Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country 2)

“How’s your father?”

“He’s hanging in there. You know he’s tough.” He smiled.

“That’s why they called him Ox, isn’t it? Give him my best.” She paused. “But seriously, read the email.”

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” And hung up.

“Shit.” He’d have to visit his dad after he stopped by the stadium. They were having special teams’ meetings this afternoon and he wasn’t about to be late. His father wouldn’t want that, either—he was all about being the first one there, the go-to player, and the last one to leave. Brock was, too.

The drive into Austin took close to an hour, bumper-to-bumper and horns blaring. By the time he parked and headed inside, he was tense enough to run a few laps. Since his tension level was only likely to rise with his meetings, he might as well wait until the meetings were over to run.

“Brock.” Russell Ewen, the defensive coordinator, headed his way. His once red hair had turned steely over the course of the last couple of years. “Before we get started, head down to Dale’s office. It will only take a minute. Ames is here.”

Ricky Ames. The new second-string defensive end and his new backup. The kid, barely twenty years old, had pro instincts, lightning-fast feet, and packed one hell of a punch. But all the talent came with a reputation. A big mouth and an even bigger ego. Brock wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting the kid. “Sure.”

The Roughnecks’ head coach, Dale McCoy, was a big believer in the older players mentoring the new additions. It was also highly motivational for the seasoned players. Nothing like seeing a younger, fresher player ready and willing to take their place on the field to remind them that trades and contract renegotiations were always options—no matter who you were.

Brock didn’t take that for granted.

Ten minutes later, he’d showered, dressed, and was putting on his game face. He nodded his greeting at Dale’s secretary, Michelle.

“You can go on in, Brock.” She leaned forward, sliding her glasses down enough to peek over the rim. “Just between you and me, Ricky Ames is a little shit.”

Brock chuckled. “Oh?” He’d always appreciated Michelle’s candor—and her opinions. Over the years, he’d come to realize that she was pretty good at reading people. She’d been with the team longer than the head coach, so if she started a sentence with, “Just between you and me,” Brock tended to listen. Her straightforward, no-nonsense conversation and unwavering devotion to the Roughnecks reminded him a lot of Aunt Mo. High praise indeed.

“He seems to think the team is lucky to have him. We know it’s the other way around.” She winked. “I figured I’d warn you.”

Great. “I appreciate the heads-up.” He took a deep breath and opened Coach McCoy’s office door.

“Brock.” Dale waved him in. “Wanted you to meet Ricky here. Ricky, I’m guessing you know who Brock Watson is.”

“Who doesn’t? I grew up watching you, man.” Ricky nodded, crossing the room to take his hand. “You were, like, my hero. I’ve got a YouTube greatest clips of you forklifting half the damn league. Legendary.”

“Reggie White did it best.” Brock shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“How’s the leg? That hit.” Ricky winced. “Man, it hurt like a son of a bitch watching. That’s the sort of thing that can end a career.”

“The leg is good.” He shrugged.

“Glad to hear it.” Ricky’s cocky-ass smile grew. “I hear it’s hard to give one hundred percent when you’ve been knocked down like that.”

Brock chuckled. Ricky Ames was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder to get under his skin.

After a quick rundown of the daily schedule and another handful of awkward exchanges, Dale said, “Thanks for stopping in, Brock.” Coach shot him an apolo

getic smile. “I’m sure Ricky will need some guidance once training starts.”

Oh, he’d need it all right. But would the kid listen? Probably not. “Sure.” Brock nodded, keeping it as noncommittal as possible. With a final round of handshakes, he left the office, closing the door behind him.

“See what I mean?” Michelle asked. “Little shit.”

Brock shrugged. “Bet you felt the same way about me when I started.”

“You? No, sir.” She waved his comment aside with her bright-pink-tipped fingers. “You know my sister’s husband’s cousin works over at the DFLM Foundation?” She waited for him to nod. “Well, she might have sent me a proof sheet from that photo shoot—the one with Emmy Lou King. I just about died. I am a huge fan of Three Kings. That girl is about the prettiest thing I have ever seen. You never told me you two dated.”

“Never came up, I guess.” Because he went out of his way not to bring it up.

“You two look good together, Brock.” She paused, but he didn’t say anything, so she went on. “Is she as sweet as she seems? I mean, she comes across as the heart-of-gold type. Such a positive role model for young girls—a rare thing in this day and age.”