Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country 2)

“I think that’s good,” the photographer said, staring at the screen next to him.

Brock dropped the ball and stepped back, needing space to breathe. Enough was enough. He really needed them to be done. Hands on hips, he stared at the photographer, doing his best to rein in his tension.

“One more shot, and I think we should have everything.” The photographer nodded. “If you didn’t like that one, you definitely won’t like this one.”

His attempt to control his expression must not have been very successful. Travis and Demetrius were laughing. The big guy in the black “King’s Guard” shirt seemed ready to stiff-arm him out of the way. And the girl with the giant glasses and tablet was all owl-eyed and frozen. Not to mention the rest of the room. And then Travis was taking pictures on his phone, whispering something to Demetrius.

He didn’t bother looking at Emmy. Chances are she’d seen how unhappy this whole setup was making him, too. No reason to apologize for it. He was a football player—not a celebrity. Since his “comeback,” he’d gone out of his way to keep his personal life out of the media. Now, exploiting a memory he still treasured this way left a bitter taste in his mouth. Did he understand having Emmy Lou King involved was good for DFLM? Hell yes. But that didn’t make this okay. And it sure didn’t make the whole smile and proximity easy. Hell no.

“Maybe that’s good.” Shalene forced a smile. “As is.”

“The label sent this one.” The photographer straightened, staring at Shalene in disbelief. “And the DFLM director specifically requested it.”

Brock ran a hand over his face. “Let’s just do it.” He ground out the words.

“You heard him.” Emmy sounded legitimately fired up and ready to go. If she hadn’t glanced his way, he’d have believed her. But she did and, for a split second, he felt like a bastard. “Let’s do this.”

He nodded, doing his best not to snap. “Yep,” he managed. Time to step up his game.

The photographer was smiling from ear to ear, setting off all sorts of internal warning bells. “Sure. Good.” He nodded. “You need to carry her, draped over your shoulder.” He paused. “I’m sure you’re both familiar with the original picture.”

He knew exactly which photo. Aunt Mo had a whole photo collage dedicated to that game. Senior year. State playoffs. The win had been hard-won, and he’d been on an adrenaline high. When Emmy came barreling across the field to him, he’d lifted her up—a little too high. He hadn’t intended to drape her over his shoulder, but he’d been laughing, and she’d been laughing, and he’d wound up carrying her off the field that way. Once they’d reached the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, he’d put her down and kissed her. Long enough to have left them both panting. Hard enough that she’d known how bad he wanted her. And sweet enough that she’d never doubt she was his whole world. He remembered it, all of it, like yesterday.

The photographer held up one finger. “We need a minute to adjust lighting.”

He risked a glance her way.

She was rolling up onto her toes, tapping her fingers on her thighs—like she was playing an imaginary keyboard—nibbling on the inside of her lower lip. Which meant she was anxious. Her gaze shifted his way and she whispered, “You won’t drop me?”

Damn her and her green eyes. His voice was low, gruff. “I won’t drop you.”

She stopped chewing on the inside of her lower lip and stared up at him. “That’s a relief. If you did, I’m not sure I’d survive the fall.” A slight smile grew. “You’re like fifteen feet tall now.”

Up close, it was hard to miss… She hadn’t changed much. “Almost.” The word was thick.

“Might need a ladder? I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up there otherwise.” Head cocked to one side, she seemed to be calculating her odds. All cute and perky and…familiar.

He sighed, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Pretty sure I bench more than double what you weigh.” No, she hadn’t changed. Dammit.

Her brows rose. “I guess that makes sense. You’re like a human mountain.” She pointed at the guy in the black “King’s Guard” T-shirt. “Sawyer, my security guard, looks teeny-tiny next to you guys.”

Sawyer continued to stare him down. Big or not, the man looked capable of handling himself in a jam. The question was, why did she need this Sawyer guy? “You always have security with you?” Why do I care?

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip again.

“We’re ready.” The photographer already had his camera up.

Emmy was staring up at him again. “So…how do we do this?” She rolled onto her tiptoes again.

He closed his eyes. “I’m picking you up…”

“Okay.” She went rigid.

Was she breathing? He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her. She weighed next to nothing, even resting on his shoulder. Since she was draped over his shoulder, he was basically eye level with her butt. Not that he was complaining. It was a nice-looking butt. Always had been. Especially now, showcased in tight jeans—a pink glitter flower embroidered on the back, right pocket. Pink and glitter—something else that hadn’t changed about Emmy Lou. He took a deep breath. “Let’s both pretend that this isn’t weird as shit.”

“What’s weird?” Emmy’s laughter was nervous. “I mean, this is my preferred way of travel. I get carried around like this all the time.”

Maybe it was his nerves, but he had to laugh then.