Page 37 of Talk Wicked to Me

That sounded so wonderful. It was all Emerson could do to nod.

“Take care, sweetheart,” Ginger said.

“Let’s keep in touch,” Madigan said, and they headed out.

As Emerson closed the door behind them, tears spilled down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut against them, telling herself to buck the heck up. She wiped her eyes, drew her shoulders back, and carried her sweet boy into the bedroom to get her phone so she could text Baz and do what had to be done.

Chapter Eleven

“HE LOOKS GREAT.” Baz petted Rusty, a two-year-old Boston terrier, and said, “I’m glad the diet change cleared up his skin condition. If you have any other problems, let us know.”

“Thanks for everything, Doc,” Rusty’s owner, Mack, said.

Evie glanced curiously at Baz as he gave a curt nod and headed out of the exam room, leaving her to finish up. He strode into his office. He’d been in a shit mood since yesterday, when Emerson had texted to tell him not to come over. He’d gone for a long motorcycle ride last night and had hit the Salty Hog afterward. Zeke and Zander had been there with Gunner and Sid, and they were all raving about the cookies Emerson had made for them. He didn’t blame them. Yesterday morning she’d given him expertly decorated cookies shaped like cats’ and dogs’ faces, and he’d eaten nearly a dozen before noon and had given the rest to Evie and Tori to keep himself from scarfing them all down. He wasn’t a sugar binger, but they were the most delicious cookies he’d ever eaten.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Finally. He’d texted Emerson a few hours ago to see how she was doing, and he hadn’t heard back from her. He pulled out his phone, and his hope deflated.

Zander: You up for the Hog tonight?

Baz: Not sure.

He scrolled to yesterday’s text thread with Emerson.

Emerson: Your mom and Madigan came over and dropped off food, so we’re all set. I’m going to call it an early night and go to sleep when Brennan does. Have a great night, and thanks again for everything.

What the fuck did that even mean? Brennan slept every two hours. Was she going to sleep at six in the evening? He reread the texts from this morning.

Baz: Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep? Did the little man keep you up all night?

Emerson: Hi! Up every few hours, but we’re fine. Have a great day!

His gut had told him fine didn’t really mean fine, but he’d been busy with clients and had let it go until a little before noon, when he’d texted, I can skip out at lunch and give you a hand with Brennan. Right after he’d sent the message, they’d had an emergency. A dog had been hit by a car, and he was in bad shape. Baz had spent the afternoon in surgery and then catching up on appointments. Now it was after six, and she still hadn’t responded.

Evie walked into his office and closed the door behind her. “Okay, Baz. What crawled up your butt and died?”

“Nothing.”

She sat on his desk, kicking her legs, eyebrows lifting.

“What?” he snapped.

“You’ve been short with clients, you’ve barely said two words to me or Tori, and you look like you want to punch something, so I’m going to sit here until you spill your guts.”

“Leave it alone, Eves,” he warned.

“Nope.” She leaned back on her palms. “That’s not how we roll. Did Emerson tell you not to come over again?”

“No. I haven’t heard from her. She didn’t return my text from earlier.”

“And you’re not used to being ignored.”

He didn’t bother responding.

“She has a new baby, Baz. She’s busy.”

He gritted his teeth, clutching his phone tighter. “Something could have happened to her or Brennan.”

“Since when do you catastrophize?”