Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country 2)

“Good.” Emmy nodded, her voice a little higher, a little breathless.

After they said their goodbyes to Guy, Brock led her from the stage to the green room.

“That was awesome.” Emmy’s assistant caught up to them, handing Emmy Lou a water bottle. “You two should see the pings on the DFLM site.” She handed him a water bottle, too.

“Thanks. Already?” he asked.

The woman nodded, taking Emmy’s phone. “I’ll post this. Hold on.” She stepped in front of them. “Smile. Or act tired. Something cute I can post later.”

“Cute?” Brock took a long swig off his water bottle.

“Perfect.” The woman snapped a picture. “See?” She held the phone out. He and Emmy Lou were both guzzling water, her arm still hooked with his. “Cute. I’ll tag it synchronized hydration. Or hashtag #waterbreak…or something.” She shrugged. “Now, food

.”

He didn’t miss the emphasis on the word food. Beautiful or not, Emmy was too skinny. He’d noticed it. Aunt Mo had noticed it. And now her assistant was bringing it up. “There’s a steak place the team goes to every time we have an away game here, Remington’s. You want to come?” What the hell am I doing?

“Melanie is a vegetarian.” Emmy Lou shook her head. “But thank you.”

As far as excuses went, it wasn’t much of one. “This is LA; it’s not like there won’t be a vegetarian option.” He glanced at Melanie. “You eat salad, don’t you?” Why the hell am I pushing this?

“I love salad.” Melanie hugged her iPad close and held the green room door open. “And you love steak, Emmy Lou. Sawyer and I can sit at another table—you won’t even know we’re there.” She waited for Emmy to sit, then moved one of the stuffed ottomans under her injured ankle. “Beats ordering room service and eating in the hotel room alone.”

He didn’t give a shit about Sawyer. But he did care about Emmy…about Emmy Lou eating, that is. Besides, Aunt Mo would never forgive him if he didn’t try.

“That sounds good,” Emmy Lou said. “Not you sitting at another table with Sawyer. Room service. In my pajamas. Watching old reruns of I Love Lucy or that British baking show.”

Melanie stopped working on her phone and looked at Emmy. She didn’t say anything, just regarded her employer with a steady gaze. It was clear she was struggling not to say something. The longer she stared at Emmy, the tighter she pressed her lips together.

“No,” Emmy Lou said, looking his way. “But thank you.” He didn’t miss the emphasis on the “no.”

Message received. She wasn’t interested. Fooling around with him in private was fine. Sharing a meal together wasn’t.

“Okay. I’ll go see if Sawyer has the car ready.” Melanie hurried off, pulling the door closed behind her.

Once the door clicked shut, the air in the room thinned. He was staring at her. She was staring at him. The longer they stared, the more electrified the space between them became.

She swallowed. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“This time I think I’ll stay over here.” He crossed his arms, doing his best to act casual.

Her green gaze slammed into his, her cheeks going pink. “I guess I deserved that. It wasn’t planned. Obviously. I don’t know what happened. I just sort of…lost my head?” She seemed sincerely flustered.

He knew the feeling.

She blinked, her cheeks going darker. “I didn’t go to the hospital to cause problems.”

No, she’d come to get her picture in the paper with a flattering headline. Both of which had been accomplished. Emmy Lou’s sweet goodness, singing to Brock’s ailing father, had been touted as another example of her selflessness.

“Aunt Mo and your father always made me feel like I was part of the family.” She stopped. “Things didn’t work out between us, but I still think of you all—”

“You wanted to check up on him.” Did she realize she was lying? Or had it become so second nature that it was instinctual? Either way, it pissed him off. Not just at her, but at himself. Even though he knew she was lying, he wanted her. Maybe that’s why he pushed back. “You coming to the hospital had nothing to do with publicity? Or this?”

“This?” She swallowed, her gaze darting to his mouth then away.

“This, Emmy. You. Me.” He broke off, but the words wouldn’t stop. “I know you want me. You know I want you. And flattering news coverage is always a good thing for you Kings.” He waited for her to deny it—waited for more lies. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She was staring at him. Frozen. Was she breathing?