“I NEED A CAR. I don’t care how you get me one. I need one.” Boone had stopped to chat with Dean before heading to his trailer for the night.
“I thought the idea of coming here was to stay here. On the farm. And in the studio.”
The studio. Boone smiled, thinking about the crazy song ideas Violet had come up with today at lunch. All her country music clichés were pretty funny. If only writing real songs was that simple.
“I’ll get in your studio when you get me a car. I don’t care if you have to have my agent drive mine down here for me. I need one.”
Dean’s eagerness lit him up. It was like Boone had waved a steak in front of a hungry lion. “I’ll see what I can do if you really mean it about coming by the studio.”
“You’ll find out when you get me a car,” Boone replied as he jogged down the steps.
“You’d better mean it, Boone!” Dean shouted after him.
Inside the trailer, it was quiet and surprisingly comfortable after a long day. Boone was beginning to think this place wasn’t so bad. He would almost describe today as fun. An image of Ruby smiling up at him when he’d apologized and her cheeks turning pink when he’d tipped her chin up flashed through his mind.
He shook his head, hoping the action would rid it of ideas like that. Thinking about Ruby was dangerous business. Her kid was hilarious, though. Spending time with her felt so natural. So different from every exchange he’d had with his own teenager over the past few years.
He pulled out his phone and psyched himself up to call Emmy. He had left her a message about Willow yesterday and hoped she would answer today. If he could somehow relate to Violet, he should be able to do it with his own kid.
He pressed her number and held his breath. Four rings and right to voice mail. The disappointment was overwhelming. “Hey, Em. It’s Dad. I was really hoping to talk to you. Maybe you could call me back. You can call me anytime during the day or night. I’ll pick up. I really miss you.” His voice cracked and he almost hung up. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to sound as upbeat as possible. “I can’t wait to hear from you.”
There was nothing in the world worse than being rejected. It didn’t matter who was doing the rejecting most times, but when it was someone you wanted in your life so very much, it was soul-crushing.
Boone decided there was only one thing he could do. He pulled up Sara’s number. She would probably decline his call, but if there was even the smallest possibility it would lead to him talking to Emmy, he had to do it.
The phone rang twice before she picked up. “Did someone die?”
“Hello to you, too, Sara.”
“Why are you calling me, Boone?” She sounded as irritated as Boone felt.
“I’ve been calling Em for months and she never answers and never calls back. If you are influencing her to ignore me, I am asking that you stop.”
Sara laughed and didn’t bother to hide it. “I don’t have to tell Emmy Lou to ignore your calls. You did a great job of alienating her yourself.”
Boone inhaled deeply. The breathing exercises he’d been taught weren’t helping the way they were supposed to. “I made some mistakes. I’ve gone through the program, and I am trying to make amends with my daughter. It would help if you were a tiny bit more supportive of that.”
“I am not going to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. She’s fourteen and old enough to make her own choices, and she has chosen not to talk to you. You reap what you sow, Boone.”
This plan to get Sara to help had completely backfired. “Thanks for nothing.” He hung up and opened the door to the trailer. He tossed the phone as far as he could fling it.
Maybe giving up was the only answer. It was either that or head back over to Valu-Save and buy all the wine in the place. Good thing he didn’t have a car.
Yet.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Boone found his phone in the grass. The battery had died, but otherwise it had survived the night. He put it in his pocket and went to meet Jesse and Violet for their training session with Willow.
Jesse was grooming the horse in the tack room. Helping Hooves had a beautiful horse barn. It was well maintained, showing how important the horses were to them.
“Morning,” Jesse greeted him. “The horse whisperer has arrived. Ready for another day of learning to lead?”
“There’s nothing I would rather be doing this morning.”
Jesse stopped brushing to give Boone a once-over. “That didn’t sound too sincere. I’m hearing some frustration before the training has even begun. Is the trigger here or somewhere else?”
Oh, the trigger was far, far away. All the way on the other side of Nashville. In a gorgeous house on ten acres of land. Sara had probably woken up this morning patting herself on the back for telling Boone off last night.
“It’s not here. I’ll get over it once the coffee kicks in.”
“Family, friend or foe?” Jesse asked.
“Former family, current foe.”
“Besides waiting on the caffeine to make you feel better, what strategy are you using to manage this frustration?”
Boone took the brush from Jesse and began grooming Willow. “I don’t know. I’m here. I’m trying to work it off, I guess.”
“Physical activity is a good strategy. Anything else?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Boone didn’t know what else Jesse wanted from him. He was doing his best to hold it together. He needed a distraction so he wouldn’t sit in his trailer, thinking about how badly things had gone with Sara last night and how much he wanted to drive into town for a drink.
“Using your resources. Another good choice. What relaxes you, helps calm you down when you’re feeling agitated?”
“Vodka tonics were my drink of choice. They always calmed me down.”
Jesse asked him a few questions about his urges and his recent thoughts about alcohol. Boone promised him he had no intention of falling off the wagon.
“No one ever plans to have a setback. They happen. What other things calm you besides the things that you are addicted to?”
Boone ran the brush over Willow’s back. “Music, I guess.”
“You play guitar, right?” Jesse asked. Boone nodded. “Did you bring your guitar with you from Nashville?”
“Dean expects me to write an album while I’m here. Of course I brought my guitar. Problem is, there’s no music in me. I’m dry.” There was nothing left in his well of creativity.
“I’m not thinking you should play for Dean. I’m thinking you should play for you. Don’t worry about writing something new. Play something you love. Maybe something you wrote, but maybe something someone else wrote. Just play.”
Boone hadn’t played for himself in a very long time. He tried to imagine what it would be like just to play and not to think about what the product would sound like in the end. Music had become something that was bought and sold and was no longer an expression of how he felt.
“Not sure it’ll work, partner.”
“You try it and get back to me,” Jesse said, untying Willow’s lead. “Let’s go wait for Violet outside.”
That was way too easy. Jesse wasn’t going to ask him what he was mad about or pry into his history with his ex-wife. What kind of social worker was this guy?
“That’s it? You don’t want to dig deeper?”
Jesse cocked his head. “Do you want me to dig deeper?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I figured, which is why I didn’t.”
Boone was beginning to like Jesse more and more. When they got outside, Ruby had just parked, and Violet got out of the car. Ruby waved from the driver’s seat but stayed put. She made him smile, and that was impressive on a day like today.
“Stop staring at my mom,” Violet said as she approached. “Creeper.”
Boone’s focus shifted to the younger and much more annoying of the Wynn ladies. “Good morning to you, too, Violet. I see you took your smart-aleck pills this morning.”
“Wow, you do know it’s the twenty-first century, right? I’m not sure calling someone a smart aleck has been a thing for, like, forty years.”
Jesse shook his head at the two of them. “Wow, you sure are two peas in a pod.”
Violet covered her face with her hands and let out a groan.
“What? What did I say?” Jesse asked Boone.
“You just outed yourself as a shriveled-up pea in my outdated pod.” Boone gave him a pat on the back. “You’ve officially lost all your cool and hip points with her.”
After a more productive training session than the day before, Boone worked with Violet and Renegade on some of the Western horsemanship tests. Ruby showed up and watched them from outside the arena.
“Your upper body is out of position, and you’re moving your legs to compensate,” Boone said. “It makes you feel off balance, and you’ll fall if you don’t correct your positioning. Don’t hunch over—focus on your posture.”
“He makes me nervous.”
“He’s no different than Sassy. He will follow your lead. Don’t get sloppy on him or he’ll get sloppy on you.”
Violet tried again and held her position. Boone applauded her efforts before making his way over to Ruby.
“You’re an accomplished singer and a riding instructor? Overachiever, huh?”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m a man of many talents.”
Ruby’s eyebrows lifted. “Of course you are.”
Boone couldn’t help but smirk. He looked back at Violet. “She’s going to do great this weekend. I can’t wait to see her compete.”
“So you’re coming to the show?”
He wondered if her question meant she didn’t think he should. Maybe he was overstepping his bounds. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “She’d be over the moon. She went from thinking you were lame to listening to some of your music last night. Don’t tell her I told you that. She doesn’t know I heard.”
Boone was relieved it wasn’t an issue and shocked to hear Violet had given him a listen. “Uh-oh. You’re going to have a country and Western lover in your house. How will you handle that, Miss Prog Rock?”
“My love is unconditional. She is free to listen to anything that doesn’t have swearwords, racist language or references to sex, drugs or violence against women. Other than that, she can listen to anything.”
She was cute even when she was being an overprotective mother. “I will keep that in mind when I write my next album.”
“Is that why you’re here? To record some new music?”
That was a good question. Boone wasn’t sure if it was possible. He was here because there weren’t any other options. Dean wasn’t going to let him sit around his house in Nashville, sulking about the disaster his life had become or drinking himself numb so he could get through each day.
“That was the plan when Dean arranged this little getaway. I needed out of Nashville. The horses were supposed to offer some distraction. Truth is, I haven’t even stepped foot in the studio yet.”
“You should. How cool is it that there’s a recording studio right here?” Ruby blushed. “It’s probably not that exciting to someone who’s been in a studio before. I forget you’ve already recorded a million albums.”
“Ten, but thanks for that life goal,” he said with a crooked grin. “Why don’t you and Violet come with me? Dean said I could drop in whenever.”
Ruby didn’t hesitate to take him up on the offer. They got Violet off the horse and sent Renegade out to play with his friends in the field. Boone didn’t really know what to expect. He couldn’t imagine the studio was too state-of-the-art. He also didn’t know if Sawyer was in there working or not.
The double-wide trailer was situated behind the farmhouse. Dean had said it replaced an old equipment shed. Boone hoped there would be no one inside but was quickly disappointed.
Dean and Wyatt, a producer Boone was familiar with, sat at the controls while Sawyer sang in the sound booth. Dean’s eyeballs almost popped out of his head when he realized Boone had come in. Boone wouldn’t have been surprised if he kicked Sawyer out of the booth and locked Boone in there until he sang something.
“Hey, guys, welcome!” Dean greeted them with handshakes and hugs. “I’m glad you came to check this place out. It’s about time,” he said to Boone.
“Ruby wanted to see what a recording studio looked like. I told her this wasn’t what I was used to, but actually—” he scanned the equipment “—I’m more impressed than I thought I would be.”
Wyatt pressed a button. “Let’s try it again. You sound like you’re thinking about a million things other than what the song’s about.”
“I’m not thinking about anything but making it sound good,” Sawyer replied.
“Well, it’s not working. Think about something else.”
The exchange reminded Boone of feedback he’d gotten over the years. When he was new to the business, he did everything the producer asked of him. As he got older and wiser, he learned to trust his own instincts. This time, Wyatt was right. Sawyer was holding back. There was something missing.
“I think we need to call it a day, Dean,” Wyatt said while Sawyer tried again with little positive result. “He’s sung this part thirty times, and I can’t get him to relax enough to do it right.”
“Let him try a couple more times,” Dean said. “He’ll get it. He has an audience now—he loves an audience.”
Boone knew the feeling. Performing was a million times better than recording music. As much as Boone enjoyed the creative process of writing a song, performing it was the reason he’d gotten into this business in the first place.
Sawyer gave it a go three more times before Boone decided it was time to say something. He squeezed in between Dean and Wyatt and pressed the button for the intercom. “What’s this song about?”
Sawyer stared back through the glass walls. “It’s about chasing fireflies.”
Boone tipped his chin to his chest and gave Sawyer his best impression of an annoyed Violet. “What’s it really about? Figuratively, not literally.”
“Missing someone. Hanging on to the one good memory you have and wondering if that’s enough.”
“How bad do you miss that person?”
“I don’t,” Sawyer snapped back. “It’s a song, not real life.”
Yeah, right. Just like Boone’s song about the backyard swing wasn’t about his dad. “How bad does the person in the song miss that person?”
He shrugged. “I guess a lot. He just doesn’t realize how bad because he’s still remembering something good.”
“But he will realize eventually. He’s gonna be hurting something bad as soon as he knows all he has left is that memory. It’s going to rip his heart out, and he’s going to wonder if the hole will ever heal. Imagine feeling like that when you’re singing. Think about the words that are coming out of your mouth. Don’t focus on your pitch or making sure everything sounds perfect. Feel it. If you feel it, we’ll feel it in here, and that song will be a hit.”
He let go of the button and waited for the music to start. Sawyer closed his eyes and didn’t sing a word the first time around. Wyatt cued it back up, and when Sawyer sang, he didn’t just sing a melody; he spilled his guts out in front of all of them. The whole room went silent. Boone glanced back and caught Ruby wiping tears off her cheek. Violet’s eyes were also watery. That spoke volumes.
He pressed the button. “Well done, kid.”
Dean grabbed Boone by both shoulders and gave him a friendly shake. “That was incredible. See, I knew getting you in here would spark something. You know music, Boone. Next time, it’s going to be you in there.”
Boone wished he believed that. Knowing music and creating it were two very different things. Letting himself feel that intensely wasn’t something he could do without wanting to numb it all away with some whiskey or two bottles of merlot. Feeling was the scariest part of this whole thing.
When he thought about how he had wanted to wrap his arms around Ruby when he’d caught her crying, he knew music wasn’t the only thing that could rip him into tiny pieces.