Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country 2)

“I’m not sure.” She smiled.

And so did he—for a handf

ul of seconds. Once he realized he was smiling, realized she saw him smiling, it disappeared. Was smiling against some bodyguard protocol? Or was it just a Sawyer thing?

“Yes, Sawyer, I guess I am asking you.” She braced herself.

“This isn’t selfish. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met.” No inflection. Almost like he was reading the ingredients off a cereal box or a street sign. He took the gift bag and cookie bouquet from her.

“Oh, well.” It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Nurses’ station?”

He led her inside, his don’t-mess-with-me expression the only deterrent needed to keep people at arm’s length. People recognized her, it was inevitable, and she smiled and waved but kept moving along—as fast as her ankle would allow.

They’d almost reached the nurses’ station when a familiar voice called out, “Emmy Lou King? Is that really you?”

It had been years since she’d last seen Molly Watson, but she’d recognize Aunt Mo’s voice anywhere. She stopped and peered around Sawyer. “Sawyer, stop. It’s a friend.” In a lot of ways, Aunt Mo had been her second mother. Molly Watson was the exact opposite of her momma. Where Momma favored pretty things and flash, Aunt Mo was all about practicality and functionality. Being in the Watson home had allowed Emmy a normalcy that didn’t exist in her real world.

Aunt Mo had taught her how to iron, sew on a button, treat a strain, and how to do a load of laundry. While her mother liked to remind her that they had people for that, Emmy Lou was proud of her, albeit limited, useful skill set.

“What are you doing here?” Aunt Mo wrapped her in a warm hug. “It’s been forever since I saw your sweet face. Emmy Lou, if I hug you too hard, you’ll snap. You need more meat on you, girl. And who is this handsome fella you’re hanging on to?”

Emmy held on, tight, laughing at Aunt Mo’s rapid-fire questions. That was Aunt Mo, concern and reprimand, strong opinions and solid hugs all rolled into one. And right now, being wrapped up in Molly Watson’s arms was just what Emmy needed.

“Aw, sweet girl.” Aunt Mo’s arms were firm. “You’re too little; it hurts to squeeze on you. I’m making you muffins. You hear me?” She pressed a kiss to her temple. “Better yet, you and your fella come and we’ll make them together. And stay for dinner? I’ll make enough for you to take home.”

“I do miss your cooking.” She finally let go. “But I’ve missed you even more.”

Aunt Mo cradled her cheeks, taking a thorough inventory of Emmy Lou’s face. “You’ve always been welcome, Emmy. You hear me? Always. I’m not too far down the road.” There was a flash of concern on her face before she straightened and faced Sawyer. “Now, introduce me.”

“Sawyer, this is Molly Watson. Molly, this is my bodyguard, Sawyer.” As she expected, Sawyer only nodded.

“Bodyguard?” Aunt Mo nodded. “Well, that explains it. Guess a bodyguard can’t go around smiling and making friends now, can he?”

“No, ma’am,” Sawyer said.

“Well, good. That’s good. You best make sure you take care of this one, too. You hear me? She’s a special little bird.” She took Emmy’s hand, smiling.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sawyer nodded.

“I wanted to bring this to Mr. Watson.” She pointed at the gifts Sawyer was holding. “We were dropping them here, at the nurses’ station.”

“You should come up.” Aunt Mo patted her hand. “I don’t know his mind today but, if he’s in a good place, I know he’d like to see you. Brock would, too, I’m sure.”

Brock would not like to see her. “No.” The word sort of erupted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aunt Mo. I just…I wanted Mr. Watson to know I was thinking of him.”

“He’d rather hear it from you.” Aunt Mo was frowning now. “It won’t take five minutes. David tuckers out real fast. Don’t mind him if he rambles; he gets confused easily but he does try. I have no doubt seeing you will lift his spirits.”

And just like that, Emmy Lou was leaning on Sawyer, heading into the elevator with Aunt Mo. Her lungs were rapidly deflating but her smile firmly in place.

“Brock said you took a fall?” Aunt Mo eyed her ankle brace.

He had? Did he tell you he scowled at me and stormed out? Did he tell you how pathetic I was before he scowled at me and stormed out? “Just a sprain.” She shrugged. “You’d think I’d be better at dodging cords by now.” Ricky Ames had made her angry—really angry. It wasn’t an emotion she regularly dealt with.

Neither was arousal. But Brock, angry and defensive and gorgeous, had detonated the box containing all her wants and needs and desires. While he’d carried her across the field, she’d been grappling with the overwhelming need to touch him. Better yet, for him to touch her. And the video shoot… He’d stooped to help her, cared for her. She didn’t care that her boot was broken—he’d broken it to help her. In the dark, close enough to breathe him in and rest her hands against his chest. His heart had been thumping hard under her palm.

But then he’d grabbed her hands and held her away from him.

First the locker room, then the football field… She had to accept that whatever she was feeling wasn’t reciprocated. More than that, he didn’t like her.