Page 24 of Country Music Cowboy

Jace shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Are you talking about weight lifting?” Brock sounded off.

Krystal nodded.

Sawyer took a chocolate-covered donut. “Mr. Olympia? Isn’t it?” he asked Brock.

“That’s it,” Brock agreed.

“Mr. Olympia, Mr. Universe… Whatever.” Krystal sighed. “You get what I mean. You could probably eat your weight in donuts and burn it off like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“All I’m asking is you try chewing them, okay?” Emmy Lou watched as Travis grabbed two more donuts.

“Will do.” Travis smiled.

“There’s a strawberry iced one.” Brock leaned back, draping his arm around the back of Emmy Lou’s chair.

“My hands are full.” Emmy Lou smiled adoringly down at her cat, Watson.

“Mine aren’t.” Brock took the bright pink donut, tore a piece off, and held it up for her to eat.

“Aw.” Emmy Lou leaned around the donut. “Kiss, first.”

Brock was all too happy to oblige.

“It’s great that y’all are hereallthe time now, but you’ve got to knock that shit off.” Travis waved at Emmy Lou and Brock, then dropped the remainder of his donut onto his plate. “This is a bachelor pad now. Dad and I are living large.” By living large, he meant eating lots of frozen dinner and junk food and not shaving.

Krystal rolled her eyes. “And dating the same woman, apparently.” Her smile was all mischief.

From the corner of his eye, the picture of Loretta—in that blue dress—demanded his attention. And that smile? He wanted to make her smile that way. He wanted to make her laugh. An all too vivid memory of her, arching into him as his nose trailed up her neck… When it came to Loretta Gram, there was a hell of a lot he wanted to do.

He sipped his coffee, his gaze scanning over the paragraph beneath the picture.

“Krystal,” their father grumbled. “Come on, now.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Krystal was up, hurrying around the table, to hug their father.

But whatever else his sister said, Travis didn’t hear it. He was rereading the absolute bullshit printed by whatever asshat had written the article.

While tonight’s performance was riveting, Loretta Gram’s fate is uncertain. Johnny Hawkins, the duo’s lyricist, will be unreplaceable. Does this make tonight’s performance Loretta Gram’s swan song?

Travis scanned the article until he found the name of the contributor. Evan Johnson.Fuck you, Evan Johnson.His hold tightened on his mug, preventing him from taking his frustration out on the newspaper.

“Travis?” Krystal’s voice was louder than normal.

Too loud not to hear.

“What?” he asked, only half listening. Loretta didn’t need a singing partner to have a career. Johnny’s death sucked—there was no way around that. But she had the talent to make it on her own. If Wheelhouse backed her…

Krystal laughed. “See?”

“See what?” He ran his fingers through his hair and turned toward his sister.

“Just what happened between you and Loretta?” Krystal asked. “Because a little birdy told me you two were getting awfully chummy outside of the dressing room at the awards show.”

“Sounds like this little birdy is seeing things.” Travis sipped his coffee.

“This little birdy has 20/20 vision.” Krystal crossed her arms over her chest.