Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country #2) - Sasha Summers Page 0,2

to do is walk into a room and the clouds part and angels sing.”

Emmy laughed. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“But you’re smiling now,” Krystal said. “And it’s true.” Krystal whispered something but the words were muffled. “Jace is here.” There was smile in her voice.

“I’ll let you go, then.” Emmy put her bag on the counter. “Tell Jace I said hi, okay?”

“He says hi. And he will so kick Brock’s ass if he needs to.” There was a pause. “No, you don’t know him… Yes, the football player… That Brock.” Another pause. “He said he would totally kick his ass.”

Emmy shook her head, but she was smiling. “I’m pretty sure that won’t be necessary. But I appreciate the offer. Love you.”

“You, too, sissy.” Krystal made a kiss sound. “Talk later.”

“Okay.” She dug through her bag, pulling out her brush and makeup bag. Her momma would have a fit if she saw the state of her daughter. CiCi King was all about a woman looking her best—at all times. “Best might be pushing it.” But that didn’t stop her from attempting damage control.

Besides, she needed to remember why she was here. Her sweet daddy had found a way to work on a cause she believed in without interfering with the Three Kings’ upcoming tour. She was the new face and voice of the American Football League. She’d sing their intro anthem, do some PR for the organization, and participate in a couple of the larger American Football League’s Drug Free Like Me events. The charity program raised funds for drug addiction prevention, treatment, and recovery programs as well as outreach education in schools and sports camps. Between her millions of fans and followers and the several millions more football devotees, this was her chance to do something that mattered.

Little things like squishy socks, limp hair, or running into the boy—man—who’d crushed her hopes and dreams and heart didn’t really matter.

* * *

“Don’t you dare get water on my wood floors, Brock Nathaniel Watson.” Aunt Mo’s voice carried all the way down the hall from the kitchen.

Brock stepped back outside the front door, tugged off his worn-to-perfection leather boots, and left them on the ranch house’s massive wraparound porch. His socks were just as saturated. With a sigh, he tugged them off and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans. The damn rain continued to pour down, thick sheets hammering the roof and ground with surprising force. A crack of thunder split the air and rolled across the grey-black sky.

A flash of Emmy Lou, wide-eyed and shaking, with rain dripping off her nose and chin, rushed in on him. Again. He couldn’t shake it—shake her.

She’d been scared stiff. For good damn reason. If his brakes had locked up? His truck had skidded? The crushing pressure against his chest had him sucking in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he peered out into the storm. She was okay. Shaken, sure.

Hell, he was damn near in shock. She was the last person he’d expected to see. And this? Well, running her over wasn’t exactly the sort of reunion he’d imagined.

Not that he’d spent much time thinking about her. That—she—was ancient history. Once the shock of losing her had worn off, anger had kicked in. He’d welcomed it—until it had all but consumed him. Then…that’s when he’d hit rock bottom. Pulling himself together had meant shutting out destructive tendencies. Emmy, and the slew of emotions and thoughts she stirred up in him, had fallen into that category. After he’d learned his triggers and boxed them up tight, he’d closed that damn lid and never opened it again.

Until now… Well, this morning had been a surprise. More like a shock. A one-time fluke. Nothing more.

Her band, Three Kings, was probably doing some concert or something. Football wasn’t the only thing that happened at the stadium, he knew that. But in the six years he’d been playing for the Houston Roughnecks, he’d never run into a single performer.

Of course, it would have to be Emmy.

Then again, he was normally in Houston. But their stadium was in the middle of some multimillion-dollar renovation, so the team would be spending most of the season here in Austin. His hometown. Emmy Lou King’s hometown.

“You coming in?” Aunt Mo’s voice jolted him back to the present.

He stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Your shoes out front?” Aunt Mo called out, the steady beat of her footsteps coming down the hall. The moment she saw him, she shook