Page 48 of Country Music Cowboy
He nodded, cutting into his syrup-drenched French toast. “You know better than to listen to the rumor mill.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “I hardly think a close, personal friend qualifies asthe rumor mill, Travis Wayne.” Her perfectly sculpted nails clicked along the tabletop. “I’m glad he’s well. Emmy Lou should have a perfect wedding day. I know Hank would never do a thing to jeopardize that but, if he’s truly ill, it could complicate things.”
Only Momma would see things that way.He toyed with the guitar pick in his pocket. This was why Krystal no longer bothered to make up an excuse about coming to brunch. His sister wasn’t capable of letting their mother roll off her back. For her, it was easier to avoid their mother altogether. He suspected Momma was okay with that too.
“I’m not just worried about your father’s health. He seems to be getting awfully chummy with that Loretta Gram, doesn’t he?” Her smile was pinched but her attention was on her eggs Benedict and bowl of fresh fruit. “I know she’s been through a lot, poor thing. Loretta Gram is one of those people who has nothing but bad luck.”
If by bad luck, she meant a successful singing career and the ability to do what she loved then sure, Loretta was super unlucky.He swallowed more French toast. He wasn’t going to talk about Loretta with his mother. The whole thing was wrong. From her assumption that her husband would get involved with Loretta to how blasé she seemed about it. Travis speared his French toast, cut off a large bite, and shoved it into his mouth.
“Travis. You weren’t raised in a barn.” She frowned. “Manners, please.”
He kept right on chewing.
“I understand your father has the right to move on, but she’s such a sad thing I can’t help but wonder if she’s using that angle to catch his eye.” She took a tiny bite of her breakfast. “Most men, your father included, love getting to ride in on a white horse to save the day. I guess it’s a virility boost.”
Clearly, Momma knew nothing about Loretta. If she did, she’d know Loretta would ride in on her own white horse—she didn’t need rescuing by anyone. The other? His father? Hank King wouldn’t move on to another woman as long as he was married. After being married as long as they had, Travis felt confident Momma knew that. But instead of saying a thing, he shoveled in another too-large bite of his French toast.
“It’s a bit of cliché, isn’t it?” She was leaning forward again. “The May-December rebound romance.”
Cliché?Travis wiped his mouth and sat back, unable to let that one go. “How old is Kegan Scott, Momma?” He took a sip of his orange juice, already knowing the answer. Every time another photo of Kegan and his mother was printed, their ages were noted within the first line or two of the articles. Kegan was a year older than he was. One year. “Things going well with you two?”
His mother set her silverware down. “I don’t think I care much for your tone, Travis.”
He tossed his napkin aside. “Momma.” He stood, bent forward, and kissed her cheek. “I love you but you keep doing what you’re doing and I can’t like you.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction.
Two sleepless nights caught up with him about halfway home. He cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows, and wished he could start the day over. But the farther he got from Austin, the fewer and fewer cars got in his way. The birdsong, bluebonnets, rolling green grass, and the scent of spring in the air eased some of his frustration before he got home.
He was whistling when he headed into the kitchen, drawing his father and Sawyer’s attention. “Morning,” he said, pulling a mug from the cabinet for a much-needed cup of coffee.
His father pushed a tablet toward him.
Travis turned and read aloud, “How’d it go with your mother?” He shrugged. “No one died.” He tapped the paper. “You know, there’s this thing you can type out messages on—and then you’re not killing trees.”
His father pulled the tablet back, scowling.
“Any plans today?” he asked, carrying his mug to the table. “Bachelor living at its finest.”
One of Sawyer’s brows cocked a half-an-inch higher than the other. “They went to drop off Margot at the airport and do some shopping. She’ll be back.”
Travis didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know whoshewas. He knew. What mattered most? She was coming back.
Chapter 9
Loretta sang, swaying along with the music.
Walking by the river,
Moonlight up above.
Hold my hand forever,
Babe, let’s fall in love.
Travis strummed the banjo, plucking a few notes to keep the tone light and carefree. His blue-green eyes met hers and she smiled her approval.
So hold my hand forever and, Babe, let’s fall in love.
She stretched out the final note while Travis’s fingers flew through the notes and the song ended.
