Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country 2)

“Here we are.” Aunt Mo waited for the elevator doors to open, then stood aside for her and Sawyer. “We’re straight down the hall, then right.”

“What happened, Aunt Mo?” she asked, walking just behind the older woman. “All I read was he’d fallen?”

She nodded. “David’s not as steady on his feet as you probably remember. He’s been ill now for, oh let me see, four years or so? Like I said, he gets confused so we try to keep things plain and simple.”

Four years? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Brock keeps it hush-hush. You know how he is.” Aunt Mo laughed. “He doesn’t like people in his business. I keep telling him he went into the wrong line of work for that, but the game is in his blood. Like singing is for you, I imagine.” She paused in front of door five hundred and four. “Give me a quick second?”

Emmy nodded. “Of course.”

Aunt Mo gave her cheek a pat and slipped inside the hospital room. “Well, how is my favorite brother?” Mo’s volume was higher, her words more carefully enunciated—easier to understand.

Emmy heard an answering mumble.

“You have a visitor, David. Emmy Lou is here to see you. She brought a little something for you, too,” Aunt Mo said, then paused. “Yes, yes, Brock’s Emmy Lou.”

“Dad.” Brock’s voice. “Aunt Mo, is this a good idea?” Of course, he didn’t want her here. Not a surprise.

More mumbles. Aunt Mo laughed. Brock did not. But she wasn’t here for Brock; she was here for Mr. Watson. Was it a bad idea? Yes. But she was here now and she wouldn’t stay long.

“Emmy, honey, you can come on in.” Aunt Mo opened the door.

“Give me five minutes, Sawyer.” Emmy let go of his arm. “Five minutes.” Without waiting for an argument, she took the cookie bouquet and gift bag and braced her hand on the wall for support as she moved into David Watson’s hospital room. “Hi, Mr. Watson.” She paused, doing her best to keep smiling. Seeing David Watson propped up, barely recognizable as the robust, athletic man she’d known, was going to take extra work. “I figured you could use some cookies.” She set the cookie bouquet and the gift bag on the bedside table. “And I brought some puzzle books and magazines, too, in case you get bored.”

He reached out a hand. “You know I like cookies.”

She took his hand in both of hers. “Yes, sir. Snickerdoodles.”

“You’re a good girl.” He nodded. “Always been a good girl. Molly and I were watching you on television.” His words sort of faded off, but he kept smiling up at her.

“I try.” She patted his hand. “It’s not always easy.”

“Now I don’

t believe that for a minute. If there’s one thing I know to be true, Emmy Lou King, it’s that you are good, through and through.” Aunt Mo shook her head. “You need to sit? For your ankle?”

“No, I’m fine—”

But Brock pushed a chair behind her—without saying a word.

“Okay. Thank you.” She let go of David Watson’s hand and sat. “My daddy sent a book all about the history of football, the important players, and how the rules have changed. He thought you’d like it.” She pulled the book from the gift sack and held it out. “If it’s boring, it’s Daddy’s fault. Not mine.”

David Watson glanced at Aunt Mo, then back at her. “You stopped by the house? It’s been a long time since you’ve stopped by the house.”

“Dad, we’re still in the hospital.” Brock stood at the end of the hospital bed, one hand resting on his father’s foot. “You fell and hit your head and you’re at the hospital.”

Emmy hurt to see the older man’s struggle with this information.

“Hospital.” Mr. Watson nodded. “That’s right. Hit my head.” He chuckled.

“Good thing you’re hardheaded.” Aunt Mo sat on one of the plastic hospital chairs in the opposite corner. She pulled a mountain of yarn into her lap and collected her knitting needles from an upholstered bag on the ground next to the chair. “You’re doing really well now, David. Doctor said you’re healing up fine.”

Mr. Watson patted the book cover, frowned, staring off for a long moment before he looked at her. “Brock said you two are getting married after he gets drafted into the AFL? I told him not to wait.”

It took her seconds to recover, but she did. “Oh, he did, did he? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.” Her smile didn’t waver. “He’s a little full of himself.”

David Watson laughed, hard. It might have been her imagination, but it sounded like Brock chuckled, too. But then Mr. Watson started coughing and the laughter stopped.