“Good. Tired but good. Hey listen to this,” he said, and yawned hard before he launched into a story about one of his patients. As always, he was very careful about his wording, being as neutral and general as he could so as not to violate HIPAA. It madeit less easy to follow what he was saying, but I got the gist which was that one of his patients had been suffering from some ailment that other doctors had ignored, and Emery was the one to put the pieces together that led to a diagnosis.
“That’s good. I’m glad you got it sorted for them.” I smiled as I watched one of Milton’s dogs realize I wasn’t following him anymore and turned to lope back. “I’m being accosted by a Great Dane,” I told Emery moments later while I patted the giant beast.
He chuckled. “You’re still at the Wilkins’s place?”
Milton Wilkins, one of the other big artists on the same label as Wren, had a surprisingly modest modern ranch house, the recording studio, and a veritable petting zoo for his kids. And a bike path for them to ride on to deter them from driving in the yard where there were vehicles coming and going for most of the day.
“Yeah. They really got into working today, so they’re still doing it. I’m on the bike path just to get some exercise in.” I’d told him that it was my favorite way to spend time outside. The four Wilkins kids were aged ten to sixteen and they were all outdoorsy, active children who liked to ride bikes and take care of their animals.
“Are you going back to the penthouse tonight?” he asked, knowing that the hour’s drive at the end of the night was a hit or miss for me.
“Not sure yet. If they run late, we’ll just crash in the studio.”
The studio had a few bedrooms and a living room area. It was a whole thing. Milton had wanted to have proper amenities for the musicians who came to use his studio, which meant Wren, his producer Merle, and I would all be able to stay.
While Wren and Merle had recorded the initial versions of most of the songs while I was preparing the BCR’s security inColorado, this was the real deal. They were finalizing everything, and they were both perfectionists when it came to music.
“How’s he doing?” Emery asked, and I realized he wanted to know about Wren.
“He’s… okay. Having fun working.” I sighed a little bit. “He’s writing a song.”
“Okay?” I could imagine the furrow between Emery’s brows and smiled.
“This feels more personal. Like…actuallypersonal. He hasn’t shown it to anyone, keeps fiddling with it.” Now I frowned. “I caught the working title of it, though. It’s calledDislocated Heart.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” We both knew it was about Emery’s eldest brother.
We chatted for a while longer, then Emery sighed and said it was dinnertime.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I promised. I’d make it happen. “I love you.”
His happy hum told me he was far from being tired of hearing it. “I love you too, sugar.”
I ended the call and smiled, even though it hurt to be away from him.
“So what’s your man like?” Milton asked one afternoon while we were sitting in the studio’s kitchen, making coffee for everyone.
Well, I was doing that. Milton was hanging out because he was bored. He was supposed to be writing his own album but was blocked and concentrating more on family life and playing host.
I lifted my gaze from where I was refilling the water tank thing on the fancy machine.
“My guy?”
“Yeah. The one you left in Colorado,” he said as if it was common knowledge.
Maybe Wren had told him about it, I wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. At least Milton’s expression was curious and not at all judgy. I’d gotten used to some of the conservative, often Christian country musicians that Wren tried to steer clear of for obvious reasons. Milton and his wife were on the more liberal side of things, thank the universe.
“He’s part of this insanely big family. Almost all of them live on the family ranch. Many of his siblings have jobs on the property, their own businesses even, but Emery’s a doctor at the clinic in town.”
Milton made an impressed sound. “A doctor? That’s fancy.”
I chuckled. “Not really. He’s definitely the smartest person I know, though. Very down to earth.”
“D’you have a picture of this doctor man?” he asked, grinning a little.
Did I ever. I chuckled and got my phone out of my back pocket, then found a picture Gemma had snapped of us one evening. I handed the phone to Milton and thought about what he’d see. We were sitting in the living room, in one corner of the couch with Emery against me as we watched some movie with a few of his siblings.
