Page 15 of Country Music Cowboy
“Who?” Jace asked, leaning around Krystal. “In the blue?”
“Yes. Look at the skirt.” Krystal wasn’t easily impressed.
There was a knock on the passenger side window. Their father waved, gesturing to them to get out.
Travis had forgotten just how deafening the fans could be. Nothing was as humbling as hearing the way the fans reacted to them—Three Kings. Their loyalty was second to none. Emmy Lou did the lion’s share of the work. She kept her millions of social media followers close, posting daily snapshots of whatever struck her fancy. Music she was listening to. What her cat, Watson, was up to. Lots of selfies of Three Kings together. She connected with the fans in a way he and Krystal hadn’t mastered.
Emmy Lou went first. She and Brock Watson held hands and looked suitably smitten with each other. Fans ate it up.
Jace and Krystal followed, her arm tucked through his—keeping her tight against him.
“Guess we’re bringing up the rear.” His father clapped him on the back and smiled.
Travis nodded, sliding his hand into his pocket to rub the guitar pick inside. He’d held the anxiety and panic at bay all day but, here—now—all the tiny fears and insecurities felt magnified. The noise kept coming, rolling over each other in various pitches and tones. It was hard to make out actual words, but the energy of the crowd helped. Not enough to remove the fear that this whole enterprise had the potential to go horribly wrong—but at least now he was excited about it.
“That’s for you too,” his father murmured. “See that?” He nodded at a group of young women holding a poster board covered in large letters and glitter that read, “Travis King’s #1 Fans!”
He’d been accused of being a cocky bastard, having a big ego, and thinking he was the center of the universe—mostly by exes or musical rivals. Up until a year ago, that was true. Still, he had to admit the cheers and excitement, all for him, had him feeling pretty damn good.
Travis grinned and ran his fingers through his hair—Krystal’s advice. Then he smiled—Emmy Lou’s reminder—and the resulting surge of near-frenzied yells and cries had his father chuckling.
“Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?” Hank was studying his son closely. “You hold on to that and sing for them and you’ll always give your best.”
We have a career because of our fans.It was Emmy Lou’s response every time he or Krystal gave her grief for how active she was on social media. She had a point though. So did his father. Maybe it was time to subscribe to the Emmy Lou and Hank King playbook—making this about the fans. And it would keep him out of his head.
“Is that Loretta?” his father asked. “Who is she here with?”
Bits and pieces of her phone conversation came back to him then. She’d said she couldn’t get a ticket. For tonight? She’d rather come to a three-hour award show alone? He hadn’t meant to search her out, but that’s exactly what happened. His gaze caught and held.Incredible?Is that the word Krystal had used?True.More than true. Seeing her… Damn, she was something to look at. Those eyes. Her hair. That smile. For a second, he forgot how quick she’d been to write him off. Hell, for a second, he forgot to breathe. She was…beautiful. Blindingly so.
“Travis?” His father nudged him.
“What?” Had he missed something?
The corner of his father’s mouth kicked up. “You should see if she wants to join us?”
“She won’t.” Besides he wasn’t exactly pro-Loretta at the moment. So why did his gaze keep shifting her way—over and over?Because she’s beautiful.Hostile and sanctimonious as hell, but beautiful nonetheless.
“Might be worth asking.” His father’s gaze tightened. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather she wasn’t left alone to deal with the likes of him.”
Travis followed his father’s gaze.Shit.Mickey fucking Graham and his smug-ass smile. He’d caught sight of Loretta, all right. It was the way the asshat was looking at Loretta that dictated he take the high road. He wouldn’t wish Mickey Graham on his worst enemy.
But his father beat him to it.
“Hey, big brother. I didn’t get a chance to tell you how handsome you look tonight,” Emmy Lou said once he’d reached her side. “But I think they beat me to it.” She turned, smiling at the group still screaming his name.
Travis waved again—sparking another wave of enthusiastic fandom.
“What’s Daddy doing?” Emmy Lou asked.
“What Daddy does. He saw Mickey closing in and…” Travis explained, continuing down the red carpet—still smiling, still waving.
“Rescue mission, eh?” Emmy Lou’s nose wrinkled, the only outward sign of her agitation.
Travis nodded. Mickey was an asshole; he’d always been as asshole. The sort of asshole that treated women like second-class citizens, used his private life for press, and didn’t even try keeping his hands to himself. He’d made the mistake of tangling with Krystal a few years back, but, from all reports, he hadn’t learned his lesson.
That’s why his father stood, waiting as Loretta had a thousand more pictures taken from every possible angle. Sure, his father was talking to reporters and entertainers and being his normal jovial self, but it was clear he—Hank King—was waiting for Loretta Gram. And it was drawing attention.
“Daddy and his big heart.” Emmy Lou was Daddy’s little girl. To her, their father could do no wrong.
