Page 49 of Country Music Cowboy
“Yes?” Travis asked, a pencil in one hand.
“I like what you did there.” She pointed at the sheet music. “The banjo is better.”
“You could say I’m a musical genius.” He grinned.
She laughed. She’d been doing that a lot recently, thanks to Travis. And now? That grin was testing her whole “one night” plan. Who was she kidding,hewas testing her “one night” plan. It would have been completely different if their one night hadn’t been so…so…
“Don’t you think?” Travis asked, running his fingers through his hair. “If we change the tempo there?”
Since she hadn’t been listening to him, she decided teasing was the best way for her to save face. “As the musical genius, I’ll let you decide.” There was no way she’d admit her thoughts were distracted. By him. And last night—all the images from last night.
There were oh so many to choose from.
Now was not the time for this. She was the one pushing professionalism. Daydreaming about Travis was in no way, shape, or form professional. Calming breaths. Appropriate thoughts. Focus and clarity. She tucked her hands between her legs and concentrated on looking anywhere but him.
Travis had gone through the trouble of digging up some songs he’d been tinkering with on and off for a while. She’d been surprised he hadn’t shared these songs with his sisters, knowing how close they were. Not that she was complaining. So far, she’d be more than happy to sing a handful of songs with him. These were more upbeat and playful—unlike the hotter-than-hell duet they’d sung together on the back porch.
“It’s a dancing song.” Travis nodded, tapping his pencil on the edge of the music stand.
“Dancing songs are always good.” Which was true, especially in country music.
“They are.” He stood, carrying the banjo back to its stand on the shelf.
Loretta was astonished at the number of instruments Travis could play. Harmonica, bass guitar, pedal steel guitar, banjo, and the dobro—Loretta didn’t know anyone who played that anymore. He tinkered on keyboards too. As far as she could tell, he could play—and play well. The new home studio had a wall of cases built specially for the instrument collection.
She watched him carefully consider each instrument before reaching for a wooden Rogue Dreadnought guitar, slipping the strap around his shoulder and tuning it as he carried it back to their stools.
“You like dancing, Loretta Gram?” he asked, sitting on his stool and adjusting the strap.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been dancing. When was it? With Johnny? And since most dance halls served alcohol, she didn’t have many memories that ended well. But he hadn’t asked her that. He’d asked her if shelikeddancing.
“If you have to think about it, maybe we should refresh your memory?” He plucked out a few notes, then turned a tuning peg.
The gruff throat-clearing from the corner of the room reminded her they weren’t alone. Sawyer sat in the corner of the studio, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at something on the computer.
“You can come too, if you want, Sawyer. Get you out of the house so you’re not hanging around in corners being creepy.” Travis shrugged, then lowered his voice. “I have to give him shit. It’s what I do. He’s been looking at blueprints of the tour venues most of the morning.”
“That’s very thorough of him.” Loretta risked a look at Sawyer, Margot’s comments—and Krystal’s reaction—springing to mind.
From this angle, he could be Travis’s doppelgänger. A doppelgänger bodyguard. There were several differences, obviously. Travis and his hair. Sawyer had dark hair, cut close—not a curl in sight. Sawyer’s eyes were dark blue, not nearly as vivid and rich as Travis’s. Sawyer was a little taller than Travis, but they were pretty equally matched physically. Both of them were in tip-top physical condition.
“That’s Sawyer.” Travis nodded. “He doesn’t like surprises.”
Sawyer’s gaze darted their way, lingering on her face—more like judging her. “Why don’t you have security, Miss Gram?” he asked.
Travis looked up from his guitar then. “There are plenty of crazy bastards out there.”
“I’ve never had everyday security. I never needed it, I guess. When there’s an event, the label hires someone to accompany me. The same on tour.” She shrugged. “I’m not as high-profile as the King family. Thankfully.”
“You will be,” Travis said, his gaze shifting from her to Sawyer. “You’re touring with us now. Singing with us. Might be worth looking into.” He paused. “You know anyone?”
“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” She waved her hands.
Sawyer’s slight headshake was almost imperceptible. Clearly, he disagreed.
“Think about it,” Travis said. “It’s definitely one of those things you’ll appreciate having when you need it. Sawyer’s good at what he does. He takes his job seriously.” He broke off and whispered, “A little too seriously at times.” He sat back, smiling. “He heard about a fan breaking into some actor’s house, I don’t remember who. Anyway, Sawyer got all fired up about it. He’s got this place tricked out with cameras and sensors and tons of high-tech shit. The tour buses too. Drivable Fort Knox. Damn CIA doesn’t have anything on the King’s Coach I or II.” He strummed his fingers along the strings. “Whatever Sawyer thinks we need, my father listens.”
The one person she needed protection from wasn’t a physical threat. Her father was too smart to try something like that. He’d mastered the art of manipulation with just the right amount of pushing to get what he wanted then pull a Houdini until the next time he was in need.Pretty sure security can’t protect you from parental extortion…
