Against Doctor's Orders

“Harper,” Margie called up from below. “You up there?”

Harper’s gaze never left Presley’s. “Yeah.”

“Mama says dinner. Dad just drove in.”

“All right, we’re coming.” Harper smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Family calls.”

“Yes,” Presley said, although the concept was foreign to her. Her family commanded.

Harper reached down to open the hatch and held out her hand. “You should go first. I’ll help you get started down.”

Presley slid her hand into Harper’s. Her fingers were warm and strong and sure. Like her. The trembling spread into Presley’s core, but she didn’t let go.

Chapter Twelve

Presley judged she had five minutes at most on the walk up to the house to prepare to meet Edward Rivers again. She had no doubt he would be polite, but she regretted the distrust she was going to see in his eyes. Not that she could do anything to change that. She had not created the circumstances, and even if she had been in charge of the acquisition and not Preston, she would very likely have done exactly the same thing. Business was business. She was not responsible for ACH running in the red. That situation had been years in the making. The hospital management couldn’t be faulted for anything other than wishful thinking and having failed to keep up with the times, while physicians like Edward Rivers were notoriously bad businessmen and likely hadn’t noticed the changing landscape. Harper’s generation tended to be savvier about financial realities, although if Harper was any example those lessons hadn’t penetrated into this area. The economy of medicine had been changing rapidly for the past decade, and those institutions and physicians who couldn’t adapt would eventually be displaced. None of that was her doing, and now she was in no position to reverse it. She was not here to save ACH. She was here to give the greatest return possible to SunView and its investors. Still, she wished she was not the instrument destined to bring about events that would surely alienate the Rivers family.

Harper slowed when they were halfway up the hill to the house. “I meant to mention—you can change your mind about coming with me on calls. I understand you have a job to do, and you’re busy.”

Presley’s relief was instantaneous. There was the opening she’d wanted and had been wondering how to bring about since she’d let her emotions rather than her brain speak for her. Now she could step back, out of the Rivers family’s circle of influence, and return to anonymity. She would always be accountable and would always be willing to take responsibility for her decisions, but she was most effective working behind the scenes, not out in the open where she would have to see the confusion and anger and pain in Harper’s eyes or the sad resignation in her father’s. She wouldn’t have to see Harper at all, and considering how effortlessly Harper distracted her from her goal, that was for the best. Logically she should jump at the offer.

“Trying to get rid of me?” she said instead.

“Not at all. I…” Harper shrugged and looked mildly bewildered. “I enjoyed taking you around this morning.”

“I enjoyed it too. So let’s stick to the plan.”

“It’s not always enjoyable. Sometimes it’s boring, sometimes painful, sometimes aggravating.” Harper laughed. “Especially in the middle of the night.”

“It’s very quiet around here at night,” Presley said. “Flannery tells me everything closes at sundown.”

“Flann exaggerates,” Harper said. “Actually, a little bit earlier than that.”

“Wonderful,” Presley muttered, and Harper laughed again. She liked Harper’s understated humor, the playful tone an invitation—subtler and somehow more personal than Flannery’s—for her to join in. She might not be a joiner, but Harper was hard to resist. “So really you’ll be doing me a favor and saving me from the dangers of Dancing with the Stars.”

“That I’d like to see.”

Harper’s smile sent heat shimmering across Presley’s face. “I’m afraid it’s a well-guarded secret.”

“Safe with me, then.” Harper pressed a hand to her heart.

Presley believed her. “So we have a date?”

Harper’s gaze intensified. “I’ll need your number.”

“Let me have your cell,” Presley said.

Harper immediately slid her phone from her front pocket, tapped in a password, and handed it over. Presley selected contacts, entered her name and cell phone number, and handed it back. Over Harper’s shoulder, she saw Margie standing on the back porch watching them. “Your little sister is very bright.”

“My little sister is exceptional, and she is also prone to inquisitiveness.” Harper glanced back and raised her voice. “Somehow, she never grasped the concept of private space. A habit likely to get her hung upside down by her ankles out her bedroom window.”

“You wish you were strong enough,” Margie called back, a taunting grin on her face.

“Don’t forget the last time,” Harper said. “I seem to remember screams for mercy.”

Margie looked outraged. “I was nine!”

Harper chuckled.

Presley felt a moment of envy. Margaret Mitchell Rivers was an intelligent, bright, self-confident young woman whose family told her she could do and be anything, because she was special. All Presley could remember was never having been quite good enough. “You have a wonderful family.”

“We’re not always so wonderful,” Harper said. “Flannery’s a wiseass, Margie is a nosy nudge. Carson—” Harper paused. “Actually, Carson is pretty much always perfect. Cheerleader, prom queen, married the captain of the football team, graduated summa from college.”

“Where is her husband?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Ah. That’s really hard.”

Harper’s jaw tightened. “He hasn’t seen his son except on the Internet. We taped the delivery for him.”

Presley touched Harper’s hand. “Hopefully he’ll be home soon.”

“Yeah.”

The screen door banged and Flannery called down from the porch. “Stop lollygagging. Mama won’t serve until everyone is here.”

“Sorry,” Presley said. “I’m keeping you from your family.”

“That’s all right. No one will starve.”

Presley smiled. “Come on. Let’s go join them.”

Everyone was seated when they walked in. Two empty chairs sat on either side of the center of the table. Presley sat between Margie and Carson, and Harper took the one opposite her between Flannery and Carrie. Edward Rivers sat at one end and Ida at the other. The table was laden with platters of chicken and potatoes and vegetables and hot rolls and sweet corn and salad. It was all she could do not to moan out loud. She hadn’t had a decent meal in—she couldn’t remember when.

“Well, go ahead,” Ida said from the head of the table and a bevy of hands instantly reached to the center of the table. For the next few minutes no one spoke as platters were passed and silverware rattled.

Finally, Carrie said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen food like this all in one place in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Presley said. “It all looks wonderful.”

Ida laughed.

“Don’t take too long admiring,” Flannery said, “or else it will all be gone.”

The talk flowed easily, with Edward asking after Carson’s husband Bill and Margie telling everyone about her soccer team’s current standing in the upcoming schedule and the baby occasionally punctuating the conversation with happy babble. Presley was content to listen and answer whatever polite inquiry was directed at her with vague references to her home and family.

At one point Flannery said, “Thunderbirds’ first practice is tomorrow, don’t forget. You’re playing, right, Harp?”

“’Course.”

Flannery leaned around Harper and said to Carrie, “Can you play softball?”

Carrie gave Flannery a lofty look. “Can eagles fly?”

Suddenly conversation stopped and Carson, Harper, and Flannery stared at her.

Carrie colored. “What?”

“Slow pitch or fast pitch?” Carson asked.

“Fast pitch.”

“What position do you play?” Harper asked.

“It’s been a while—I played some in college.”

Harper straightened. “You played college ball?”

“Some. I was a reliever.”

“Reliever? Reliever!” Flannery’s eyes sparkled. “Pitcher?”

“That’s right.”

“We practice tomorrow afternoon at three. I’ll pick you up,” Flannery said.

“Oh, but I—I just got here and I’ve work—”

“You should, Carrie,” Presley said. The excitement in Carrie’s voice was hard to miss, and if she didn’t find some social outlet, she’d just end up working all the time for what might turn out to be several months. While that might be all right for Presley, it wasn’t fair to expect Carrie to keep her hours.

Carrie’s eyes gleamed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Positive.”

“All right,” Carrie told Flannery. “I’m in.”

When the meal ended, everyone carried their plates to the long counter next to the big deep sink. Ida said, “Carson, Margie, I think it’s your turn tonight.”

“Yes, Mama,” they both said and rose to begin loading the dishwasher and doing the larger dishes by hand.

Edward said to Presley, “Would you care for a short whiskey, Ms. Worth? We usually have a little drink on the porch after dinner.”

Harper and Flannery took down glasses.

“Mama?” Harper said.

“Not just yet, sweet. The rest of you go on ahead.”

Presley rarely drank and when she did it was always wine, but she understood she was being invited to a Rivers ritual that had less to do with the alcohol and more to do with time spent together. Her family tended to operate in reverse—social interactions were often the excuse for consumption.

“Carrie?” Flannery asked. “Something for you?”

Carrie, ever sensitive to politics and subtle signs of power, shook her head. “I’m not much of a whiskey drinker, so I think I’ll stay here and lend a hand.” She grinned at Margie. “Maybe get some more local gossip.”

A minute later, Presley followed Harper, Flannery, and Edward outside where a trio of rockers sat on one end of the long porch looking down toward the river. Flannery hoisted herself onto the railing and leaned back against the post, whiskey glass in hand. Presley took the rocker between Edward and Harper, and they all sat in silence for a few moments as the sun set beyond the river. As twilight crept onto the porch and a chorus of night sounds filled the air, Presley waited for the interrogation to begin, expecting Edward Rivers to bring up the issue of the hospital transition. But the conversation, slow and easy, turned to the things most country people probably talked about—the weather, the local economy, the look of the early crops. Edward asked a few questions about patients, none of whom he referred to by name, but it was obvious he knew everyone Harper and Flannery cared for. Listening, Presley closed her eyes and drifted in the warm evening air, the burn of the whiskey spreading through her and the sonorous voices of the Rivers doctors blending with the distant rush of water and wind.

*

Harper crouched in front of the rocking chair and gently touched Presley’s knee. “Presley?”

Presley’s eyes jerked open and she gripped the arms of the chair as she glanced around. Her gaze fell on Harper. “Oh my God. I am so completely embarrassed.”

Harper grinned. She’d yet to see Presley off guard, and her consternation was appealing. She looked younger and just a little unsure. “No need to be. You weren’t snoring.”

“Well, that’s a small blessing. I do apologize. I’m afraid it was just so,” she lifted a shoulder, “relaxing.”

The sound of her voice held surprise, as if relaxing was not something she was used to doing. Harper was vaguely pleased that Presley had been able to do that there, on the porch, in the still, peaceful evening. As long as she could recall, these moments with her father had been among her most favorite. Sometimes that was the only time she saw him, as he was so often away from home on calls. She’d been surprised when he’d invited Presley and wondered what he had hoped for her to know about them. Her father never did anything without a reason. She’d been secretly glad when he hadn’t brought up the question of Presley’s plans for the hospital. This was neutral ground. This was family. She realized her hand was still resting on Presley’s knee, and she drew back.

“It’s actually only been a few minutes. Flann just got a call, so she’s leaving. When you’re ready to go home, I’ll drive you and Carrie back.”

“It’s late,” Presley said. “We should go.”

Presley rose at the same time as Harper. Presley was only inches away in the semi-darkness with only moonlight silvering the planes of her face. Her scent mingled with the flowers that Harper’s mother had planted along the porch, a hint of spice amidst the sweetness. Their eyes were almost level, and Presley’s searched hers. Harper’s heart beat faster, her fingertips tingled.

“It’s been a wonderful evening,” Presley said, her voice husky.

“Yes,” Harper said, meaning it. From the instant she’d walked into the kitchen and seen Presley at the table, she’d thought of nothing except her. She was a captivating puzzle, one thing on the surface—cool, refined, commanding—and another in her hidden reaches—warm, engaged, and attentive, as she’d been when talking with Margie. As she’d been in the tree house—embracing the things that mattered to Harper with genuine delight. At the family table, Presley had studied each of them, her eyes probing and discerning. Presley looked and listened and saw what mattered, even as she kept her own secrets close. Secrets Harper wanted to unlock. Seeing her here in the gathering night, her shields and barriers falling away as she slid into the vulnerability of sleep, Harper saw only a beautiful woman, and she would’ve been happy just to sit by her side in the deepening night. But Flann had been quietly watching too, and Harper didn’t know what she might see.

“Thank you for the tree house too,” Presley said.

“You’re reading my mind.”

“Am I,” Presley said softly in the near dark.

“Yes.” Harper almost took her hand. Even a touch might say too much and she held back. “Whenever you feel the need to hide, the door’s open.”

“Next time, I’ll dress for it.”

Harper wanted to say she looked beautiful just as she was. The urge to touch her was still so strong and unexpected she stepped away before she could. “You did just fine as you were.”

“Well,” Presley said, a note of reluctance in her voice, “I’ll find Carrie.”

“I’ll meet you at the car.”

Harper hurried from the porch, as if the distance might keep her safe from feelings she didn’t want to face. She started the car and a minute later Presley and Carrie emerged. She got out, walked around, and opened the doors for them. Presley got in front with her. Carrie leaned over from the backseat between them. The roads were empty, and the drive only took a few minutes.

“It’s so dark out here,” Carrie said when Harper turned down the drive to the White place.

“No streetlights. No city glow,” Harper said.

“That’s what it is,” Presley said. “I never realized the stars and moon could be so bright.”

“You should leave your porch light on when you go out at night,” Harper said.

“You’re right,” Presley said. “I can barely see the porch.”

As Harper pulled up in front of the house, her headlights illuminated the side yard.

“Wait, stop,” Presley said sharply.

Harper braked. “What is it?”

“Rooster.”

Harper glanced around and saw nothing in the road. She hoped she hadn’t run over it. “Where?”

Presley pointed through the windshield. “There. In the tree. What is he doing?”

Harper followed where she gestured and laughed. “He’s roosting.”

The rooster hunched on a lower branch of the oak, his head tucked down and his body close to the branch.

“Why is he out here?”

“He needs a perch. The chicken coop has probably collapsed,” Harper said.

“Is that safe?” Presley asked.

“Probably.”

Presley shifted to face Harper. “Probably?”

“There are predators that might bother him, but he’s likely safe this close to the house and in the tree.”

“I suppose he’s used to it,” Presley said softly, gazing back at the tree. “Being the only one.”

Harper studied her, her elegant suit, her sophisticated style, her polished beauty. For all of that, she radiated loneliness. Harper gripped the wheel. “I can take a look at the coop for you, see if it needs repairing.”

Presley shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine, and you’re much too busy to waste your time on that.”

Carrie leaned forward from the backseat again. “Yes, like playing softball. Will you be at practice, Harper?”

“Planning on it.”

“Great.” She glanced at Presley. “Sure we can’t talk you into it?”

“Ah, no.” Presley smiled, her face soft in the glow of the dash lights.

Oddly disappointed, Harper pulled all the way into the turnaround so her headlights illuminated the walk up to the porch. “I’ll see you there then, Carrie. If Flann can’t make it, I’ll stop by and give you a ride.”

“Thanks. See you soon.” Carrie jumped out and closed the door, waiting beside the car for Presley.

“Have a good weekend,” Presley said.

“Yes. Good night.”

Harper waited until Presley and Carrie entered the house, then turned around and started down the drive. She expected the weekend to be busy—they always were, and time usually passed quickly. Tonight, though, Monday had never seemed so far away.

Chapter Thirteen

The sun came up without the accompanying blast of heat that quickly followed at home. Instead, the breeze on Presley’s skin was cool and invigorating. She’d been reading in bed since four when she’d finally given up trying to sleep. She hadn’t fallen asleep easily, either. She’d still been replaying the events of the last few days, particularly the afternoon and evening with Harper. From the moment they’d met, Harper had occupied far more of her attention than any woman had managed previously. She wasn’t a nun and she enjoyed female company, socially or sexually, but she rarely thought about the women after the evening had passed. She just hadn’t found any of those interactions memorable enough to interrupt her concentration or distract her from her busy schedule. Harper had somehow changed all of that.

Harper was constantly disrupting her plans and her equilibrium. That odd effect was, of course, purely situational and perfectly understandable. Harper and her family were focal players in the new acquisition, and she needed to find a way to work around them because she doubted working with them would be possible. And working around Harper was a little bit like trying to drive around the Rockies rather than taking a pass over the crest. Harper was as immovable and impenetrable as an ancient rock formation.

Tired of thinking about things she couldn’t control, she pulled on sweats and a T-shirt and went to see what culinary miracles Lila had left in the kitchen. Not only could she get used to the weather, she could definitely get used to the food. Plain and simple and rich in flavor and substance, a lot like the people. She poured coffee, took it outside, and reminded herself to keep on point and not to be seduced by the rural charms—or the rural charmers.

A few minutes later, Carrie said from the doorway behind her, “I woke up to the most amazing smell.”

Presley looked back. “Today it’s cinnamon rolls.”

Carrie came out carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a roll on a paper napkin. She sat down on the top step opposite Presley and stretched her legs down the stairs. Presley broke off another piece of the still-warm, soft bun and tossed it onto the ground, where Rooster promptly pecked it into tiny bits. When he’d devoured them he clucked and regarded Presley with bright black eyes.

“He seems to like it,” Carrie said.

“I think he likes almost anything, but I doubt a steady diet of breakfast muffins and cinnamon rolls is very good for him.”

“He does look a little raggedy.”

“I know,” Presley said broodingly. “I don’t think he likes being an only rooster.”

“At least he’s getting fed,” Carrie said between bites. “Speaking of which, where is the magician who made these things? If you tell me it’s you, I’m going to cry that I didn’t know about it before this.”

Presley laughed. “Not hardly. That would be Lila. She’s already been and gone.”

“She must have been here before the sun came up because it’s not even six.”

“I think that’s late for these parts.”

“Huh,” Carrie said. “I’m used to getting up early, but everything here seems on a different timetable. Time passes differently. At least it felt that way last night.”

“I think that’s because everyone here still functions as if it were 1920,” Presley muttered.

“That bad?” Carrie tossed Rooster some roll. “The Rivers doctors seemed pretty sharp.”

Presley sighed and sipped her coffee. “Their medicine, technically, can’t be faulted. It’s their practice models that haven’t changed in God knows how long. No, wait”—she held up a hand—“check that. I think I do know how long. Since at least Edward Rivers’s father began his practice, and I’ll wager his father before him. They still make house calls.”

Carrie nodded. “I realized that when Flannery left to go see a boy who’d apparently fallen off the roof of a barn and fractured his arm. That’s the kind of thing that would go to urgent care at home.”

“I agree,” Presley said.

“Although Flannery said by the time she got to the boy’s house and took care of his arm, it would take less time than if the family took him to the emergency room, someone else saw him first, then called her, and then everyone waited for her to show up.”

“That’s true, I’m sure,” Presley said. “Convenient for the family, but tough on the doctors. They’re saving the patients a few hours at the expense of their own time.”

“In this case, the doctors don’t really seem to mind. Strange, isn’t it?” Carrie said musingly. “Everyone just seems to take it as normal.”

“I guess for them it is. But they ought to at least be charging more for the convenience it affords the patients.”

Carrie pursed her lips. “Is there an inventive way to code for it, do you think? So the reimbursement would better fit the level of care?”

Presley smiled. Carrie wasn’t going to be her admin for long. “That’s what you’re going to look into. Find out who the major insurers are in this area. Review their scales and payment levels and see if you can find any holes.”

“I thought we were going to turn this around fast,” Carrie said cautiously.

“The Rivers doctors are not going to let go easily.”

“That would be the understatement of the century, but they’re only a small part of the hospital.”

“Do you think that means they have only a little power?”

Carrie shook her head. “Edward Rivers seems quiet and easygoing, but I had the feeling he was taking our measure over dinner.”

Presley smiled. “You mean, like we were taking his?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think any of them can be taken for granted.”

“They’re all sort of interesting, though, don’t you think?”

“Interesting. Yes,” Presley said, “that would be one word.”

“Hot might be another.”

“I don’t think I want to go there.” Even as she said it, Presley realized it was definitely true. The last thing she wanted to do was think about the appeal of the Rivers sisters or the fact that Carrie might feel the same way.

“Harper—” Carrie began.

“Harper is the heir apparent. She’s as important in the greater scheme of things as her father.”

“I was going to say Harper seems like the quiet one, compared to Flannery, but I think Flannery’s flip attitude is just a smokescreen. She’s not nearly as uninvolved as she might want us to believe.”

Presley nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“So,” Carrie said, blotting up the crumbs with a fingertip. “Just pretending you were going to taste the local menu, what’s your flavor? Dark chocolate like the quiet, intense family doc or something with a little more zing—mint chocolate chip surgeon, perhaps.”

“I would prefer not to think of the Rivers sisters in terms of edibles.” Presley definitely did not want to imagine taking a taste of Harper. She was afraid if she did, anything less might leave her hungry.

Carrie laughed. “Probably safer. I could see that becoming a craving.”

“I was planning on going into the hospital for a while.” Presley rose and dusted off the back of her sweats. She scattered the rest of her cinnamon roll on the ground for Rooster. What she needed was work to get her back on track.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. Really. Get settled. You’ll have plenty to do come Monday.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got my laptop. I can get started on the insurance—”

“I mean it. Get unpacked, maybe drive around the neighborhood if you want.”

“Should I start apartment hunting? I don’t want to be an imposition.”

Presley waved a hand at the house. “Look at this place. It’s huge. You might as well stay here.” She hesitated. “Besides, the company will be nice.”

Carrie gave her a surprised smile. “Great. I’d love to stay.”

“Then it’s settled.” Presley went back inside to pour herself another cup of coffee. She wished everything was settled as easily. She planned to spend the rest of the weekend looking at the numbers, but she didn’t expect them to tell her anything different than what she already knew. The hospital was dying.

*

Harper heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel, got up from the kitchen table, poured another cup of coffee, and carried it out to her back porch. Flann, in the rumpled blue shirt and jeans she’d worn to dinner, climbed out of her Jeep and trudged across the yard. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles made her deep-set brown eyes appear even deeper. Harper held up the coffee, Flann took it, sipped deeply, and slumped against the porch post.

“Long night,” Harper said. “I thought it was supposed to be a quick callout.”

Flann rubbed her face. “The arm wasn’t the problem. I splinted him and set him up for X-rays in a couple of days when the swelling goes down. But then a pickup and a Mini Cooper played chicken out on 46. They’re still picking up the pieces.”

“Jesus,” Harper said. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come and lent a hand.”

“Glenn was on call, so I had plenty of help in the OR. The driver of the Cooper, a nineteen-year-old girl visiting from out of state, never even made it to the hospital. The young guy in the pickup—wife, and two kids in diapers—was coming home from a bachelor party for his cousin. They think maybe he fell asleep. Ruptured his spleen, perforated his colon, broke his femur all to hell. He’ll be rehabbing for six months.”

“Anybody we know?”

“Distant relative to the Durkees, I think. I didn’t know him, though.”

“You get any sleep at all?”

“Couple minutes while they got the OR set up and then for a little bit while I waited to see how he was gonna do in post-op.”

“He going to make it?”

“He ought to, barring unforeseens. His leg’s a mess. The ortho guys will have to take care of that. I got it stabilized, so they have a few days to fool around with it.”

“You know, if you hadn’t been there, that guy would’ve died.”

“Maybe. But you know the argument. He would have gotten a fast ambulance ride to the nearest level one or two, or maybe even a medevac hop. Statistically, if it didn’t take too long, his chances ought to be about the same.”

“Yeah, except look at where we are. How long do you think it would’ve taken to get all that organized, even if it only meant a forty-five-minute ride in the bus? Tell me he wouldn’t have tanked en route.”

“Sure, he probably would have the way his spleen was gushing. But EMTs and paramedics are as good as us most times handling that kind of crisis.”

“True enough. But they’re not going to open up a belly if he crashes.”

“Can’t argue. I do have the God factor going for me.” Flann drank some more coffee and stared at her, a bit of life sparking back into her eyes. “What are you getting at, Harp?”

Harper flushed. “Not getting at anything. I’m just saying—”

“You sound like you’re trying to put together a case. You think we’ve got a fight coming, don’t you.”

Harper leaned against the opposite post, shoving her hands into her back pockets. The muscles in her jaw throbbed and she consciously unclenched her teeth. She’d lain awake half the night thinking about what might be coming, and what—if anything—she could do about it. Presley hadn’t revealed anything she could really sink her teeth into, but the trustees wouldn’t have wanted to unload the hospital if they hadn’t thought it was a losing proposition. Presley was a businesswoman, through and through, and everything about her said she was good at it. “I don’t think SunView is in the business of charity.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Flann said. “But they are in the business of business—and they want to make money. If the hospital can make money again, then what would be the point of not making that happen?”

“I don’t know—a bigger profit margin? I don’t know what drives people like…” She almost said Presley, but she couldn’t lump Presley into the faceless mass of people she didn’t know and couldn’t understand. Presley was not a faceless name. She’d already become more than that. She was a flash of humor, a sudden brilliant smile, an unexpected gasp of wonder. She was a surprise and an enigma. Fascinating and frustrating.

“She’s interesting, all right,” Flann said, as if reading Harper’s thoughts.

Harper’s shoulders stiffened and her jaw tightened up again. Heat rose up the back of her neck. “I gathered you think so.”

“Margie says you took her down to the tree house.”

Harper focused on a doe and two fawns grazing at the edge of the cornfield. “Margie has a big mouth.”

“Granted. So did you?”

“Yeah. Mama ordered me to show some manners.”

“I know, she said the same to me. I took Carrie on a tour of the house.”

Harper flicked her a look. “You making some kind of point?”

Flann didn’t grin, and that was a sure sign she was dead serious. “I might be. You could be headed for trouble there, Harp.”

“I’m not headed anywhere.”

“Maybe. What did she think of the tree house?”

“She liked it. What’s not to like?” Remembering Presley’s delight, a quick stirring of pleasure raced through Harper’s belly. “She pegged you for the Tom Swift.”

“She reads people. You got that, right?”

“Yeah.” Of course Flann would see what she had seen in Presley. The two of them, for all their outward differences, had always thought alike. They competed because they loved the same things, and what was better than beating someone you respected and admired? She’d never been bothered by the competition before.

“Did you try out the couch?” Flann asked casually.

Harper shot her a look. “That’s your style, not mine.”

“Now there’s something I’ve never noticed before.” Flann grinned. “One of these days that halo is going to slip, Saint Harper.”

“You trying to piss me off?”

“Did you at least make some kind of move?”

“I just met her.”

Flann pointed a finger at her. “So you thought about it.”

“My heart’s beating, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harper muttered, going back to studying the deer.

“I got no problem with you entertaining a beautiful woman while she’s in town,” Flannery said lightly. “But she’s not going to be here very long, and if things go the way we think they might at the hospital, the two of you are going to end up on opposite teams.”

“I know that. And that’s why nothing’s going to happen.”

“You sure about that?”

“Unlike you, I don’t get led around by my gonads.”

Flann’s grin, weary but irrepressible, widened. “You should try it sometime. Hell of a rush.”

“Hear me on this. I don’t plan on pursuing a personal relationship with Presley Worth.”

“Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I—”

“Don’t test me,” Harper said softly, “because I can still beat your ass.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Flann said. “And you haven’t been able to beat my ass since we were in middle school.”

“Oh yeah? And what about that time—”

“I’m not going there with her, Harper,” Flannery said, serious again. “I don’t think you should, either.”

“Seeing how we both agree, we’ve got nothing to worry about.” Harper tossed the dregs of her coffee onto the ground. “Come on in. I’ll make you breakfast.”

Chapter Fourteen

All the office doors in the admin wing were closed and the halls deserted at eight on Saturday morning. Relishing the privacy, Presley unlocked the door to her new office and set up her laptop on the desk. After scanning her mail and deleting messages that required no follow-up, she keyed in the security information needed to give Carrie access to business accounts, insurance contracts, and admission statistics. Then she pulled up the summary Preston’s team had provided and confirmed what she’d suspected—the acquisition had been pushed through quickly due to ACH’s trustees’ panic over mounting debt, with only a superficial accounting of net profit. Preston had been in a hurry too, probably so he could get her out of the way while he wooed supporters. If she could find evidence that the buyout was financially risky and ill-advised, she could call Preston’s judgment into question. She pulled up the last five years’ financials and started to break down the data. When her cell phone rang, she checked the time. She’d been working for three hours.

“Good morning, Jeff,” she said, leaning back in her chair and stretching the cramped muscles in her back. She swiveled around to the window and was startled once again by the view. She half expected the glare of glinting steel and shimmering heat waves she was used to out the broad sheet-glass windows of her high-rise office in downtown Phoenix. Instead she found rolling hills a dozen shades of green, a crystal blue sky, and white clouds as fluffy as cotton candy. She turned back around.

“How are things in the Appalachians?” Jeff Cohen asked.

“The Adirondacks, not the Appalachians,” Presley said, smiling. Jeff was her counterpart in marketing, a vice president who had worked his way up from sales with amazing speed, and he’d done it without connections. He’d gotten the job because he was the son of one of her father’s college fraternity brothers, but unlike so many of the nepotistic appointments that littered the landscape at SunView, Jeff actually deserved the job and proved it. He was also one of her few friends in or out of the office, and she trusted him as she might have trusted a brother, had her brother been anyone but Preston. She’d known him most of her life, even though he was several years younger. Their families socialized, and while in college, she’d even dated him for a short period of time. When she’d realized she was never going to have more than friendly feelings for him, she’d broken it off. He hadn’t seemed heartbroken, and five years later he’d come out to her, although not to his family. Currently, he was dating the daughter of another well-placed family and would probably marry, produce heirs, and find his private pleasures elsewhere.

“What’s the situation up there?” Jeff asked.

Presley filled him in on what she knew and what she suspected in terms of the hospital’s financial status. “There are decades of loans, investments, debt, and collections to sort out. It will take me a while to untangle it all.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a straightforward reappropriation of assets,” Jeff said. “The place sounds ripe for a long-term care facility.”

“Possibly.” Presley would have agreed with him a few days before, but now she wasn’t so comfortable with a hasty decision. “There’s a lot more going on up here than we realized.”

“There’s a lot more going on down here too,” Jeff said, “and I think you need to be here.”

Jeff was the kind of person who somehow managed to be friends with everyone and never appeared to be choosing sides. Consequently, everyone talked to him, and he was always a font of information that was timely and accurate. If he said something was going on, then she needed to take him seriously. “What exactly?”

“Word is Preston’s courting management heads nonstop. Since you’ve been gone, his schedule is packed with luncheons, dinners, and meetings with power players.”

“I’m not surprised. With my father set to retire at the end of the year, he’s lining up supporters.”

“The vote might be a ways off, but you’ll be starting from behind if this goes on for long. Can you get back here?”

Her first inclination was to say absolutely. She could manage the dissolution of ACH from Phoenix once Carrie was up to speed, but she still had to decide what to do with the physical facility and draft plans for construction and restructuring the management team. She’d get Carrie started on investigating local contractors that week. “I don’t think it’ll take very long to get a handle on what needs to be done here. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“Sooner will be much better than later.”

“I appreciate you calling me.”

“I’ll let you know if anything else develops. Be careful of the locals, I hear they might bite.”

Presley laughed. “Everyone here is perfectly charming.” She’d been about to add perfectly safe, but when she thought of Harper and the way her pulse kicked up when she did, safe was the last word she would use to describe her.

*

Harper moved her stethoscope over John Prince’s broad, sun-speckled back, listening to the wheezes and crackles that filled both lung fields. Stepping back from the stretcher, she hung her stethoscope around her neck. “How long have you been short of breath?”

John’s weather-beaten face twisted. He was forty-three but could have been a decade older. His chest and arms were ropy with muscles, his abdomen starting to soften with the effects of a few too many beers and burgers. “Not so long. Few days, maybe. The damn cough is making it hard for me to sleep is all.”

She leaned back against the wall. “A few days?”

He lifted a shoulder and didn’t meet her eyes. “Maybe a week.”

“Have you been having chest pain?”

“Sore muscles now and then, nothing unusual.”

She was used to her patients, especially the men, downplaying their symptoms. Almost everyone in her practice were farmers, small business owners, and working poor. Their common denominator was they needed to work to survive, and very few of them had any kind of nest egg to tide them over if they didn’t have a steady income. Many of them went without medical insurance to pay for heat during the winter or seed during the spring or shoes and clothes for their children. And many of them ignored physical problems until they became so severe they were forced to seek medical attention. John was one of those. If he was here in the ER on a Saturday morning, something had happened to scare the hell out of him. She suspected it was more than a cough that had brought him in.

“Coughing woke you, did it?”

He nodded. “The wife’s been nagging me about it. Says she can’t sleep for the noise.”

And his wife was frightened too. “We’ll get an EKG and a couple of blood tests. Then we’ll talk.”

“Can’t you just give me some medicine for the cold?”

“If it’s a cold, I might be able to,” Harper said. “But let’s see first.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“We’ll work something out when the time comes. You need the tests, John.”

He blew out a breath and gripped the paper-covered examination table with both hands. “All right, Doc. Whatever you say.”

A few minutes later the nurse brought her the EKG strip. As she had suspected from the history and physical signs, the abnormalities suggested cardiac damage, possibly chronic. Silent MIs were not rare, and even those producing symptoms were often ignored by patients or written off as muscle strains or indigestion. John was lucky he wasn’t one of the high percentage of men whose first heart attack was fatal. When she went in to talk to him, his eyes were frightened. In her experience, people always knew when their condition was more serious than they wanted to believe until the moment when they were forced to accept they had a problem.

“There’s some abnormalities on your EKG, John. What it tells us is that there have been some problems with your heart that you might not even have been aware of. We need to find out exactly what the trouble is. That means a few more tests.”

He swallowed audibly. “Is it bad?”

“The fact that you’re here means it’s not as bad as it could be, but we won’t know for sure until we can study the blood flow to your heart. I want you in the hospital while we do that so we can monitor you.”

“I can’t stay now,” he exclaimed. “I’ve got new crops in the ground and more work than I can handle with the herd. I don’t have time to be away from the farm—who’s gonna look after things?”

“I can’t let you go home. Right now there’s fluid in your lungs and that tells me your heart isn’t working as well as it should. We can take some of the load off that with medication, but we need to find out what the underlying cause is.” She’d heard a variation of this argument from the time she’d started following her father on rounds and had had it herself at least a few hundred times. She’d learned a long time ago, men like John Prince would not be persuaded out of fear for themselves. “You’ve got, what—three kids, all of them still in school? You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of them and Sally Lynn.”

“Jesus, Doc.” He rubbed his face. “What am I gonna tell Sally Lynn.”

“I can talk to her first if you want me to.”

“Yeah, that would be good.” He stared at the floor. “I don’t want her worrying.”

“She won’t if you let me take care of you.” She squeezed his arm. “We’ll get this sorted out and we’ll get you back to work. All right?”

He lifted his eyes and searched hers. She held his gaze. He needed to see that she was confident. He needed to believe in her.

“Okay.”

“Good. I’ll go get Sally Lynn, and we’ll go over things together.”

By the time she finished admitting him, it was almost eleven thirty. She hadn’t had anything to eat since she’d made pancakes and eggs for Flann at six in the morning. Flann had gone home to go to sleep, and her big plans for the day had been to plant a half dozen tomato seedlings in the back garden. That had been put on hold when she’d gotten the call from the PA in the ER who thought John Prince was on the verge of heart failure. After seeing John into the elevator to the ICU, she stopped in the cafeteria to grab lunch. As she carried her tray to a table by the window, she saw Presley sitting alone with a cup of coffee, a half-eaten sandwich, and her iPad. She hesitated, then headed for her.

“Do you mind some company?”

Presley looked up and smiled. “Not at all. Please.” She put her iPad aside. “Just finishing rounds?”

“No, had a patient in the ER to see. You?”

“Just finished up.”

“I guess I can’t talk you into softball?” Harper asked, biting into her turkey club sandwich.

“You’re nothing if not persistent. But no.”

Harper grinned, twisted the top off her bottle of water, and took a swallow, studying Presley. She was dressed for work again—soft pale green shirt with a cream-colored jacket and black trousers. Her makeup was subtle, her hair loose and pushed back behind her ears. She wore a single ring on the ring finger of her right hand, a square-cut dark red stone in a gold band. Simple, elegant. Exactly like her. “Persistence is often rewarded.”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Presley said. Charming was an understatement where the Rivers sisters were concerned, but now she was forewarned—and armed. “I do need to know where to get rooster—chicken food, though.”

“For the rooster in the tree?”

“Yes. Well, he’s not in the tree right now. He’s digging around in the yard.”

“It’s summer,” Harper said. “With all the grass and hay around, he’s probably doing pretty well.”

“I was just reading that he should have grit and some corn and high-quality food as well. I have a list already of what I need.”

“You looked that up on the Internet, huh?”

Presley regarded her guardedly. “Yes, why?”

“You realize you could have asked just about anyone here and they would’ve been able to tell you.”

“Number one, I don’t know anyone here except you and your family, and number two…” She shook her head. Harper was far too good at getting her to discuss things she had no intention of discussing. “Never mind.”

“And number two,” Harper said with maddening self-assurance, “you’re used to doing things for yourself.”

Harper was right, and her perceptiveness left Presley feeling uncomfortably exposed. “I suppose, yes, that’s true. Aren’t you?”

“Sure—unless someone knows more than I do and I can save myself time and a headache by asking.”

“That means you have to trust them,” Presley pointed out.

Harper gave her a long look. “It does.”

“Seeing as you weren’t around, I was forced to turn to other sources of information.”

“Does that mean you trust me?”

Presley flushed. Damn it, Harper was doing it again. “Where chickens are concerned.”

Harper laughed. “If you’re done with lunch, I’ll take you to the feed store and we can see about outfitting your rooster.”

“That’s not necessary. If you just tell me—”

“I’d like to,” Harper said.

“If you’re sure, I’d appreciate it.” Presley paused. “In fact, I’d like that too. For Rooster’s sake, of course.”

“Of course.” Harper’s slow-lidded smile sent a shiver down Presley’s spine that she resolutely ignored.

Chapter Fifteen

Presley wandered around a store creatively called Tractor Supply consulting the list on her iPhone of things she needed for Rooster. While she shopped, Harper chatted with one of the clerks at the checkout counter. She paused in one section containing racks of shirts and pants and boots. Who knew you could shop for clothes at the tractor store? She plucked a green-and-white checked shirt from a hanger and held it out. The simple style and bright colors had a certain charm. She laughed to herself, thinking how that would go over in the boardroom matched with a pair of jeans and boots. The memory of Harper looking totally at ease in a plain white shirt and faded jeans reminded her that actions, not the outward trappings of success, were the true measure of ability.

“Looking to expand your wardrobe?” Harper said from behind her.

Presley put the shirt back. “Just…curious.”

“That navy would look good on you.” Harper held up a cotton top with a scooped neck.

She was right. The blue would complement her eyes. Looking at clothes with Harper seemed too familiar, too personal, somehow—as if Harper were mentally dressing or undressing her. The intimacy was unnerving. Growing up, Presley had shopped with her mother and had quickly learned to accept her mother’s choices over her own desires. She’d occasionally shopped with friends in high school until one of the girls was caught shoplifting, and Presley’s parents threatened to freeze her credit cards if she continued with unauthorized purchases. As an adult, she had a regular personal shopper at one of the upscale department stores who would choose an assortment of pieces for her when she called and have them ready for her to try on when she arrived.

She held up the top and had no trouble imagining Harper in a big sunny bedroom, a backdrop of brilliant blue sky outside the window, slowly easing the simple cotton shirt over her head. Of her breasts falling free and Harper’s hands—

“I guess it makes sense to shop here while you’re getting the rest of your supplies.” Presley put the shirt back and quickly walked on with no destination in mind.

“The clothes tend to be better made for hard work,” Harper said when she caught up to her. “And in a lot of cases less expensive than similar things at regular department stores.”

Presley grabbed a pair of women’s work boots. Thankfully, they didn’t conjure the slightest erotic thought in her head. “I’m trying to figure out what I would be doing to need these.”

Harper laughed. “If you had chickens, you might want to wear them while you’re cleaning out the coop.”

“Give me a little time to get my mind around that,” Presley murmured and set the boots down.

“City girl.”

Harper’s tone was teasing and Presley decided she liked it.

“Come on,” Harper said, “there’s something I want to show you.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

“Then just hold that thought.”

Harper reached out, and for a second Presley thought she was going to take her hand. A flush of pleasure raced through her as she lifted her own, automatically ready to take Harper’s. Harper stilled, that dark unfathomable look back in her eyes. The breath inexplicably stilled in Presley’s chest.

“This way,” Harper said quietly, her hand slowly falling back to her side.

Presley nodded, knowing she should feel foolish, but she didn’t. For just a few minutes, she wanted to let go of everything she’d been trained to do and want, and just follow her instincts. And her instinct was to follow Harper.

She pushed her oversized cart down rows stacked with big bags of animal and bird feed, through aisles filled with fence posts and stakes and all manner of tools, large and small, watering troughs, and other equipment. Toward the back of the warehouse, waist-high barriers screened off four sections about eight feet square. Harper stopped and pointed into one of them. Presley looked down and caught her breath.

“Oh.” A frightening melting sensation filled her chest.

A dozen fluffy yellow balls, about four inches high with feet, scurried around, pecking at the straw and the crushed feed in a little tin tray with miniature beaks so fragile they didn’t even appear real. Little feathers, coarser and darker, displaced some of the fuzz covering their wings.

“Chicks.” Presley stated the obvious and hoped she sounded less girlish than she felt.

“Yep. They’re the last of the bunch. It’s a little late in the season and these are bigger than they usually are when they go home, but that’s a good thing because you don’t have to be as careful about the temperature as you would if they were hatchlings.”

“They’re really cute.”

Harper cradled one in her hands and passed it to Presley. “Here.”

Having no choice, Presley took it. The feathers were incredibly soft, and its bright black eyes reminded her of Rooster’s, inquisitive and lively. It pecked at her finger and she laughed. “They never stop that, do they?”

“Pretty much never. Chad says if you take half a dozen, they’re yours for five dollars.”

Presley stared at her. “What in the world would I do with half a dozen chickens?”

Harper grinned. “That rooster will know what to do.”

Presley raised a brow. “I imagine that he would. But aside from the obvious, I don’t think we can trust him to take care of all the other matters.”

“Chickens pretty much look after themselves, once they’re a little bigger. I’ll take a look at the coop and get it back into shape for you. Nature will do the rest.”

Reluctantly, Presley put the chick back into the pen. “I can’t. I have no idea how to look after them, and what about when I’m gone?”

“You’ll find someone to take them. Or eat them.”

Presley gasped. “Certainly not.”

“If you change your mind, they’ll be here a few more days.”

“Rooster is quite enough of a responsibility,” Presley said and backed away so she wouldn’t see the milling chicks and could quash the impulse to take them home. “Besides, we have cats in the barn. They might eat them.”

“Barn cats know about chickens. They’d probably be friends.”

For an insane moment, Presley considered it. They were cute and, from her reading, not very much trouble at all. And she’d get eggs… Reason mercifully prevailed. She’d be long gone before these little ones were ready to lay eggs. “No.”

“Okay,” Harper said, her tone suggesting she wasn’t convinced Presley was convinced.

To prove her certainty, Presley pushed her cart hurriedly to the checkout counter.

Once outside, Harper piled the supplies in the back of her pickup truck. “I’ll drive you back to the hospital so you can get your car.”

Presley checked her watch. “Don’t you have softball practice this afternoon?”

Harper nodded.

“Where?”

“Out past my place a bit.” Harper opened Presley’s door for her.

“Thanks.” Presley was used to people opening doors for her, but when Harper did it, she felt special. Harper treated her as if she was all that mattered—as if time had no meaning when they were together. She climbed into the truck and Harper started the engine. “That took longer than I expected. If you drive me back to the hospital, you’re going to be late.”

“That’s okay. I’m having fun.”

So am I. So much fun, she’d lost track of time, something she never did. “Flannery will object, I expect. Just take me home—I’m on your way. I’ll have Lila drive me to get my car when she leaves today.”

“How about I stop home and change, and you come with me to practice. I’ll take you home after and carry this stuff in for you.”

Presley frowned. “Wait. What are you talking about? Why would I go to practice?”

Harper grinned and pointed at the sky. “Saturday afternoon. Blue sky, warm sunshine. It’s a beautiful day. Carrie will be there too. What are you going to do at home?”

“Well, I—” Presley folded her arms, aggravated at being put on the spot, and thought about her usual weekend activities. An hour at the gym in the mornings, an espresso on the way back to her condo, and then catching up on the week’s news on her iPad. By the afternoon, she’d be bored and end up working until the obligatory business or family gathering on Saturday evening. She hadn’t considered what she’d do here on the weekend. The gym was out, since she hadn’t seen anything resembling one in town. She had no plans for the evening and had already worked half a day. She had several books on her iPad she was planning on reading—but that sounded like an excuse, which it wasn’t. Not exactly. “I have quite a few things already planned.”

“Three hours,” Harper said, “counting the trip to your house and mine. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll take you home.”

The idea of relaxing in the sun was oddly appealing. There was nothing waiting for her at the White place except Rooster, and he’d be there later in the day. And spending a few hours watching Harper would be no hardship. “All right, but I want your word that you won’t badger me about playing.”

“I swear.” Harper swung left out of town. “What’s your sport, then?”

“Golf.” Her parents had signed her and Preston up for golf lessons when they were eight, explaining golf was the sport of the business world and that many a deal was brokered on the greens. She didn’t particularly enjoy the game, but she was competitive, and that was enough to make her a good golfer, and her parents were right. She often spent a weekend morning on the greens at her club discussing business with financiers, real estate developers, politicians, and CEOs. “Do you play?”

“No.” Harper rolled down her window and the smell of country wafted in. Hot tar, green fields, livestock. “There’s a public course about ten miles from here. A lot of people around here play. If you miss playing—”

“I don’t.”

Harper glanced at her. “Why do you play, then?”

“It’s good for business.”

“I see.” Harper didn’t sound as if she thought that was much of a reason to do anything.

“I thought all doctors played golf,” Presley said testily.

“A lot do, for the same reasons. But if I’m going to spend time doing something, I’d rather it be for pleasure.”

“Like today.”

Harper glanced over at her. “Yes.”

*

Harper pulled down the drive and stopped in front of her house. Originally the farm manager’s house, the plain two-story wood building was set back a hundred yards from the road with a cornfield beginning another hundred yards beyond her back porch. The barn was out back to the right, her garden to the left, and the chicken coop in between. Chickens roamed across the grass in front of the house. She cut the engine and swung around the front of the cab to hold open Presley’s door just as Presley was climbing down. Harper held out her hand and Presley took it, leaning into Harper as she steadied herself.

Presley looked around, her fingers tightening around Harper’s. “They’re so pretty. And they’re all different.”

Harper pointed out the various chicken species one by one. “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh,” Presley said, laughing. “A chicken aficionado I’m not. I like the white ones with the speckles, though.”

“Mmm, good choice. They’re nice and tender. Roast one up on a Sunday afternoon—” She ducked when Presley swatted at her shoulder. “Seriously, sometimes we do have to eat the livestock. Kids learn that pretty early in life.”

Presley glanced down. She was still holding Harper’s hand. No one else was around, and suddenly, the intimacy was overwhelming. She had no idea what she was doing. Worse, when she was with Harper, she forgot why she’d come to this place where she had no place, where her job put her at odds with everyone, especially this woman who seemed able to make her forget herself with alarming ease. She released Harper’s hand. “It must be very difficult for children, for anyone, to grow fond of an animal and then…”

“Farm kids have to learn that animals, like crops, are part of what keeps a farm going. The smart parents teach their children not to name the animals that will eventually be culled for food or other reasons. The 4-H clubs give the kids a place to bond with their animals and bring their pets to show off. No good parent would sacrifice one of those.”

Presley had wanted a dog. Her parents had said no—they traveled too much, and then there would be prep school. “It’s so different than what I’m used to.”

“What is that?” Harper didn’t care if she was late for softball. She’d been playing all her life and practice was more social outing than anything else. Flannery would give her a hard time, but it wouldn’t risk her position at shortstop. She was still quick and had one of the strongest arms on the team. Flann was a better batter, but then Flann was always the flashier of the two of them.

Right now, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing than standing in her front yard, surrounded by a bunch of clucking chickens, talking to Presley Worth. Presley didn’t know her, but she seemed to want to, and that mattered more than anything else at that moment.

All her life, Harper had been known by everyone. When she started going on rounds with her father, everyone knew her father and her mother and her, even though they’d never met. Her story was known before she’d even lived it. Most of the time she didn’t mind, but sometimes the familiarity left her feeling invisible. With Presley, she felt completely new, and when Presley looked at her, she felt solid and seen. She wanted to tell her everything, from the silliest stories of her childhood to what it meant to her to have the faith of her patients and her community. She wanted to tell her what mattered, what lived inside her.

“It’s a long story,” Presley said, “and you’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care,” Harper murmured and moved a step closer. Presley’s hand came to rest on her chest and her eyes widened, full of questions. Her fingers curled into Harper’s shirt.

“Harper, this isn’t—”

Harper kissed her, there in the hot summer sun under a blue, blue sky with the sounds and scents of life all around them. She gently stroked Presley’s forearm, reveling in the soft, silky texture of her skin. Presley’s lips were even softer, satin against her own, tempting her senses. Presley’s mouth slid softly over hers until their lips fit perfectly. The breeze was cool and fresh against the back of her neck, and every sensation was magnified a thousand times. She didn’t need to breathe. She was more alive than she’d ever been, never having known until this moment she’d been sleepwalking, waiting for the woman whose kiss would taste like eternity. Hunger exploded, sending fiery need raging through her. She slid her arm around Presley’s waist, pulled her closer, and pressed her mouth harder to Presley’s, wanting more. Presley’s palm pushed back against her chest, pushing her away. The kiss dissolved, leaving Harper with only the sound of her own breathing harsh in her ears.

“Harper, no,” Presley said softly.

Harper let her go, stepped back, searched for words in her addled mind. “I…seem to have forgotten myself.”

Presley drew a deep breath and waited a second for the swirling in her head to dissipate. She hadn’t moved, at least she didn’t think she had, but she had no memory of how she’d ended up in Harper’s arms. She remembered exactly how that had felt. Her body still tingled with the memory. Harper’s body had been hard, hot, powerful and for an instant, Presley surrendered. Surrendered, something she never, ever did. In a heartbeat, every instinct spurred her to fight back. To fight the wanting and the longing and the insanity of that kiss. When she was sure her voice was steady, she said, “You are an excellent kisser, Harper.”

Harper’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Even if uninvited?”

“Invitation was not required, and to say I didn’t enjoy it would be a lie.” She made herself smile, made her voice lighten. “Let’s chalk it up to”—she gazed around, pointed to the sky as Harper had before—“the effect of this incredibly beautiful day.”

“All right,” Harper said, her voice husky. “We can try that.”

“I’ll wait out here while you change your clothes.”

“Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

Presley bristled. “Of course not. A kiss is not an assault. It’s flattering. And enjoyable. And you, you are a gentleman.”

Harper laughed but her face was strained. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Presley would not allow Harper to accept blame where there was none. She wasn’t even sure she hadn’t somehow invited that kiss, although she would be sure not to again. “And I’m willing to bet there’s iced tea in your refrigerator.”

“Am I my mother’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Presley said, “and your father’s.”

“We can’t forget that, can we?”

“I’m afraid not, Dr. Rivers.”

Chapter Sixteen

Presley sat on Harper’s back porch with a glass of iced tea while the chickens that had followed her around the corner waddled back and forth across the yard. She’d sat on more porches the last few days than she ever had in her life and was beginning to see the value of letting one’s mind drift in the sunlight or the twilight. Today, though, nothing was going to settle her mind, or her body for that matter. Harper was inside changing, and Presley was grateful for the few minutes alone to try to collect herself. The kiss had taken her off guard. She’d been kissed before, but never in her recollection when she wasn’t expecting it. Kisses were not something that happened unless she decided they would. Maybe it was only the element of surprise that had made the kiss so incendiary, so overpowering. Maybe she was only shaken because she hadn’t prepared herself the way she usually did, hadn’t weighed and considered what would naturally follow, hadn’t already decided that more, for an evening at least, would be pleasant. She hadn’t chosen to be kissed.

There had been nothing pleasant about Harper’s kiss. Pleasant was a far too inadequate word for what had happened when their lips touched. The heat, the force of it, had surged through her, knocking barriers aside like floodwaters careening over parched land, deluging everything in its path. She’d been helpless to stop and desperate for more, opening like the crevices in a thirsty earth, aching to be filled until she overflowed. She’d known desire she hadn’t imagined possible. She was no blushing virgin, but thinking about the way she’d responded to just a simple kiss brought heat to her cheeks and everywhere else. She pressed the cool, sweating glass to her forehead and closed her eyes.

What a monumental misstep. Of all the people in this town, Harper Rivers was probably the worst person she could have become involved with. She’d practically compromised herself professionally, something that had never happened, not once in her life. Not that anything between them, friendship or more, would make a difference to her decision-making, but it was simply bad form. And worse than that, she’d let things get out of hand with someone she genuinely liked. Harper was funny, warm, attentive, and mesmerizing in her intensity. She was honest and strong. And damnably sexy.

When she could think a little more clearly, she’d need to find a way to extricate herself gracefully from a relationship that was moving too fast, without alienating Harper. If only the spinning sensation in her head and the hungry churning in her middle would go away.

The door behind her opened, and Harper emerged. Presley took in the long length of bare legs, tight black athletic shorts, and a sleeveless T-shirt that molded to Harper’s lean body. Her breasts were subtle curves beneath the cotton, an invitation Presley refused to acknowledge despite the dryness in her throat and tightness in her depths. Harper’s eyes were dark and brooding again. Her hair was tousled, and Presley had an inexplicable urge to run her fingers through it, to tousle it even more. She rose and held out the empty tea glass. “As good as your mother’s.”

Harper smiled for an instant. “That’s because it is.”

“You like living so close to them, don’t you.”

“Far enough for privacy, close enough to stay in touch.”

Presley nodded as if she understood, although she didn’t. “I see my family regularly. The times are in my appointment book.”

Harper’s gaze softened, her mouth gentled. “No one ever had to tell me family came first. It’s just always been.”

“I’m not sure I’d be good with anyone so close, so inside.”

“I can’t imagine being without it.”

“Is that what you want? For your life.”

“Yes.” The shadows fled Harper’s eyes. “A wife, a big house, at least four kids, a few dogs, a couple of cats, chickens—”

Presley laughed and held out her hand. “Yes, I see. You are your father’s daughter.”

“And my mother’s.”

“Yes.” Presley felt a little better. A little more grounded. They were so wrong for each other. She was right in stopping things at a kiss. “We should go so you aren’t any later.”

The drive to the baseball field took less than ten minutes, and they didn’t make conversation on the drive. Presley spent the time divided between looking out the window at the endless stretch of green, a color she still couldn’t quite get used to in so many varieties and abundance, and watching Harper’s hands as she drove. Her hands were sure and strong, her fingers long and slender. As Harper’s hand cupped the head of the gearshift, Presley remembered the press of Harper’s palm against the center of her back, the hold possessive and unquestionable. She rarely let herself be possessed, even during sex. She didn’t mind aggressive lovers, as long as no one thought to dominate her. Yet she’d welcomed the subtle control in Harper’s hand drawing her closer, gone willingly into the inferno of Harper’s embrace. She’d thrilled to Harper’s power.

“Do you still want to stay?” Harper asked quietly as they approached the field.

“Of course.” Presley smiled. To leave now would be to admit the kiss had unsettled her, and confessing weakness was not in her makeup.

“Good.” Harper pulled in at the end of a long line of vehicles, mostly pickup trucks and SUVs of one kind or another. She turned on the seat to face Presley. “There’s sunscreen in the glove box in front of you. If you weren’t planning on being outside today, you might need it.”

“You’re right, I will. Thanks.” She smeared some of the lotion on her face and bare arms, aware that Harper was watching her as she did. She liked it when Harper looked at her. She hurriedly finished and put the lotion away.

Harper came around to open her door, and she climbed down. Harper guided her with a hand on her arm but moved away as soon as they started for the field. Harper carried her glove and had pulled on a worn blue baseball cap that sat low on her forehead and shaded her eyes. All Presley could see was her mouth, and that was the last place she wanted to look. She studied the ball field instead. A big mesh backstop stood behind home plate. Two sets of bleachers faced the field on opposite corners and, surprisingly, were half-full of people, some with coolers, babies in strollers, or umbrellas for shade. Obviously, watching practice was a form of entertainment for more than those who were actually playing. The team was mixed men and women, about fifty-fifty as far as she could tell.

Harper stopped by one set of bleachers. “If you want to leave, just give me a wave. I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll be fine. Enjoy the practice.”

“I’ll see you in a while.” Harper ran over to where Flann and Carrie were tossing a softball back and forth. Flann said something, and Harper waved her off and kept walking. Carrie looked over to the bleachers and waved, a big smile on her face. She, at least, was having a good day.

Presley waved back and climbed to the top row of the bleachers and looked for Harper. She spied her at shortstop. A tall, thin African American man was hitting balls to her from home plate. Harper moved with lithe grace, fielding the ground balls and whipping them to first base. She was quick and fast and strong. After a few minutes, Flann selected a bat from a stack against the fence and strolled to home plate. Carrie took the mound and pitched to a small blonde crouched behind Flann. The first ball whizzed past Flann.

“Lucky pitch,” Flann shouted.

Carrie only smiled. Flann swung at the second pitch but missed. A few hoots of laughter and catcalls rose from the players on the field. She hit the third ball, a grounder that skidded past Carrie. Harper scooped it up from behind her, tossing it to first base. The rest of the players rotated at bat and Carrie pitched, alternating with several other pitchers who, from what Presley could tell, were not as fast or accurate as Carrie.

“She’s gonna kill the other teams,” Margie announced, dropping onto the bench beside Presley. She wore a ball cap similar to Harper’s, a sleeveless navy T-shirt with Thunderbolts emblazoned above a cloud slashed through with a jagged lightning bolt, and baggy shorts. Sipping a soda from a tall cardboard cup, she stretched her legs out in front of her and propped her elbows on her knees.

“She seems to be good,” Presley said.

“She’s really good.”

“Do you play?”

“I do, but I like soccer better. It’s faster. How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“Do you play?”

“No. A little tennis. Golf mostly.”

Margie drained her cup and set it aside. “Do you like your job?”

“Yes,” Presley answered automatically, even as a small part of her hesitated.

“Which parts?”

Somehow she didn’t have to ask what Margie meant. The girl was incredibly intuitive. That, combined with her inquisitive mind, was going to take her far one day. She’d be a dangerous adversary. As it was, she was challenging. “If I said I enjoyed being able to move pieces around on a chessboard, would that make sense?”

“If you were the queen, yes.”

“Why not the king?”

“Too limited. The queen has greater reach, more maneuverable.” Margie grinned. “More power.”

Presley laughed. “Well then, you understand.”

“Come on, Harper!” Margie called. “You can hit that ball.”

Harper dug her feet into the dark earth in the batter’s box and squared off against Carrie again. Carrie’s pitch sailed past her.

Margie hooted. “Business is a good field for people who like to be in charge and in control, and who enjoy power.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, exactly, but you’re right. And what about you?” Presley said, finding yet another Rivers sister who somehow managed to turn the conversation in directions she’d rather avoid. “What do you enjoy?”

“People,” Margie answered instantly. “I like watching them, figuring out what makes them work.”

“Are you planning to follow in the family tradition, then?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. If I do, though, I’ll be a psychiatrist.”

“You’d make a good one. You’re observant and perceptive.”

“Thanks!” Margie’s grin widened. “Are you going to date Flann?”

“Ah,” Presley said, deciding they’d reached the boundary of personal revelation. “If I were, I don’t think I would tell you. That would be a question better put to Flannery. However, I can easily say no.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“How about you,” Presley said. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

Margie shook her head. “Nobody special. My group doesn’t really pair off much, and I figure when I meet the person who wants to see inside me and I want them to, then I’ll know. Boy or girl, I don’t think it will matter.”

How was it this girl could be so sure about something so confusing to so many? Presley found the thought of wanting anyone to see inside her not just foreign, but dangerous. Inside was where she hid her weaknesses—the things she wanted and was willing to sacrifice for. At least, once she might have been. Not any longer. “Your family is terrific.”

“Yeah. I know.” Margie studied her with that sharp, inquisitive stare. “You’d fit in, you know.”

“Oh,” Presley said, “I don’t know about that. I’m more of a loner, I think.”

“We all are sometimes. That’s why Harper has a tree house and Flann rides her motorcycle and Carson runs.”

Yes, but you all come home. I never do. Presley said, “Thank you for saying so.”

As the sun slowly dropped, Margie pointed out the various players, all hospital employees, and they chatted about casual things until finally the players began to gather up their equipment and drift off toward their vehicles. Harper, Flannery, and Carrie walked over together.

“That was awesome,” Carrie said, beaming.

“Great pitching,” Harper said.

“Word is going to spread fast.” Flannery grinned at Carrie. “They’ll be gunning for you.”

“Let them come,” Carrie said.

Flannery laughed.

Harper looked up at Presley. “Doing okay?” The damp ends of her hair clung to her throat and neck, and a smudge of dirt streaked her left cheek. She looked sweaty and outrageously sexy.

“Doing great, thanks.”

Flannery pulled off her red ball cap and ran her hand through her hair. The sandy waves were wet and darker than usual. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and energy. “Everybody up for pizza?”

“Yeah,” Carrie and Margie exclaimed together.

Harper was silent, still looking at Presley. Waiting. She should make an excuse, go home. Get away from Harper until her system settled and she was herself again.

“I’m hungry,” Presley admitted.

Harper smiled. “Me too.”

Chapter Seventeen

The pizza place turned out to be the bar Flannery had pointed out to them in the village. The Hilltop was crowded even at five in the afternoon with men and women drinking at the bar, talking boisterously, while the televisions at either end played competing sports events. A few tables in an adjoining room comprised the eatery. The smells coming from the back where the kitchen must be instantly reminded Presley she hadn’t had much lunch, and breakfast was a muffin a long time before that. They took seats around a big round table covered with a bright yellow oilcloth dotted with blue roses. She ended up sitting between Harper and Carrie. After everyone gave their preferences and vetoed certain other toppings, they chose three pizzas and ordered from a friendly waitress in jeans and a T-shirt who greeted the Rivers sisters by name.

Once the food was ordered, Flannery said, “Tammy’s slammed. I’ll get our drinks. What does everyone want from the bar?”

“Beer,” Harper and Carrie said simultaneously.

“Coke,” Margie said.

“I, ah, suppose wine would be out of the question,” Presley said.

“Possible to get,” Harper said, “but possibly lethal.” She paused, a whisper of a smile flickering across her mouth. “Are you feeling adventurous?”

“Not that much,” Presley said, instantly reminded of their conversation in the tree house. She’d never sought adventure, only conquest. Her pleasure had always been more in the outcome rather than the process of attaining her goal. She’d never have imagined adventure would take the form of a quiet community in the foothills of the Adirondacks or a woman who challenged everything she thought she knew about herself. “I’ll have beer too.”

Flannery rose and Carrie followed, saying, “I’ll give you a hand.”

Harper asked Presley, “Did this afternoon’s revelry convince you to give softball a try?”

“I’m afraid not,” Presley said, “although I did enjoy watching everyone play. When’s the first game?”

“Midweek. We’re hoping to keep the word about Carrie quiet until after the first game.”

“Good luck on that,” Margie said.

“Yeah, I think I saw a few spotters in the crowd today.”

“It sounds like you take your softball seriously,” Presley said offhandedly.

Harper and Margie both stared at her.

“What?”

“Well, of course we take it seriously,” Harper said as if explaining something very simple to someone very dense. “The league champions get to ride in the first car in the Labor Day parade. It’s very prestigious.”

Carefully, Presley studied first Harper, then Margie. Both wore identical innocent expressions. “You are all truly frightening.”

They both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Flannery set glasses down on the table and passed them around to the appropriate people.

“I was being briefed on the importance of winning the softball tournament,” Presley said.

“Oh yeah. Our team has been first car three years in a row. Everyone wants to unseat us.”

“First car?” Carrie asked, sounding confused.

Flannery dropped into a chair and explained to Carrie.

“Oh, we are so going to win, then,” Carrie said.

We. Presley sipped her beer, wondering at how easily Carrie had embraced the community. Wondering too what that meant for the work they had to do—work it was so easy to forget, sitting here with the charismatic Rivers sisters.

An hour and half later, after finishing off most of the pizzas and two rounds of drinks, everyone allowed they were ready to leave.

“I’ll take you and Carrie home,” Harper said.

Flannery looked like she was about to protest, then cupped Margie’s neck and said, “Come on, kid. I’m your ride.”

“See you at the game,” Margie said to Presley.

“Oh…” Presley scrambled for an excuse, but the look on Margie’s face left her no alternative. “Yes. I’ll be there if I can.”

Margie beamed. “Awesome.”

“It’s really not necessary for you to chauffeur us around,” Presley said as Harper drove her and Carrie home for the second night in a row.

“It’s not like it’s out of my way. I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m sure you’re busy, and as I recall, weekends are always the worst—”

“Shh,” Harper said. “We don’t talk about—” Her cell phone rang and she shook her head. “As I was saying, never say it out loud.”

She pushed a button on the dash next to a small speaker. “Dr. Rivers.”

“Doc,” a male voice said, “it’s Don Reynolds. I’m sure sorry to bother you this time of night, but I’m worried about Jimmy. He’s been complaining all week about not feeling right, and when he stopped eating, we kept him home from school. But today seems even worse. Now he’s got the runs on top of everything else.”

“Does he have a fever?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Is he complaining of a bellyache or anything else like that?”

“He’s not much of a complainer, but he just…Doc, he just doesn’t look right. I’m worried.”

“I’ll stop by in an hour or so and take a look at him.”

“I sure would appreciate it.”

“No problem, Don.”

Harper ended the call and turned down the driveway to Presley’s.

“Why not just send them to the emergency room?” Presley asked.

“Because it’s probably not an emergency, and tying up the ER staff is a waste of their time and an inconvenience for the family. I’m twenty minutes away. It’ll take me another twenty, maybe, to take a look at the boy and let them know what needs to be done. It’s the best allocation of resources.”

Carrie asked, “If you don’t think it’s an emergency, couldn’t he wait until the morning and go to the office?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“What about urgent care?” Carrie said.

“We could send him there. But chances are he’d see someone he doesn’t know and who wouldn’t recognize some of the things that I would because I know him. And besides that,” she slowed in front of the porch, “we like to take care of our own.”

Presley said, “You’ve been doing a good job taking care of those of us who aren’t even yours. Thank you for the ride.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Carrie said. “I had a great time today. I can’t wait for the game.”

“You were terrific,” Harper said.

“Thanks. I’m also out of shape. I’m going to turn in early and pretend I’m reading in bed.”

“Night,” Harper called as Carrie got out.

Presley lingered. “I hope your night isn’t too hectic.”

“It’s early yet. I’ve got a change of clothes with me. Would you mind if I changed here? Then I can head right over to the Reynoldses’.”

“Of course not. Do you want to shower? We’ve got an extra bathroom you’re welcome to use,” Presley said.

“I don’t want to put you out.”

Presley clasped Harper’s forearm. The muscles under her fingers tensed. “You’ve been looking after us since we got here. Let me return the favor.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Harper leaned toward her, the air in the cab suddenly growing heavy and still.

“Of course not.” Presley scented grass and earthy strength. Her fingers drifted down to Harper’s hand. For an instant their fingers touched. She drew her hand away. “Come inside.”

Harper reached behind the seat, her shoulder brushing Presley’s. Her body was hot, her face inches away. Presley pushed open the door and climbed out, taking a deep breath. Blood pounded in her belly, urgent and wild. Thank goodness Carrie was inside. She wasn’t afraid to be alone with Harper, she was afraid of herself.

“All set,” Harper said.

Walking quickly toward the sanctuary of the house, Presley took Harper upstairs and showed her the bathroom. “I’ll let Carrie know you’re here. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.”

After warning Carrie Harper was using the shower, Presley headed into the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine that Lila had gotten her from the list she’d provided, and took it outside to the back porch. The sun had just gone down. Rooster was in the tree. She sipped her wine and thought about building a chicken coop. She didn’t think about Harper naked upstairs in the shower very much at all.

“I appreciate the hospitality,” Harper said, walking out onto the porch. The kitchen light behind her illuminated her face, but her eyes were in shadow. Her eyes were so often shadowed. She wore a navy short-sleeved button-up shirt outside dark pants and loafers without socks. Her hair was wet and slicked back.

Presley rose with her half-empty glass of wine. “You’re more than welcome.”

“Tired?”

“I wasn’t the one running around in the sun all afternoon.”

“You want to come with me? You can start your practical internship early.”

Harper touched her hand, a fleeting touch. Not a caress. Just an automatic, unthinking touch. One she probably didn’t even notice.

Presley swallowed. “Do you think the family will be bothered by a stranger?”

“I know this family. I went to school with Don’s wife, Emmy. They’re easygoing, and Jimmy is a good kid. He’s eleven.”

“It’s hard to believe someone you went to school with has an eleven-year-old child.”

“People tend to start younger around here.”

The light went out in the kitchen. Carrie must have turned it off, not realizing they were outside. Moonlight surrounded them. “You haven’t, and as I recall, you’re planning on…what was it, four or five offspring?”

“I figure I’ll catch up when I meet the right woman.”

“And who’s going to be doing the reproduction? You or the right woman?”

Harper laughed softly. “I want kids, but I don’t have a strong drive to actually make them. Part of being the right woman for me is wanting to have children, but if she doesn’t want to do it, we’ll adopt them.”

“Why do I have the feeling that the right woman is going to resemble your mother to a large degree?”

“That doesn’t sound right somehow.”

Presley shook her head. “I’m not being critical. Your mother is incredibly strong, that’s obvious. She’s raised amazing children, and I’m guessing a lot of that she did on her own when your father was away.”

“That’s true,” Harper said. “I love my father, but I hope to figure out a way to spend a little more time at home, especially while my kids are young.”

“You know, Harper,” Presley said, “if you joined a multi-physician practice group and had people to cross-cover for you, you’d have a lot more time to yourself and your family in the future.”

Even in the dim light, the tightening of Harper’s jaw was clear. “I had a couple offers like that when I was finishing my residency. It’s not for me.”

“Solo practice is hard on you, hard on your wife, and will be difficult on your children.”

Harper shrugged, as if dismissing the possible problem. “Maybe that’s why I’m not married yet.” She slid her hands into her pockets and stared past Presley to the tree where Rooster’s dark shape stood out against the silvery shadows. “Maybe there are no women like that anymore.”

“Now you’re getting morose.”

“You’re right.” Harper grinned wryly. “And I don’t have time for that. Are you coming?”

“Yes,” Presley said, admitting she wanted to. She wanted to know Harper, and nights like this were a huge part of who she was. These moments, when she went out to take care of people, giving them part of herself, were the moments no one else saw, and if Harper even thought to talk about them, how much would be lost in the translation? How much would Harper see only as ordinary, as opposed to extraordinary? This was a chance to glimpse the real Harper, the true Harper. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Presley left a note for Carrie in the kitchen on the way out.

“So, what’s your take on kids?” Harper rolled the windows down as she pulled the truck out onto the two-lane. Presley’s scent drifted to her on the breeze, vanilla and spice. She’d never taken anyone with her on callouts before. Margie was the right age, but that was for her father to do. She would take her own children someday, but right now, she enjoyed taking Presley.

“Generically?” Presley asked.

Harper laughed. “No, I meant for yourself. Seeing as how a relationship isn’t required for that part much anymore.”

“I…Children are a huge responsibility, and I’m not sure I’d ever have the time for them.”

“Sometimes being short on time makes every minute more important.”

“Did your parents make that work?”

“Absolutely.” Harper slowed for a deer bounding across the road. “When my father first started his practice, before I was born, he took my mother with him on calls sometimes.”

“Did he,” Presley murmured. “I imagine that was special.”

“I think it was. When we kids came, he went alone until I was old enough.”

“Who looks after patients when you’re away?”

“My dad or Flann. I’m not away all that much. A medical meeting now and then. Every once in a while I’ll go down to New York for a show or an exhibit.”

“By yourself?” Presley regretted it as soon as she asked. Harper’s personal business was none of her business, and she didn’t especially want to know about who shared her free hours. Then again, maybe it would be better if she did.

“Sometimes Carson will go with me. Flann, if it’s a baseball game.” Harper glanced over at her. “Sometimes I’ll take a date.”

“Someone special?” Presley asked lightly.

“No. You?”

“No, no one. No one special.”

“I told you who I’m waiting for. What are you waiting for?”

Presley’s immediate instinct was to say nothing. She had no aspirations for marriage or family. As she started to form the words, she caught herself. Was that really true? When she thought of her family, she was certain that wasn’t what she wanted. Her parents were well-matched. They enjoyed entertaining, enjoyed seeing and being seen, but she couldn’t remember witnessing a hint of passion or even intimate companionship. They shared a love of power and success and money. She enjoyed those things too, but more as personal satisfaction, not what she wanted to cement a relationship with. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m waiting for, looking for, anything. Some people just aren’t meant for serious relationships.”

“Not sure I believe that.” Harper turned down a narrow dirt road, the headlights illuminating trees and the occasional bright eyes of animals by the side of the road. “Sometimes I think people who say they prefer to be alone are just afraid to be with someone else.”

Presley fisted her hands. “That’s a rather arrogant thing to say.”

“Is it?” Harper stopped in front of a big, white, two-story rambling farmhouse like so many of the others they passed everywhere, with a larger barn, a cluster of outbuildings, a truck in the yard, and other signs of a working farm. “You’re probably right. Even so, I think it would be a loss to someone if you decided you really would prefer to be alone.”

Heat stirred in Presley’s depths. “And I think your Ms. Right will be very lucky.”

Chapter Eighteen

A light burned over the front door, outlining the Reynolds house against the inky sky. The farmhouse was smaller than the White place, a long porch with a metal roof and a white railing with a few missing spindles running along the entire front. Symmetrical windows on either side of the door were echoed by matching ones on the second floor. A soft light glowed in one upstairs window. Before Presley and Harper reached the worn wooden steps, a man came through the screen door, the hinges creaking loudly in the still air. He didn’t bother to hold it, and it slammed behind him. He wore brown canvas work pants and a faded red T-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and small paunch. He looked to be about forty, but in the dim light, his age was difficult to tell. Like so many of the men Presley had seen around town, his wide jaw was whiskered and his face lined and weathered. His thick dark hair, cut close, still held the circular indentations of a farm cap. His forearms were ropy with muscle, and his hands large. He pushed his hands into his pants pockets, his movements jerky and uneasy.

“I’m real glad you could make it, Doc,” he said as Presley and Harper reached the porch. His deep voice was as scratchy as a day-old beard.

“No problem, Don.”

Harper held out one hand in greeting. In the other she carried a large black leather satchel, something Presley had not seen in almost a decade of visiting hospitals and doctors’ offices. Harper L. Rivers, M.D. was embossed on the side in inch-high gold letters. The leather was worn at the corners and scraped in places on the sides where she imagined Harper had pushed it into the compartment behind the seat of her truck and set it on the floor in dozens of houses such as this. Harper looked completely natural, completely right, carrying that bag into this worn and faintly tired-looking house. Presley was the one who felt out of place.

Was it possible she had stepped back fifty years when she’d gotten off the airplane? That seemed like a long time ago now. And if that was true, did she really want to go back?

Presley shook the whimsy aside as Harper motioned to her and said, “Don, this is Presley Worth. She’s from the hospital.”

“Ma’am.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Reynolds,” Presley said.

Don Reynolds focused on Harper again and pulled open the screen door. “He’s upstairs in bed. Emmy is with him.”

“What about Darla? Is she sick?” Harper asked as they followed Don Reynolds into his house.

“Not as near as we can tell. She’s eating fine and doesn’t have a fever. Emmy took her temperature.”

“That’s good. What about the two of you? Noticed anything out of the ordinary lately? Been any place new—eaten out at an unfamiliar spot?”

He laughed harshly. “Not hardly. Haven’t been off the farm to speak of all spring and with money tight…”

“Jimmy’s school friends? Any of them sick that you know of?”

“We didn’t ask him.” Don Reynolds’s voice held a hopeful note, as if Jimmy sharing an illness with other kids must mean it couldn’t be very serious.

“Well, we’ll take a look at him and see,” Harper said.

The foyer was more a hall barely big enough for a coatrack on the wall and a small table where a pile of mail sat unopened. Rooms on either side looked well lived in, with big sofas and end tables holding empty drink glasses and a scatter of magazines. A wooden staircase, not as wide or elaborate as that in the White place, led to the second floor.

They trooped upstairs and down the narrow hall to a room where an open door emitted a slanting square of pale yellow light onto the bare wood floor. Presley hung back a little, letting Harper enter first with Don Reynolds. She stopped just inside the door. The room was small with a single window and a dresser connected to a desk piled with the things boys played with: a baseball glove, a motorized truck of some kind, a stack of books. The wall held a few posters from movies Presley didn’t recognize.

A woman in a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and purple rubber flip-flops sat on a straight-backed chair by the side of the single bed. Her dark wavy hair was caught back in a yellow scrunchie. She looked eighteen, but Presley knew if she’d gone to school with Harper she was at least ten years older. A gold wedding band glinted on her left hand, the same hand that was currently stroking the hair of a pale-looking boy with frightened eyes. Harper had said he was eleven, but his thin body and wan expression made him look eight.

“Hi, Emmy.” Harper introduced Presley as she had before, and the boy’s mother nodded, though Presley didn’t think she actually paid any attention to anything other than her son.

“Glad you’re here, Harper,” Emmy said in a monotone.

Presley remembered the eerie wail of the mother in the ER, and sweat broke out on her arms. Such misery. Was this Harper’s life?

“Can I sit where you are, Emmy?” Harper said. “You can sit on the bed on the other side with him if you like.”

Wordlessly, Emmy Reynolds went around the end of the narrow bed and gently sat next to her son, her hand going back to his hair. Don Reynolds leaned against a spot next to the window, his hands back in his pockets again as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

Harper turned the chair until it faced the bed and sat, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She’d put her bag on the floor next to her but hadn’t moved to open it yet. “I’m Dr. Rivers. How you doing, Jimmy?”

“Okay.” The boy’s voice was weak and whispery. He glanced at his mother anxiously.

“It’s okay, baby, the doctor is here to make you better.”

Harper’s calm expression never changed. “Your dad tells me you haven’t been eating much the last few days. Not hungry?”

“I don’t know. I guess not.”

“Does your stomach hurt?”

The boy shook his head.

“What about the rest of you? Does anything else hurt?”

“My head a little bit,” he said shyly. “It just feels funny.”

“Funny like dizzy?”

The boy shrugged. “I guess.”

“Okay, then. I’ll just take a look at you and listen to your heart and your lungs and your belly.”

The boy’s brows drew down. “Why are you gonna listen to my belly?”

Harper smiled and reached down with one hand to unclasp her bag, the motion automatic and practiced. Still gazing at Jimmy, she came up with a stethoscope that she put in her ears. “You know the sound it makes when you’re hungry, right? Well, I’m going to listen to see if maybe you’re hungry and didn’t notice.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

Harper pulled down the sheets to just below his navel and moved her stethoscope over his chest and abdomen, right side, left side, all the way down to the top of his Spider-Man pj’s. When she was done, she swung the stethoscope around her neck and put her hand on his belly. “I’m going to press and you tell me if it hurts. If it does, I’ll stop right away, okay?”

He nodded. Her touch appeared sure and gentle as she examined his upper abdomen and then lower down. At one point he told her it felt funny.

“Funny, like hurt?” Harper asked.

He shook his head. “Just funny. Like…sore, a little.”

“Okay.” She shone a light in his eyes and his throat and felt his neck. When done, she put her stethoscope back in the bag and smiled at him. “You were terrific. I’m going to talk to your mom and dad outside for a few minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” he said and closed his eyes.

Presley stepped aside until Don and Emmy Reynolds filed out into the hall with Harper behind them. She slipped out, and Harper slowly closed the door. Presley’s heart kicked in her chest and she realized her palms were damp. She couldn’t even imagine how the boy’s parents must feel. Harper hadn’t given any indication that anything was wrong, but in that moment, when everything hinged on what Harper was about to say, the hall felt suffocating. Harper had become the center of these people’s world. Presley tried to imagine what that responsibility must feel like, the burden it must be to carry, and the cost it must extract in emotional coin.

“Jimmy has some enlargement of his spleen,” Harper said immediately, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “That’s an organ in his belly like the glands we have in our neck that get swollen when we have a cold. I’m not finding anything else that might be causing his problems. There are a lot of things that could cause his symptoms, and I think we need to put him in the hospital to do some tests.”

“Hospital?” Emmy grabbed her husband’s arm with one hand and reached for Harper with the other. “God, Harper. Is it bad?”

Harper took her hand. Don Reynolds slid his arm around his wife’s shoulders almost as if he needed to lean on her to keep standing as much as to comfort her.

“I can’t tell, Emmy,” Harper said. “It might be something as simple as a virus or it could be something else. Whatever it is, I want to find out quickly so we can start to take care of things. Can you get someone to come stay with Darla so you can take him over to the hospital?”

“Tonight?” Don Reynolds’s voice cracked. “You want to take him to the hospital tonight?”

“I think that would be best. He hasn’t been eating, and he’s probably dehydrated. He’ll feel better when we give him some intravenous fluid, and I can get the tests I want started right away.”

Don looked at Emmy, his expression stunned. “I…I can call my mother. She’ll come over.”

“Good,” Harper said.

“Don, honey,” Emmy said soothingly, “why don’t you go call your mom. I’ll talk to Jimmy.”

“Okay, sure. I can do that. Sure.”

Emmy watched her husband trudge away before asking Harper, “Can I stay with him in the hospital?”

“Absolutely. Once we get him settled, we’ll have the nurses bring a cot into his room for you.”

Tears glistened on Emmy’s lashes, and she brushed at them impatiently. She stared down the hall as if checking to see they were still alone. “Harper, I want the truth.”

Harper brushed Emmy’s shoulder. “I’m telling you the truth, Emmy. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“But you suspect something, don’t you.”

Harper smiled, still calm and unruffled. “It’s my job to be suspicious. That’s why I want him in the hospital. My guessing right now is not going to help him or you.”

“We don’t have insurance. Last year’s crops were so bad, we had to let it go.”

“There are ways to handle that. And now is not the time to worry about it. What matters is Jimmy.”

“I want you to tell me first, soon as you know. Don…” Her voice shook. “Don is the best husband I could ever want, but he’s not strong about some things. He won’t…if it’s bad, he won’t do good.”

“You first, I promise.”

“All right, I’ll go talk to Jimmy alone if you don’t mind. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“Sure. You go ahead. Pack enough clothes for a few days.”

Emmy stopped and gave Harper a hard look, but finally disappeared.

When the door closed, Harper sighed tiredly and rubbed her face. Presley wished she could help her—help all of them somehow—and had never felt quite so useless in her life.

“We’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes,” Emmy said when she came out. “As soon as Don’s mother gets here.”

“All right, I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Harper said.

Emmy Reynolds nodded distractedly. “I’m going to get Darla ready to go to Sally’s.”

Harper and Presley let themselves out. When they reached the truck, Harper said, “I’ll take you home.”

“No,” Presley said. “I’m in the opposite direction from the hospital. The family will need you to be there when they get there, and I’m sure you have things that you need to do before they arrive.”

“I could be there a while.”

Presley opened her door and climbed into the truck. “Then we should get going.”

Harper got behind the wheel, grateful that Presley understood without her needing to tell her what was happening. Cases like this were some of the hardest she ever had to deal with. Emmy was scared, Don was terrified, and she feared she wouldn’t have good news for them. She started the truck and headed for the Rivers.

“Can you tell me what you suspect?” Presley asked.

Harper sighed. “Both his spleen and liver are enlarged. A boy his age, with his symptoms, we have to worry that he’s got leukemia or lymphoma. Either one is dangerous. It might be something simpler, but…”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No,” Harper said, “I don’t think so.”

“Are these things treatable?”

“Yes, and a lot more successfully than ten or twenty years ago, depending on exactly what he has. No matter what the type, though, if he has leukemia, he’s in for a rough ride. So are his parents.”

“God, that’s horrible.”

“Yes, it is.” Harper glanced over at Presley. “I’m sorry, this is going to take a few hours. Your night will be shot.”

“Don’t be silly. Just do what you have to do. I’ll be fine.” Presley clasped Harper’s wrist. “If I were home, I’d probably be working. I can do that while I wait just as well at the hospital.”

“You work too much.”

“Says the doctor who makes house calls on Saturday night.”

“I can see why my father liked company. It helps.” Harper turned her hand over to grasp Presley’s. Presley’s fingers on her forearm were comforting, a connection she welcomed as she thought about the night ahead and the pain she was likely to bring to Don and Emmy. Pain not of her doing, but pain she would have to deliver all the same. And she worried about Jimmy, a boy who shouldn’t have to deal with anything more serious than improving his baseball swing and what he would do on summer vacation. She held Presley’s hand a moment longer and let go.

“I’m glad it helps,” Presley said softly. “And I’m glad I’m here.”

Chapter Nineteen

“I’ll be in my office,” Presley told Harper as they stopped in front of the ER entrance. “I’m sure you’ll be tied up awhile, so don’t worry about calling.”

“I will when I’ve finished,” Harper said. “But if you want to leave—”

“I won’t, but if I do, my car is here. So don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

The big red-and-white sign overhead painted Harper’s face in stark relief. Gone was the quiet, careful woman who favored a secluded hideaway up among the branches of a great oak. Her jaw was set in granite and a hard light burned in her eyes. The warrior had emerged, and seeing her this way was enough to make Presley believe she was undefeatable. The family would believe that too, she had no doubt. “If I can do anything—”

“You have.” Harper stared up at the blazing sign and the building looming beyond. “I love this place, but there’s a lot of pain inside these walls.” She glanced at Presley. “Sometimes it’s lonely.”

Presley’s throat tightened. Had she ever been this brave? Had she ever admitted, even to herself, all the things she longed for? “Not tonight.”

Harper touched her hand. “No. Not tonight.”

“Go, do what you need to do. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Harper said.

They parted company just inside. In her office, Presley settled behind her desk and pulled up the projections Preston’s team had provided along with the hospital financials she’d collected earlier. She keyed in data and ran various scenarios, looking for loss points and duplications, wide margins between billables and receivables, searching for the places where the cash flow might be converted from negative to positive. Unfortunately, one of those areas was the number of staff—an overabundance or poor allocation of staff was a drain on resources.

She appreciated the importance of a low staff-to-patient ratio, but in some areas where patient outcome was not as critically impacted by a higher ratio, some of the nursing and technical staff could be reassigned or even eliminated. The same, she was certain, was going to show up in many areas of direct services. The physicians themselves were not salaried, being private practitioners with admitting privileges who consulted at the hospital and admitted patients when necessary. Those patients then funneled revenue into the system via their insurance or, in rare instances, direct pay. Unfortunately, as she scanned the accounts for the last five years, it was obvious the percentage of insured and/or direct pays was declining and the percentage with some kind of state or federal assistance rising. Patients on government subsidy had a very poor ratio of billables to receivables. And worst of all were the self-pays, which almost always meant no pay.

She leaned back, thinking about Jimmy Reynolds. His mother had said they had no insurance. They were a prime example of the working poor who couldn’t afford insurance, despite being above the poverty line. Who would pay for his care? Should it be the hospital’s burden, when it meant that too many Jimmy Reynoldses would result in no hospital at all? Should the community shoulder the burden, through taxes paid to the state that were used to provide medical assistance for families like Jimmy’s? Or, as the current administration proposed, was the answer in federally guaranteed health care? Would health care for all result, as it had in so many other countries, in a two-tier system where those who could afford private insurance would always have it, and with it, greater access to the system—the best doctors, the hospitals of their choice, and the most expedient care? Presley couldn’t change the system, she could only figure out ways to work within—or more often around—it. And no matter how she aligned and realigned the numbers, the Rivers needed a new source of revenue and a way to stop the current losses, or as Preston had rightly predicted, it would die.

A few days ago, that conclusion would have been not only inevitable, but totally acceptable. Now part of her wondered if there might be a different solution somewhere. At the very least, they could look at the reimbursement structure and perhaps find a way to cut the losses in that area during the transition. Carrie had already begun working on that. In the meantime, she would proceed with the current plan to convert ACH to a more lucrative institution. Ideally, SunView’s goal was to repurpose the physical plant with the least amount of construction. Usually, with staff already in place as it was here, that meant either a rehab center with long-term care potential or a retirement community with nursing care facilities.

She’d need to put together a local construction team to look at the hospital blueprints and draw up plans for conversion. SunView had done this all over the country, and once preliminaries went back to the design department, she’d have something to work with within a month. On that kind of accelerated schedule, she had a bit of time before she’d need to close the ER to admissions and redirect the staff to discharge or transfer in-house patients. But in one month she had to be sure.

An hour and a half later when she’d done as much as she could, she shut down the computer. Harper hadn’t called. She didn’t want to leave without finding out how Jimmy was doing, and she didn’t want to leave without seeing Harper. She already knew the family, so stopping in the ER wasn’t going to be intrusive. She packed her laptop and walked through the empty halls of the administrative wing into the clinical area. Unlike her office building at home where she was often the only one working late at night, the hospital was somnolent, but not asleep. Maintenance engineers pushed big machines with giant rotating brushes back and forth, polishing the worn tiled floors. Transport personnel pushed patients on litters and in wheelchairs toward X-ray and the elevators. Doctors and nurses talked in low voices as they passed. The lights in most of the hallways had been turned down, leaving the corners in shadow. Her footsteps seemed an intrusion on the solemn quiet.

The bright lights of the ER entrance signaled a return to activity. A middle-aged woman in sweatpants and a wrinkled checked shirt sat in the waiting area adjacent to the treatment area with a teenage boy who was holding his left arm against his chest, a grimace on his face. Just as Presley went to press the red button on the wall to open the automatic ER doors, they swung toward her. She stepped aside as a husky blond in a scrub shirt and jeans strode out.

“Jason Smith?” he called.

The boy and his mother stood up. Presley walked into the ER behind the trio as the man said, “Hi. I’m Will Eddy, a PA. You flipped your ATV, huh?”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “I think maybe I broke my arm.”

“Lucky he didn’t break his fool neck,” the woman muttered, stroking the boy’s hair as they walked.

The PA led the mother and son down the hall toward the treatment areas. “We’ll get an X-ray of your arm and see what’s going on.”

Presley checked the whiteboard. Three patients’ names were printed in precise black letters. Jimmy Reynolds was listed in room nine. No one was in sight, so she waited by the long counter opposite the board until someone turned up and she could ask about Jimmy. A minute passed and Harper came around the corner carrying a clipboard. She checked her watch when she saw Presley.

“Sorry, the time got away from me,” Harper said.

“That’s all right. I’ve been working. How are things going?”

“His labs should be done by now. I was just about to pull them up on the computer.” Harper gestured to a row of black-vinyl-topped stools on the far side of the counter where several monitors and bins of loose papers stood in a line. “Have a look.”

Presley followed Harper around the counter and sat next to her. Harper typed in her name and a password, then some other identifying data for Jimmy, and lab work appeared on the screen. Presley looked over the numbers, and she didn’t need to be a doctor to see the string of asterisks marking the abnormal values. WBC: 65,000. Blasts: 80%. She caught her breath.

“We’ll need a bone marrow biopsy in the morning,” Harper muttered, “but it looks like AML.”

“AML?”

“Acute myeloblastic leukemia. He’s in crisis.” Her voice was flat and hard.

“Meaning what?”

Harper pushed back and rolled her shoulders. “Meaning he needs chemo right away, and maybe a stem cell transplant. That will be the hematologist’s call.”

“Can you handle that here?” Presley thought of St. Joseph’s and Banner Good Sam and the other huge medical centers in Phoenix. The shiny glass-and-steel complexes, so different than this centuries-old stone-and-timber edifice, were cold and impersonal, but their very imposing size inspired confidence. But was newer always better?

“It depends on what the heme guy says,” Harper replied. “Chemotherapy is chemotherapy, and if Jimmy stays here, he’ll be closer to home. His parents have a seven-year-old at home, crops in the field, and animals to tend. They’ll want to be with him as much as they can, but they can’t leave everything behind, either.”

“Where’s the hematologist?”

“About thirty minutes away in Saratoga. They’ve got a satellite office near here and admit patients now and then. They’ll also see consults.”

“Can you get one of them here tonight?”

“For this, you bet.”

“I’m going to wait.”

Harper said, “It might be morning before we get this sorted.”

“Are you going to be able to get any sleep?”

“Probably not.”

“Then we’ll have an early breakfast.”

Harper studied her for a long moment. “I’m cooking, then.”

“We’ll discuss it.”

“Deal.” Harper rose. “There’s a staff lounge down the hall if you get tired of working. Bad TV and decent coffee, usually.”

“Thanks, I’ll find it.”

“I’m going to go tell his parents.”

Presley grasped her arm. “Harper?”

Harper stopped, a question in her eyes.

“It’s good that it’s you. They trust you.”

Harper blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

*

Presley contemplated going back to her office, but for once, the appeal of dry facts and figures eluded her. Her stomach was jittery with agitation, but she headed for the cafeteria for a cup of coffee anyhow. Compared to the rest of the first floor, the cafeteria was a beehive of activity. Not many tables were occupied, but cafeteria workers were slotting big aluminum trays of food into the wells in the long steam tables. The coffeemaker was perking away. Hospital personnel were straggling in, in pairs and small groups. Presley paused at the head of the food line, contemplating whether she was actually hungry or not. The pizza she’d shared had been hours ago, but she finally decided coffee was all her stomach could handle.

“Passing on late-night supper?”

Presley spun around. “Flannery. What in the world—” She caught herself, taking in Flannery’s scrubs. The last time she’d seen her had been after the practice, in a ratty T-shirt and gym shorts. “Saturday night. An accident?”

Flann shook her head. “For once, something better. A delivery.”

Presley could feel her brows climb. “You’re here delivering a baby?”

“Right now, I’m just babysitting. Valerie Simpson, the OB, was up at Lake George with her husband and twins when one of her patients decided to deliver early. She called and asked me if I could cover for her until she could get here.”

Presley immediately thought of the liability issues. OB was one of the specialties with the highest malpractice insurance rates and the largest number of suits brought against practitioners, primarily because anything involving either the mother or the child for years to come could potentially result in a suit. Flannery was no doubt capable, but she wasn’t a board-certified OB/GYN physician. There had been a time, not that many years before, when a general surgeon like Flannery would routinely provide care in many of the areas that were now relegated to subspecialists. General surgeons used to set fractures, deliver babies, treat trauma, and operate on every part of the body. Now some surgical specialty existed for almost everything—the eyes, the ears, the chest, the abdomen, the vascular system, the soft tissues, the female reproductive organs, the male urinary system, and of course, the world of the fetus before and after birth. “Does this happen often?”

“Not too often—I’ve assisted on a few tough deliveries when I’ve been handy. Every once in a while I’ll scrub in on a hysterectomy if Valerie needs help.”

“I’m beginning to see why you and Harper like this kind of practice. The things you do are almost unheard of in other places.”

Flannery’s gaze was direct and unwavering. “That’s a shame, don’t you think?”

“For doctors like the two of you, yes, it probably is. There are those, though, who would argue that you can’t possibly be good at all of those things, and specialization is the best way to provide the most effective care.”

Flannery didn’t appear offended. She made a face as if to say, so what. “I know my limits. So does Harper. That counts for more than anything.” She grinned, and the devil was back in her eyes. “I know what I’m good at too, so that helps.”

Presley laughed. “It’s in the genes, that surgical arrogance, isn’t it?”

“Might be in my blue jeans.”

“God, I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Pretty much.” Flannery picked up her tray and tilted her chin toward the hot table behind her. “You sure you don’t want something to eat? It’s free.”

“Really? Every night?”

“Yes, for the night staff and whoever else might be here working.”

“That’s got to be pricey.” Presley followed as Flannery walked toward a table.

“That’s it for you, isn’t it, the bottom line?” Flannery sat down, her comment not delivered critically, but simply matter-of-factly.

Presley took no offense. Why should she? “Yes, it has to be. That’s my job. Don’t you think being profitable is important?”

“It’s one thing that’s important.” Flannery picked up half of a huge triple-decker sandwich and took a healthy bite. She chewed for a few moments and sipped some coffee. “It’s not everything, though. Sometimes sacrificing a little of the bottom line for quality is worth the trade-off.”

“One hopes not to sacrifice either.”

“Let me ask you something. SunView—big hospitals, little hospitals, everything in between?”

“More or less. Fewer of the smaller ones all the time.”

“If you were sick or someone you loved was sick, where would you want them to go?”

“It would depend on what was wrong. I would want them to go where they could get the best care.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Flannery went back to her sandwich for a minute. “Define the best care.”

Presley pushed away the cup of coffee she didn’t want anymore. “I would think that would be obvious. The most up-to-date, accurate, effective care possible.”

“So you wouldn’t care if a robot delivered the treatment, as long as it was effective.”

Presley sighed. “I know where you’re going with this. Yes, the personal factor matters. Of course I would rather have a doctor like you or Harper, someone who knows me, who understands what’s important to me, who cares about me and my life beyond the illness, but—”

“You noticed? Harper must be doing a good job.”

Presley stiffened, a chill rippling down her spine. “I’m sorry?”

“Harper—she’s taking you around to show you the human side of things. Smart of her.”

“And I suppose that’s all part of some grand plan?” Presley said, feeling the coolness in her voice. “To sway me somehow?”

“I didn’t say that,” Flannery said, her tone conciliatory. “You can’t have a plan until you know where all the pieces fit on the board, and you’re pretty good at keeping that to yourself.”

“And what’s your role in all of this?”

Flannery’s eyes danced. “I was hoping to seduce you and then get the inside scoop, but I don’t see that happening now.”

Presley could not contain her laughter. “My God, your ego is lethal.”

Flannery lifted a huge piece of berry pie off her tray and placed it on the table between them. She picked up a spoon and handed it to Presley. “Share some pie?”

“I’m not even going to ask why you decided not to seduce me.”

“Can’t,” Flannery said, cutting off a piece of pie and forking it into her mouth. “It’s an unwritten rule.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No poaching, not when it’s serious.”

“I’m not following the metaphor.”

The laughter in Flannery’s eyes winked out. “Harper. She’s interested, you got that, right?”

Slowly, Presley sat back in her seat. “This is a conversation we’re not going to have.”

“All right, as long as we’re not having it, let me just mention one thing. She’s not like me. She doesn’t go in for variety. When she notices a woman, it’s because the woman means something to her.”

“Is that a warning?”

“No. Harper’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” Flannery picked up the spoon Presley had put down on the table and broke off another piece of pie. She held it out to Presley. “But you don’t know her well enough to know any of that, so I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Try it, it’s really good pie.”

Presley took the spoon and contemplated flinging its contents. When Harper notices a woman, it’s because she’s serious. She didn’t want Harper to be serious about her. Did she? “Have you had very many pies thrown at you?”

Flannery grinned. “Quite a few, actually.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I’ll back off now so you can eat that instead of throwing it.”

“Thank you.” Presley tried it. “Excellent pie.”

“Told you. What are you doing here so late, by the way?”

“Harper got a call while she was taking me and Carrie home, and I went out with her. She had to admit the boy and I came along.”

Flannery frowned. “Who?”

“Jimmy Reynolds. Harper thinks he has leukemia.”

“Son of a bitch,” Flannery said. “If that’s what Harper thinks, then he does. She doesn’t make mistakes about things like that.” Flannery rubbed her face. “That’s going to be hard on her.”

“Yes, children must be so difficult—”

“Especially after Katie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Katie, she came between Carson and Margie. She died of leukemia.”

“Oh God,” Presley whispered. “I’m so sorry for all of you.”

“Do me a favor,” Flannery said.

“All right,” Presley said, not needing to hear what Flannery wanted. Flannery was thinking of Harper, and so was she.

“If she doesn’t get out of here tonight, call me. I’ll come and drag her home. She’s gonna wear herself out trying to cure this kid.”

“Do you always look after her?”

“It’s mutual. That’s what siblings do.”

“Yes. Of course.” The cold settled around Presley’s heart. She had no idea what siblings did, only what competitors did. “Actually, we’re going to have breakfast, so I’ll be sure she gets some rest after.”

“Are you now?” Flannery studied her before sliding the pie a little closer. “Good. Have another bite.”

Chapter Twenty

A little after four a.m., Harper checked the staff lounge adjacent to the nurses’ station for Presley. She expected her to have left, even though she’d said she wanted to stay. The nights got long and lonely in the hospital after midnight. A single counter light burned in the kitchenette tucked into one corner. The television suspended on the wall by a thick metal bracket was silent, a rare and blessed event. Usually the set played day and night, tuned to a network talk show or, more often, a soap. Presley was stretched out on the sofa, her shoes lined up neatly on the floor beside it, her iPad resting on her chest. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, her breathing even. She was deeply asleep. Harper leaned against the door and looked at her.

Despite the fact that they’d both been in the same clothes going on a day, Presley looked a hell of a lot better than her, as if she could open her eyes and stride to the front of the boardroom in perfect command. Her pale green shirt and black trousers were apparently made of some miracle material that never wrinkled or lost their crisp, fresh appearance. Her hair appeared lustrous and tangle free. Presley was the embodiment of style and power, a combination Harper had never given much thought to before and now found seductively appealing. But what made her want to run her fingers through those perfect blond waves and wake Presley with a soft, claiming kiss had only a little to do with Presley’s attractiveness. She wanted to see that surprised look of wonder again—the one Presley had displayed when she first took in the tree house, as if she’d made a marvelous discovery. The pleasure she’d revealed when she’d slowly walked around, fingers trailing over the wood, the furniture, the old books on the shelves, as if everything was remarkable and new to her.

Harper had wondered then what kind of world Presley had come from that something as simple as that tree house could be so enthralling. Presley’s enchantment enchanted Harper, and from that moment on, she wanted to be the one to put that look of simple joy back on Presley’s face. She wanted to share with Presley what mattered most to her and learn what mattered to Presley, in the places Presley hid away from others. She had no doubt those soft, vulnerable places were there. She’d seen them in Presley’s eyes in the tree house, heard them in her voice when she’d talked to Margie, witnessed them when Presley stayed through the night to find out about a boy she’d just met. Stayed for Harper too. That thought was one she didn’t quite know what to do with. Presley turned her head and opened her eyes as if Harper had made some sound or movement that awakened her. But she hadn’t.

“How did you know I was here?” Harper asked.

Presley smiled. “I felt you.”

“Did you.”

Presley’s eyes were languorous and inviting. “Yes. You were watching me.”

“I was.” Harper’s throat was dry. “Do you mind?”

“No. I like it.” Presley’s gaze roamed over her. “I didn’t know I would.”

“You must get looked at a lot. You’re very beautiful.”

“I like that you think so. Another surprise.” Presley’s lips parted ever so slightly. “You do that a lot. Surprise me.”

“I like that.” Harper clenched inside, imagining the softness of Presley’s mouth on her body. She wanted the press of Presley’s flesh beneath her hands.

Presley touched the sofa by her hip. “Come sit down. You must be exhausted.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No?”

Harper shook her head. “Just now I won’t be able not to touch you, and this is hardly a private place.”

Presley sat up and pushed her hair back with both hands. As if by divine design, every strand seemed to fall into place perfectly. “Do you have another suggestion?”

“Yes. My place.” Harper swallowed, tried to ignore the pounding in her belly. “I promised you breakfast.”

“Yes, you did.” Presley rose and slipped into her shoes.

“How do you do that?” Harper asked.

“How do I do what?”

“Look so perfectly put together when all the rest of us mortals would look like yesterday’s dinner.”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Presley laughed and color flooded her face.

Harper was very glad she’d stayed in the doorway. She liked seeing the heat in Presley’s face, liked that she’d been the cause. “Where’s your car?”

“In the back lot. Not far from where you parked.”

“Follow me, then?” Harper asked Presley as they walked out into the night.

“I will.”

Dawn was still an hour away and the night was cool beneath a starlit sky. The half-moon gave just enough light to see by.

“Wait,” Harper said.

Presley stopped. “What?”

Harper slid her fingertips into Presley’s hair and drew her close. “I have to do this.”

She kissed her slowly, savoring the softness of her lips. She stopped before she couldn’t, her breath trapped in her chest and desire a sharp pain in her belly. “You’re beautiful in the moonlight.”

“And you are dangerous,” Presley said in a husky voice, “in any light.”

“No,” Harper murmured, “not me. Flann is the charmer. I don’t have her way with women.”

Presley pressed her palm to the center of Harper’s chest and kissed her, a firm but fleeting kiss. “There you are quite wrong, Dr. Rivers.”

“I have a terrible urge to put my hands on you,” Harper confessed.

Presley drew a shaky breath. Harper was trembling. I have a terrible urge to put my hands on you.

Presley couldn’t think why she should stop her. Harper just made her want so damn much. She summoned the last of her willpower. “And I would like it very much if you would go get into your truck and show me how to get to your house.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want a lot of things, but right now I think the safest place for us is in our separate vehicles.”

“All right. My place isn’t far.”

Presley sighed in relief when Harper turned away, doing what she had not been able to do—break the connection between them. Somehow Harper managed to do what no one and nothing else in her life had ever accomplished—broken her control. She didn’t want to want her. She didn’t want to touch her, and she couldn’t seem to stop either one. Hopefully by the time she’d driven a few miles, she’d have regained control of her reason and put her runaway hormones back where they belonged—behind locked doors until she was in charge again. Perhaps by the time she reached Harper’s, the kiss would no longer tingle on her lips. She could only hope, because she didn’t seem to have the ability to do anything else.

*

Harper watched Presley’s headlights in her rearview mirror as she traveled the empty roads home. The kiss left her agitated and high at the same time. She ought to back off, the timing was all wrong. Hell, Flann was probably right. Everything was all wrong, but Presley had kissed her back. And she wanted more.

The short drive wasn’t long enough to dispel the simmering in her gut, but the cool air had cleared her head a little by the time she reached the house. She stopped in front of the barn, and Presley pulled in behind her and got out.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Harper said when she climbed out of the truck. “You can wait for me on the back porch or come with me if you want. I need to do a few things in the barn.”

Presley walked toward her. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Company would be nice.” On impulse, Harper held out her hand. When Presley’s hand slipped into hers, a sense of rightness filled her. “I just need to feed the animals since I never got back here last night.”

The cats, one yellow male and a tortoiseshell female, were curled up together on a window shelf in the back of the barn, the same place they’d slept since they were kittens. They raised their heads when she opened two cans of food and jumped down as soon as she put the bowls on the floor.

“I have kittens,” Presley said.

“Oh yeah? How many?”

“Four. I haven’t seen the mother.”

“She might have left them.”

“No. Really?”

“It’s possible.” Harper petted the tortie. “Their mother hung around until they were about five weeks old, and then one day she just didn’t come back. They stayed, though.”

“I’d better check on them later. They might need food.”

Harper laughed. “It depends on what you want.”

“I’m sorry?”

“All you have to do to keep barn cats is feed them.”

“Well, of course I’ll feed them.”

“Then they’ll be yours forever.”

Clouds passed through Presley’s expressive eyes. “But what will happen when I’m not there anymore?”

“Then I imagine they’ll miss you,” Harper said softly.

Presley took Harper’s hand again. “Who else?”

“What do you mean?” Harper murmured.

“Who else do you need to feed?”

Harper smiled. “The goats.”

“Goats. What do you do with goats?”

“These particular goats are mostly pets, but they have excellent coats, and right before winter, we’ll strip them and donate the fiber to a local fiber mill. They’ll spin it into yarn.”

“Do you—knit?” Presley tried to hide her disbelief but failed.

“Not hardly. That’s why I donate it.” As they talked, Harper led Presley outside and around the back of the barn to another pasture. She opened the fence. “Be careful of the top line there, it’s electrified.”

Inside, she called to the goats, who bounded out of their shed and came toward her at a trot, several of them bleating in recognition. She checked their water, added more hay to the rack, and scratched their ears.

“Now it’s our turn for food.” Harper locked the pasture gate, and Presley took her hand again. They reached the house just as the sun came up.

“I can’t believe it’s morning.” Presley paused on the top step and took a deep breath. “God, the air smells good.”

“Tired?” Harper held open the screen door on the back porch. She rarely locked the house and hadn’t the day before when she’d left. The kitchen still smelled faintly of cornbread and bacon from the meal she’d cooked for Flann.

“I’m used to late hours and erratic schedules,” Presley said. “I’m more hungry than tired, and maybe a little grimy too.”

“Me too.” Harper grinned. “What would you like? Coffee or how about a shower?”

Presley stilled. The idea of a shower, one she didn’t take alone, was suddenly all she could think about. All she could see was Harper, steam rising around her, her hair plastered to her neck as water coursed over her shoulders, streaming between her breasts and down the length of her abdomen. The thought of sliding her palms where the water had just been, over the curves of Harper’s breasts and the hard, smooth plane of her abdomen, made her hands ache. Going to her knees and pressing her mouth to the heat between Harper’s thighs drove the hunger to a fever pitch.

“Coffee.”

Harper’s eyes searched hers. “That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

“Were you reading my mind?” Presley laughed ruefully. “I certainly hope not.”

“I caught a glimpse of what you were thinking.” Harper rested both hands on Presley’s hips. “I hope I saw right.”

“What do you think you saw?”

“Us, naked, under the water, touching.”

Presley’s legs trembled and want clutched at her throat. “It’s crazy. We’d be crazy to even once—”

Harper pulled her closer. “How much crazier is it going to get if we don’t?”

Presley shivered. Heat poured from Harper’s body. “I don’t know. I’m not thinking very clearly.”

“I’m not thinking at all.” Harper kissed Presley’s throat. “You know what? That feels really good—just feeling you.” She kissed her again, palms sliding down the length of Presley’s back. “Feels right. You taste amazing.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about—”

“I don’t think we should talk about anything at all. Not right now.” Harper raised her head and her eyes were endless. “Tell me no now, if you mean it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Presley whispered.

“Then come with me.”

The next instant they were upstairs—at least Presley had no memory of anything other than suddenly being in a large stone-tiled bathroom with a glass-walled double shower, and warm water already streaming from the showerhead. Maybe she was still imagining… She blinked, but everything remained exactly the same. Only now Harper was opening her shirt. Somewhere a voice warned her she should stop, think, but the sound faded with every passing second. When the backs of Harper’s fingers brushed over the top of her breast, she heard only the steady beat of water on glass and her own heart pounding in her throat. She needed to feel her. Grasping Harper’s shirt, she tugged open the buttons and pushed the sleeves down Harper’s arms, realizing only after she did it she’d trapped Harper’s arms by her sides.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t stop there,” Harper gasped.

“No.” Presley dropped to her knees, opened Harper’s pants, and pulled down the zipper. She kissed the hollow at the base of Harper’s belly. “I can’t.”

“Presley,” Harper said, her voice so deep and husky Presley wouldn’t have recognized it under any other circumstances. “You should be very careful there. I’m very much on the edge.”

“So am I.” Presley looked up and couldn’t hide her smile. Dominating someone as strong as Harper was an aphrodisiac so exciting a single touch would make her explode. She pulled Harper’s shirt the rest of the way off. “And I want you.”

Harper’s lids flickered closed. Her fingers wove into Presley’s hair. “Then I’m all yours.”

All yours. A figure of speech, one she liked. Presley pulled Harper’s pants and underclothes down over her hips and Harper stepped out of her shoes and the rest. Presley kissed low down on her belly again and rubbed her cheek against the soft skin. Muscles twitched beneath her mouth. “Hold on to something.”

“I am.” Harper’s hand tightened on the back of her neck, drawing her mouth closer.

Presley pressed a kiss to the delta between Harper’s thighs. Harper went rigid as stone beneath her palms. She kissed her again, deeper, and Harper groaned. The sound went through her like the surgeon’s knife, swift and clean and bright. She slid her arms around Harper’s hips and held her close, held her up, as she stroked and kissed and licked and drove her up…up and up and over. Harper trembled and groaned Presley’s name, rocking against her.

Presley slid one hand to her own trousers, opened them, and pushed them down. She was ready to come but she wanted Harper’s skin against her when she did. As soon as Harper stilled she rose, dragged Harper under the water, and kissed her. The water was cool compared to the heat of Harper’s mouth, the burning invitation of Harper’s skin.

“Ah God, I’m so ready for you.” Gasping, Presley pressed her face to Harper’s neck. “Please.”

Harper backed her against the cool tiles and slid one hand between her thighs. “I’m here.”

Presley threw her head back as Harper filled her, the pressure and pleasure catapulting her to the edge. She gripped Harper’s shoulders, digging her fingers in as the spasms radiated from deep within her, ripples in a pond, spreading and spreading. “Oh God. I’m coming.”

“Yes,” Harper breathed.

Presley needed to see Harper’s face, but the pleasure was so intense, for an instant she was blind. She shuddered, and when she could focus again, Harper was there, filling her, taking her, like no one ever before.

Chapter Twenty-one

Harper didn’t know how long she’d been in the shower. The water beating against her back was beginning to cool, but her blood still burned. Every sense was saturated with Presley—her taste, her scent, the silky glide of her skin. The soft catch in her breath when she started to come. She buried her face in Presley’s neck and ran her hands over Presley’s back to her ass. Realizing she was leaning on her, she mumbled, “Am I too heavy yet?”

“No. You’re good. Better than good.” Presley rested with her head back against the tiles, her eyes half-open, one hand clenched in Harper’s hair, the other lax against the shower wall. “I can’t move anyway, and I like the way you feel against me.”

Harper liked it too. More than she’d ever imagined. “We’re going to lose the hot water in a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t care.”

Harper chuckled. “You will.”

“Uh-huh.”

With a sigh, Harper braced her arm against the wall and pushed away, severing their connection. Instantly, she wanted her again. She enjoyed sex, although she didn’t think about it much and never set out on a date with sex as a goal. This was more than sex—this need to touch Presley, to explore her, to undo her, was a craving that fascinated and, in a way, terrified her. What happened to the craving if it went unfulfilled? Did one die of hunger or go mad from yearning? She felt nearly mad now, and Presley was only a few inches away.

“What are you thinking?” Presley asked languorously.

“I’m not thinking anything.” Harper wasn’t sure even her thoughts were her own at the moment. Her mind was an electrical storm of raw nerve endings.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes just went dark, the way they do when you’re thinking serious thoughts.”

Harper settled her hands on either side of Presley’s shoulders, keeping her caged, not wanting to let her away too quickly. “How do you know that?”

Presley’s smile was secretive and seductive. “I’ve been watching you.”

“I know. You do that a lot.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not when you’re watching me.”

Presley’s brow raised just a little bit. “Who else do you think I’ve been watching?”

“Flann.” Harper had never once in her life been jealous of her sister. Not when Flann hit better than her in Little League softball, even though she was the oldest and bigger and should’ve been stronger. Not when the girls in high school, even the seniors a year or two ahead of them, chased after Flann and never her. Not even in college when they took the same courses and once in a while Flann would beat her on a test. They were almost always evenly matched, physically and intellectually, but Flann always had an edge. Always the sharper sword, the faster wit. The pirate to her navigator. Not this time, though. This time there was no room for Flann.

“I don’t look at her like I look at you.” Presley curled her fingers through Harper’s hair and tightened her fist at the back of her neck. She kissed Harper hard on the mouth, then lightly on the jaw and lighter still on her throat. “Not once. And I never will.”

“I don’t have any right—”

“You’re right, you don’t.” Presley bit Harper’s shoulder lightly and Harper growled. “But it’s true all the same. And my choice.”

“Thank you. I already get crazy enough when I look at you.”

Presley licked the water running down Harper’s neck. “Do you?”

“You couldn’t tell?” Harper caught Presley’s chin between her fingers and kissed her, deep and long. “We have to get out of the water.”

Presley stroked Harper’s chest. “Afraid of the cold?”

“No. I want you again, in bed, under me.”

Presley’s breath hissed in and she raked her nails down Harper’s back. “Are you asking or telling?”

“Do I have to ask?”

“No. Because I want you again too.”

*

Flann pulled in to the White place a little after six thirty in the morning. She’d driven by Harper’s and seen the two cars in the driveway. Her first thought had been Go, Harper! but almost immediately a fist of unease had settled in the pit of her stomach. Presley Worth was the first woman to come along who had the ability to shred Harper’s heart. Considering all the circumstances, that possibility was likely. Flann couldn’t just stand by and watch. She left her Jeep and walked around to the back door, hoping Carrie wouldn’t take her for a prowler and call 911.

Carrie sat on the back steps with a mug in her hand and something that smelled fabulous on a plate balanced on her knees. She looked up expectantly and then her welcoming smile turned to one of concern. “Has something happened to Presley?”

“No,” Flann said quickly, “everyone’s fine. I take it you haven’t heard from her.”

“Not this morning. She left a message last night that she was at the hospital, but I haven’t heard from her since then, and she didn’t come home—” She broke off and her cheeks flushed, making her look as innocent as a teenager. “Oh. Crap. Could you forget I said that?”

“That’s okay. You’re not giving anything away. I already knew that.”

“And I suppose you know where she spent the night?” Carrie asked slowly.

“I do. That will be up to Presley to tell you, though.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “As if there were a lot of possibilities.”

“Right. We can both pretend surprise, then.” Flann pointed to the plate. “Is there more of whatever that is somewhere?”

“It’s bread. With cheese or something so delicious in it I’m in danger of eating the entire thing.”

“Can I help you dispose of it?”

“I’ll get you some. Have you been up all night?”

“No. Only most of it.”

Carrie shook her head. “You’re all crazy, you know that, right?”

“All of us who?”

“All the Rivers doctors.”

“Possibly. Probably. Bread?”

“Coffee?” Carrie rose and the rooster who’d been pecking in the yard waddled toward the stairs, his head cocked.

“You’ve got a friend.”

“Presley’s been spoiling him. Now he expects breakfast.”

“That’s what happens when you feed a vagabond.”

Carrie grinned over her shoulder. “What happens when you feed wandering doctors?”

“That’s a secret.”

Laughing, Carrie disappeared inside. Flann followed and said through the screen, “Do you want me to do anything?”

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Some of that bread with a whole lot of butter will be fine for now. And the coffee. Especially the coffee.”

“Goes without saying,” Carrie called back. “Sit down, I’ll be out in just a second.”

Flann settled on the top step with her back against the porch post. The sun was up, the sky was clear, and birds were singing. She couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be or anything else she’d rather be doing. Carrie came out and handed her a cup of coffee and a plate with a thick slab of bread that smelled fresh from the oven. Carrie sat opposite her and tossed another piece of crust to the rooster.

“I think he gets bored during the day.”

“He needs some hens,” Flann observed.

“I was thinking the same thing. How do you go about doing that?”

“Plenty of farmers around here have some. There are probably even chicks left at the local feed store.”

“Are they hard to take care of?”

“Not as soon as they get big enough to run away from predators. And you’ve got the rooster. Instinctually, he’ll protect them.”

Carrie sighed. “I’d love to get some, but I don’t think we’re going to be here long enough.”

“A quick turnaround, huh?”

Carrie grew still. “That will be up to Presley.”

“But you and Presley are a team, right?”

“Wrong,” Carrie said quietly. “Presley is my boss.”

“Just in name only, I bet.”

Carrie shook her head. “No. She really is my boss, and she’s very good at what she does.”

“And what she does is take places like the Rivers and turn them into something else.”

“Sometimes. It depends on the circumstances.” Carrie’s tone had cooled. “And I don’t have anything else to tell you.”

“Fair enough. This is jalapeño cheddar, by the way.” Flann finished the bread, which was about the best bread she’d ever tasted next to her mother’s. “My sister is not a player.”

“I know a player when I see one.” Carrie stood up abruptly. The chill in her voice had turned to ice. “And I know which of the Rivers sisters that would be.”

Flann looked up at her, grinning. “No argument from me. And I’m not trying to piss you off.”

Carrie crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s get something straight, Flannery. Presley is my boss, and she’s also my friend. What she does in her personal life is her business, and none of mine or yours. I’m sure your sister is quite capable of looking after herself.”

Flann stayed sitting, letting Carrie have the upper hand and the dominant position. She liked her fire and she liked her loyalty. “Under most circumstances, I’d agree with you on all counts. But if the two of you really are only here for a short time, that means the Rivers is probably not going to stay the way it is now. Harper will fight it, and that means trouble for your friend and my sister.”

Carrie sighed. “That’s something neither of us is going to be able to change.”

“Maybe. Maybe you’re right.”

“And what about you? How do you feel about what’s happening?”

“Me? I go with the flow. I’ll land on my feet one way or the other.”

“If you don’t invest much, you can’t lose much, right?”

Flannery rose and dusted off the back of her jeans. She stacked the cup on the empty plate. “You’ve clearly got my number.”

“I never asked for it,” Carrie said dryly.

“Would you like it?”

“No.”

Flann grinned, automatically hiding her disappointment. She didn’t always win, and she rarely minded when she was refused. This time she did. That was reason enough to back off. “Thank you for the coffee and the food.”

“You’re welcome.” Carrie took the dishes. “Thanks for letting me know that Presley’s okay.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope.”

*

Presley straddled Harper’s hips, both hands braced on her shoulders. The window was open. Somewhere a rooster crowed. Early morning sunlight made Harper’s dark hair glint against the snow-white pillow. They were naked in the center of her big bed, and the cool air whispered over Presley’s flushed skin like a kiss. She was wet against Harper’s abdomen, the faint friction keeping her on a razor’s edge. The threads of her control were stretched tight but she held on, loving the tension strumming through her muscles. When Harper cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with her thumbs, Presley threw back her head and moaned.

“I love the way you look right now,” Harper said. “I love you moving on top of me.”

“I’m going to come on top of you any second.” Her breath came out in ragged pants. She was oh so close now. Her vision swam. Harper’s hands tightened on her breasts, the pressure on her nipples sending a jolt to her clitoris. Electricity rippled down her spine. “God. Soon.”

The room disappeared and Presley clung to Harper’s body, found her eyes and held to the solid strength of her, rocking harder, faster. Her head dropped, her hair curtained her face, the pleasure so intense she bit her lip to hold back a cry. Harper gripped her hips, pulled her back and forth, rubbing their flesh together. Higher, faster, closer. Breaking, falling, flying.

Presley’s spine snapped back and she shattered with a cry.

Harper’s arms came around her, and in one swift movement, Presley was beneath her, still coming when Harper entered her, forcing her back to the peak. She came again. Lost her breath, lost her mind.

“Don’t move,” she whispered when Harper would have withdrawn. She wrapped her arms around Harper’s shoulders. “I love to feel you inside me.”

“I want to make you come again.” Harper kissed Presley’s throat. “I love the way you come.”

Presley laughed shakily. “I need a few minutes…or maybe a few hours. I’m not used to—” She broke off, for some reason not wanting the past to intrude on this moment. This moment, the last hour, maybe the last day, weren’t part of her normal life. She’d stepped beyond the known, and soon, in an hour or a few more, she’d have to return to the life she knew. These moments with Harper would remain apart, as separate as everything about this place—these people, this life, this painful beauty. She had been right all along—she was a time traveler, and as long as she was, she had to keep her secrets.

“Neither am I…used to this,” Harper said, unafraid it seemed, to expose her secrets. “And I—”

“I was wrong.” Presley kissed Harper, silencing her before either of them could reveal any more. “I’m ready for you again now.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Presley woke to the sensation of pleasure. Every muscle was relaxed, her body humming in the aftermath of being incredibly well used and thoroughly satisfied. She stretched with a sigh, and her fingertips grazed Harper’s hip. Harper lay curled beside her, one arm encircling her waist. Pleasure gave way to panic.

What in God’s name had she done? She knew the answer. She’d lost her mind. She’d followed her instincts and fallen into bed with a woman who couldn’t be more wrong for her on any level she could possibly define. Professionally, at least, the worst she could be accused of was bad judgment, but for her that was the worst indictment possible. Success in the take-no-prisoners world of corporate supremacy demanded she always be on top of every situation and ten steps ahead of her competition. Some would see her involvement with Presley as a smart strategic move—bringing every weapon to bear against one of her strongest foes. But she knew better. She was in greater danger of being swayed by Harper than she was of influencing her. A weakness she must keep to herself.

Already she’d exposed too much—physically and emotionally—allowing Harper in a near-suicidal gesture to draw her into the Rivers’s world of community and family, to put faces to the numbers she must see dispassionately, to create a sense of responsibility and empathy that could only cloud her judgment. Harper was dangerous. She made Presley do things—worse, made her want to do things—that she knew were ill-advised. How many more Jimmy Reynoldses would she see before she too disregarded the bottom line and started making exceptions that would end in disaster?

She saw these dangers clearly, had seen them from the first moment Harper caught her attention, yet here she was, naked, body and soul, and the thing utmost in her mind was more. More of what Harper made her feel. Singularly special. Infinitely desirable. Uniquely essential.

When she was with Harper, when Harper’s hands were on her, inside her, she knew what she had never known before—that she mattered not for what she had done or could do, but for what Harper saw inside her. She mattered for those parts of herself she’d held back for so long, knowing they were not wanted. She should not be here, but she wanted nothing else, at least for a little while longer. She turned on her side and kissed Harper.

“That’s a nice way to wake up.” Harper pulled Presley tighter until their bodies touched. She played her fingers down Presley’s stomach, feathering lower, over and over, until Presley’s thighs tensed and her belly hummed.

“We can’t,” Presley said.

Harper partially opened one eye. “Why not?”

“I don’t have the strength. I need food. You must too.”

“Food before sex. Hmm.” Harper grinned. “Obviously not a country girl.”

Presley delicately bit Harper’s lower lip. “City girls have other virtues.”

Harper rolled over on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed, a hand around each wrist. She slid one thigh between Presley’s and kissed her. “Virtues? I certainly hope not.”

Presley felt herself melting again, a wanting so sharp the pleasure was nearly pain. She lifted her hips and when Harper pressed down against her, she moaned. “You’ll have trouble explaining the dead body in your bed.”

“Nah. I’ll hide you in the barn. No one will ever know.” Harper shifted lower on the bed and settled her shoulders between Presley’s thighs.

Presley watched her, a pulse beating in her center, anticipating, needing. She tilted her hips. “Then let me die happy.”

“I won’t let you die.” Harper kissed her.

“Oh,” Presley sighed. “I don’t care as long as you do that.”

Harper kissed her again, her lips a soft circle of power and pleasure.

Presley whimpered and closed her eyes. “So good.”

“Mmm. Yes.” Harper raised up, kissed Presley’s belly, and rolled over her and out of bed.

Presley’s eyes flew open. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Naked, Harper strode across the room to a big chestnut armoire by the window. She opened it, pulled out a pair of faded jeans, and yanked them up her long, lean legs. “I promised to fix you breakfast, remember? I keep my promises.”

“Now?” Presley heard the edge in her voice and didn’t care if she sounded petulant or demanding or both. She wanted. Needed. God, she had to come.

Harper’s gaze swept over her and her eyes darkened. “You’re not going anywhere right away, are you?”

“I’m not going anywhere at all until you get back over here and finish.”

“Is that right?” Harper’s voice held a dangerous edge, one Presley liked very much.

Presley slowly stroked the inside of her thigh, letting her fingers brush as near as she dared to where she wanted Harper’s mouth. She was afraid if she got too close she might explode. “That’s right. Unless you want me to do it myse—”

Harper strode to the bed, gripped Presley’s hips, and swung her around until her legs drooped over the side. She knelt on the floor, lifted Presley’s thighs to her shoulders, and took Presley into her mouth in one swift motion.

“Damn you.” Presley arched off the bed, gripping the sheet with one hand and Harper’s head with the other. She was close to fracturing into a thousand brilliant shards. Harper’s mouth was hot and wet, fierce, demanding. “I’m going to…oh!”

Presley came hard, faster than she wanted, unable to stop a cry. Shaken, she could only struggle for breath.

Harper leaned back, shirtless, her neck flushed and her eyes triumphant. “Are you good for now?”

“For now,” Presley gasped. “Go away…for now.”

Laughing, Harper rose and gently eased Presley’s legs back onto the bed. “I’ll get to work on that breakfast.”

Presley watched her pull on a T-shirt, captivated by the way the muscles in her shoulders and chest shimmered beneath her smooth skin. She loved the arch of her rib cage, the indentation of her navel, the hollow above her hipbone. Unbelievably, desire stirred. “You are dangerously sexy.”

Harper regarded her solemnly. “If I am, it’s because you do things to me. Make me a little crazy.”

“I’m glad I’m not alone, then.”

The dark brooding look was back in Harper’s eyes again. She leaned over the bed, stroked Presley’s hair away from her face with one hand, and kissed her so softly Presley felt tears come to her eyes. “You’re not alone.”

Presley caught her hand. “Do I need to say last night was amazing?”

“No,” Harper said softly. “For me too.”

Presley shivered, hid it with a smile. “I need a shower.”

Harper straightened. “Go ahead. My pants won’t fit you, but I’ve got some cut-off sweats and a T-shirt that will. Not your usual style, but it’ll do for now.”

“It’ll do just fine,” Presley said, ridiculously pleased by the idea of wearing Harper’s clothes.

She waited until Harper put the clothes on the bottom of the bed and left the room before rising. She didn’t trust herself anywhere near her for a few minutes. How was it possible she could still want her so fiercely? And how was she possibly going to hide that from her?

*

The phone rang while Harper was rummaging in the refrigerator for food. She grabbed her cell off the table, swiped answer, and automatically tapped speaker. “Dr. Rivers,” she said as she pulled eggs and spinach from the fridge.

“I’m making breakfast,” her mother said. “Why don’t you come on over. Flann is here and says you’ve been up all night.”

“I…” Harper listened and couldn’t hear the shower running upstairs any longer. She turned off the speaker and lowered her voice. “Thanks, but I can’t.”

Her mother was silent for what felt like half a lifetime. “You’re welcome to bring company.”

Harper groaned. “Mama, please.”

Ida laughed. “Harper, darlin’, I know you’re an adult. You think I don’t know what adults get up to on a Saturday night? In fact, your father and I—”

“Come on, give me a break here.”

“I promise Flannery will not embarrass you.”

“Yes, I will,” Flann yelled from the background.

“Flannery O’Connor Rivers. Hush, now,” Ida said sternly. “The invitation stands. You do what you think best, but I expect to see you to dinner later today.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.” Harper hung up, smiling, and walked upstairs. Presley was pulling on one of her old T-shirts as she walked into the bedroom. “My mother invited us to breakfast.”

Presley stopped, sheer horror freezing her blood. “Your mother? Oh my God. How does your mother know I’m here?”

“She didn’t exactly invite us, just me and my guest.”

“Then she doesn’t know it was me?”

“No,” Harper said slowly. “Would that be a problem?”

“Harper, think of the situation.” Presley put her hands on her hips. She hadn’t wanted to have this conversation now, not yet. She’d wanted to sit with Harper in the big kitchen in the sunlight for a few more minutes and pretend that none of this had to end. She should know by now that the things she wished for were almost always the things she could never have. “I’m not the woman to take home to your family on Sunday morning, for God’s sake.”

“Are you ashamed or embarrassed that you slept with me?”

“What? No, of course not. But—”

“But what? Which one is it? Embarrassed or ashamed?”

“Neither, damn it.” To give herself time to formulate some kind of rational response, Presley gathered up her underwear and the pants and shirt she’d shed in her haste to get Harper’s hands on her the night before. “But it wasn’t very wise.”

“Why not?”

Presley clutched the bundle of clothes to keep from tearing her hair out. “You know why not. You know why I’m here. I have to make some hard decisions that are going to make a lot of people unhappy. It won’t do your reputation or mine any good for people to think—” She broke off in exasperation. “Damn it.”

“To think what, Presley? Our personal life is our own business.”

“We do not have a personal life. Not together. We just slept together.”

The muscles along Harper’s jaw might have been made of stone, they moved so little as she said in a low ominous tone, “We just slept together. Just a little sex—seven or was it eight times? Is that what you think it was?”

“I wasn’t counting,” Presley said archly. “I wasn’t aware you were.”

“Don’t try turning this around. I’m not some flunky in the boardroom. Just sex—is that what you think it was?”

“What else could it be?” Presley gestured to the ridiculously beautiful scene outside the bedroom window. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, birds singing, for goodness’ sake. “You live in this fairy-tale world, but you can’t possibly believe in fairy tales. You know why I’m here. The hospital is dead, Harper. It’s been dying for years. Everything is going to change, some people are going to be very unhappy, and the last thing either of us needs is rumor about collusion or special favors.”

“You’ve already decided, haven’t you,” Harper said. “All this vague talk about analyzing usage and patient referral patterns and all the rest of the doublespeak was just smoke and mirrors to placate the simple country folk.”

“The simple country folk who thought they could seduce me or charm me or appeal to my sense of personal responsibility in order to change my mind?” Presley shot back. Damn her for refusing to see reason. Why did this have to be so hard?

Harper cursed under her breath. “You’re wrong about me and you’re wrong about the Rivers.”

“You can’t see it,” Presley said softly, “because you’re built to fight death.”

“I don’t give up, if that’s what you mean,” Harper said slowly. “Not everything changes. Not me. Not who I am, what I care about, what I feel.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I am.” Presley meant it. She was sorry she would likely destroy a part of Harper’s world, sorry their goals were so opposed, sorry she couldn’t go back a few months, a few years, and change the future of the Rivers.

“For what? For not being able to see beyond the cold, empty numbers you fill your life with? Sorry for touching me, for letting me touch you? Sorry for feeling something—anything?” Harper shook her head. “No, I don’t need you to feel sorry for me about anything at all.”

Presley’s chin lifted, and she kept her voice steady despite the pain. She had lots of practice at that. “I think it would be better if I go.”

Harper stepped aside. “You’ve already left.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Harper didn’t look up from the book she’d been staring at for the last hour when she felt the tree house sway and someone enter.

“I saw your truck.” Flann, wearing her usual weekend uniform of T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, dropped onto the sofa next to Harper and put her feet on the crate that served as a coffee table. “You missed a good breakfast.”

Harper lifted the book without looking at Flann. “Reading here.”

Flannery craned her neck. “The Case of the Missing Girlfriend.”

“I should have put up the no-visitors sign,” Harper said.

“I came to see why you’re brooding. Night didn’t turn out the way you thought?”

With a sigh, Harper closed the book, The Secret of the Old Clock, and set it aside. “What exactly did you tell Mama this morning?”

“Not a thing. Except that I’d seen you at the hospital and figured you’d been up all night. Were you?”

“Almost.”

“I heard about Jimmy Reynolds.”

“How?”

“I ran into Presley in the cafeteria last night. She said you thought he had leukemia.”

“AML—confirmed. Frank Cisco did the bone marrow biopsy a few hours ago.”

“Hell. That sucks.”

“Yeah. I just came from seeing him. He got his first dose of chemo already.”

“How are Emmy and Don?”

“Don broke down, but Emmy is a rock. Jimmy takes after her that way.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Flann said.

“Thanks. For now we wait and see how he responds after a round or two.”

Flann nodded. “So getting back to last night. Was your missing breakfast a good sign or bad?”

Harper scrubbed her face with her palms, put her head back, and laced her fingers behind her neck. Her back ached faintly—pleasantly sore from propping her body up over Presley, from Presley’s fingers digging into her when she came. “Goddamn it.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

Harper stared at the ceiling, tracing the grain in the wood, fascinated as she always was by the thoughts of where the wood had been before it became part of this sanctuary. Part of a barn, most likely, felled on some farm a couple hundred years ago. The wood had survived long after the lives of those who had hewn it had ended, would continue on long after her too, unless someone came along and knocked the tree house down and used the wood for kindling or left it in the underbrush to rot. “The night—or what was left of it after I got Jimmy squared away—was fine. The morning was the problem.”

Flann laughed wryly. “Aren’t they always? Of course, knowing you, you’d want to talk, and that always leads to trouble.”

“What do you do? Sneak away in the dead of night?”

“Of course not. I don’t sneak away until dawn. Most women like a repeat first thing in the morning after a night of great sex.”

Harper clenched her jaw. Presley had wanted her again in the morning too. She wished she could think of the night with Presley as just great sex, but she couldn’t. The sex had been wonderful, to be sure, but it was the hitch in her heart every time she thought about Presley that kept her tethered to the memory, that kept alive the longing to touch her again, to hear her sounds of pleasure again, to lose herself in the beauty of her coming and the annihilation of coming with her. “Fuck.”

“That good, huh?”

“Have you ever been with a woman who makes you forget everything except her?”

Flann’s face closed the way it always did when something cut too close to the bone. “No. And I hope you haven’t either.”

“Do you think that’s something you can control?”

“I think it’s something you can avoid with a little bit of thought.” Flann raked a hand through her thick sandy hair. “Jesus, Harper. Didn’t we talk about this? You had to know it was a bad idea.”

A bad idea. Presley had said something very much the same. Harper’s temper frayed. “You can’t really be naïve enough to think you can dictate something like that.”

“Of course you can! Keep things light. Keep things casual. Don’t give yourself away.” Flann swept her arm to take in the room nestled in the high branches. “Jesus, you brought her up to the tree house already.”

Harper looked around the space. It was only a tree house, not exactly a confessional. But then she wondered what it said about her and had to admit it said everything. She’d made it with her own hands, building on the rudimentary structure she and Flann had knocked up as preteens. She’d filled it with things that mattered to her and came back to it when she was troubled or lonely or weary. She brought Presley here because she didn’t know a better way to show her the parts of herself that mattered the most. “I had to.”

“Why?” Flann asked, looking honestly puzzled.

“Because she got to me and no one else ever has.”

Flann made an exasperated sound. “Maybe you wanted her to or just think she did. Maybe it’s not Presley at all, but just what you want her to be. There are plenty of other women who could give you what you want.”

Harper rested her head against the back of the sofa and studied Flann. “Do you really believe that? That one woman would do just as well as another?”

“Why not? Sure, it’s nice to have a similar outlook on the big things, but I could name a dozen women who would love to have your babies.”

Harper couldn’t help but laugh, but the laughter left an ache in her throat. “You think that’s all it’s about? Having someone in bed at night, someone to have your kids, or raise your kids? What about in here…” She closed her fist over her heart, and as she expected, Flann made a face.

“You’re a romantic, Harper. You read too many books as a kid. Most of the time what you see is what you get. Be grateful when you find a woman who won’t ask more than that. And for God’s sake, don’t choose someone who’s already a sure bet to break your heart.”

“Is that what you want? To just make do?”

“Don’t make this about me. It’s not about me.”

“Maybe not, but I still want to know.”

Flann looked away, a sure sign she was going to avoid the whole truth. She wouldn’t lie, but she would keep her secrets. “I’d be happy with a woman who was into good sex and occasional company and wouldn’t want me to be someone I’m not.”

“Like a friend with benefits?”

Flann lifted a shoulder, still staring out the tree house window toward the river. “I suppose that’s a good enough name for it. Just so I don’t have to constantly be worried about someone wanting more.”

“It’s the wanting more that makes it special.”

Flann glared at her. “What exactly happened this morning?”

“Presley reminded me that sex was just sex, sort of like what you’ve been saying. She probably should’ve gone to bed with you and not me.”

Flann barked out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Oh yeah, right, then you and I would’ve been pistols at dawn. Why can’t you just be happy you got her into bed?”

“It’s not enough, and you’d know it, if you weren’t too afraid—”

Flann jumped up and paced to the opposite side of the room, putting as much distance between herself and Harper as possible. She kept her back to Harper as she looked out the window. “I’m not afraid.”

“Fuck, you’re not. I just don’t know why. Look at Mama and Dad—”

“Yeah, look at them.” Flann swung around. “Sure, they’ve got a great relationship. How many women do you think there are like Mama? Willing to raise a family practically by herself while Dad does what he wants.”

“Not just for himself,” Harper said. “You think he’s sacrificed all these years taking care of other people just for himself?”

“What has he given up? He’s got a home, a woman who waits for him, kids who are crazy about him, while he’s out taking care of other people who think he’s God. Tell me, what’s he given up?”

Harper sprang to her feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s what you think? That it’s all been easy for him?”

“You can’t see it because you’re just like him. Maybe you should look for a woman just like Mama—and good luck with that.”

“Where is this coming from?” Harper said quietly.

Flann’s fury seemed to abate as quickly as it had come and she sank back against the rough-hewn plank wall. She pushed her hands into the pocket of her jeans and stared at the floor. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been mad at him for a while.”

“For a while? Like ten years or something? Why?”

Flann raised her head. “He wasn’t here when Katie died.”

“He didn’t know she was going to go so quickly. It was septic shock. You know that.”

“He wasn’t here then. He wasn’t at the hospital the night Davey was born. He wasn’t here for more things than I can count.”

“And you think that didn’t hurt him? Come on, Flann. What is it you’re really afraid of?”

“That I’ll be just like him,” Flann said flatly. “And I won’t be able to be there when it matters.”

“So you’ve decided you just won’t try.”

“I’ve decided that I want a different life.”

“You’ll change your mind when you meet her.”

Flann’s eyes darkened. “There is no her.”

“You can believe that all you want, but you’re wrong.”

“Well, if you’re any example, I prefer to be wrong for the rest of my life.”

“It’s worth it.”

“What is?”

“The pain—the amazing sense of being filled with everything that’s right is worth the pain. What I felt with her—”

“Oh come on. Give me a break. Get your head out of the clouds. You had a great roll in the hay. All that says is she’s good in bed, and all that means is she’s had enough practice—”

Harper tackled her around the waist, and they went down in a pile of arms and legs. The tree shook and leaves fell like rain as they rolled and tumbled and fought to be on top.

Flann was quick and wiry and they’d had a lot of practice wrestling as kids. It took Flann five minutes to flip Harper onto her back and straddle her middle, but eventually she pinned Harper’s arms to the floor.

Harper was panting and sweating, but so was Flann. Flann’s face was inches above hers.

“Say it,” Flann said.

“No.”

“Say it.” Flann bounced on Harper’s middle until Harper thought she was going to puke. “Say it.”

“Uncle,” Harper gasped.

“I can’t believe you went for me like that.”

“Get off,” Harper grunted.

Flannery bounced one more time. “Man, she has got you by the gonads.”

Harper grinned, but the sadness still filled her. “Yeah, I guess I’m well and truly fucked.”

Flann sat back on her haunches, taking her weight off Harper’s torso so she could breathe again. “I’m sorry.”

“For which part?” Harper sucked in air. She needed to run more.

“I’m sorry things with Presley didn’t work out. I’m sorry for talking bullshit about Dad. I’m not sorry for whipping your ass.”

“You’re wrong, you know,” Harper said. “You’ll be there when it matters, Flann. You always are.”

*

Presley grabbed the items she’d bought the day before out of Harper’s truck, drove home as fast as she dared, and went directly to her room to take off Harper’s clothes. The intimacy of Harper’s touch, even imagined, was too sharp when what she needed was distance. She folded them carefully and set them on the dresser. She’d have to find a delicate way of returning them, but that quandary could wait. After pulling on a pair of capri workout pants, a lightweight V-neck tee, and running shoes, she went downstairs to sweat out some of her self-recrimination. She actually loathed running, so the activity would serve a dual purpose—with every aching step she’d be reminded of the cost of impetuosity and would wear off the lingering pulse of desire that still beat deep inside. As she passed through the foyer to the front door, Carrie called out a good morning from the living room.

Presley stopped and poked her head through the doorway. Carrie looked cheery and relaxed curled up in the corner of the couch in threadbare red plaid pj pants and a pale blue Henley, her laptop open and balanced on her knees. Presley mustered up a smile. “Hi. How was your night?”

“All things considered, amazingly good. The absence of noise—well, at least the noise I’m used to—still weirds me out a little bit. But now I’m starting to hear other things—croaking and chirping and some sort of groaning that I think might be cows.”

“Hopefully it’s cows. I don’t want to think about it being anything else.” Presley couldn’t help but laugh. “I know what you mean about the sounds, though, and not just the noises. It’s like a different version of everything we know here. Sometimes I feel like I’ve tumbled into an alternate universe.”

“Or just a very old version of our own.” Carrie stretched her bare feet out onto the big steamer trunk repurposed as a coffee table. Her toenails, Presley noted absently, were bright pink. “I kind of like it. That old-time feeling.”

“Yes, I suppose it has its charms.” Presley could easily see Harper in a horse and buggy, her big leather satchel by her feet, a horsehair blanket over her lap, riding through a cold fall morning on her way to a call, the trees a sunburst of colors surrounding her, the crystal-blue sky icing gray at the edges with the promise of winter to come. She could see, too, Harper returning after a long night of tending to families spread far and wide over the countryside, stomping her boots on the porch, getting rid of the snow before she trudged inside to where a fire burned in the hearth. To where Presley waited, curled up in a chair with a book. Presley shook her head, dispelling the whimsical hallucination. “Something about this place does things to you. Dangerous things. I wouldn’t get too used to it.”

Carrie gave Presley a curious, concerned look. “Is there something wrong?”

“Is there anything right?”

“Maybe you should sit down.” Carrie patted the sofa. “There’s fresh coffee. And Lila baked bread.”

Presley caught herself just before she took Carrie up on her invitation. Carrie worked for her, and it wouldn’t do for her to know how conflicted she was about what they were doing here. Conflicted wasn’t exactly the right word. Ambivalent? No, not that either. She knew well enough what needed to be done. She was angry, furious, that the job had been foisted onto her for no other reason than Preston’s ploy for political advantage. Now she was going to disrupt the lives of a lot of good people so Preston could have room to maneuver while she was gone. How venal was that? How meaningless and petty compared to what Harper and Flannery and Edward Rivers did every day. She thought of Jimmy Reynolds, probably struggling right this moment to survive while his parents agonized. And what was her goal? To beat her brother at a game they’d been playing since birth in a hopeless attempt to win their parents’ approval? She didn’t have to play Preston’s game, but she did need to do her job. She had a responsibility to the shareholders, no matter what she might feel personally about the outcome for the people here.

“Tomorrow morning I want you to set up appointments with the three top-rated construction firms in the county. I want to see them this week to discuss bids, and I’ll need blueprints of the physical plant and the surveys when I meet with them.”

“All right,” Carrie said slowly. “I’ll have some other figures for you—”

“Fine. Bring me what you have after lunch tomorrow. I want to get the endgame in place. I don’t want to spend any more time here than I need to.”

“Of course,” Carrie said.

From her tone, Presley knew Carrie was bothered by something, but she didn’t have the emotional strength or patience to find out what it was. The best thing for both of them was to get the job done and get home.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Have a good run,” Carrie said uncertainly.

“I intend to.” Presley banged through the front door and clambered down the steps to the drive. She jogged toward the road, surrounded by green waving stalks of corn that seemed taller overnight. She damned the beauty even as her heart leapt. Everything about the place drew her in, until she couldn’t escape the sweetness or the sorrow. She picked up her pace, determined not to be touched by either.

Chapter Twenty-four

Presley arrived at the hospital early every day for two weeks, well before anyone else arrived, and left after everyone else had gone home. She saw Carrie and no one else, carefully avoiding the clinical areas of the hospital. Harper hadn’t contacted her to accompany her on rounds or house calls, not that she’d expected her to. All well and good, and a reminder, one she shouldn’t have needed, that mixing personal and professional business was a very bad idea. Besides, she appreciated having more time to work and less time to be distracted by Harper and her patients, things she should’ve known better than to involve herself with to begin with.

The long hours paid off, and by mid-month, she’d digested most of the significant data, all of which had confirmed what she’d originally suspected. The patient base at the Rivers—she winced and caught herself—at ACH was poor and underinsured. Although the hospital census had remained relatively high throughout the last decade, revenues had declined, costs had risen, and no new sources of income had appeared to bridge the gap. Numbers never lied, no matter how much she wished they did.

“Carrie,” she said from the doorway of her office, “would you contact Dr. Rivers and ask him to meet with me before the end of the day.”

“Of course,” Carrie said.

Carrie had been keeping the same hours as Presley, although Presley hadn’t asked her to. She’d left early a few days for softball games, extending an invitation for Presley to join her. After the first few times Presley refused, Carrie stopped asking. Presley was grateful for Carrie’s perceptiveness.

“Oh,” Carrie said, “I’ve set up a second appointment for you on Monday with the contractor you liked. All the necessary schematics are on your computer already.”

“Thanks.”

“Just Edward Rivers?” Carrie asked.

“Yes. I don’t need to see anyone else.”

Carrie’s expression was neutral, but her eyes spoke volumes. She wasn’t happy, and ordinarily Presley would’ve asked her for her opinion, but right now, the last thing she needed was someone else distracting her from doing what had to be done.

“And book me a flight to Phoenix on Tuesday. Schedule a meeting with finance and Preston.”

“Which order?”

Presley considered. “Finance.”

“How long will you be gone?” Carrie asked.

“A few days. Book a return flight for Thursday, and we can always change it if need be.”

“All right.” Carrie hesitated. “By the way, I sent some other information you might find interesting.”

Presley paused. Carrie was too good an admin to ignore and, besides that, they were friends. “What other kind of information?”

“Population density in the county, patient-physician ratios, and the network—or I should say, lack of network—of urgent care facilities.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Presley tempered the bite in her voice that she was almost too tired to hide. Carrie was not to blame for her sleepless nights or her sore heart.

“I know in other locations SunView has tied new acquisitions into local networks. There doesn’t seem to be one here, but if there were, it would be a pipeline of patients to the hospital.”

“Yes, but as you say, there is no network.”

“I just thought you should have all the information.”

“Thanks, I’ll look at it but, Carrie…”

Carrie looked at her expectantly.

“Don’t get too…attached. Short term, remember?”

“Right. I know.”

Presley shut her office door behind her, sank into her chair, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well. Too damn quiet at night. She worked when she got home until her eyelids were closing, but that didn’t seem to help. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed—restless dreams filled with frustration. Missed planes, doors that wouldn’t open, phones she couldn’t use. She awoke feeling frustrated, helpless, and—even more aggravatingly—aroused. Not the kind of arousal easily dismissed or sated by a few extra moments of attention, quickly forgotten. She couldn’t find her rhythm here, in this place where time flowed differently, and hoped that if she went back to Phoenix, she would find her balance again. Besides, she needed to make an appearance to remind everyone that she wasn’t going away, particularly Preston. A quick trip to update everyone on this project was a good excuse.

Work. That was what she needed to be thinking about. She reviewed what she intended to tell Edward Rivers. In the midst of her mental planning, she wondered how Jimmy Reynolds was doing. The thought, popping into her mind out of nowhere, was just another sign of how she’d carelessly let herself be caught up in things outside her domain. Harper was taking care of him, and that was all she needed to know.

Harper. How many times a day had she thought of her? Too many to count. She groaned under her breath. She had no one to blame but herself that she could still feel Harper’s hands on her, still taste her, still catch the scent of her skin on an errant breeze. Still want her.

She reminded herself daily that Harper was not the first woman she’d awakened with, not even the first one she’d wanted again, albeit briefly. Why then was Harper the first one she couldn’t forget? The first one she ached for.

“Enough,” she muttered, opening her eyes and pulling up her email, determined to put Harper out of her mind.

When Carrie rang her, it was after one thirty and she’d missed lunch again. She didn’t have much of an appetite. If Lila hadn’t left food, morning and night, that smelled too delicious for her to ignore, she probably would’ve lost twenty pounds by now instead of eight. “Yes?”

“The doctors are here.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Drs. Edward, Harper, and Flannery Rivers are here to see you.”

“I asked for Dr. Edward Rivers.”

“Yes, I have that ready for you,” Carrie ad-libbed. “I’ll be right there.”

Carrie let herself into Presley’s office and closed the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” Presley asked.

“Edward Rivers says that since Flannery is chief of surgery and Harper the assistant chief of staff, they should be here for anything pertaining to the hospital.”