Page 92 of Country Music Cowboy
“Ooh, what smells so good?” Emmy Lou asked, breezing into the kitchen with a grocery sack. “Garlic?”
“Lasagna,” Travis repeated.
“Who is coming?” Just like Krystal, Emmy Lou gave the table a quick look.
He turned. “Momma is coming. Daddy is joining us so I don’t do or say something I’ll regret.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his agitation mounting.
“What’s happened?” Emmy Lou asked, crossing to him. “Is everything okay?”
“This isn’t about Sawyer.” Travis frowned, watching them both turn red. “This is about Loretta. And Momma.”
Krystal recovered first. “What about Loretta and Momma?”
Travis walked across the room, opened the far drawer, and pulled out the manila folder Sawyer had handed him after their morning run. “This is everything Momma’s using against Loretta.”
“For what?” Emmy Lou asked, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” He shrugged.
Krystal opened the cabinet and pulled out two more plates.
“I don’t need you two to stay,” he argued.
Emmy Lou looked ready to cry but Krystal rolled her eyes and ignored him, setting two extra places and fixing the silverware all the way around the table.
Krystal made biscuits, Emmy Lou cut up fruit for dessert and mixed fresh lemonade, and Travis tried not to overthink what needed to be said.
When the tap-tap of Momma’s stilettos echoed down the hall, the three of them paused long enough to exchange a look. She burst in, all smiles and perfume.
Travis couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t considered his mother dazzling. She’d always had this magnetic quality about her. She liked to say you could draw more flies with honey than vinegar. That wasn’t true. Not when it came to Momma, anyway. She made her mark through fear. Sure, in the beginning she was sugar-coated enough. That’s how she lured folks in—it was only afterward that they realized it was all a trap.
“I didn’t know I’d get to see you all.” Momma’s bright blue eyes barely touched on Krystal.
“We’d stopped by to leave flowers and crosswords for Daddy.” Emmy Lou smiled. “It smells so good we invited ourselves to stay.”
“I’m glad you did,” Momma said. “Where is that handsome husband of yours?”
Emmy Lou kept Momma distracted with wedding photo proofs, updates on the tour, and Watson stories. Emmy Lou ignored the fact that Momma couldn’t stand the cat.
“Afternoon,” Daddy said, his voice scratchy.
“Oh Hank, you sound rough.” Momma frowned. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”
Daddy shook his head. “Nothing to fret over.”
“Good. Good. I know the kids will take good care of you until you’re through this.” Travis couldn’t detect anything but sincerity in his mother’s tone.
Food was passed, drinks were poured, and Travis was trying to remember his original opener. Lucky for him, Momma got things started.
“And where is your pretty little house guest?” she asked, cutting the lasagna into tiny bites.
“Margot’s here. She and Loretta are on a conference call with the Wheelhouse people.” Travis took a long sip of lemonade and dove in. “Speaking of Loretta, I was wondering what you think of her, Momma?”
“She’s a sweet, sad thing.” Momma set her fork down. “I can’t say I’m not worried a bit. The last thing you need is getting involved with someone who has that sort of history.”
History.
“What history?” Hank asked, frowning.
