d eaten the entire basket of biscuits on the table and he needed to keep his mouth full to stop him from saying anything he’d regret.
“Is your father okay? I’ve heard rumors—”
“He’s fine.” If his father wanted her to know about his vocal nodules, his father would tell her.
“That’s not what I’ve heard, Travis.” She frowned at him. “I appreciate your loyalty to him and I respect that. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about your father. I always will.”
