Table of Contents
Synopsis
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
By Radclyffe
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Flannery Rivers is content to let her sister Harper carry on the family dynasty—at the Rivers hospital where they both work and on the home front. Now that Harper is settled and soon to be happily married, Flannery can ease back into her life of casual flirtations and find all the excitement she needs in the ER. She’s even got her next playmate all lined up, or so she thinks.
Abigail Remy is a city girl who accepts a position at the imperiled country hospital in the hope of finding a stable, safe community for her teenaged trans son. Unfortunately, when she arrives to work, she discovers the current ER chief is less than happy to be replaced by a fresh-out-of-residency newcomer.
Add unexpected attraction to the incendiary mix of city and country, fire and ice, tradition and change—and the prescription is combustible.
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
The Midnight Hunt
RWA 2012 VCRW Laurel Wreath winner Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
“Raand has built a complex world inhabited by werewolves, vampires, and other paranormal beings…Raand has given her readers a complex plot filled with wonderful characters as well as insight into the hierarchy of Sylvan’s pack and vampire clans. There are many plot twists and turns, as well as erotic sex scenes in this riveting novel that keep the pages flying until its satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
“Once again, I am amazed at the storytelling ability of L.L. Raand aka Radclyffe. In Blood Hunt, she mixes high levels of sheer eroticism that will leave you squirming in your seat with an impeccable multi-character storyline all streaming together to form one great read.”—Queer Magazine Online
“The Midnight Hunt has a gripping story to tell, and while there are also some truly erotic sex scenes, the story always takes precedence. This is a great read which is not easily put down nor easily forgotten.”—Just About Write
“Are you sick of the same old hetero vampire/werewolf story plastered in every bookstore and at every movie theater? Well, I’ve got the cure to your werewolf fever. The Midnight Hunt is first in, what I hope is, a long-running series of fantasy erotica for L.L. Raand (aka Radclyffe).”—Queer Magazine Online
“Any reader familiar with Radclyffe’s writing will recognize the author’s style within The Midnight Hunt, yet at the same time it is most definitely a new direction. The author delivers an excellent story here, one that is engrossing from the very beginning. Raand has pieced together an intricate world, and provided just enough details for the reader to become enmeshed in the new world. The action moves quickly throughout the book and it’s hard to put down.”—Three Dollar Bill Reviews
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
2013 RWA/New England Bean Pot award winner for contemporary romance Crossroads “will draw the reader in and make her heart ache, willing the two main characters to find love and a life together. It’s a story that lingers long after coming to ‘the end.’”—Lambda Literary
In 2012 RWA/FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW Aspen Gold award winner Firestorm “Radclyffe brings another hot lesbian romance for her readers.”—The Lesbrary
Foreword Review Book of the Year finalist and IPPY silver medalist Trauma Alert “is hard to put down and it will sizzle in the reader’s hands. The characters are hot, the sex scenes explicit and explosive, and the book is moved along by an interesting plot with well drawn secondary characters. The real star of this show is the attraction between the two characters, both of whom resist and then fall head over heels.”—Lambda Literary Reviews
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Best Lesbian Romance 2010 features “stories [that] are diverse in tone, style, and subject, making for more variety than in many, similar anthologies…well written, each containing a satisfying, surprising twist. Best Lesbian Romance series editor Radclyffe has assembled a respectable crop of 17 authors for this year’s offering.”—Curve Magazine
2010 Prism award winner and ForeWord Review Book of the Year Award finalist Secrets in the Stone is “so powerfully [written] that the worlds of these three women shimmer between reality and dreams…A strong, must read novel that will linger in the minds of readers long after the last page is turned.”—Just About Write
In Benjamin Franklin Award finalist Desire by Starlight “Radclyffe writes romance with such heart and her down-to-earth characters not only come to life but leap off the page until you feel like you know them. What Jenna and Gard feel for each other is not only a spark but an inferno and, as a reader, you will be washed away in this tumultuous romance until you can do nothing but succumb to it.”—Queer Magazine Online
Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments “is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!”—On Our Backs
Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder “weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.”—Sapphic Reader
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a “crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.”—Independent Gay Writer
Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time “is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.”—MegaScene
Prescription for Love
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Prescription for Love
© 2015 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-571-8
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: November 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)
By Radclyffe
Romances
Innocent Hearts
Promising Hearts
Love’s Melody Lost
Love’s Tender Warriors
Tomorrow’s Promise
Love’s Masquerade
shadowland
Passion’s Bright Fury
Fated Love
Turn Back Time
When Dreams Tremble
The Lonely Hearts Club
Night Call
Secrets in the Stone
Desire by Starlight
Crossroads
Homestead
Against Doctor’s Orders
Prescription for Love
Honor Series
Above All, Honor
Honor Bound
Love & Honor
Honor Guards
Honor Reclaimed
Honor Under Siege
Word of Honor
Code of Honor
Price of Honor
Justice Series
A Matter of Trust (prequel)
Shield of Justice
In Pursuit of Justice
Justice in the Shadows
Justice Served
Justice For All
The Provincetown Tales
Safe Harbor
Beyond the Breakwater
Distant Shores, Silent Thunder
Storms of Change
Winds of Fortune
Returning Tides
Sheltering Dunes
First Responders Novels
Trauma Alert
Firestorm
Oath of Honor
Taking Fire
Short Fiction
Collected Stories by Radclyffe
Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace
Radical Encounters
Edited by Radclyffe:
Best Lesbian Romance 2009-2014
Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.
Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments
Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love
Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions
Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games
Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery
Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets
Breathless: Tales of Celebration
Women of the Dark Streets
Amore and More: Love Everafter
Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales
By L.L. Raand
Midnight Hunters
The Midnight Hunt
Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
The Magic Hunt
Shadow Hunt
Acknowledgments
Like a lot of teenagers (especially those who don’t quite fit for one reason or another), I couldn’t wait to leave home, get to college, and be myself. That road took me a few states away from my small upstate New York village to Philadelphia and a busy career in surgery I enjoyed (mostly). I’ve been back almost ten years this December, thirty miles from where I grew up—living on a farm, no less. Last night I went a few miles down the road to the county fair, the very same one my parents took me to every single summer when I was a kid. The fair is still one of my favorite summer events and I still eat too much awful wonderful fair food. I just finished this book a few weeks ago, and everything I love about living here is in it—the sights, the sounds, the unpredictable weather, the beauty, and quite a few of the people. Nowhere is perfect, and every community has problems, but I wouldn’t want to live or work anywhere else. I do wish sometimes I could have been a doctor at the Rivers back when it was first built in the early 1900s—but for that there’s always fiction. I hope you enjoy the Rivers community as much as I have enjoyed creating it.
Many thanks go to: senior editor Sandy Lowe for shouldering much of the important daily BSB work so I can stay on deadline, editor Ruth Sternglantz for a keen ear and knowing eye, editor Stacia Seaman for amazing “catches” books after book, Sheri Halal for a super cover, and my first readers Paula, Eva, and Connie for encouragement and inspiration.
And as always, thanks to Lee for being her. Amo te.
To Lee, for making life a surprise
CHAPTER ONE
Abby studied Blake’s brooding profile and feared she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. A week ago they’d been living in New York City, and now she’d uprooted them from friends and community and transplanted them to a rural town in upstate New York. She might as well have teleported them to another planet. “I’ve got to get to the hospital. Are you going to be all right here alone today?”
Blake turned from the window, his blue eyes stormy. “Sure.”
She’d gotten used to monosyllabic responses, ever since she’d told him about the new job and what that meant. She hadn’t expected him to take well to the news, and to be fair, their conversations had dwindled to quick exchanges about schedules and appointments ever since Blake’s fourteenth birthday. He’d been having a tough time at school the past year, but that didn’t mean he was eager to leave his classmates and the excitement of Manhattan. She’d hoped this new place would be safer for him, but maybe physical safety wasn’t the only thing that mattered. And she’d be late if she didn’t hurry, but she couldn’t just leave him looking so lost. Maybe he was fifteen and hugs were history, but he needed to know he was not alone. “What are you going to do today?”
“I guess walk around, check the place out.” He smiled, more a grimace than anything else. “That ought to take me an hour or so.”
“The movers will be here with the rest of the boxes and the big pieces this afternoon. You can get your room set up.”
“We’re going to get cable, right?”
“I sincerely hope so,” Abby breathed. “We’re not exactly in a third-world country.”
“Are you certain?” Blake looked out the window again and Abby pictured their backyard, a sweeping expanse of green, more a meadow than a lawn, that meandered down to a clear-water creek. The creek twisted through stands of oak and evergreens and separated their property from a cornfield, at least she thought it was corn. Right now all she could see were rows and rows of five-inch-high green stalks. She imagined in the summer they’d be surrounded by whatever was growing out there, like shipwrecked sailors marooned on a desert island. Still, she’d been happy they’d been able to get anything on such short notice, and the renovated old schoolhouse had a quirky charm she liked.
“We’ll get used to it,” she said, fervently hoping that was true.
“Sure,” Blake repeated with a lift of his shoulder.
“I’ll call you. Keep your phone with you.” Abby kissed his cheek. His face was so smooth, almost baby soft still, but that would change soon too. Abby firmly reminded herself they’d cross those bridges when the time came. All children changed, and she could handle it. She’d survived when he’d cut his hair without telling her. Now she was used to the short sides and long floppy top with the dark strands always falling into his eyes. He was a beautiful boy. Her boy. “There’s money in the cookie jar if you need it.”
“Sure.” Blake didn’t look over as she walked out the door, but just as the screen closed behind her, she heard his soft “Thanks, Mom.”
Good enough for starters.
Abby started down the short gravel drive, past the picket fence in need of a coat of paint that marked their front yard, and headed into town. The two-lane through the village was divided by a fading yellow line and bordered on both sides by three- and four-story buildings with ornate cornices, tall narrow windows, and deep porches fronting the stores. One out of three of those storefronts was shuttered and empty. Ten minutes later, she turned in between two stone pillars, one bearing a brass plaque reading Argyle Community Hospital, and drove up a winding road between groves of apple trees. She slowed as an ivy-covered red brick building with a white colonnaded entrance and two symmetrical wings extending out in a lazy U came into view on the hillside above the village. A rolling grassy lawn studded with shrubs and flower beds edged the circular drive in front. A pretty place with tall, gracious windows and an air of peace and tranquility. Not the feelings she usually associated with a hospital, but then this was nothing like NYU Medical Center—or any hospital she’d ever trained at.
Following the signs to the visitors’ lot, she drove around the front oval and parked. The lot was mostly empty at seven in the morning. She pulled on the navy blazer she’d stowed in the passenger seat, grabbed her briefcase, and walked the short distance to the main entrance. The expansive lobby with its high-domed ceiling, dark walnut paneling, and rows of oil paintings of solemn-faced men looked as if it hadn’t changed in two hundred years. It probably hadn’t.
No one manned the reception desk at the moment, but a discreet sign saying ER pointed to a doorway set into an alcove. She walked through and was immediately ensconced in the familiar sights and sounds of a busy hospital. The hallway was lit with overhead fluorescents and the walls were painted the familiar institutional beige, although surprisingly adorned with carved wainscoting and, here and there, an honest-to-God oil painting. The speckled gray-tiled floors were worn in two parallel rows from decades of stretchers and wheelchairs traveling down them.
She nodded to transport attendants pushing patients in wheelchairs and gurneys toward the service elevators on their way to the operating room or patient floors or radiology. She followed the noise, the conversation level rising as she approached the ER waiting room where a few patients waited in the rows of plastic chairs, the sight the same the world over. Entering the ER proper through the double doors announcing Hospital Personnel Only in big red letters, she approached the nurses’ station just inside. A dark-haired woman about her age in navy blue scrubs sat at the counter organizing charts. She looked up and smiled. Her name tag read Susan O’Connell, RN.
“Can I help you?” Susan said in a welcoming tone.
“Yes,” Abby said, extending her hand over the counter. “I’m Dr. Remy.”
“New hire?”
Abby half laughed. “Yes, I’m—”
A red phone on the counter rang and Susan said, “Hold on,” and picked it up. She stood quickly. “I’m sorry, got an ambulance coming into the bay right now. If you want to get started, we could probably use a hand. The PA on duty just headed up to the ICU to see someone with ARDS.”
“Of course.” Abby slid her briefcase over the top of the counter onto a shelf and tossed her blazer after it. “What is it?”
“Tractor versus motorcycle. One patient—the motorcyclist.” Susan dialed the phone and spoke as she waited. “Head trauma, probable internal injuries…Mary Kate, it’s Susan. We’ve got incoming.”
A second later the overhead blared.
Code Blue, STAT, ER. Code Blue, STAT, ER.
Abby frowned. “No trauma alert?”
“No trauma team.” Susan came out from behind the counter and motioned to Abby. “Follow me, Doc.”
No trauma team. Welcome to small-town medicine, USA. Abby hurried after her, passing cubicles along both sides of the hall, most standing open, a few with the curtains pulled closed, presumably with patients inside. Susan pointed to a metal rack next to two swinging double doors, and Abby paused to pull on booties, a green cover gown, and a paper cap. Beyond the doors, the trauma bay was twice the size of the cubicles they’d passed, with a treatment table akin to an OR table occupying the center. Equipment cabinets filled two walls, and a long counter for charting and paperwork filled a third. The shelves were piled high with stacks of IV bags, dressings, cutdown trays, and the usual paraphernalia of a mini operating room. A red crash cart with drawers resembling a carpenter’s tool chest, only this one filled with drugs, stood ready. At least this looked like they might be equipped to handle an emergency.
Susan quickly spread a clean sheet over the thick gel mattress pad on the table and checked that the adjustable foot- and headrests were locked. Abby spied a wall switch and flicked on the big round light hanging down from the ceiling on a flexible arm.
“Respiratory?” Abby checked the drawers on the crash cart to familiarize herself with the equipment. All neat and orderly and well-stocked. She pulled out a laryngoscope and several sizes of breathing tubes.
“They’ll respond to the code,” Susan said, briskly and efficiently checking the IV bags that hung ready from the poles on either side of the bed. Normal saline and Ringers lactate, already attached to sterile tubing.
“Right.” Abby hadn’t been in the position of not knowing the routine since she’d been a first-year resident. She was used to being in charge. When Presley had called to say she needed someone to take over and expand their emergency services department, she’d jumped at the job. She’d had offers to stay in the city, but many of the other parents advised that Blake would do best if he could start fresh. She’d hoped to have a little more time to settle in, but here she was. “Surgery?”
“I saw Flann’s car in the lot. She’ll be here.”
Susan’s casual assurance didn’t quell Abby’s rising anxiety. Where she had trained, the surgeons were always available 24/7, and by now the trauma bay would be teeming with nurses, residents, trauma fellows, and technicians. And here she stood with a nurse and no idea where to find anything. She’d spent the last year as the senior fellow in a level one trauma unit. This hospital was far from that. She braced herself for the coming chaos. Hopefully, they’d have the personnel to handle a serious trauma.
“What have you got, beautiful,” a husky female voice called from the doorway.
Abby stepped aside as a sandy-haired woman in green scrubs barreled into the room. Even though she was average height and size, she seemed to fill the space. Maybe it was the energy pouring off her that electrified the air.
Susan responded. “Motorcycle versus tractor. Motorcycle lost.”
“Don’t they always?” The woman shook her head and pulled on booties. “ETA?”
“Ought to be pulling in right about now.”
“Perfect. I’ll be able to get my eight o’clock started on time, then.”
The woman glanced in Abby’s direction and shot her a cocky smile. “New nurse?”
Abigail forced a smile. And so it began. Surgeons never changed. Always swaggering, often condescending, and, unfortunately, necessary. She held out her hand. “Doctor. Abigail Remy.”
A smooth, firm hand enclosed hers. The dark gaze slid over her face, and a slow smile formed on a broad, shapely mouth. Good-looking and she knew it. Abby suspected this was the point where most women surrendered their panties. She tried not to swoon.
“Flannery Rivers. I guess the new residency program is starting a little bit early.”
Abigail kept her smile in place with effort and withdrew her hand. “Actually, no. I would be the ER chief.”
The playful warmth in the brown eyes chilled. “Really. And here I thought that was my job. I guess I missed the memo.”
Abby hesitated, considering whether to take up the gauntlet. Susan appeared to be watching them with the avid interest of a spectator at the US Open, her head swinging back and forth between them. Abby had no desire to be the talk of the entire hospital by lunchtime, although she probably couldn’t change anything at this point. Still, this was no place and no time to butt heads over who was going to be in charge. She planned to be, but she’d just have to update Dr. Rivers on the details later. “I’m sorry if communications have gotten twisted. I gather a lot has been happening pretty quickly here.”
“You might say that.” Flannery reached for her cap, as if to pull it off. “I guess you don’t need me here, then.”
“Actually,” Abby said, “I don’t know the code team. You should lead it.”
Flannery looked surprised and maybe a little chagrined. “Right, sorry. Sometimes I trip over my ego.”
Abby was just as surprised at the admission. Points to Rivers for good sportsmanship. Not many surgeons had the confidence to laugh at themselves, or admit their egos often outweighed their body mass. “Comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
Flannery laughed and the cocky light returned to her eyes. “Absolutely.”
“Here they come,” Susan announced at the same time as a heavyset redhead pushed a portable X-ray machine into the room.
“Thought you might need me,” the X-ray technician said, puffing slightly.
“Thanks, Kevin,” Flannery said.
On his heels, two paramedics steered a stretcher through the open bay doors. A thin blonde in her forties balanced on the side of the gurney, bagging the patient, while a wiry Hispanic man guided them up to the bed, calling out, “Twenty-year-old white female. Unresponsive at the scene, vital signs erratic. Present BP 80/40, heart rate 130, Glasgow 10. Second liter of saline running in now, fractured right leg, right temporal contusion, breath sounds decreased on the right.”
“Meds in the field?” Susan called, jotting notes on a chart.
“Two milligrams of IV morphine.”
“I’ll get bloods for type and cross and labs,” Susan said, tying a tourniquet around the patient’s right arm.
Abby edged up to the left side of the gurney across from Flannery, who had a stethoscope pressed to the girl’s chest. She felt the trachea—midline—and visually assessed her torso and limbs. Her left arm was angled unnaturally in the midforearm, and her hand was gray and blue.
“Get ortho,” Abby directed, and then stopped herself. She glanced at Flannery. “Fractured left humerus, possible compression syndrome. We need an ortho guy and possibly a vascular surgeon.”
Flann nodded. “That would be me.”
“Which?”
“Both for now.”
Abby pressed her lips together. No orthopedist in-house. No vascular surgeon. Probably no specialists of any kind in-house. One surgeon to rule them all. God, what had she stepped into?
CHAPTER TWO
Flann ran through the routine of assessing the patient, the steps so familiar she could do them in her sleep. There had been a few times during her residency when she had. All the same, in the back of her mind, her father’s voice reminded her to always expect the unexpected. Every case was unique, no matter how many times she had seen the battered bodies, the traumatized tissues, the unforgiving march of disease. Routine was her biggest ally and her most dangerous enemy, the sword with two edges she wielded in her daily battles. She checked pupils, reflexes, breathing, and heart rate. She palpated the abdomen, percussed for fluid, searched for signs of rupture and internal bleeding. Ran her hands down the extremities, over the pulses in the groin and behind the knees and feet. As she worked, so did the others, monitoring vital signs, throwing X-ray films up on the light box, regulating the respirator, and monitoring blood gases. Everyone did their part, that’s what made them a team. Her team. Her domain.
As she worked, she was aware that the team had subtly changed. Abigail Remy worked across from her, their hands nearly touching at times—inserting IVs, catheters, and tubes; checking and rechecking the minute-to-minute vital signs for instability or improvement. They’d barely spoken, but she already knew so much about the new ER chief—her focus, her sure movements, her calm and purposeful directions spoke of confidence and intelligence and control. Still, Remy was no surgeon, and a stranger. And she was undoubtedly the harbinger of change. She was taking one of Flann’s jobs, after all, or so it appeared.
Under other circumstances, she’d have been more than happy to make Dr. Remy’s acquaintance. She’d only had a few minutes before entering crisis mode to assess her, but those few seconds had been enough to deliver a one-two punch. Abigail projected a lethal combination of beauty and power in a captivating female package that Flann had never been able to resist. Shoulder-length golden hair, wavy and thick, that could only be completely natural; green eyes so pure Flann could almost smell the spring leaves; and a body even the loose cover gown couldn’t quite conceal, full and curved in all the right places. Anywhere else, any other time, and she would already be thinking about the first date.
Fuck it all. Not this time.
Flann strode to the light box and scanned the row of X-rays: skull, C-spine, chest, belly, arms, legs. Abigail appeared beside her, tilting her head as she studied each one. Even her silence vibrated with cool confidence.
Abigail extended a finger toward the chest X-ray, her subtly manicured nail gleaming with clear polish. “Blunting of the costophrenic angle right there.”
“Yeah, I see it,” Flann said. “Lung fields are clear, but that could be blood.”
“You have ultrasound, don’t you?” Abigail asked.
Flann cut her a glance. “We are operating in the twenty-first century here.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Abigail’s smile was thin. So far the resuscitation had gone well, everyone doing their part and all the critical bases being covered. Still, the absence of in-house specialists, especially neurosurg and ortho, was a potential disaster waiting to happen. “Want to get ultrasound to check the belly?”
“Would be quicker if I did a cutdown.”
“If she’s ruptured her diaphragm above the liver, there might not be free blood in the cavity.”
Flann upgraded her opinion of the new ER chief. The term rankled, but she set her irritation aside for now, even if taking orders from a medical doctor was not in her makeup. “Good point.” She looked over her shoulder. “Susie, honey, can you get Terry down here super quick.”
“Sure thing, Flann,” Susan called, and reached for the phone.
“Honey?” Abby murmured.
Flann grinned, perversely glad she’d irritated her just a little bit. “Part of my Southern charm.”
“I didn’t realize you were Southern.”
“Through and through, on my mama’s side.”
Abby blew out a breath. “The charm might be open to question.”
“Give it time.”
Abby laughed reluctantly. “MRI?”
“CAT scan. We’ve been trying to get an MRI suite for a couple of years. You know what they cost.”
“I’ll let Presley know it’s a priority.”
“Presley?” Flann knew exactly who Presley was—her soon-to-be sister-in-law and the new CEO of the SunView Regional Medical Center-New York Division. She wondered how well Abigail knew her.
Abigail gave her a long look. “Presley Worth. I understand she’s marrying your sister.”
“I’ve heard that rumor.” Flann shook her head, still checking the films. “Unless Harper comes to her senses.”
Abigail stiffened. Really, could she be more of an ass? “You don’t approve?”
Flann grinned. Got her again. Remy was fun to tease. “Actually, I do. Harper is really happy, so not for me to point out the error of her ways. How do you know Presley?”
“We’re sorority sisters.”
“Ah. That’s some kind of lifelong secret society kind of thing, right?”
Abigail didn’t bother pointing out she and Presley came from different worlds and had formed a friendship despite that. The ultrasound tech appeared in the doorway, giving her an excuse to escape Flannery’s uniquely irritating company. She’d rarely met anyone so irreverent, arrogant, and she would’ve said insufferable, if there hadn’t been those moments every now and then when Flannery acted against type. When the conceit dropped away, something genuine and surprisingly intuitive snuck through. And now was not the time to be thinking about Flannery Rivers. In fact, anytime would probably be dangerous.
Abby focused on the ultrasound monitor as the tech coated the probe in clear gel and ran it over the young woman’s abdomen.
“Got something here,” the young Hispanic woman noted. She slowed the movement of her probe and gently pressed in small circles over the right upper quadrant of the abdomen.
Abigail pointed. “Right there. Is that a fluid collection above the right lobe of the liver?”
“Mmm,” the tech said absently, outlining the extent of the abnormality with swift, careful strokes of the probe.
She was good.
“What’s your name?” Abigail murmured.
“Teresa Santiago.”
“I’m Dr. Remy—Abby. That’s nice work.”
The tech smiled. “Thank you.”
Flann loomed over Abby’s shoulder. “Probably a small tear in the liver capsule. Fluid in the chest could be an effusion.”
“There might be a rupture,” Abby said. “That might be blood.”
“Terry,” Flann said, “can you get the diaphragm any clearer?”
“I don’t see a tear,” Terry said after a second. “But if it’s small…” She hunched a shoulder. “No, nada.”
“What do you think?” Abigail said. “Wait and watch?”
Flann mulled it over. Her first instinct was to explore the abdomen. She was a surgeon. She always wanted to operate, and in this case, there was good reason. Blunt trauma severe enough to rupture a lobe of the liver could have torn the intestine free from the abdominal wall or ruptured a kidney or the bladder, or lacerated a blood vessel. In the operating room with the belly open, she could check visually, get a look at the diaphragm, and take care of any minor damage before it became life-threatening. If they waited, continued bleeding into the chest could compromise the patient’s respiratory system, and she was already at risk of developing adult respiratory distress syndrome.
“If she’s bleeding,” Flann said, “she could go downhill fast.”
Abby nodded. “Agreed. But an incision in her belly means a longer hospital stay, and”—she went on when Flann made a disparaging snort—“a belly incision is going to make it harder to wean her off the respirator.”
Flann wasn’t used to consulting with anyone other than Harper or her father on medical care. She trusted their judgment as much as her own. She didn’t know Abigail Remy, but everything about her said she was sharp, and Flann’s ego didn’t extend to endangering the patient’s welfare because she couldn’t listen to someone else’s opinion. Compromising, she said, “Let’s get her down to CAT scan, and we can get her belly done after we take a look at her head. As long as her vitals are stable, I’m happy to wait a little while.”
“Good, I agree.”
“Susie,” Flann said, “have you got the CT tech in yet?”
“He just texted from the parking lot. He’ll be waiting.”
“All right,” Flann announced to the room in general, “let’s roll her down.”
Another nurse had joined the team sometime in the midst of the action, and he and Susan prepared the patient for transport.
Abby glanced at the clock. Twenty to eight. “Don’t you have a case?”
“Yeah.” Flann sighed. She hated delaying a patient who’d been waiting days, possibly weeks for surgery. Ira Durkee was already in the holding area, expecting to go to surgery any minute, and now he’d be sitting there for a few more hours. “A colon resection.”
“I can take the patient down,” Abigail said. “If there’s any change, I’ll call up and let you know.”
Flann shook her head. “Can’t do it. If I’m in the middle of my case, I can’t leave.”
“Do you have a resident who can—” Abby took a breath. She really wasn’t in NYC any longer. “Right. No residents. Partner?”
Flann grinned. “I’ve got a great first assistant. But there’s no one else with the hands to handle this if we need to explore.”
“Well, then,” Abby said, “I guess you better let the OR know you’re going to be late.”
*
“Thanks, Mrs. Lattimere,” Margie called, grabbing the stack of books from the checkout desk.
The librarian waved to her from behind her big oak desk tucked into the little alcove behind the counter and smiled. “Enjoy them. See you at the reading circle on Saturday.”
“Sure thing!”
Outside, Margie headed down the flagstone sidewalk toward the bike rack on the other side of the white board fence surrounding the grassy lawn. The town library, a white clapboard building with its square steeple and big, tall windows, was just about her favorite place in town, and she stopped by almost every other day. Her mother had warned her it was going to rain when she’d biked out after breakfast, but the sky looked clear to her. Besides, she’d run out of things to read and had already passed her Kindle allowance for the month, with ten days still to go.
She didn’t really mind the six-mile trip to the library, not when it meant she’d get first dibs on any new books that came in over the weekend. And she liked looking at the books, even the ones she’d already read. There was just something cool about seeing the shelves and shelves of spines, and discovering one she hadn’t read, like unearthing a buried treasure. Mrs. Lattimere had stopped censoring her reading from the adult section a year ago when her father had paid a visit to assure her Margie was capable of choosing her own reading material, including what Mrs. L termed racy titles. Margie smiled, remembering that discussion, especially since she mostly liked the economics and business books. Although she always managed to grab a thriller or a romance that she guessed Mrs. Lattimere considered racy.
A boy slouched on a green park bench just inside the fence under one of the big weeping willow trees, watching her as she drew near but pretending he wasn’t. He looked about her age, skinny like most of the boys in tenth grade—eleventh grade, she reminded herself—with a big loose T-shirt and tan ripcord shorts that came to his knees. His haircut was cool, short on the sides and kind of wild on top, and a pretty shade of dark brown. He was cute. She didn’t know him, and that was kind of strange, seeing as how it wasn’t really tourist season yet and strangers in the village were unusual. She waved when he kept staring. “Hey.”
He looked surprised and blushed, like he’d been caught at something, and smiled almost tentatively. “Hey.”
“How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess,” he said, but it didn’t sound as if he meant it. His voice was soft and a little bored sounding, with the slightest hint of sweetness to it.
Margie stopped in front of him and balanced her books on her hip. He was cuter than she thought at first. His eyes were a really neat shade of blue, a lot like Harper’s and her mother’s, really dark until you got close and realized they weren’t brown but more like navy. “So, are you visiting?”
“No, I live here.”
“Yeah?” Margie plopped her books on the end of the bench, sat down, and drew one knee up onto the wooden slats. Wrapping her arms around her leg, she faced him. “You just moved in, then.”
He fidgeted a little, as if trying to think of what to say, and nodded. The sunlight cut across his face, and up this close, his skin appeared smooth and pale, his jaw softly tapered, his upper lip full and curved. Huh. Interesting. “That’s cool.” She held out her hand. “I’m Margie Rivers.”
He looked at her hand for a second as if it were a foreign object. Then he took it. His hand was firm and warm. “Blake Remy. Hi.”
“So, you’ll be in school this fall.”
He sighed. “I guess so.”
She laughed. “You mean you’re trying to figure some way not to be?”
He laughed too, and his eyes lightened as if a storm had passed through and the sun had started to come out again. “Not really. It’s just weird, you know. I’m already halfway through high school, and now…” He shrugged. “You know. New guy.”
“I’ve gone to school with the same kids since kindergarten, but I think it would be kind of neat to meet some new people. After a while, you know everyone.”
He looked away. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So I’ll be a junior. How about you?”
“Me too.” He straightened a little. “That’s cool.”
“Where do you live?”
He pointed off to the left. “At the end of town. The old schoolhouse.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s where the Weatherbys lived before their dad got transferred. When did you move in?”
“We got here this weekend, but we’re not really moved in yet. The truck is supposed to come this afternoon with the rest of our things.”
“Where did you live before?”
“Manhattan.” He said it as if it were on the other side of the world, and a place he never expected he’d see again.
“Wow, that’s different.”
He stared at her a second and grinned. “Too right. So what’s it like around here? I mean, what do you do?”
“Well, it’s almost summer.” Margie rolled her eyes. “I guess you figured that out already.”
Blake laughed again. “I noticed.”
“So there’s not as much going on as there is during school, when, you know, there’s band and soccer and school clubs. In the summer, though…” She stopped, considered. “I bet you don’t have much experience with livestock, do you.”
“Uh, no,” Blake said. “I don’t know anything about farms and animals and things like that.” He toed his sneaker into the grass. “I’m so not going to fit in.”
“Not everyone is a farmer,” Margie said quickly. “My sisters are doctors—well, two of them—and so is my dad.”
“Yeah?” Blake’s face lightened. “So’s my mom.”
“She’ll probably know my sisters, then.” Margie knew a little bit about not fitting in. She had plenty of friends, but she knew she was different too. She didn’t mind being alone, for one thing, and when she said she wasn’t all that interested in dating anyone, even her best friends stared at her as if she was strange. Being different in a totally new place had to suck. “But you could still come to some of the 4-H stuff. You might like it. And a lot of us do it. There’s also a summer softball league, with games two or three nights a week at least. Everybody goes there. And barbecues pretty regularly.”
A look of panic crossed his face.
Margie grinned. “It’s better than it sounds. And you know, you’re less than an hour from Albany. There’s good shopping closer than that, and movies not far away. The ice cream stand at the other end of town serves food, and a lot of us hang out there, you know, just to hang. You’ll find plenty to do.”
He looked away. “I guess.”
“Listen, why don’t you call me after you move in. I can take you around, meet some of the kids.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t sound like he meant it, and maybe he didn’t want to hang with her. “You know, if you want to.”
Blake hesitated. “I do, yeah. I will. Call.”
Margie rose and scooped up her books. “Okay, then I’ll see you.”
“Wait! Your number?”
She walked backward, calling out the numbers while he punched them into his phone.
He stood up when she reached the gate. He wasn’t as tall as he looked sitting down, about her height with long legs. She bet he’d be great at soccer. He was watching her as if waiting for something.
She pushed through the gate, stopped. “Hey, I really like your haircut.”
Blake smiled, and Margie thought again how really cute he was.
CHAPTER THREE
Abby stood behind the CT tech, watching the digital cuts show up on the monitor, scanning the images of the brain as they appeared in cross section, looking for evidence of bleeding or other trauma. Flannery crowded close to her, their shoulders touching. She caught a hint of a woodsy scent that reminded her of long-ago autumn nights and bonfires and crisp cool air. She missed the mountains and hadn’t thought about them in years. So much she hadn’t thought about in the rush to manage a baby and college and everything that came after in one long, exhausting blur. And now was not the time to be thinking about it. She concentrated on the scan again.
The door behind them opened and a lanky dark-haired woman in a pale blue shirt and khakis came in. She was a slightly taller carbon copy of Flannery—their coloring was different, but the resemblance was unmistakable. This must be Presley’s soon-to-be spouse.
“Hey,” the newcomer said to Flannery. “I heard you had something going.”
“Hi, Harp,” Flannery said. “Motorcycle. She’s got some bleeding in the belly, we think. Just getting to the scans now.”
Harper glanced at Abby, her brows rising slightly.
Abby extended her hand. “Abigail Remy.”
Recognition flared in Harper’s eyes. “You’re Presley’s friend and our new ER chief.” Her grip was an extension of her easy confidence, sure and firm. “Harper Rivers. Good to have you aboard. Presley mentioned you’d gotten here early.”
“Presley said the sooner the better. I had time coming, the house up here was empty, and I’d done all the paperwork by email.” She glanced at Flannery, whose jaw had tightened. She probably should have checked with Presley before dropping by the ER, but that ship had sailed. “I’m afraid we took your sister by surprise.”
“Not a problem,” Flann muttered.
Harper glanced at Flannery and shrugged. “I think Presley was planning to catch you up after your first case.”
“Well, we’re all caught up now.” Flann had had enough of hospital politics for the morning. They all knew Presley—aka SunView—would be making sweeping changes to keep the hospital afloat. One of those changes was establishing an independent ER group with a separate financial structure and its own staff to capture patients who might otherwise use urgent-care centers. Abby Remy was Presley’s point person, and Flann’s new opposite number. She’d live with it. “It looks like the liver is okay. Maybe a small hematoma that will bear watching.”
Harper leaned a hand on the desk to get closer, studied the images, and nodded. “Pretty banged up. How’s she doing otherwise?”
“She’s stable,” Abby said, aware that the two sisters were a tight unit personally and professionally. She needed to establish herself as an equal player right away. “But the closed head injury could be an issue. With that effusion in the chest cavity, her respiratory status is questionable too.”
Flann said, “We can repeat the chest and abdominal CT in a few hours.”
“I suggest that we transfer her to a level one. Then if she needs an intracranial bolt or prolonged ventilator therapy, they’ll be able to handle it.”
“We ought to watch her here for a few hours,” Flann said. “If she deteriorates in transit, that’s going to be a bigger problem than what might happen in the next few days. Harp?”
“Transfer will take at least a few hours. We’ll have to send her to the ICU until then. If she remains stable, no reason to move her. But it’s Abby’s call.”
Abby appreciated Harper backing her up and considered the compromise. Right now, the patient showed no signs of requiring urgent neurosurgical intervention, but if she did, they would not have very much time to transfer or treat. “You must have some kind of neurosurgical backup here.”
Harper said, “We do. We’ll call a consult now and get someone in here within the hour. If they’re worried about her head, we can transfer then.”
Abby blew out a breath. “All right, that sounds like a plan.” She paused, looked at Flann. “Dr. Rivers? Are you comfortable with that?”
Flann nodded. “I’ll be in the OR. I can break if I absolutely have to.” She spoke to Harper, more out of routine than anything else. Abigail had been right in all of her assessments, and Flann didn’t doubt she would keep an eye on the patient. All the same, her sister had been her backup in everything her whole life—when they were kids, in college, in med school. Even sometimes when she’d gotten herself into a relationship problem. Harper had always been there to talk her through or talk her out of trouble.
Harper said to Abby, “I’m going to make rounds now, but I’ll stop down to the ICU as soon as she’s settled and keep an eye on her all morning.”
“Good enough,” Abby said.
“The nurses will get her settled in the ICU,” Harper said.
“I’m going to check in with Presley,” Abby said. “Hopefully I’ll have a beeper before long, in case anyone needs me.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Harper said. “The page operators can always find you.”
“How?” Abby asked.
“Welcome to Small Town, USA.” Harper grinned.
Abby must have looked a little panicked because Harper and Flannery laughed at the same time. For just an instant, Abby was jealous of their camaraderie and their obvious affection. She had done so many things alone in her life. True, David had helped her when he could with the baby, but mostly she’d been a single mom, a commuter student the last two years of college, and a med student who didn’t have time for the end-of-rotation parties that bonded everyone else. She had Blake, but Blake was her child and needed her to be strong, now more than ever. It would be good to see Presley again. A friend was exactly what she needed.
She followed Harper and Flannery into the hall. Flann pointed to the left. “Administration is that way. Presley has the big office with the big sign that says President.”
Abby laughed. “I always knew she would be someday.”
“As long as she isn’t interested in DC.” Harper’s pride was obvious. She sketched a wave and headed away.
An awkward silence descended and Abby met Flann’s dark, penetrating stare. She held the gaze, realizing she hadn’t been on the receiving end of a woman’s appraisal in a very long time. She felt heat creep into her cheeks. Damn it. Not a woman, a colleague, and one not so happy to meet her.
“Welcome to the Rivers, Dr. Remy,” Flann finally said.
She turned and jogged away, leaving Abby wondering what Flann had seen in her face and praying her uneasy attraction hadn’t been obvious. Because she wasn’t really—attracted, that is. Flannery Rivers was easy on the eyes and sexy in an all-too-knowing way, but even under ideal circumstances, not Abby’s type.
As it was, she had to figure out how they could work together without rubbing up against the sharp edges of competition between them. And she had no plans to start anything with anyone while she and Blake were still getting settled in a whole new chapter of their lives. One thing was for certain, even if she were desperate for company, Flannery Rivers would be dead last on her list of candidates.
Satisfied she’d put that distracting issue to bed, Abby set off to find her once-best friend, who, like so many things in her life, she’d let slip away. The administrative wing was deserted except for a few of the offices where doors stood open and early arrivals worked at desks, sorting papers and checking computer screens. The contrast to the seething energy of the medical wing was momentarily disorienting, a lot like her life these days—swinging from high to low with the sweep of the minute hand. Hopefully, she and Blake would find a little stability here.
At the very end of the carpeted hall, a redhead occupied a sleek L-shaped salt oak desk in a spacious alcove with an oriental rug, several plush waiting chairs, a coffeemaker on a credenza tucked into a corner, and a large window with a breathtaking view of the valley and village below. The vivacious-appearing late-twentysomething with bright green eyes and cover-girl complexion smiled at her. She wore tailored earth-toned pants and a pale green silk shirt. A square-cut emerald glinted on her right hand and a small diamond pendant matched studs in her ears. Understated and classy. “Morning. Can I help you?”
“I was hoping to catch Presley,” Abby said, extending her hand. “Abigail Remy. I just started—”
The redhead jumped up, her smile widening, and grasped Abby’s hand. “Oh! Of course. I’m Carrie, Presley’s admin. It’s great to meet you other than in email.”
Some of the strangeness fell away with the warm welcome. Abby said, “You too. Thanks so much for making the whole process so easy. Is there anything else I need to do?”
“You ought to drop by personnel sometime today for a photo and get your ID card and a parking pass to the staff lot.” As she spoke, Carrie pulled open the right-hand drawer of her desk, withdrew a glossy brochure, and handed it to Abby. “Here’s a map of the grounds, and inside you’ll find a key to all the important internal areas. You’re all set with payroll.”
Abby glanced at the brochure, a sweeping panoramic view with the hospital at its center. Beneath it were the words SunView Medical Center—the Community’s Hospital. “Thanks. Things are moving fast, I gather.”
“Presley is very efficient.”
Abby laughed. “Oh, I remember that from when she was the sorority president. Can I get in to see her sometime this morning?”
“Hold on, let me check.” Carrie sat behind her computer and typed. A second later a message alert chimed. “She says now is good, and she’s ready for coffee and something to eat. Can I get you anything?”
“You know, I could do with a bagel or something, but you really don’t have to—”
“I always go about this time to grab something myself. It’s no problem.”
“Then I’ll take advantage and say yes.”
“Great. Go on in. I’ll drop off supplies in a few minutes.”
“It’s great to meet you in person,” Abby said as she crossed to the door bearing a simple brass plaque with the words Presley A. Worth, President in etched block letters. She knocked and the door opened almost immediately.
“Abby!” Presley grabbed her into a huge hug. “I’m so glad to see you.” Presley relaxed her grip and kept both hands on Abby’s shoulders. Her gaze swept down and back up. “You look great. I can’t believe it’s been five years. How did we manage to let that much time pass with just cards?”
“I don’t know.” Abby swallowed around an unexpected lump in her throat. She’d forgotten how comforting real friendship could be, how the instant acceptance and sense of belonging could make any problem seem solvable. Sure, she’d been close to her fellow residents, but that was more out of mutual preservation rather than anything else. She’d never shared herself with them. Presley hadn’t changed. Her blond hair was a little shorter, but her blue eyes were just as sharp and appraising as ever. No one could ever hide anything from Presley. She wasn’t sure how deeply she wanted to be seen just yet. She stepped back, squeezed Presley’s hands as they parted. “It’s great to see you. I believe you’re actually glowing. I didn’t realize that was physically possible.”
Presley’s color rose. “I think it’s sunburn.”
“Well, country living seems to agree with you.”
“You have no idea.” Presley slid an arm around Abby’s waist and led her into the room. The suite was spacious with windows on two sides and bookcases on the other two. A sitting area with an oval oriental rug, a beige leather sofa, two chairs, and a coffee table occupied one corner. An open door led to an adjoining conference room with a large table surrounded by a cluster of chairs. Presley’s traditional dark wood desk sat in front of one wall of windows through which Abby saw clusters of lilac trees in full bloom. “How do you get any work done in here?”
“It took me a while to get used to it.” Presley gestured to one of the chairs in the sitting area and took one of the others. “At first I felt hopelessly out of place, but it didn’t take long to begin to feel at home.”
“I hope you’re right, because I’m feeling a little displaced myself.”
Presley smiled gently. “I feel really lucky to get you here so quickly, but I hope I didn’t rush you too much.”
“My fellowship was up in another few weeks, and I hadn’t had any vacation time this year. I needed to make a final decision about a job”—Abby shrugged—“and frankly, none of them really appealed to me.”
“I’m glad I caught you at the right time.”
A double knock sounded at the door and Presley rose. “Come on in, Carrie.” She helped Carrie distribute containers of coffee and a tray with bagels and spreads on the coffee table. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Carrie paused on her way out. “Hey, Abby, do you play softball?”
“I—” Abby laughed at the unexpected question. “Not since high school. Sorry.”
“That’s great. I’ll be in touch.”
The door closed and Abby glanced at Presley. “Softball?”
“A local passion. There’s a hospital team. You can run, but you can’t hide.”
Abby laughed again. “I might have to try. I was never all that good.”
Presley shook her head. “Carrie is the new team captain and she’s relentless. I only escaped by threatening to fire her if she kept nagging me to play.”
The affection in Presley’s tone belied her words. Abby envied the easy camaraderie. “She seems great. She really handled everything for me.”
“Good. I know you’re used to a big city hospital, but our ER is very busy. Probably not what you’re used to, but—”
“Actually I just came from there. I walked into a trauma call.”
“I heard the code,” Presley said. “Everything all right?”
“So far.”
“You must have met Harper, then.” Presley’s expression softened, as if the thought of Harper took her somewhere else for a second. “She was headed that way.”
“I did. And Flannery. She wasn’t expecting me. Sorry if I jumped the gun. I wanted to introduce myself to the night shift before they left, and one thing led to another.”
“Ah.” Presley sighed. “Damn it. I’m sorry you walked into that. My fault entirely. Harper and I were away for the weekend, but I should have called Flann to tell her you were on your way.”
“That’s fine. We made our introductions.” Abby didn’t plan on using her friendship with Presley to smooth out bumps with staff, even if—especially since—one of the bumps was with Presley’s family. “We’ll work it out. Transitions are tough on everyone.”
“Flann is a great surgeon and a sweetheart, really,” Presley said. “But you know, she’s a surgeon.”
Abby laughed. “I noticed. Harper seems terrific, by the way.”
“We’ll have to get together so I can gush,” Presley said. “In fact, come to dinner this Saturday. We’re buying the house I’ve been renting, and I’d love for you to see it and meet Harper.”
“I—” Abby could make her own schedule now, and she’d just work Sunday to make up for the weekend day off. And Blake needed to meet people—meet their friends. “All right, yes. Thanks.”
“Good. We didn’t get much chance to catch up on the phone,” Presley said. “I was too busy trying to sell you on this job. How is Blake? And David—do you see him much?”
“We talk pretty regularly, but he and Matt are living in Arizona now. They have a real estate development business out there. Blake has visited a few times but doesn’t really press for more time with David.”
“How did Blake react to the move?”
Abby suppressed the swell of words rising in a rush. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to talk to someone when she didn’t have to pretend to be totally in control of everything. “About that. I was thrilled when you offered me this job—it’s great to be close to a friend after all these years, and professionally, it’s an amazing opportunity. But another big part of the reason I took the job is Blake. The last year has been hard.”
Presley leaned forward. “What’s happening? Not something medical, I hope?”
“No, not at all.” Abby took a breath. “About a year ago, right before Blake’s fifteenth birthday, Blake explained to me he was quite certain he was not a girl.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Flann finished her colon resection in record time and had at least an hour free before her next case. She waited until her first assistant Glenn had the patient off the table and on the way to recovery before leaving the OR to speak to the family. She pulled on a white lab coat over her green scrubs, ditched her cap and booties in the trash, and after updating the patient’s wife and daughter, took the stairs down to the first floor for a decent cup of coffee from the cafeteria. Sipping as she went, she strode through the main building and down the administrative wing. Carrie was at her desk typing rapidly, a half-eaten bagel on a paper plate by her right hand and her eyes glued to the monitor.
“Hey, beautiful,” Flann said. “How’s your morning?”
Carrie looked up and grinned. “It’s Monday, so it’s hell. How’s yours?”
“The usual dragons to slay.”
“I heard it started out with a trauma.” Carrie’s brow furrowed. “Patient doing okay?”
“As far as I know. Harper picked up the ball and has been keeping an eye on her in the ICU. I’m going to stop by there in just a few minutes.”
“I heard the new ER chief was there too.”
Flann considered her answer. Carrie was smart enough to be running the hospital on her own, and she was a staunch Presley supporter, not that that bothered Flann in the least. She liked Presley—as much as she liked any administrator, on a professional level. Personally, she liked her a whole lot more. Presley was a good match for her sister, and she was happy that Harper was happy, even if she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt about having her almost-twin suddenly part of a couple. That hadn’t ever really happened for them before. They’d both had girlfriends over the years, but neither of them had ever really gotten serious. They were so close in age they’d ended up in the same class in high school and med school, so everything they’d experienced, they’d done as a team. That stopped at the bedroom door, but short of that, they were each other’s best friend and about as tight as two people could be. Now the person she trusted most in the world was about to have someone else to share her life with.
Presley and Carrie were a team too, inside and outside the hospital. Flann couldn’t blame Carrie for fishing for a little insider information about how things had gone with her and Abby Remy. Carrie’d hear soon enough, but not from her. “We bumped into each other just before the code. I already knew her résumé, and she proved she’s got the creds in the ER this morning. Presley made a good call recruiting her.”
“So you’re okay about handing off control of the ER to her?”
Flann laughed. “You think I’m okay about handing off control to anybody over anything?”
Carrie colored. “I wouldn’t have said so, no.”
“Bingo.” Flann tossed her coffee cup into the trash. “Let’s just say the two of us have agreed to coexist. Give us a little time to work out the ground rules.”
“That sounds fair.” Carrie smiled again, revealing a tiny gap between her front teeth.
Flann noticed, not for the first time, she was beyond cute—she was also smart and sexy and a great softball pitcher. She could give as good as she got with verbal jibes on the field, feisty and flirty in a non-gamey way. Flann had a feeling she’d be feisty and fun in bed too. She’d been thinking about asking her out since the first time she’d seen her, but she usually tried to stay clear of entanglements at the hospital, mostly because the place was a gossip mill and anything anybody did was fair game for lunchtime conversation, especially if it involved one of the doctors. Plus there was the added complication of Presley about to be her sister-in-law. If things got messy—not that she’d let things go that far—she didn’t want her family involved.
For some reason she couldn’t quite decipher, those reasons didn’t seem particularly important just now. Since news of the hospital changing ownership, Presley arriving, Harper falling head-over-heels, and now Abby Remy moving in on the ER, her world was just slightly off-kilter. Since she couldn’t do a damn thing to change any of it, she needed a diversion, and some downtime with a cute, sexy, smart woman was just what the doctor ordered. Thinking about a night with Carrie would definitely take her mind off the morning’s meeting with Abby.
Abigail Remy unsettled her, something that rarely ever happened. Every time she replayed their first encounter, which she’d been doing pretty much constantly except for the ninety minutes she’d been scrubbed in the OR, she got sideswiped with a weird mix of irritation and intrigue. She didn’t usually obsess over a woman, and this one was completely not her type—too serious, too controlling, and not in the least susceptible to being charmed. Abby’s immunity to being charmed wouldn’t have been annoying at all if Flann hadn’t had the persistent, irrational, inexplicable urge to do just that. And there she was, getting sidetracked by images of Abby’s cool, composed, admittedly beautiful face again. Flann pushed the image aside and leaned a hip on Carrie’s desk. She turned the paper plate with her index finger, spinning the bagel with it. “What do you say we go out after a game some night.”
“We always go out after the games,” Carrie said. “Beer and pizza. It’s tradition.”
Flann shook her head. “I don’t mean with the rest of the team. I mean you and me. We can grab a quick shower at my place and drive down to the city. Have a late dinner in a real restaurant. You know, the kind where they use cloth napkins and serve the food on dishes instead of paper plates.”
Carrie stilled. “You mean, like a date.”
“That would be the general definition, yes.” Flann stopped the spinning plate and moved her hand a few inches until it touched Carrie’s.
“I need to think about it.” Carrie slowly moved her hand away.
Flann straightened. “Is your schedule full all summer?”
“Not quite yet,” Carrie said slowly. “I’m just not sure it would be a good idea.”
“It would be a great idea. You know we’re a good combination.” Flann leaned in again, just a little. Carrie’d been looking at her with interest for a while too. She didn’t mistake those kinds of signals. “I know you feel it, same as I do.”
“Maybe,” Carrie said quietly. “But we’re a pretty good combination right now.”
“And we’d only get better. Why don’t you think about it and let me know. The offer is open.”
“I…I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Abby rounded the corner and stopped abruptly, her gaze traveling from Flann, perched on Carrie’s desk, to Carrie.
“Oh, sorry,” Abby said quickly. She hurriedly handed several papers to Carrie. “They told me in personnel that Presley needed to sign these. I thought I’d just walk them back.”
Carrie straightened and took the forms. “Of course. I’ll see that they’re completed and get them down there before lunch.”
“Thanks.” Abby turned to Flann. “Nicole Fisher—that’s the patient from the motorcycle accident—is stable. Neurosurg should be reviewing her repeat CT about now. I’ll give you a call when they’re done.”
“I’ll be up in a few.”
“Of course.” Abby glanced from Flann to Carrie again, her face smooth and cool. “I’ll see you there, then.”
She turned and quickly disappeared.
“Did you want to see Presley?” Carrie said, sounding oddly formal all of a sudden.
“For a minute,” Flann said contemplatively, wondering how much Abby had heard of her and Carrie’s bantering date talk. Not that she should have cared. Oddly, though, she did. Pushing that irrational reaction aside, she slid off the desk and tilted her head toward the door to the inner sanctum. “Can I go in?”
“I think she’s got a few minutes before a conference call. Let me check.” Carrie typed and a second later said, “Go ahead.”
“Don’t forget to call me.” Flann knocked once on the door, stepped inside, and closed it.
Presley was behind her desk, making notes on a pad.
Flann flopped into a chair in front of Presley’s big desk—the one that used to be her father’s and everyone expected to one day be Harper’s—and crossed her ankle over her knee. “Morning.”
“Flann.” Presley smiled. “I was just about to call you.”
“I had a few minutes between cases, so I thought I might as well drop over and save you from tracking me down.”
“I hear you met Abby.”
“I did. You didn’t waste any time getting her here.”
“There’s no point in wasting time. Every day we are losing money. I know you and Harper and Edward aren’t happy about the changes that are coming, but they’re coming, and we’ve all agreed.”
Flann blew out a breath. “I know, and I know you’re right. It’s just hard.”
“I mean to do everything I can to see that the Rivers stays a community hospital, with community doctors and nurses and staff serving the community. But we don’t have enough qualified physicians to expand our facilities, and an independent ER will bring revenue to SunView that I can funnel into the hospital, as well as referrals that we would have lost otherwise.”
Flann grunted. In this she and Harper were attuned. They didn’t care about money, they cared about practicing medicine. Her father was the same, and his before him. Unfortunately, doctors were often terrible at business, and the doctors who had been influential in running the hospital for 150 years hadn’t moved fast enough with the times. She got it. She knew Presley was their best chance. But she also knew when the ER residency program started and new blood started moving in, the dynamics within the hospital would shift. Trainees who hadn’t grown up here, who had no roots here, would be treating patients they hadn’t grown up knowing. The personal touch would disappear, and with it, some degree of the personal responsibility that got her and Harper and their father up out of a warm bed at night to see that a patient got the best care possible.
The changes had already started, and it’d only been a few weeks since the takeover. The ER was no longer under the control of the department of surgery. Abby Remy was now in charge, but a good 50 percent of Flann’s practice was ER based. She saw all the trauma patients and all the acute med-surg problems, and she was used to being the one to call the shots. “Remy is young,” Flann said. “She just finished her fellowship, right?”
“She’s not young in age or experience,” Presley said. “She missed a few years and it took her longer to finish med school than it might have, so she came out of her residency a little bit later.”
“Why the delay?” Flann said. “She certainly seems smart enough.”
“She had a young child, and she was raising he—him pretty much on her own until her mom could relocate and help out.”
Flann sat up straighter. “She’s married with a kid?”
“No, she’s a single mom.”
“How old’s the kid?”
“Blake is almost sixteen.”
“Wow.” Flann whistled. “She doesn’t look old enough to have a fifteen-year-old.”
“We were in college.”
“And she made it through college and med school and an ER fellowship with a kid. Okay, I’m impressed.”
Presley laughed. “That’s what it took to impress you?”
“I don’t doubt your MBA from Wharton was tough to come by, but you have no idea what it’s like being a resident, especially when you’re female with kids. Nobody has room for a resident who leaves early because a kid is sick or has an after-school event. That’s what wives are for.”
Presley stared. “I don’t believe you just said that. You might be a surgeon, but you’ve never struck me as chauvinistic.”
“It’s not about being chauvinistic, it’s just the way it is. Any medical resident has a tough time having a family, and surgery is longer and tougher. But a woman has it even harder. And a single mom?” She shook her head. “Your friend Abby must have a spine of steel.”
“She’s one of the strongest people I know,” Presley said. “So try to give her a break, will you?”
“I’m not planning to give her a hard time.”
“Thanks.” Presley hesitated. “So we’re good? You’re not mad at me anymore?”
Flann grinned. “You’re hard to stay mad at. Even if you didn’t make my sister stupid happy, you’d still be hard to stay mad at.”
Presley pulled her lip between her teeth. “Is she, really? Stupid happy, I mean?”
Flann cocked her head, studied her. Presley was a confident, aggressive woman and, rumor had it, a total ballbuster in the boardroom. She’d never seen her uncertain. “You’re not serious, are you? She’s crazy about you. Why, is there a problem?”
“No, it’s just…she’s so special, you know?” Presley grimaced. “And I don’t have a lot of practice at this kind of thing.”
“You mean love?”
Presley nodded.
“Well,” Flann said, “I’m certainly not one to talk, but Harper knows what she wants and she wants you. That should be it, right?”
Presley let out a long breath. “You’re right. I’ve just got jitters, I guess.”
“Family coming in for the wedding?”
Presley looked pained for a second and her jaw tightened, her expression suddenly reflecting the Valkyrie she was, unafraid to battle to the death. “No. My parents are too busy and my brother—let’s just say he’s not happy with the way things turned out here. He got outmaneuvered, and his ego hasn’t recovered.”
“He sounds like an ass. Sorry for saying it.”
“That’s okay. Abby’s here, and Carrie. I’ll have friends here, and that’s enough.”
Flann circled the desk and kissed her cheek. “You’ve got lots of friends here. And a family.”
“Thanks, it means a lot to me that you’re okay with me and Harper. Because Harper would never be happy if you weren’t.”
Flann worked up a grin. “Hey. You and Harp don’t have to worry about me. I’m good.”
“If anything changes—”
“Just enjoy the wedding planning, and don’t worry about anything else.” Flann hurried out before Presley could start probing any deeper into her relationship status, or lack thereof. She wasn’t like Harper. She wasn’t looking for a relationship. Harper was the heir—the one who’d be carrying on the family name, the family legacy, the Rivers dynasty. She wasn’t even a spare. All she wanted was a little uncomplicated companionship.
“See you at the game,” Carrie called.
“I’ll be waiting,” Flann tossed back as she jogged out down the hall and back toward the hospital, her domain. She took the stairs to the second floor and the ICU, wondering if Abby Remy would still be there. Trying not to wonder why a shot of adrenaline hit her in the gut when she thought about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Flann pulled down the drive at the homestead and parked behind Harper’s pickup under the porte cochere. As she got out of her Jeep, the smell of supper mixed with fresh-mown grass enveloped her. The wafting scents carried her back to the hot summer days of her youth, and a tug in her chest made her long for simpler times. Shrugging away the whimsy, she strode around the back of the house and leapt up the two stairs onto the back porch.
Her mother called, “Shoes!”
“They’re clean,” Flann called back.
“Use the mat.”
Grinning, she scraped her soles on the worn straw mat by the screen door. Most of the family was already congregated around the big trestle table in the middle of her mother’s kitchen. The weather was too warm for a fire in the deep brick hearth at the far end, and the windows above the counters along one wall were all open, letting in the aroma of honeysuckle and lilacs. Platters of baked chicken, potatoes, roasted vegetables, and biscuits filled the center of the table. Her father sat at the end closest to her in his white shirt and dark trousers, and her mother, in a cotton boat-necked floral print dress, sat at the opposite end, as it’d always been all Flann’s childhood. Harper sat on the left across from Margie, who was pretending not to read from the eReader propped against the table in her lap as she ate. Carson and the baby were missing, and she’d likely not be seen until Sunday dinner. Her husband Bill had finally come home from Afghanistan, and after the family met him at the airport, he and Carson had stayed close to home to reconnect.
Flann flopped into her chair next to Harper, grabbed an empty plate, and filled it with food. “This looks great, Mama.”
“Long case?” her father asked, buttering a flaky biscuit. “I thought you just had a hernia repair this afternoon.”
“Fractured wrist came in about five.” Flann filled a glass with fresh milk. Her father always seemed to know what she and Harper, and most other docs at the Rivers, had going on. “Jimmy Hawkins.”
“Damn,” Harper said. “I just saw him last week in the office for a work physical. He got that summer job lifeguarding at the lake. I hope he doesn’t lose it.”
“Trying to keep the cast on him is going to be a major challenge.” Flann grinned. “But if he follows orders, he’ll only miss the first week of the season.”
“Was his mama there?” Ida asked.
“Yep.”
“Then he’ll mind.”
“I was out of the hospital most of the day,” Edward said. “I didn’t get a chance to meet the new ER chief.” He looked pointedly at Flann. “I heard you did, though.”
Flann turned slicing and buttering her baked potato into a work of art while she considered her answer. Parsing her words at the family table was something new, but Harper was sitting right next to her, and now, by extension, Presley was too. She guessed Harper and Presley would share everything, the way her mother and father did. The family, the concept of their unity that had been with her all her life, seemed blurry now. When Carson had married Bill, they’d welcomed him into the family, but he’d been deployed for a large part of their marriage. Now that he was home, and Harper and Presley were getting married, the core of the family would be changing. Something else she needed to get used to.
“Abigail handled things well. She looks to be well-trained,” Flann finally said.
Edward regarded her silently.
Her mother passed her a bowl of green beans. “Vegetables.”
“You know I don’t really like—” At a sharp look from her mother, Flann let that battle go and took some of the steamed beans.
Ida said, “I think we can assume that anyone Presley hired would be well-qualified. How did the two of you get on?”
Flann gritted her teeth. Of course her mother would get to the point. She always did. “We got along fine. Dealing with her is the same as with any other consultant.”
“Mmm,” Ida said. “Except, in this case, you are the consultant.”
Flann put her knife and fork down. “That’s true.”
“And you’re used to being at the top of the food chain,” Ida remarked casually.
Edward coughed on a laugh. “Those of us in medicine wouldn’t necessarily agree with that, my dear.”
“Nor do I, necessarily,” Ida said with a hint of Southern sweetness. “But I wager that’s not the way Flannery looks at it.”
“There’s not going to be a problem,” Flann said, more for Harper’s benefit than anyone else’s. She was tired of the subject already and wanted to put it to rest. Hoping to divert the attention from her feelings about Abigail, she tried for a change in topics. “Presley tells me she has a teenager.”
“Oh hey,” Margie said, looking up from the eReader, “I met him today. At the library. Blake.”
“Did you invite him to supper?” Ida asked.
“No, but I offered to show him around town. He seems kinda shy. You know, he’s a city kid, so I guess everything here seems weird.”
“All the more reason to invite him and his parents to dinner so they’ll feel welcome.”
“Okay, the next time I see him, I will.” Margie went back to her reading, instantly absorbed.
“There’s just Abby and Blake,” Harper said. “Presley invited them over to her place on Saturday.”
“As she should,” Ida said, “but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t also.”
“I’ll see to it,” Harper said, and Ida nodded.
Edward said, “How are things coming along with the purchase of the White place?”
“Good,” Harper said. “The grandsons have been wanting to sell that place since old Mrs. White died. It’s the right size, got the right amount of land, and Presley already feels comfortable there.”
“So, Carrie’s going to move into your place,” Flann said.
“Seems like a good solution,” Harper said. “The caretaker’s place is move-in ready and I’m leaving most of the furniture. She won’t have much to do and she’ll be close by all of us.”
Flann considered the possibility of spending the night with Carrie at the old caretaker’s house on her parents’ homestead—if they got further than one date. Assuming Carrie called her. She supposed she could put her Jeep in the barn if she didn’t want to advertise her personal comings and goings. She could work it out if and when the time came.
“It’s a pretty big place,” Ida said casually. “What’s it got—four, five bedrooms?”
Harper grinned. “Four besides the master, which we figure will be about right. I guess it’s a good time to let you know we’re thinking about adopting as soon as we can.”
Everyone at the table stopped eating and stared at her.
“Well,” Ida said finally. “That’s welcome news. The sooner the better, because you can never have enough grandchildren.”
Flann looked away before Harper got a look at the shock in her eyes. Harper married with kids. The picture had never occurred to her before, although why not, she couldn’t imagine. Harper was practically a carbon copy of their dad. A family physician who made house calls and always would. Rooted in the community, born to head a family. Of course Harp would want her own family as soon as she could, now she’d found the woman she would make a life with.
“That’s a splendid idea,” Edward said. “How long do they expect the process will take?”
“Cool,” Margie added. “Can you get two at once?”
“Yes, possibly,” Harper said, laughing. “As to how long, I don’t know. The agency says the average time is a year to two, but we could get lucky.” Harper lifted a shoulder. “We’re flexible about things like age or ethnicity, as long as we have a healthy child. The rest will be up to us, then, right?”
“All a child needs,” Ida said, “is love. You let us know if there’s anything we can do, and when the time comes, with the two of you working, I expect to be lending a hand in that child’s care.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Harper said softly.
When dinner was finished, Flann helped Harper and Margie clear the table while her mother and father retired to the back porch with a glass of wine.
As soon as the last dish was dried, Margie said, “I’m going into the village for a while. See you.”
“See you,” Flann said.
“Be careful on your bike,” Harper called as the back door slammed.
Alone in the kitchen, Flann searched for a neutral topic of conversation, something she’d never had to do with her sister before. The silence drew on until it felt awkward.
“So what do you think?” Harper said finally.
“What do you mean?”
“About the kids thing.”
“I think the two of you will be great parents.” Flann meant every word from the bottom of her heart.
“Big change, though, huh?”
Flann grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator, flicked off the top on an old bottle opener screwed to the undersurface of the wooden counter, and handed it to Harper. She opened one for herself. “It’s about time. You probably should’ve been married five years ago. You were made for it.”
Harper laughed. “It feels now like that’s the truth, but I didn’t know how much I wanted it until I met Presley.”
“Then I guess that’s a sign you found the right woman.”
“So about the wedding,” Harper said. “We’re going to have it here, of course, and we both want pretty traditional.”
Flannery laughed. “No surprise there either.”
“So you’re going to stand up with me, right?”
Flann’s chest tightened. “Harp, I’ll always stand with you. No matter what.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s a dumb-ass thing to say. You don’t thank me for being your sister.”
“How about for being my friend?”
“Not that either.” Flann scrubbed her face. She hadn’t been doing a very good job of letting Harper know she was happy for her. Too busy feeling sorry for herself. “Is falling in love and getting married turning your brain to mush?”
“Only sometimes.”
“I think Presley is great, and the two of you are going to be super together.” Flann grinned. “As for the kids thing? Bring ’em on. We need new blood for the softball league, and we can get started training them up.”
Laughing, looking younger by a decade, Harper took a long pull on her beer. “So, how do you really feel about Abby?”
Flann tensed. Had Harper read something in her face earlier? Because Abby Remy kept intruding on her thoughts. A lot more than a new professional colleague, even one who’d effortlessly moved in on her territory, should have. She kept remembering the quick sure movements of her hands as she examined the patient, the steady certain tone in her voice, the focus in her eyes. She was a strong woman, attractive just for that. And then there was the elegant curve of her cheekbones and the sensuous lift of her lips, on the rare occasions when she smiled, and the dynamite shape in a tight, curvy-in-all-the right-places body. Thinking about Abby’s body was a really bad idea, since heading down that path would only lead to disaster. She only had to spend five minutes with Abby to know she wasn’t the kind of woman to cut loose for a night and then walk away with a smile and a wave. And those were the only kind of women Flann wanted to think about—fun-loving, field-playing women just like her. “Presley made a good call. Having someone competent in the ER so we don’t have to worry when we can’t get there right away will take a load off us all.”
“I’m glad you’re okay with it,” Harper said. “Presley really likes her. They were pretty tight in college and then—well, you know how it is when you get to med school. You have a tough time keeping any kind of relationship going with anyone most of the time, and they haven’t really seen each other for a while. But the connection is still there.”
“Yeah, I got that when I talked to Presley earlier. She told me a little about when she and Abby were in college—pretty impressive,” Flann said, “that Abby made it through college and med school and residency while raising a kid.”
That was another really good reason to keep her distance. Single women with kids were like mama bears—protective and reluctant to let anyone close. Rightly so, but not for her.
“Dad did it,” Harper said, “but he had Mama. I don’t see how he could’ve done it and set up his practice without her.”
Flann glanced toward the back porch where her parents were spending a rare few minutes alone together. Even now a lot of the people in the area wanted her father when they had a medical emergency, and he was often called out at night or came home after dinner was long over. Always, her mother had been there for all of them. Her father was Harper’s hero, but her mother was hers. Harper would be the best of both of them, but Flann had always known she wasn’t cut out to be a family woman. She hadn’t even been able to hang in there when Katie was dying. The loss cut her heart out and she’d barely managed to say good-bye, let alone stand strong. She swallowed down the familiar guilt. “I’m sure things will work out fine. Abby has handled a lot tougher situations than relocating, it seems to me.”
Harper set the empty bottle on the drain board. “It’s going to be a challenging transition for her and her son. Moving from the city up here is just part of it.”
“Well, Abby’s got Presley, and that will help a lot.”
“I don’t know…”
“What?” Flann had never known Harper to be reluctant to discuss anything. “What’s going on?”
Harper blew out a breath. “Abby told Presley a big part of the reason that she moved up here was to give her son a new environment, a new place to finish high school.”
“Teenager troubles? Drugs or something?”
“No, nothing like that. Apparently, Blake identifies as trans. He had some trouble with the transition at his old school and Abby thinks a fresh start with new kids will help.”
“Whoa,” Flann said. “That’s got to be a challenge for both of them. Is this the kid Margie met today?”
“Yeah.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“Maybe she didn’t think anything of it—or doesn’t think it’s her place to say. A lot of kids their age are cool with different gender identities, even up here where being out about differences isn’t as common as in the city. I haven’t had a single kid in my practice talk about gender issues, and I’m sure some have questions.”
“Neither have I,” Flann said, and suddenly, she wanted to know a whole lot more. “You know, it’s about time we did a few repairs to that barn at the Whites’ place, don’t you think?”
“There’s a lot of things that need repairing,” Harper said, seeming not to notice the change in topic.
“How about Saturday afternoon?”
Harper gave her a long look. “I’ll tell Lila to make sure she leaves plenty of extra food for supper.”
CHAPTER SIX
Abby pulled into the drive at sunset. Her commute had taken less than ten minutes. Amazingly, she’d saved an entire hour of travel that she’d usually spent on the subway in a haze of fatigue. Now she actually had a few hours to spend with Blake when she wasn’t so tired all she wanted was to stretch out and not think about work or finances or what might lie ahead for her child. She left her bag by the front door and walked through the big living room, scanning the loft at the top of the staircase that was Blake’s new bedroom. No lights up there, and a silent house. “Blake?”
“Out here,” Blake called from the back porch.
Abby stopped to pour a glass of iced tea she’d made in the morning, carried it outside, and sat down next to him on the top step. From here any sound from the street was muffled and the only thing to see was pastureland. The stillness was unnerving and suspiciously restful. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the absence of the barely controlled energy that defined city life. “What are you doing?”
He held up his cell phone with a futile expression. “Trying to get a signal.”
“Huh. Dead zone?”
He gave her a look. “I think the whole town might be a dead zone.”
She tried to hide her horror. She wasn’t that much into a calmer lifestyle that she could do without the Internet. Or her phone. “Really? That can’t be right. There must be a cell tower around here somewhere.”
“I walked just about everywhere, and most of the time I couldn’t connect.”
“What about in the house?” She imagined her son rambling through town with his phone held up in front of him, like a displaced time traveler. He was, in a way, and not of his own choice. God, having a child was hard. Wonderful, but so damn hard. “Can we text inside?”
“It’s sketchy.”
“Let’s see what happens when we get cable.” She blew out a breath. “We need to have some kind of phone service in an emergency.”
“Or if the hospital needs you,” Blake said glumly.
“That’s not going to happen as often as when I was a fellow. My hours will be a lot more regular.”
“You’re the boss, right?”
“Yes.” The reality of that had sunk in by midday when she’d had to meet with the ER staff to review schedules, evaluate treatment protocols, confirm state-required documentation procedures, and a dozen other things she hadn’t had to worry about a week before—in between seeing patients and supervising the PAs who made up the rest of the non-nursing staff. Most of the staff had been friendly and helpful. A few, as she’d expected, had been reserved, as if waiting to see what changes she intended to make. She hadn’t seen Flannery after their morning conference with the neurosurgeon regarding Nicole Fisher’s status. As busy as she’d been, she’d still had time to second-guess her initial meeting with the surgical chief. Flann was the single most important medical contact for her in the hospital, with Harper being a close second. Between them, they’d be consulted on almost every critical patient in the ER. Once she had the residency program in place and pushed Presley to apply for a primary care residency as well, she’d have a buffer zone where she’d be able to direct patient care much more actively. If the ER was to stand alone within the SunView system, she needed to sever the dependency on Rivers physicians. Flann would fight it.
Tomorrow would be time enough to worry about her battle with the Rivers MDs. Tonight was family time.
Blake regarded her suspiciously. “You called them, right?”
“Hmm? Sorry—called who?”
“The Internet people.” Blake looked pained.
Abby crossed her heart. “I swear I did. They said they’d be here tomorrow. You can live until then without Facebook.”
He made an exasperated sound and pushed his phone into the pocket of his khaki shorts. “Like I have a choice. About anything.”
“What did you do today?” Abby wasn’t going to try to convince him everything would be easy. It might not be. But they weren’t turning back.
He hunched his shoulders. “Not much. Walked around.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Define eating.”
“Come on.”
“Seriously.”
“Cereal.”
“For breakfast?”
“And lunch,” he said reluctantly.
“Why didn’t you go shopping and get something for sandwiches or something like that?”
He shifted on the stairs and gave her his what-planet-are-you-from look. “Mom. Have you looked around this place? There’s no supermarket. Where am I supposed to get sandwich stuff?”
“Well, there must be somewhere to get food in town. Maybe one of the restaurants has a deli section or something.”
“I didn’t feel like going into every one, okay?”
He’d at least ventured out and explored. She’d count that as a win for the day. “What do you say we go find a pizza place. I’m starving.”
“You think they have one?”
“I don’t think any town could survive without a pizza place. Of course, if you don’t want pizza—”
Blake jumped up. “Hell, yeah.”
Smiling, she rose. “Give me five minutes to change into something more comfortable.”
“Okay. I’ll wait out front.”
She wanted to give him a hug, but she knew it wouldn’t be welcome. She squeezed his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Food first, then we’ll explore.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered, but his expression had lightened.
Abby would do anything to keep him safe and help him be happy. She just hoped she’d know what needed doing when the time came. Step-by-step, they’d chart the waters together. After changing into jeans, a mint-green T-shirt, and flip-flops, she joined Blake where he sat on a board swing hanging by thick ropes from a big oak on the front lawn. Impulsively, she gave him a push and he swung forward.
“Jeez, Mom,” he yelled, jumping down and landing in a small puff of dust. His big grin belied his outrage.
Abby’s heart caught as it often did when she looked at the almost-adult and remembered the child. His hair had been lighter then, sun-kissed and curling around an oval face so unblemished and innocent, she’d believed somewhere angels truly flew. From the time he could talk he’d insisted on he, not she, choosing to be called by his middle name, not his more feminine first; and then for a time, a long frightening time, he’d gone quiet, and the beautiful child had grown joyless and solitary. Until he’d come to her at last, insistent and sure despite the plea in his eyes. And here he was, so different now, and yet at the heart, always the same. Hers to nurture and protect.
“Fine—you push, then.” Abby plunked down on the seat and wrapped her arms around the ropes, the scratch of the frayed fibers and the sultry heat rising from the ground drawing her back to a childhood she rarely paused long enough to remember. Blake gave her a push and she extended her legs, leaning back and letting her hair fly out behind her. The freedom was exhilarating and she reveled for a few more swoops before slowing herself with a foot and jumping off.
“Okay.” She threaded her arm through Blake’s. “Lead on, my man.”
Blake pressed against her for a brief, beautiful moment before letting go. The main street through the village was mostly quiet, a few cars and trucks passing now and then and the occasional dog walker, strolling couple, or clutch of teens passing by. Most of the businesses were closed, and the air, heavy with heat and dusk, felt more like mid-August than barely summer. The parking lot in front of Clark’s pizzeria was full, however. Most of the vehicles were pickups. A bike rack along one side was nearly filled.
“This must be about the only place to eat at night,” Abby said.
“Except for the bars.”
“Well, that lets you out for a couple more years.”
He snorted and paused on the sidewalk in front of the pizza place, a one-story cement-block building painted Day-Glo orange that looked like a converted garage. Two big plate-glass windows framed a red door. An old-fashioned white glass sign, lit by flickering bulbs, hung over it, with Clark’s in red script. Teens and a few older patrons were visible through the windows.
“What do you say?” Abby said. Probably having pizza with his mom was the last thing on Blake’s to-do list, and the first foray into the social life of the town would be even more of a challenge. The group she’d joined for parents of trans teens had stressed the importance of letting Blake lead the way in defining what was comfortable for him and what wasn’t. If he wanted to tell his teachers and friends he was trans, she supported that. If he didn’t want to be out or chose to be more selective and only tell a few friends, she supported that as well. The only absolute was that she supported him in all ways in all situations with all comers. She resisted the urge to ruffle his short hair. He was her child, of course she supported him.
“I’m starving,” he said at last. “Pepperoni?”
“Mushrooms?”
He made a face.
Abby laughed. “Half pepperoni, half mushrooms?”
He grinned, and for just an instant she saw the child he had once been, filled with joy and expectation and trust. She wanted to see that smile dominate his life again.
“After you,” she said.
With an almost perceptible squaring of his shoulders, he strode forward and she followed.
The place was one big room with a counter at the back, noisy, smelling of tomato sauce and cheese and, of all things, hay. Three booths occupied one side and the rest of the space was filled with five or six rickety Formica tables surrounded by chairs that looked like they’d been there since the 1950s, aluminum legs and vinyl seats, cracked and patched in places. Pizza boxes, paper plates, and sweating cardboard cups of soda covered every surface. A dozen teenagers lounged around the room in groups of twos and threes. Some glanced their way and then went back to their conversations. Blake ordered for them while Abby grabbed a booth vacated by three high-school-age girls. The girls smiled at Blake as he returned. He colored slightly and slid into the booth. Abby sat across from him.
“Presley invited us to dinner Saturday afternoon,” Abby said.
“Do I have to go?” Blake said.
“Presley is an old friend and the head of the hospital. She used to help babysit when you were small.”
“I don’t remember.” Blake picked at the edge of a paper plate.
“I know. But we live here now and I’d like us to meet people as a family.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He didn’t sound particularly enthused. Meeting new people was always a challenge for them both. Sometimes there were questions, sometimes only curious looks. Fortunately, they’d rarely run into overt bias or hostility, but she lived with the expectation that could happen at any time, and she knew he did too. All they could do was deal with whatever came, together.
“The hospital’s not far,” Abby said. “Probably a fifteen- or twenty-minute walk if you want to have lunch when I’m on the day shift.”
“I’d rather get a bicycle,” Blake said.
“Really? Okay. First thing.” The city hadn’t really been conducive to biking, the traffic too dangerous and the subway too convenient. They hadn’t lived all that far from his school, so he’d been able to walk or bus in inclement weather. He’d be ready for his driver’s license soon, but he hadn’t brought it up and she was in no hurry to have him on the roads. “I’ll try to get off early one afternoon and we can drive”—she laughed—“somewhere to get one.”
“I could probably get one on Craigslist.”
“I think we can spring for a new bike.”
The guy behind the pizza counter called out Blake’s name. As he rose to get the pizza, a girl called, “Hey, Blake!”
A teenager with blond curls to her shoulders, brilliant blue eyes, and the graceful gait of an athlete crossed the room to Blake, a big smile on her face. That was interesting. Somehow Blake had made the acquaintance of a girl he hadn’t mentioned. Blake picked up the pizza and gestured toward the booth. A moment later the two teenagers crowded into the booth across from her with the pizza pan in the middle of the table.
The girl held out her hand to Abby. “Hi, Dr. Remy. I’m Margie Rivers. Flann and Harper’s sister.”
“Hi,” Abby said, hiding her surprise. “I didn’t realize you two had met.”
“Yeah,” Margie said. “At the library today.”
Avoiding Abby’s gaze, Blake said to Margie, “Pepperoni or mushroom?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I already had supper.”
“Go ahead,” Abby said, sliding a mushroom slice onto her plate. “I suspect there’s probably still room for more.”
“Well, maybe one.” Margie glanced at Blake. “Pepperoni.”
Blake eased a slice onto a paper plate and passed it to Margie.
“Thanks,” Margie said.
Abby said cautiously, “I haven’t had a chance to see the school, Margie. Presley said it’s a regional high school, with a pretty big class. How do you like it?”
“It’s fine. The teachers are mostly all pretty good. Our school graduating class has a seventy-five percent college acceptance rate, which is slightly better than the state average. We score okay on the SATs too, and if you select for just the college applicants, we do even better.”
Abby put her pizza down and regarded Margie, suppressing a smile. “You seem to be somewhat of a statistician.”
“No, not really. My sister Carson is the MBA. She’s head of admissions at the hospital. I’m interested in economics, but I’ll probably end up in medicine like the rest of the family.”
“I take it that’s something of a family legacy.”
“Yeah. It’s not required or anything.” Margie shrugged. “But I guess it’s kind of in the genes.”
“I hope not,” Blake muttered.
Abby laughed. “Maybe not in our family.”
Margie looked at Blake. “So what are you planning on doing?”
“Oh. Well. I’m going to be a writer.”
“That’s cool. Novels, or what?”
“Fiction, yeah.” Blake looked nonchalant, but his eyes had brightened.
“So, are you writing anything now?”
“I’ve got a couple things started.”
“That’s really cool. Do you think you’ll go to college or just start out writing?”
Blake cut a look at Abby. “I think my mom would have a heart attack if I didn’t go to college.”
“Something along those lines,” Abby said dryly.
Margie laughed. “Yeah, I know how that is.”
“I don’t mind,” Blake said. “I think studying writing and literature will be good.”
“Me too. I love books.”
“Me too,” Blake said softly.
When the pizza was done, they all walked out together. Abby held back a little while Blake and Margie walked ahead, discussing a book she’d never heard of. Margie stopped by the bike rack.
“I’ll see you,” Margie said to Blake. “Nice meeting you, Dr. Remy.”
“Call me Abby. And you too.”
Margie waved and biked away. Abby chose her words carefully. Don’t push. Don’t pry. Leave the door open. God, it was hard sometimes. She wanted to ask a million things—are you going to tell her? Do you like her—girls—that way? What do you want that will make you happy?
“She seems nice,” Abby finally ventured.
“Yeah.” Blake stuffed his hands in his pockets. “She is.”
Small beginnings. Abby breathed the fragrant air and listened to the sounds of the night coming to life. One step at a time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Abby glanced at the GPS, which had suddenly decided to send her in a completely opposite direction from the one in which they’d been driving. “That doesn’t look right.”
Blake leaned forward to study the map and then out the window. “None of this looks right either. I can’t see anything. I don’t think anybody lives out here.”
“I’m quite sure they do,” Abby said, laughing. “These are just farms.”
“Yeah, but there aren’t any houses.”
“There’s one right up on that hill over there.”
Blake sat back with an undisguised huff of disgust. “Okay. One.”
Still laughing, Abby slowed to check the number on a mailbox coming up. She slowed further and turned in to a one-lane dirt driveway. “This is it.”
“How long do we have to stay?”
“Until I’ve had a chance to talk to my friend, have a decent dinner, and find you a boarding school in another country.”
“Ha-ha. Which country?”
“I hear Switzerland is nice.”
“At least I could ski.”
“I’m quite sure there’ll be plenty of skiing around here in a few more months.”
Blake perked up. “Can I get lessons?”
“Yes, if you think you can survive that long.”
Grinning, Blake said, “I’ll try.”
“There’s the house. Oh, it’s really nice.”
“Can we have a dog?”
“Do you really want one?” Abby pulled into a wide space between a big white clapboard house with a porch running along the front and a weathered red barn that was twice as big as the house. Come to think of it, the barns they’d passed were always bigger than the houses, a subtle sign of the priorities of farming life. “A dog is a big responsibility for a long time.”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “But it’d be nice to have someone around.”
He didn’t have to say when you aren’t there, but she heard it clearly enough. Her mother had stopped living with them when Blake was old enough to come home from school and be by himself for a few hours until Abby got back from the hospital. With just the two of them, the apartment had seemed too big and too quiet, but she couldn’t begrudge her mother a move to Florida after she’d given up more than a decade to live with her and look after Blake. She couldn’t have managed without her, and even though her mother had insisted she was happy to do it and wouldn’t have missed Blake’s childhood for anything, living in New York City had been a sacrifice. Abby’s father had died in a car accident while Abby had been in her last year of high school, and her mother had barely begun thinking about what she’d do with her life when Abby had gotten pregnant in her second year of college. Her mother had never wanted to live in the city. She’d grown up in the foothills of the Adirondacks, where Abby had spent some idyllic summers as a child with her grandparents. Living in the Syracuse suburbs where Abby had grown up, her mother had always talked of retiring somewhere warm without snow.
No, she didn’t begrudge her mother a single day in the sun. She stopped the car and turned to Blake. “Yes, we can get a dog if you really want one. Just give it a while and think about what it means. You’ll be the primary caretaker. If you’re sure, then we will.”
Blake nodded. “Okay, but I’m sure.”
He probably was. He rarely changed his mind once he voiced a desire. She wouldn’t mind a dog either, especially at night. She was discovering the quiet country nights under the vastness of a sky filled with a million stars she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years made her feel small and inconsequential. Added to that, the nights were so deep, dark, and still, she almost wished for the sound of traffic outside her bedroom window. Almost.
A screen door banged and Presley raced across the porch and down the stone path toward them. Abby got out just in time to be caught up in a big hug.
“Have any trouble finding the place?” Presley looked relaxed in a yellow sleeveless top and dark green capris.
“No.” Abby turned slowly, taking in the rolling fields and woods in the distance. “It’s gorgeous out here.”
“Isn’t it?”
Blake got out and stood by the side of the car. He’d worn a black T-shirt with a stylized dragon breathing fire made from red and silver sequins, skinny blue jeans, and bright blue sneakers with no laces. He’d done something to his hair with gel that made it look spiky. He’d also grown another inch, Abby realized. David was over six feet, and it looked like Blake might come within a few inches of that.
“Hi, Blake,” Presley called easily before Abby could make introductions. “I’m Presley. You probably don’t remember me.”
Blake shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was ages ago.” Presley looped an arm around Abby’s waist. “Come on out back, you two. Carrie’s there. She’s staying on here until the wedding and then moving to Harper’s place.”
Another porch stretched the width of the back of the house, where Carrie waited in one of the white wood rockers lined up by the railing. Her crop top, cut-off denim shorts, and flip-flops made her look considerably younger than when Abby had seen her at work. A low bench served as a table and held a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and a plate of cookies.
“You’ve met Carrie,” Presley said.
“Yes, hi again,” Abby said. “Carrie, my son, Blake.”
“Hey, Blake,” Carrie said, holding out her hand.
“Hi,” Blake said quietly.
“Go ahead,” Presley said. “Help yourselves to something to drink. And be sure to try the cookies.”
Abby poured lemonade for herself and Blake, handing him a glass. “These cookies look fabulous. It smells like they were just baked. I’m impressed, Pres.”
“Don’t be,” Presley said with a laugh. “I have the most amazing housekeeper, Lila. She cooks, bakes, shops, and pretty much keeps me alive. She made the cookies this afternoon before she left. She also put a pot roast in the oven along with the rest of dinner.”
“I think we might need a Lila, Mom,” Blake said, munching a cookie and dropping down on the top stair of the wide plank steps.
“Maybe you could just learn to cook,” she said mildly.
“Yeah, right.” He paused with the half-eaten cookie in his hand. “Hey, I think there’s something wrong with that chicken.”
Abby followed his gaze as a black bird with iridescent tail feathers stumbled around the corner and toward the porch. One leg was clearly damaged in some way.
“Oh, that’s Rooster,” Presley said. “He’s fine. I mean, he obviously isn’t, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all.” She broke off a piece of chocolate-chip cookie and tossed it out onto the lawn.
The bird made an ungodly screeching sound and attacked the morsel with a series of ferocious pecks. Blake watched with a widening grin. “He’s pretty cool. Do you have more?”
“No chickens, but there are some kittens in the barn. If you want to take a look, you’re welcome to walk around. The kittens are only a few months old and really friendly.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.” Blake jumped up as if his pants were on fire, obviously anxious to be free of their company.
“Go,” Abby said.
He strode off in the direction of the barn. Abby was aware of both Presley and Carrie watching him, but they didn’t ask anything so she didn’t comment.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Abby said. “We both needed a break from unpacking, and a chance to put a little space between us. Moving is not a lot of fun.”
“Unless you’re like me,” Carrie said, “and you just throw everything into one suitcase, sublease your apartment, and buy a plane ticket. That’s pretty much what I did when Presley told me about this job. Of course, I didn’t realize I’d be staying when I headed out here.”
“How are you liking it?” Abby asked.
“I love it.” Carrie grabbed a cookie. “The hospital is beautiful and the people are all pretty great to work with. And I love waking up every morning to sunshine and the green. I love the green.”
“There is that.” Abby looked off toward the barn. She couldn’t see Blake. “I hope Blake adjusts—I at least had summers in the mountains, but he’s a city kid through and through.”
“It’s not nearly as provincial as it first seems,” Presley said. “You’ll find after a while everything you need is here.”
Carrie laughed. “Well, your experience isn’t exactly anything to go by. You’ve only been here a little while and you’re suddenly engaged and about to be married.”
Presley pushed a foot on the floor and set her chair rocking. “I know. It’s so crazy, every time I think of it, I’m afraid I might be dreaming.”
“If you are,” Carrie said, “I am too. So don’t wake any of us up.”
“When is the big day?” Abby asked.
“We just decided last night,” Presley said, a blush tinting her cheeks. “The last Saturday in July.”
Carrie coughed and sat up straight. “That’s a month away!”
“Yes, but—”
“Oh my God! We have to go shopping, we have to start planning, we—”
“Carrie, it’s just going to be a small—”
“Oh, bullshit to that!” Carrie grabbed another cookie and took a big bite. “I’ll start on the lists.”
Presley held up her hands in surrender. “Okay—you’re the official wedding planner.”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll both be in the bride’s party—the bride being me. Harper says she can’t quite see herself as a bride, but bridegroom works.”
“Mmm, that’s kind of sexy,” Carrie said.
“Well, consider the source,” Presley said, and they all laughed.
“Harper seems terrific,” Abby said. She meant it personally and professionally. She’d had a busy first week in the ER, and Harper had been down half a dozen times to evaluate patients, never complaining when she’d been called, always arriving as soon as she reasonably could, and offering excellent clinical advice. She was great with patients and staff too. A doctor’s doctor. If Abby was sick, she’d want Harper to be the one answering the call. Unless she needed surgery, and then she’d want Flannery Rivers.
Presley glanced at her watch at the sound of a vehicle crunching across the gravel. “Somebody’s early for dinner.” She walked to the far end of the porch, leaned out, and scanned the driveway. She waved and turned back with a big smile. “Apparently Harper and Company are planning on doing a little construction work in exchange for supper.”
“Convenient timing,” Carrie said. “Who’re the other handy hands?”
“Flann and Glenn are with her.”
“Have you met Glenn yet?” Presley asked Abby.
“Yes, last night, as a matter of fact.” Abby had called for a surgery consult on a farm worker with a swollen hand, and Glenn had responded. The surgical physician assistant covered the house on rotation with Flann and several of the other local surgeons. Abby wasn’t used to PAs being first call, but she’d worked with residents her entire career and knew they had more experienced backup if needed. What she hadn’t counted on was how very good Glenn was all on her own. Abby’d had only to discuss the case with Glenn and sign off after Glenn spoke briefly with Flann by telephone to ensure everyone was covered legally. “She’s really good.”
“She was an Army medic in Iraq,” Carrie said. “Three tours, I think.”
“It shows,” Abby said.
“I think Flann prefers working with her over anyone else,” Carrie said.
“She’s the calm to Flann’s storm,” Presley said with a laugh.
Abby smiled. “You said it, I didn’t.”
“Sometimes I think Flann just likes to talk a good game,” Carrie said.
“Sometimes,” Presley agreed. “At least she’s honest about who she is.”
“She is.” Carrie blew out a breath. “She asked me out.”
“Oho,” Presley said with a whistle in her tone. “Stepping into deep waters, huh?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie mused. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Looking for something a little more serious?” Presley asked.
“Not necessarily. I don’t really know, actually. But Flann and I get along fine right now, and with you and Harper being so close, I don’t want to confuse things.”
“Carrie,” Presley said. “If you want to go out with Flann, it’s perfectly fine. She’s a big girl and so are you, and whatever happens or doesn’t happen isn’t going to affect our friendship or our working relationship.”
“Maybe,” Carrie said, sounding anything but certain. “I told her I’d think about it.”
Abby listened without comment. She didn’t know Carrie or Flann well enough to even have an opinion, other than the fact that she agreed with Carrie. Getting involved with Flannery Rivers was not something to take lightly. The woman had the potential for being a serious heartbreaker. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about anything in that regard. The little twinge of envy was only a reminder she hadn’t had a date in years. Maybe someday—with someone a lot safer than a surgeon with a God complex, no matter how gorgeous she might be.
*
Flannery grabbed one end of a stack of two-by-fours from the truck and slid them out of the bed. Glenn grabbed the other, and together they carried them around behind the barn. Harper followed with toolboxes and a cooler with beer for later.
“Where’s the chicken wire?” Flann asked.
“In the barn,” Harper called.
“I’ll get it.” Flann jogged around the side of the barn, noting the other vehicle in the drive. Abby must be here already. She’d seen Presley when they pulled up. The women must be on the back porch, probably talking about them. She grinned. She hoped so. Carrie had said no to a private dinner after the game the night before, but there was no rush. She’d seen Abby a time or two in passing during the week, but they’d been headed in opposite directions. Abby had been polite, and nothing else. Not even a second’s extra smile suggesting she might welcome a conversation sometime. The dismissal irked more than Flann expected.
The sliding barn door was partly open and she slipped through into the cool, dim, sweet-scented air and walked down the main aisle. The stalls on one side stood open, waiting for the return of horses who hadn’t been in residence for a long time. She wouldn’t be surprised if Harp filled those stalls before long. Harp was a farmer by heritage as much as she was a doctor. Flann slowed at the sound of soft murmuring.
A teenager knelt by a pile of hay, stroking a black and white kitten.
“Hey,” Flannery said softly.
The teen turned, and Flann saw the resemblance to Abby in the angle of the cheekbones and the curve of the jaw. This must be Blake. He was of the age where gender was often hard to tell at first glance with arms and legs that seemed too long and thin and a slender body that hadn’t filled out yet. From a distance he might’ve been a boy or girl. Up close, it was still a coin toss. She wondered how he handled the confusion that must arise from time to time. Even more so for him. “I’m Flann Rivers.”
“Blake Remy,” the teen said in a melodic tenor. “Presley said it was okay if I came in here.”
“Sure, why not. How are the kittens doing?”
“They’re all really cute,” Blake said. “I didn’t see the mother, though.”
“She’s probably taking a snooze someplace cool. Come sundown, she’ll go hunting.”
“For what?”
“Most anything. Bird, mole, rabbit.”
“No. Rabbit?”
Flann laughed. “The other day she dragged one back through the cat door for the kittens.”
Blake grimaced. “They eat them?”
“They do. These are barn cats, friendly because they’ve been around people since they were born, but their hunting instincts aren’t blunted. They kill to eat, and hunting is instinctual for them. The kittens will be going out with her before long.”
“I guess it’s okay, hunting to eat.”
“Natural.”
“They’re not meant to be pets, are they?” His tone held regret.
“You looking for a cat?”
“I was thinking more dog.”
“There’s a shelter in the next village, about eight miles away.”
Blake stuffed his hands in his pockets and straightened up. “Yeah?”
“I can tell you how to get there, if, you know, your mom is up for it.”
“I’m working on that.”
Flann laughed. “I know how that is. So what’re you doing now?”
Blake made a face. “Hanging out while my mom talks to her friends.”
“You feel like building a chicken coop?”
“Sure, I guess. But I don’t really know anything about construction.”
“No better time than now to learn.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Abby listened with half an ear to Presley and Carrie, mostly Carrie, discussing wedding plans—contingencies for the outdoor ceremony in case it rained, menu choices for the reception, music, traditional or individualized vows, floral arrangements, decorations, and a multitude of other details—and, with the other half of her mind, concentrated on the hammering, sawing, and occasional shouts from the direction of the barn. Blake hadn’t returned from his explorations, and she suspected he’d volunteered for or been conscripted into Harper’s construction company. She tried not to worry about how he was getting along or what he might be getting into. He had to be able to make his way in the world without her running interference, as much as she wanted to. All the same, he was still a teenager, and teens were not known for their best judgment. Added to that, Blake had had more than his share of disappointment and shattered dreams in the last year. Her instincts told her the adults could be trusted to be sensitive and responsible, but he was still hers to protect.
“I think I ought to check on the roast,” Presley said when Carrie flipped a page in the notebook she’d been filling with wedding to-do lists. “Or at least look at the instructions Lila left as to when to take the cover off and brown it.”
“You think we should eat inside”—Carrie put her pen and notepad aside—“or set up out here? The weather called for thunderstorms.”
Several wooden picnic tables sat in a shady corner of the yard beneath two big oak trees. The nearly cloudless sky was clear and blue, the temperature warm enough for a T-shirt, at least until the sun went down.
“I think we should eat outside if we can,” Presley said.
“I’ll hunt around for a tablecloth,” Carrie said.
“What can I do to help?” Abby said.
Presley shook her head. “Not a thing. Relax, I’m sure you need it after this crazy week.”
“Sitting out here has done more for my mental health than anything I can think of in a long time,” Abby said. “If you don’t need me for a few minutes, though, I think I’ll take a walk.”
“Go ahead,” Presley said. “There are no rules or have-tos out here.”
Abby laughed. “That is definitely unique and different.”
When Presley and Carrie disappeared inside, Abby strolled across the yard to the driveway and down a gentle slope toward the barn. Fenced pastures surrounded it, empty of animals now, but she could imagine animals grazing in them sometime in the not too distant past and imagined it wouldn’t be long before some did again. The fences were still in reasonable repair, although here and there a post had tilted and a horizontal crosspiece had fallen out. The barn itself was weathered, with peeling red paint, but still sturdy looking. A section of the slate roof spelled out 1896 in various contrasting colors. NYC was the palace of the new and shiny. Out here, it seemed, history infused everything, from the hospital to the homes. She’d spent most of her life in the city, Blake all of his. Would they forever be outsiders here?
Abby reminded herself Presley and Carrie were newcomers, and they’d found their places. She and Blake would do the same.
She followed the sounds of construction around the back to the barn. Harper, Flannery, Glenn, and Blake were surrounded by sheets of plywood, coils of chicken wire, a plethora of tools, and a pair of sawhorses piled with lumber. Blake wore a pair of leather work gloves and plastic goggles someone must’ve lent him and a fierce look of concentration as he held a board in place while Flannery drove nails into it with a power gun. The pop-pop of the nails shooting into wood had Abby’s stomach flipping in a rapid somersault. She told herself not to create disaster scenarios and waited until they had the board secured in place before advancing into the construction zone. She didn’t want to distract anyone at a critical moment.
“How’s it going?” she asked brightly.
Activity stopped and everyone looked at her as if she were an alien who had just landed in a great big silver spaceship.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Okay.”
“Super.”
Apparently she should be able to tell the state of affairs by looking. She studied the tall rectangular structure that Blake and Flann were attaching to the back side of the barn while the others waited with expectant expressions. Harper and Glenn appeared to be the design engineers, measuring, cutting, and directing where various pieces would go. She cocked her head and studied it. “It looks like a giant birdcage.”
Blake grinned. “It’s a chicken coop, Mom.”
Abby frowned, seeing only a big empty space. “Where’s the coop part?”
“Once we get the enclosure predator-proof, we’ll bring over one of the old coops,” Harper said. “With a little work, the coop will be fine. What’s important is that the flock is protected at night while they’re sleeping.”
Abby glanced around. On a small knoll fifty feet away, the gimpy rooster strutted around, pecking at the ground. “Flock?”
“Patience,” Glenn said slowly, her voice slow and sensuous.
Abby could imagine her singing the blues, spinning tales of heartbreak and betrayal. Something about Glenn spoke of sadness and sorrow, but perhaps she just misread her reserved nature for something more. Abby smiled. “Aha. I see chickens in the future. Hence the need for the coop.”
Harper grinned. “It’s a surprise.”
“I’m sure.” Abby was certain the surprise would be welcome. Presley seemed very fond of the rooster, of all things. “I’ll get out of your way, but at the risk of sounding like an overly protective mother, I don’t want Blake using power tools.”
Blake groaned. His expression suggested he’d never seen her before and couldn’t possibly be the person in question.
Abby shrugged. She could tolerate being temporarily disowned if it kept him safe.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Flann said. “I never use power saws and I’m the only one manning the nail gun.”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “I’m just the grunt.”
Just a grunt. Blake didn’t seem the least bit upset by that prospect. In fact, he looked like he was having more fun than she’d seen in weeks, possibly months. A glimmer of hope surged. Maybe this move would be all right after all.
“All right—everybody be careful and have fun.” Abby waved and headed back toward the house, slowing when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned as Flann jogged toward her.
“Blake is the youngest on the job,” Flann said. “That means all the scut work and the grunt work.”
“I understand. There’s a hierarchy.” Abby brushed a lock from her eyes as the breeze picked up and played havoc with her hair.
Flann nodded. “Yep. You have to be an apprentice before you can get to the good stuff.”
“How is he doing?” Abby didn’t want to say Blake had never done anything like this before. Life was filled with first times now.
“Studying everything like it’s brain surgery and he’ll be operating alone tomorrow.”
She smiled. “He rarely does anything lightly.”
“He’s doing fine. And he isn’t doing anything that’s dangerous. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m probably being overprotective.” Abby sighed, grateful to Flann for taking the time to reassure her and feeling just the tiniest bit foolish for worrying. “A few bumps and bruises aren’t going to hurt him. I just don’t want any missing parts.”
“Listen, you have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Flann said with surprising insight. “I know what can happen and how quickly. I can’t afford to get hurt, neither can Harper or Glenn, and we sure wouldn’t let Blake do anything dangerous.”
“I trust your judgment, but he’s my son.”
“Totally understood. But I hope you trust us, because we’ve got quite a lot of work to do around here and he’s already volunteered to help out again.”
“I see.” She pursed her lips, pretending to consider. Secretly she was thrilled that Blake was making connections. “Free labor.”
Flann grinned. “Everybody starts at the bottom, right?”
“Oh, I know.” She’d been trained in the same hierarchical structure as Flann, where the lowest understood their position and counted on one day reaching the top. Then those who followed would take care of the scut work. “If he’s having fun, I’m more than happy for him to spend some time working with you. Thanks for teaching him the right way to do things.”
“Nothing to thank me for. Or any of us. He’s a good worker and a nice kid. And we can use the help.”
“He needs something to do, and needs to interact with people other than me.” She exhaled softly, ambushed momentarily by Flann’s sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to her surprisingly broad shoulders and sculpted chest. “There’s more to life than what I can teach him, and so many things here that I don’t know anything about. I can’t help him with those things.”
“It seems to me you’re doing a fine job. He’s friendly, smart, polite, with a good sense of humor. That’s a lot to say for a teenager.”
“I know. But he’s also spent a lot of time alone.” Abby studied Flann, unveiled some of her secrets. “And he’s vulnerable. I appreciate you looking out for him.”
“My pleasure.” Flann rubbed a trickle of sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.
Abby followed the sweep of her bare forearm, caught by the way her sun-burnished skin gleamed over taut muscles. She resisted the sudden urge to thumb away a smudge of dirt on Flann’s cheek. Flann had a way of capturing her attention when she wasn’t being careful. Even worse, the way Flann said pleasure sounded as if she meant something far more intimate than simply befriending Abby’s son on a sunny afternoon in the summer, and the idea stirred her. She needed to escape, away from Flannery Rivers and her unexpected sensitivity and sexy…everything.
“I’ve got to help Presley,” Abby said, backing away.
Flann sensed the fast retreat and wondered what she’d said to cause Abby to run. They’d been having an easy conversation, a real conversation, about something that mattered, and the connection had felt good. Warm and solid and…good. Hell, if either of them should have reason to run, it was her. She’d been so busy reassuring Abby Blake would be in good hands, she’d forgotten all about charming her. A conversation without flirting was just not her style.
“I’ll see you at supper,” she called to Abby’s retreating form. Abby didn’t answer and Flann was left without a follow-up line. That never happened either. She hadn’t even thought to comment on how great Abby looked. Abby’s body did amazing things for simple shorts and cotton shirts, and the way her hair caught on the wind and tangled around her face made Flann think of how she’d look in bed, leaning over, face flushed… “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Rein in your hormones.”
Ignoring the sudden burn low in her belly, she stomped back to join the others. Harp gave her a questioning look and a raised eyebrow. She shook her head. “All good.”
Flann welcomed the physical labor to keep her mind off Abby, who she didn’t want to be thinking about, and Carrie, who had neatly avoided the topic of a date the night before at the game. She’d be better off not thinking about women at all, although she doubted that was possible. She grabbed the nail gun and focused on pounding in nails.
They worked another hour, racking together the external enclosure, stapling up chicken wire, and making sure nothing could get in by digging under. Before they put up the final side, they dragged one of the old coops around from the far side of the barn, hoisted it up on a couple of cement blocks, replaced some broken boards, and covered the old shingled roof with a new square of tin. When they were done, it was waterproof and could house half a dozen chickens plus the damn rooster. They could close the doors up if they needed to or leave them open and let the chickens roam within their enclosure until they were freed in the morning.
“How come you don’t just close them in the coop at night?” Blake stuffed his work gloves in the back pocket of his jeans and drained a bottle of water. “Then you wouldn’t need the outside fence.”
“We could do that,” Flann said. “But then the rooster would start making a fuss at dawn wanting to get out and wake up the hens and everybody else within a mile. This way they’ve got a yard they can peck around in until we’re ready to let them free range. It’s safer for them and easier on us.”
“How come they don’t run away when you let them out?”
“Wait’ll you see how they get used to their routine.” Flann piled wood scraps on the ATV. “Get the hammer and nail gun for me, will you.”
Blake grabbed them and carried them over.
“They know where their roost is,” Flann said as she packed the rest of the tools. “When the sun goes down, they’ll start coming home. And once they get used to being fed in the morning, every time they see you they’ll come running.”
“When are we gonna go get the chicks?” Blake asked.
Flann looked at Harp. “What’s your timetable for the big surprise, boss?”
“I think Margie wants to be along when we pick them out.” Harp glanced at the sky and checked her watch. “Looks like the storm is going to hold off. We could go now and still make it back in time for dinner.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Flann noticed Blake perk up when Margie’s name was mentioned. The kid would probably like someone his own age to hang around with after spending the day with them. “You want to go along, Blake?”
Blake looked from Harp to Flann, uncertainty and eagerness chasing each other across his face. “Could I?”
“Sure, unless you want to stay here and hang out.”
Blake stared at Flann. “Is that a test?”
“Actually, no. Your mom and Presley and Carrie are pretty cool.”
“Yeah, they are,” Blake said. “But I’d rather help pick out chickens.”
Flann laughed. “Go tell your mom you’re coming with us, but wait—don’t tell her why.”
Glenn said, “I’ll hang up at the house. There’s not going to be enough room in the truck anyhow.”
“Oh,” Blake said, disappointment darkening his gaze. “I can stay here then.”
“Not a problem,” Glenn said. “Really, I’ve seen plenty of chickens.”
Blake glanced at Flann eagerly. “Two minutes. I’ll meet you at the truck.”
He took off running.
Flann laughed.
Harper said, “Nice kid.”
“Abby is pretty outstanding too.” Glenn shouldered the roll of chicken wire.
“Nothing not to like,” Flann grumbled.
“Nothing at all.” Glenn smiled faintly as if she were thinking about some secret memory. “Don’t be late. I can smell dinner from here.”
“Yeah. We’ll be back.” Flann’s shoulders tightened as she watched Glenn round the side of the barn. She was about as close to Glenn as she was to Harper. They didn’t have history as long or as deep, but she worked with Glenn almost every single day, depended on her to look after her patients, relied on her to cover for her when she couldn’t be available. She trusted her judgment, respected her professional skill, and knew without a doubt she could be trusted in every other way. But Glenn was a cipher too.
In the three years she’d been at the Rivers and the hundreds of hours she and Flann had spent together, Glenn never talked about her past, gave almost nothing away about her present life. If she dated, she didn’t talk about it. She’d never commented on a woman. Ever. Her casual remark about Abby wouldn’t have meant anything coming from anyone else, but from Glenn, it meant she’d noticed. Flann didn’t like that for some reason. The surge of possessiveness made no sense and irritated her even more. So what if Glenn noticed Abby was a fascinating woman in a very attractive package? Okay, not just very attractive, absolutely smoking hot. Glenn wouldn’t be the only one to notice. Not that Flann should care. And who was to say Abby cared either? She seemed to be all business all the time, except where Blake was concerned. Then she was a mama bear—a lot like her own mother. Abby hadn’t given off any available vibes, at least not in Flann’s direction. Quite the opposite.
“Hell, she might not even have an interest.”
“Come again?” Harper said. “I missed something.”
Flann muttered, “Nothing. Forget it.”
“What’s bugging you?”
“Abby’s got a kid. Maybe she’s straight.”
“I’m still not following,” Harper said, eyeing Flann curiously. “Maybe she is, or maybe she’s bi. Does it matter?”
“Nope. It doesn’t.” Flann didn’t make a habit of lying to her sister, or to herself. She really couldn’t explain why she just had.
CHAPTER NINE
“Hey,” Margie said with a big grin as she climbed into the extended cab of Harper’s pickup. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Blake squeezed over as far as he could on the rear seat to give her room. Almost half of it was piled with medical equipment and supplies in plastic crates along with a big locked metal box that looked like it was bolted to the floor. He kind of felt like he was in a traveling ER van and couldn’t imagine doing anything like this back home. In his old home, he reminded himself. He smiled, hoping Margie’s smile meant she was glad to see him. “My mom and I were at Presley’s, and I ended up helping build the coop.”
“How’s it look?”
“Awesome. It’s really big. Flann says there’ll be plenty of room for them all.”
“I don’t know how Rooster’s gonna feel sleeping in a coop. Usually he sleeps in a tree,” Margie said. “But it’s not safe.”
Blake pictured the limping rooster alone in the dark and got a tight feeling in his middle. “I guess it’s good he’s got the coop, then.”
Flann said from the front seat, “He’s going to be a lot happier about the chickens than he is about not liking the coop.”
“Yeah, he’ll be busy soon enough.” Margie laughed. “How many are we getting?”
“I figured six would be enough,” Harper said, turning in to Tractor Supply. “Depends on what they’ve got left in straight runs.”
“That means all females,” Margie said at Blake’s questioning look. “Mostly you take your chances on the sex because it’s really, really hard to tell the sex of baby chicks. They all look alike at hatch.”
“Uh-huh,” Blake said, trying to sound knowledgeable when he had no idea what everyone was talking about. Until last year, he’d had a circle of friends whose experiences were pretty much the same as his, even though he’d never quite related to some of their interests and never known why. They’d shared books and music and movies and school stuff, and that was enough. Flann and Harper were older, though, and he hadn’t spent a lot of time with his mom’s friends before this. She didn’t have a lot of time to do much of anything except work. He couldn’t actually remember her socializing with people at work. He didn’t blame her. He knew what time she got up in the morning and when she got home from work. And when she wasn’t at the hospital, she spent as much time as she could with him. He saw her a lot more than some kids saw their parents, even with her crazy schedule.
This was all different, though. Flann and Harper and Margie included him as if they’d known him for a long time. They acted regular around him, not studying him with questioning eyes. At least not very much.
He’d expected the stares and the questions and the comments. He’d watched dozens, probably hundreds of videos on YouTube of trans kids talking about their experiences of coming out, or not. Some were good and others bad, and he knew, or thought he’d known, what he’d be facing. Knowing didn’t make it any less scary, but at least he could practice being prepared. He’d practiced a lot before he’d talked to his mom. That was the hardest, but the most important, even more important than telling Andy and April and Jill.
As long as he could remember, his mom and his grandmom were there for him. His grandmom practically all the time, and his mom whenever she could be. He couldn’t not tell his mom, but he hadn’t quite worked out what he would do if she totally freaked out. She hadn’t. She’d sat quietly, studying him the way she did when she was trying to look inside him. He thought she probably could, because when he’d finished stumbling through his decision, she’d asked the right questions. Most of all she’d said the right thing.
“I love you. You are my child, and you are who you feel you are. You’ll have to be patient with me as I’ve got a lot to learn, just like you. We’ll do it together, agreed?”
Whenever he faced a new situation, he thought about what she’d said. He wasn’t alone, even though he was lonely sometimes. He was lonely right now even though Flann and Harper and Margie treated him like a friend. They didn’t really know him yet, and maybe they’d change their minds when they did. But he was excited too. He was part of this little group, at least for the next few minutes, and he was having fun.
“So tell me about raising chicks,” Blake said, following Margie into the big warehouse-type store.
For the next twenty minutes while they watched the little round balls of fluff clamor around in big metal tubs, Margie filled him in on keeping them warm and making sure they had the right food and water and seeing that the rooster didn’t bother them too much until they got bigger, and checking the weather forecasts because it could still get cold at night and they were vulnerable. The sign over the tub with the most chicks said UNSEXED.
“They all look alike,” Blake murmured.
“Told you it was impossible to tell,” Margie said.
“It’s sort of neat not being able to tell males from females just by looking,” Blake said. “Does it really matter so much?”
Margie looked him in the eye. “Not with people, I don’t think. With the chickens it does, though. You can’t have roosters in the town limits, for one thing, so anyone with a backyard flock doesn’t want one.”
A thrill of possibility rippled down Blake’s spine. Margie as much as said she was okay with him being different. She hadn’t asked for an explanation or a label. For the first time in a long time, he felt free to just be. Maybe it wouldn’t last, but it was pretty awesome right now. “You can have chickens in your yard?”
“Sure—you have plenty of room at the old school—”
Harper cut in. “Maybe Abby isn’t ready for chickens just yet, Margie.”
“Besides,” Flann said, joining them, “Blake has to work on the dog angle first.”
“Okay,” Margie said. “Next year, though…”
Flann put Margie in a headlock. “Enough helpful advice.”
Margie laughed and tried to squirm free.
Blake grinned. “That’s okay. I’m going to wage a long, careful campaign about a puppy.”
“Oho,” Flann said, letting Margie go. “Something tells me your mom won’t be easily taken in.”
“Nope,” Blake said. “But she loves animals, so it won’t be too hard.”
“You two pick out half a dozen,” Harper said.
Ten minutes later they were headed back to Presley’s with a cardboard box of six peeping chicks balanced on the seat between Blake and Margie.
From the front seat, Harper said, “Presley’s going to be pretty busy at work for the next few weeks. Maybe you two could drop over during the day and check on the chicks. Do you drive yet, Blake?”
“Not yet. I’ll be able to get my permit in a couple weeks, but I haven’t really thought about it all that much.”
“Bike?” Flann said. “It’s not that far a ride.”
“I’m getting one soon.” Blake shifted uncomfortably. “But I don’t know much—like nothing—about chickens.”
Margie said, “The White place is about the same distance for you as it is for me from home—about five miles. That’s an easy ride. We could meet up and do it together.”
Blake’s heart jumped. He didn’t care if he had to get up at dawn, as long as he had something to do and someone to do it with. And Margie was really easy to be with. She was smart and funny and she accepted him for him, at least she did right now. If he came out, put words to who he was, maybe she wouldn’t. His chest hurt but he had to try. “Yeah, sure. We could do that. What time?”
“I’ll talk to Presley, Harp,” Margie said. “We can work out a schedule.”
Harper glanced back and grinned. “You’re in charge, Margie.”
“Of course,” she said and settled back in the seat.
Blake said, “I have to get a bike right away.”
“We’ve got plenty at the house. You can borrow one of ours for a while.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure,” Flann said. “There’s one of mine there I’m not using. Feel free. We’re about the same height, so the fit should be good for you.”
“Are you sure?” Blake asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll bring it by your place tomorrow,” Flann said.
“That would be so terrific. Thanks.”
As Harper gave her a sharp look, Flann said, “Don’t mention it.”
*
Abby set out a stack of multicolored plastic plates, glasses, and disposable utensils on the red-and-white checked oilcloth that Carrie had spread over one of the two picnic tables. As she turned to go back in the house, Harper pulled up and Margie and Blake piled out of the backseat of the pickup, talking animatedly about something. Flannery jumped down from the passenger side, and for an instant, Abby had no thought in her head except how good Flann looked in tight blue jeans and her faded gray T-shirt. Better than any woman had a right to look. She caught her wandering mind and dragged her thoughts back into safer lines. Harper reached in to the backseat and came up with a cardboard box that she carried toward the house.
“Hey, Presley,” Harper called. “You got a minute?”
Presley came to the screen door and looked out. “I’m just about to pull the roast out. What’s up?”
“Got you a little something.”
Presley hipped the door, wiping her hands on a pale yellow dish towel. “I hope it’s dessert.”
Harper, Flann, and the kids laughed.
“Not exactly.”
Harper set the cardboard box on the porch and gestured for Presley to open it. “See what you think.”
Presley knelt, folded back the cardboard flaps, and squealed, “Oh my God.”
Abby didn’t think she’d ever heard Presley squeal before in her life.
“Can I touch them?” Presley asked, wonder in her voice.
“Sure.” Harper crouched beside her, a hand on her back.
The small possessive gesture struck Abby with an arrow of longing she hadn’t expected. Her life had slowed down enough for her to actually realize there might be things she was missing, things she might even need, and she wasn’t at all sure she was happy with that. She still had so much to do—a new department to set up, a residency to establish, politics to maneuver. She’d be working twelve-hour days, if she was lucky. And then there was Blake. Moving a teenager to a new town and a new school was daunting enough. Dealing with his transition, and the challenges that came along with that, was a full-time job in and of itself. She had no time for anything else, and even entertaining the idea of dating was foolhardy.
She glanced away from Harper and Presley and discovered Flannery studying her, her deep brown eyes laser sharp and so focused Abby felt the heat. She also felt the flush climb to her cheeks and cursed her autonomic nervous system and the hormones that seemed to have suddenly awakened. Flann grinned, just a tilt of the corner of her mouth that seemed to say I know what you’re thinking right now, and Abby schooled her expression, hiding the sudden rapid kick of her heart. Flann didn’t need to know the way she looked at her made her feel intensely present, powerfully alive, and unfortunately, unwillingly aroused. Hormones and reflex. At least she was smart enough to recognize reactions she couldn’t control and ignore them.
Carrie came through the door exclaiming, “What is it? What happened?”
Presley rose, a chick cradled in her hands. “Look.”
“Oh my God,” Carrie squealed in an exact replica of Presley.
Abby expected Flann to break their connection when Carrie arrived, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached into the box, lifted out a chick, and carried it to Abby. “Here you go.”
She’d cradled Blake against her breast moments after his first breath, held newborns hundreds of times, even delivered a couple in the emergency room. She cherished the innocence of new life, and the fragility of the tiny chick in her hands struck at what was most fundamental to her—the urge to protect and nurture.
“I’m not going to squeal,” she murmured.
“Somehow, I didn’t think you would,” Flannery said just as quietly. “But I wouldn’t mind just a little one.”
Abby laughed but refused to look at her, would not give in to the urge to see that heavy-lidded stare concentrated on her. “Wrong woman.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Flann said, her voice low and soft and warm, too deep and thick for honey, more like molasses. The promise of a bite beneath the sweetness.
The other voices, the sensation of the other bodies nearby, faded away. Flann filled Abby’s senses, the lure of her voice, the hint of spice that was her unique scent, the caress of her gaze. Abby took a quick step back and hit the porch post. She had nowhere to go, and Flann was so close. Too close. So close she couldn’t draw a breath without tasting her, and the hunger surged so hot and hard she gasped. No. No, no, no. She eased aside and carried the chick back to the box to safety. Safety for both of them.
Frowning, Flann watched her retreat again. She’d heard the slight catch in Abby’s breath, seen the faint flicker of her pupils when their gazes had caught and held. She knew Abby felt what she felt—the tug of recognition, a chain of connection as natural as breathing. She didn’t understand it and she wasn’t sure she wanted it, but denying it was as impossible as denying the pulse of desire in her belly.
Abby seemed bent on denying Flann even existed, let alone stirred anything inside her. Maybe she had the right idea. Flann folded her arms as Abby put a maternal hand on Blake’s shoulder. Blake glanced at his mother with a quick smile. There was the bond Abby cherished, and rightly so. Flann had no business even thinking about a relationship—hell, she wasn’t thinking about a relationship, more like a sizzling, incendiary night or two—with a woman like Abby. A woman who had a life and responsibility far greater than Flann ever wanted to have.
Flann looked away and caught Carrie’s gaze. Carrie smiled. Flann relaxed a little. Safer, much safer. They were already friends with no dangerous undercurrents, nothing to pull her down and drag her into places she didn’t want to go. No gut-deep tug of craving she was better off without. She smiled back.
CHAPTER TEN
“Why don’t you two take the chicks into the barn,” Harper said. “We’ll get them set up with a heat lamp and a pen after we eat.”
“We’ll put them in that back stall,” Margie said. “That way the kittens can see them, and they’ll get used to each other.”
“Good idea,” Flann said.
Blake picked up the box of chicks and said to Margie, “Maybe we should put them up high on something for now, so the mother cat doesn’t bother them.”
“Good idea,” Margie said. “Come on, I’ll show you a spot.”
The two of them ambled off toward the barn. From the bits of conversation Flann had heard on the ride back from Tractor Supply, Margie and Blake seemed to have bonded around the animals, books, and movies. Margie was the perfect person to introduce Blake into the local teen circles—she was popular, smart, and sure of herself. Any new kid needed a sponsor, and Blake almost certainly more than most.
“They’re getting along well,” Abby said from beside Flann.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Margie is special.”
“Yeah. She’s the baby and we might have spoiled her a bit, but it doesn’t show. She’s smarter than the rest of us already, and she’s got a big heart.”
“Blake is lucky to have made a friend like her so soon. I was worried he might not. He’s not usually shy and never had any trouble making friends before…” Abby hesitated.
Flann glanced behind them. The others had disappeared into the kitchen. “Coming out can be hard enough. Coming out as trans must be tougher on a lot of levels.”
Abby sighed. “Being different in any way is a hurdle for a teenager—this, well, I feel like I’m in uncharted waters most of the time. Did Margie say something about it?”
Flann shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind. Harper told me in private that Presley mentioned it. We figured the kids would work that out for themselves.”
“I’m trying to let Blake decide who he tells, and how much, and when—but sometimes it’s so damn hard. I want to jump in and fix things for him.”
“Sure you do,” Flann said. “He’s your son. I’d feel the same if it was Margie or a kid of mine. Looks to me like you’re doing just fine.”
“Thanks. I’m so close to the situation, I can’t really tell sometimes.”
Flann grinned. “Anytime you need a curbside consult, just ask.”
“I’ll remember that.” Abby rested her hand on Flann’s forearm. “I guess I could use a few understanding friends too.”
Where Abby’s soft fingers rested, Flann tingled. Heat bloomed in her belly. A rush of want surged through her. Any other place, any other time, any other woman, she would have reached for her, pulled her close, whispered an invitation. Flann stilled, at a loss.
“Sorry,” Abby murmured, pulling away.
“No.” Flann grabbed her hand. “I mean, you do. I…all of us…you’re not alone.”
“I’m glad,” Abby whispered.
Presley appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Time to bring the food out. All hands on deck.”
Abby dropped her hand and Flann stopped herself from reaching for it. A rumble of thunder rolled over the ridge on the far side of the back field, and she checked overhead. Mountains of blue-black clouds filled the western sky.
Flann frowned. “Be right there.”
The air suddenly turned hot and heavy. Pent-up electricity raised the hairs on the backs of her arms. The leaves on the trees shading the yard turned underside-up with the shift in barometric pressure, sure signs of a storm bearing down.
“Hey, Harp,” Flann called.
Harper walked out onto the porch. “What’s up?”
“We might have to change our minds about eating outside,” Flann said.
Harper craned her neck. “You’re right. It’s a big one.”
“Yeah, and it’s coming fast.” Unease roiled in Flann’s chest. The wind had picked up another notch in just the last few seconds. Summer storms were nothing new, and thunderstorms often tore through the valley in a matter of minutes, seemingly having risen out of nowhere and disappearing almost as fast, leaving behind brilliant sunshine and clear, clean skies. This one was barreling down even faster than most.
Abby stepped up beside her. “I can’t believe how it’s gotten so quickly.” She glanced toward the barn. “The kids are going to get wet.”
“They should be back before it hits.”
Presley, Carrie, and Glenn crowded behind them. Jagged blades of lightning dueled above the horizon.
“Wow,” Presley said, “are we getting rained out?”
“Looks like it.” Flann kept watching the clouds. A blast of wind rattled the shutters against the wood clapboards on the old house and the maple trees bent with the force of it. Dirt devils spawned in the drive.
“Flann?” Abby’s voice rose in alarm.
“I know. It’s…”
The clouds coalesced into a solid wall of black from earth to sky.
“Fuck,” Flann said. “Harp, I think—”
The funnel dropped from the sky between one heartbeat and the next, a whirling, churning mass twisting toward them.
“Oh my God,” Abby breathed. “Is that—?”
“Tornado,” Flann shouted. “Get in the house!”
Harper pushed Presley toward the house. “Everybody down in the cellar. I’ll get the windows.”
A roar of rushing air lifted the slates above their heads, the clatter like a thousand bones jerking to life. Carrie shrieked as a gust nearly toppled her over, and Glenn grabbed her around the waist. Together the two of them staggered inside.
“The kids!” Abby plunged into the yard, bending into the wind, her hair flying behind her in a wild tangle.
“I’ll get them,” Flann yelled. “Abby!”
Abby never slowed.
Flann cursed and jumped down. The wind plastered her shirt to her chest, the bottom lifting up like a sail. Leaves and sticks and loose stones cannoned across the yard. She caught Abby, twisted them both away from the force of the gale, and pushed her back toward the porch. “I’ll go! Get inside. Harper!”
Harper wrapped an arm around the porch post, grabbed for Abby’s hand, and pulled her protesting across the porch and inside.
Flann pivoted into the wind. Dirt stung her eyes. Loose branches ripped from trees and arrowed wildly. She blocked her face with her forearm and lowered her shoulders, struggling against a wall of air shoving back at her like a hundred linebackers. The eighty yards to the barn might as well have been eight hundred. She raised her head at the roar of a freight train closing in.
The twister crested the ridge behind the house and trees snapped off, sucked up into the funnel like matchsticks. Adrenaline dried her mouth and shot her pulse into overdrive. She kept pumping her aching thighs and staggered up to the open barn door. “Margie! Blake!”
The roof rattled and clacked, the walls shuddered, and the 200-year-old beams groaned, drowning out all sound. Flann staggered inside and stumbled down the aisle on numb legs. Sharp pain pierced her eardrums and she swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to clear them. Blake and Margie crouched in the last stall, the box of chicks shielded between them.
“You okay?” Flann dropped down beside them, searching for the best cover. Above their heads, foot-square beams supported the roof. If those held, they’d be safe; if they came down, they’d be crushed. She grabbed the kids by the arms. “Get over in the corner. Hurry!”
“Why?” Margie shouted.
Blake hugged the box of chicks to his chest.
“Twister’s coming.” Flann dragged them along.
“Can I see?” Margie cried, trying to pull free.
Flann yanked her back down. “Not this time, short stuff.”
Blake yelled, “It feels like the building’s going to blow away.”
“We’ll be okay. Just keep your head down.” She herded them tightly into the corner next to the supporting post. If the walls came down, the corner might stand. And with any luck they’d be sheltered beneath the upright. It was the best she could do.
“What about my mom?” Blake looked ready to bolt.
“Harper has her. She’s—”
A howl filled the air like the arrival of a marauding demon. Spears of light shot down around them, and the roof lifted away with a wrenching scream. Flann pushed the kids down and covered them as a torrent of wood rained down.
*
A banshee wail filled the basement. Abby pressed her back against the stone foundation where Harper had directed her to crouch. The others huddled around her on either side. The power had gone out as they’d stumbled down the stairs, and a murky haze enveloped her. Her eardrums throbbed, threatening to burst. Terror clawed at her throat. Blake and Margie were out there somewhere, and she was helpless to protect them. Flann had disappeared too. Had she even made it to the barn?
Bile climbed into her throat. She huddled in the basement while Blake and Margie and Flann could be hurt, needing her, and she wasn’t there. Every instinct screamed for her to force her way up those stairs and outside. She railed inwardly at the monster threatening her child. Of all the things she had imagined that might harm him, this was a foe she could not fight. A wave of frustration, of rage and fear, welled in her chest, and she choked on a cry.
Presley gripped her hand and leaned close. “Flann…be…right.”
No reason would console her. No promise would convince her. She trusted no one to do what she must do, and she was impotent. Helplessness burned her throat, nausea curdling her stomach. The screaming wind grew louder and the floor above them creaked and heaved.
She shut her eyes and felt like a coward.
Minutes, hours passed and at last the screaming subsided. The terrible pressure in her ears relented and she could hear again.
“Is it over?” She jumped up and swayed, legs rubbery. “The kids. Flann.”
“Wait.” Harper grasped her arm. “We don’t know what’s up there. The house might be unsound. We have to go slowly.”
Abby jerked her arm free. “I have to get outside.”
“There may be secondary twisters.” Harper blocked her path to the stairs. “It won’t do anyone any good if you get hurt too.”
“My son—Margie—”
“Flann is with them,” Harper said grimly. “Come on, just stay with me.”
At the top of the stairs, Harper shoved on the door leading into the kitchen. It didn’t move. “Blocked.”
Panic tore at Abby’s throat. She couldn’t be trapped. She had to get out. “Let me help.”
Abby crowded onto the top stair beside Harper.
“On three,” Harper said. “One, two…three.”
Abby pushed against the solid wood door as hard as she could. It moved a fraction.
“Again.”
On the third try, wood scraped on wood and the door opened enough for them to squeeze through. The kitchen table had upended and come to rest against the door. The light was out, but the walls and ceiling still stood. Someone had managed to get the windows open, and the only damage seemed to be broken furniture tossed around as if by an angry child.
Harper righted a chair and cleared a path to the porch. The screen door was gone. A tree on the far side of the yard had uprooted and lay in the yard in a mound of broken boards and pieces of slate. A wheelbarrow sat atop the pile. Abby jumped down the stairs and stared at the barn. The back half of the roof was gone, only a skeleton of rafters bare to the sky. Dread twisted through her. “Oh God.”
Abby ran, skirting debris, sliding in mud and rivulets of water. Rain pelted down, sharp needles she barely felt. Broken branches clawed at her legs. The barn door hung down, half-unhinged. She pulled aside a tree limb and tugged at the end of a splintered board blocking her way.
“Here,” Harper said, catching up to her. “Let me help. Don’t try to go inside yet. The whole thing might come down.”
“I’m getting my son.” Abby peered into the dark interior. A jumble of debris filled the aisle. She pulled out another loose board and edged into the doorway.
“We’re going to get them.” Harper held her back. “But if we move something and bring all of it down, we’re not helping them.”
Glenn, Presley, and Carrie appeared out of the storm.
“Did you find them?” Presley asked.
“Not yet,” Harper said. “But we will.”
Glenn said, “I ought to try to get to the hospital. The ER is going to need us.”
“Yes,” Harper said. “Go.”
Carrie said, “I’ll go with you. We can take my car.”
“I’ll be there as soon as we get the kids and Flann.” Harper gripped Presley’s arm. “Can you try the phones? See if you can reach my parents, make sure everyone there is all right?”
“Yes,” Presley said. “Be careful, okay?”
“We will.” Harper kissed her. “You too.”
Abby sucked in a breath. The control she brought to bear in the midst of an emergency rose to the surface, and she pushed the panic back into its dark corner. “Tell me what to do.”
“We need some light—I’m going to get a flashlight from my truck. Call to them and see if we can get a fix on where they are. I’ll be right back.”
Harper hurried off and Abby peered into the dark depths of the barn. “Blake? Flann? Margie—are you there?”
Abby’s heart stopped beating as silence crowded out the air in her lungs. “Blake?”
“Mom? Back here!”
Abby’s heart started up again. “Are you hurt?”
“We’re good,” Flann called.
“Can you get out?”
“We’re blocked in,” Flann called. “What I can see of the roof looks iffy.”
Harper returned and shone a light into the barn. Splintered wood and a jumble of beams filled the center aisle. “Flann? Can you see daylight?”
“No!”
“What about fire rescue?” Abby asked.
“They’re all volunteers. Everybody in the area’s probably dealing with the same thing,” Harper said. “It could be hours.”
“Then we have to get them out ourselves,” Abby said calmly. “You’re in charge.”
Harper studied Abby and nodded. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Flann couldn’t move her left leg. Something heavy pinned her in the pile of rubble. Thank God, she could feel her toes, wiggle them, but she couldn’t pull free, and every time she tried, the debris above her groaned and creaked. She’d rather not have the whole thing come down on their heads. Pain lanced down the back of her thigh and a warm wet sensation followed. Didn’t feel like bone pain—probably just a laceration. The blood loss didn’t seem extreme but she didn’t want to make it any worse. They might be there for a long time.
“Are you two sure you’re not hurt?”
“My shoulder’s banged up a little,” Margie said, her voice steady and quiet. “But it’s not dislocated, and my arm is fine.”
“Blake?”
“I’m okay.” His voice was breathy and tight.
He was doing pretty good for a city kid. Hell, any kid.
“Harper’s out there and she’s going to get us out of here,” Flann said. “Just don’t move around too much, and do everything she says. No questions, just do it.”
“What about the chicks?” Margie asked.
Flann would have shaken her head if she’d been able to. Had to love her. “That’s a question.”
“Yeah, but for information purposes only,” Margie said.
“I’ve got them,” Blake said. “The box is still in my arms, and it’s not crushed. I can hear them cheeping.”
“Good job,” Margie said. “We can set them up in the kitchen when we get out.”
Flann grinned. Margie was a rock. Someday, she’d be the matriarch of the coming Rivers generations.
“What about the kittens?” Blake said.
“My bet is they burrowed down in the hay,” Flann said. “We’ll look for them once we get this place secure.”
A rumbling roar grew closer, and Blake gasped. “Is that another one coming?”
“That,” Flann said with a wave of relief, “is an ATV. The cavalry has arrived.”
*
Abby clutched the roll bar on the ATV as Harper maneuvered over and around fallen branches, boards, and uprooted fence posts behind the barn. Abby recoiled at the scope of the wreckage. The back half of the barn had caved in. Only two uprights and one beam about halfway to where the roof had been remained standing intact. Piles of slate, tin, and other rubble from the collapsed portions of the roof filled the interior. Miraculously, the new chicken coop remained unscathed.
Blake, Margie, and Flann were somewhere beneath that horrible devastation. How were they ever going to get to them? If they’d been in Manhattan, dozens of emergency responders with all sorts of equipment would already be on scene. Here there were no flashing lights, no sirens, no one else at all.
“It looks like a giant heap of pick-up sticks,” Abby said.
“And if we pull on the wrong one,” Harper said darkly, “we’ll bring the rest of the pile down.”
“I guess a crane is out of the question.”
“Even if we could get a backhoe in here, I don’t think we want to leave them in there for days, and that’s how long it would be. Besides, the debris is going to shift. Right now they’re not injured, and we want to keep it that way.”
“You’re right.” Abby couldn’t imagine standing around doing nothing while Blake and the others were trapped inside. She had to trust that Flann had somehow kept them all safe. And she had to trust Harper to get to them. “Where do we start?”
“We find the shortest way in to them and then we can clear a tunnel so they can crawl out without shifting everything above them. If I know Flann, she’s got them close to that upright.”
Harper backed the Rhino over a mound of torn-up pasture and torn tree limbs to within a few yards of the barn. The foot-square hand-hewn post formed the center of a teepee of fallen beams, shattered slate, and splintered clapboards reaching twenty feet high. Flann and the kids were somewhere at the bottom of the rubble. Abby jumped down and vaulted over piles of debris, skidding to a stop at the edge of the wreckage. “Blake? Can you hear me?”
“Mom,” Blake called back. “We’re here!”
The sound of his voice stilled the last remnants of panic. She knew what to do in a crisis—she’d spent her life training for them. She also knew how to work in a team when she didn’t know as much as her colleagues. She looked over at Harper. “They don’t seem very far away.”
“Good.” Harper tossed her a pair of leather work gloves, crouched down, and switched on a big utility light. “Flann? What’s the situation?”
“I’m pinned down. Feels like a big beam. The kids are closer to the upright. Get them first.”
“Can you see light anywhere?” Harper called, shining the beam over the jumble of wood and stone.
“No,” Flann called.
“Wait,” Blake said. “I think—”
Harper played her light again over the same area, more slowly. “Now?”
“Yes,” Blake shouted. “I can see it.”
Harper retraced the same course even more slowly. “Call out as soon as you—”
“Now,” Blake and Margie yelled simultaneously.
Abby’s heart lifted. They were there, so close. “We’re coming to get you.”
“Be careful,” Flann yelled. “We don’t need the two of you getting buried too.”
Harper muttered, “Always has to be giving the orders.”
“Thank God she was with them.” Abby kept seeing Flann forcing her way through the wind and flying debris toward the barn while she scurried toward the safety of the cellar. Flann had been right to force her inside—she wouldn’t have known how to keep the kids safe. “Let’s get them out.”
Harper pointed to the base of the pile. “We start at the periphery and work our way in. Slowly and carefully, we’ll make a pathway toward the spot where Blake saw the light. One board at a time, move it aside, don’t pull out anything that’s stuck underneath. Only things that look free. This is not the time to hurry.”
“I understand.” Abby tugged on the gloves, just as she did when preparing for the arrival of a trauma patient in the ER. No matter what was coming, no matter what she needed to do, she’d do it. She didn’t think about time, or how much was passing. She didn’t let the cold or the pain from bruised shins, sore shoulders, or aching muscles distract her. She forced herself to go slow, lifting broken tree limbs, splintered boards, and sheets of crumpled tin, one piece at a time. Harper worked silently beside her, bracing the sides of the emerging tunnel with chunks of wood as they slowly made their way toward the upright.
“How are you doing?” Harper called when they’d cleared an area three feet wide and five feet long.
“Your light is brighter,” Margie called back.
“Good. Don’t try to move anything from your side until we tell you to.”
A sharp creaking sound emanated from somewhere inside the building and a shower of slate cascaded off the collapsed roof. Harper grabbed Abby and pulled her back. Stone splintered around them, and the building shuddered. Rock chips flew, several scoring Abby’s bare legs. She gasped, waiting for the pile in front of them to rain down on the kids and Flann. The upright shuddered but nothing shifted.
“Everybody all right?” Harper called.
“It’s getting a little tight in here,” Flann called back. “It sounds like you’re only a few feet away. I’d make haste.”
Harper smiled grimly and yelled back, “You always were impatient. Just relax, and everybody stay still.” She glanced at Abby and murmured, “Go as quickly as you can.”
Abby crushed the urge to yank half-buried boards out of the way. Look, evaluate, assess. Just like in the ER. When you rushed, you missed things. Lift, carry, throw. She kept at it, shoulder to shoulder with Harper.
Presley climbed down to join them, carrying sweatshirts. “You two should put these on—you’re both soaking wet. I put blankets in the ATV for the others.”
Abby welcomed the warmth, not realizing she’d been cold until she wasn’t any longer.
“Any news?” Harper asked, going back to work.
“Cell reception is spotty. I couldn’t reach your parents or the hospital, but I got a couple of others on the emergency communications tree who will start calling everyone to report to the hospital. I need to go too, as soon as we get them out.”
“We’re close now,” Abby said.
“I can see shadows moving,” Margie yelled.
Relief poured through Abby’s chest so fast she felt light-headed. “Soon!”
“Almost there,” Harper said. “Are we coming right for you?”
“A little to your left.”
“Okay. Don’t move yet.”
Abby lifted aside a two-by-four and cried out. A hand appeared in the space she’d made. Small and pale and beautiful. She knelt, grasped the fingers. “Margie?”
“Hi, Abby,” Margie called back.
“Almost there, sweetie. Just another minute.”
Abby hated to let go of those fingers, but she had to. Harper crouched beside her and they passed rubble back to Presley, cleared a path until Margie’s face appeared at the end of the tunnel. Her face was streaked with dirt and a purple bruise blossomed on her left cheek. Her eyes were dry, and her smile wide.
“Can I come out now?”
“Nice and easy,” Harper said.
Margie shimmied toward them, arms outstretched. When her shoulders appeared, Abby and Harper grabbed on and pulled her all the way out.
“Presley, take her to the ATV and get her warm,” Harper said.
“I can help—”
“Go. Don’t get any wetter than you already are.”
Reluctantly, Margie let Presley lead her up the slope to the vehicle.
Abby inched deeper into the tunnel. “Blake, can you see the way?”
Blake’s head appeared in the tunnel. His hair was caked with dirt and blood smeared the side of his neck. Not much blood, but the sight of it made Abby bite her lip. She forced a smile.
“Hi, baby.”
“Jeez, Mom, come on,” Blake said, his eyes shining.
“Sorry, I forgot. Come on out of there.”
“Here…” Blake pushed the partially crumpled cardboard box out first. “Be careful they don’t get wet.”
Abby’s throat closed and she nodded, passing the chicks back to Presley. “Now you.”
Abby held her breath as he inched toward them. His shoulder dislodged a board and several more sluiced down from the heap. Abby twisted aside as one barely missed her head. Blake’s eyes widened.
“Mom?”
“It’s okay,” Harper said. “Keep coming.”
Abby reached for his hand and, when she clasped his fingers, fought the urge to pull him all the way out. She let him come to her, but it was the longest wait she’d ever experienced. At last he was free, and she hugged him close, checking him with quick strokes for damage.
“I’m good, Mom,” Blake finally said, pulling away.
“Go get in the ATV with Margie. You kids try to keep warm.”
Blake didn’t move. “What about Flann—”
“We’ll get her,” Abby said. “Go on now.”
Blake looked back one last time, then stumbled over the littered ground to the ATV. Margie held out a hand and he climbed in next to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. They cradled the box between them, their heads close.
“Flann, your turn,” Harper called.
“I can’t,” Flann said. “I can’t move.”
Abby’s throat closed. Oh God. Harper’s face blanked, her body freezing in place. Evaluate, assess, act.
Abby crouched and peered into the tunnel. “Can you feel both legs?”
“Yes, it’s—”
“Any numbness or tingling?”
“It’s not my spine. I’m pinned by something.”
Abby heard Harper start breathing again.
“Any other injuries?” Abby said.
“I don’t think so. Something’s bleeding, but not a lot.”
“Jesus,” Harper said. Her face paled, and for the first time, Abby saw panic in her eyes.
“Harper,” she said sharply, “it’s not serious. But we need to get her out of there.”
Harper shuddered, and her gaze cleared. She let out a long breath. “We need to make sure the tunnel doesn’t collapse. I’m going to get her.”
“It’s not big enough for you,” Abby said.
“Then we’ll make it bigger.”
They went back to work, widening the path into the depths of debris, shoving blocks of wood under canted uprights to keep the structure from shifting. Abby followed Harper, holding the light. An endless time later, Flann’s face appeared, ghostly and pale.
“Hey.” Flann grinned and the cold, hard fist in Abby’s chest eased.
“Hey, yourself,” Harper said. “Abby, I need a two-by-four about five feet long.”
“Right.” Abby braced the light between two boards in the rubble, called out to Presley what they needed, and backed out.
“Here,” Presley said a moment later, passing her a wet length of wood. “Is she all right?”
“I think so.” Abby crawled back in with the board. “Harper—here.”
“There’s a big beam across your left leg, Flann. I’ll lever it up and you need to crawl toward me.”
“If you move things,” Flann said, “this whole thing might come down.”
“We’ll go slow.”
“Leave me. When you get more people, you can take this thing apart from the top down.”
“It’ll be a day. I’m not leaving you in there.”
“It’s not gonna help for both of us—”
Abby’s frayed nerves snapped. “The two of you, hush. Harper, how long before you can get more help?”
“Twelve hours minimum, maybe a day.”
“What’s the chance this whole thing might come down before then?”
“Fifty-fifty, maybe worse.”
“Get her out.”
Flann cursed. “Look—”
“Risk assessment, Dr. Rivers,” Abby pronounced. “This is the safest course.”
“Then at least you should get out of the way so you can pull Harper out if it goes bad.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” Abby murmured, “Be careful, Harper.”
“Yeah.” Harper jammed the two-by-four under the beam pinning Flann’s leg and pushed another hunk of wood under it.
“Get ready to move.”
“I’m not sure my leg will work right away,” Flann said.
“Just get close—we’ll take it from there.” Harper pushed down on the lever and the pile of wood groaned. Abby watched from the mouth of the tunnel, ready to grab Harper and pull her out if the pile started to shift. Endless moments later, Harper eased aside and an arm appeared next to her.
Abby crowded forward and grabbed Flann’s hand. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m not at my fighting best,” Flann said weakly. “So don’t let go.”
Abby tightened her grip. “I’m not going to.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Flann pushed herself to her knees but didn’t have the strength to stand. Her leg might as well have been a dead log attached to her hip for all she could control it. “Leg’s useless for a bit.”
Abby slipped an arm around her waist, saying gently, “Take your time. You can make it.”
A second later Harper was on her other side, and Flann managed to get both legs under her and wobble to her feet. Her injured leg burned like someone had rammed a hot poker down the middle of her quad. Congealing blood soaked her jeans to the knee.
“Jesus, Flann,” Harper said, “you’re a mess.”
“Thanks, sis.”
“Are you dizzy?” Abby asked.
“No,” Flann croaked. “A little weak in general, but I don’t think I lost that much blood.
“We’ll see when we get you to the ER.”
Flann grunted and put a little more weight on the leg. It held. “By the time we get to the ER, it’ll be filled with patients and I’ll be too busy to worry about it.”
“You’re not going to be doing anything tonight,” Abby said.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Abby.” Flann didn’t have the patience to argue. “Look at the damage here. If that twister went through town or even stayed on the ground on the outskirts, there’s gonna be a lot more than property damage. People are going to be hurt. I’ve got work to do.”
Abby gritted her teeth and stared at Flann’s set jaw. The woman was so stubborn that reasoning with her was about as effective as trying to hold back the tornado with a bedsheet. “Harper, maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
Harper cleared her throat. “Uh…how about we get everybody inside and we’ll do a quick check on the three of them. I’ll take the kids, you look at Flann. If her leg’s not too bad, then for the short term, at least, it makes the most sense to let her try to work. I’ve got everything you’ll need to treat a straightforward injury.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Abby muttered. Two against one was hopeless odds, but she was counting on Harper’s concern for Flann’s welfare to win out if she found anything serious. “Let’s get inside. If the wound is manageable as an outpatient, okay. But if I say she needs the OR, then what I say goes.”
“No,” Flann said.
“Okay,” Harper said.
“God damn it, Harp,” Flann said.
Harper held firm. “If it’s not bad like you say, then you’ve got nothing to complain about.”
Flann didn’t argue. She’d just work on Abby when she got her alone.
“Everybody okay?” Presley called.
“We’re good,” Harper said. “Take Flann and the kids back to the house. Abby and I will catch up.”
Flann didn’t argue about riding—she couldn’t maneuver through the rubble. Once she got situated next to Margie, Presley navigated a circuitous path back to the house. Miraculously, the house was undamaged other than a few slates lying scattered around on the grass. Margie and Blake carried the chickens inside, and Presley gave her a hand climbing down from the ATV.
“How are you doing?” Presley asked.
“Better,” Flann said. “I’m starting to feel my leg again.”
Inside, Margie and Blake immediately settled into one corner of the kitchen, discussing how best to create a temporary pen for the chicks. Harper appeared a minute later with a medical bag in one hand and a plastic crate filled with instrument packs and surgical bandages. Presley put flashlights on the counter and table.
Abby immediately joined Blake and Margie. “You two need to get into dry clothes.”
“We just need to get the chicks settled,” Blake said, barely giving her a glance as Margie set a big cardboard box on the floor.
“Five minutes,” Abby ordered.
“I’ll see what I can find for them,” Presley said, pausing by Abby. “They look like they’re doing better than the rest of us.”
Abby glanced over at Flann. “Right. Harper, can you take a look at these two while I get a look at Flann’s leg.”
“Sure.” Harper pulled out a kitchen chair. “Margie, sit.”
Flann desperately wanted to sit down too, but she didn’t. Any sign of weakness now would get her benched for the rest of the night. She’d be fine as soon as she had something to drink and a little bit to eat. Time to get on top of the situation.
“Let’s go in the sitting room, Abby. You can check me over in there.”
Surprised that Flann acquiesced so easily, Abby grabbed the container of surgical supplies and one of the big lantern flashlights, and followed Flann down the hall. Flann moved slowly and Abby suspected she was trying hard to hide a limp. The sitting room was a large cozy space with a fireplace, an overstuffed sofa and matching easy chair with a floral pattern, and a big hooked rug on the wood floor. An oversized coffee table that looked as old as the house sat in the middle of the room with a few business magazines and general medical journals scattered on top. Harper and Presley obviously used this room to relax, and the companionable image gave her a pang of envy.
“Stretch out on the sofa.” Abby put the supplies and light on the coffee table. “Can you get your jeans off?”
“I don’t want to get blood on their rug.” Flann stopped just inside the door, unbuttoned her jeans, and started to push them down. She winced and stopped. “I might need a little help.”
Abby pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “Hold on to the door frame for balance. I’m going to have to tug.”
Flann braced one arm against the doorway. “All set.”
Abby crouched, gripped the waistband of Flann’s jeans, and rocked them down over her hips to midthigh. Flann could think of a lot of scenarios where she wouldn’t mind Abby on her knees in front of her, but this definitely wasn’t one of them. She hated appearing helpless in front of Abby and hated being tended to as if she were incapable of looking after herself—or anyone—even more. Abby tugged on her jeans, and Flann swore.
“Sorry.” Abby rocked back on her heels and looked up at Flann. “It’s stuck to the laceration and I can’t tell how bad it is. I’ll have to soak the material with some saline and try again.”
“Go ahead.”
Wordlessly, Abby opened the liter bottle of sterile saline and poured it onto the front of Flann’s jeans. Maroon-colored water dripped from the bottom of her jeans as the material soaked through. When she was done, she grasped the material and tried again. Flann’s breathing was short and raspy.
“I’m sorry,” Abby murmured. “I can check the supplies for analgesics, but they probably won’t kick in soon enough to do any good.”
“It’s okay,” Flann said through tight teeth. “Just get it done.”
With one final pull, the jeans slid down over her knees to the tops of her work boots.
“Almost there.” Abby unlaced Flann’s boots and steadied her with a hand on her good hip. Flann’s T-shirt came to the middle of her dark briefs. Her legs were lean and muscular. Abby focused on the ten-inch laceration angled across the anterior portion of her thigh, deep enough to have separated the tissue down to muscle. The saline had cleared most of the clot, but she couldn’t tell yet how serious it was. “Can you step out of your boots and jeans?”
Carefully, Flann eased one foot free and then the other.
Abby rose and slid an arm around Flann’s waist. Flann was pale, her pupils wide and dark with pain. Abby steeled herself against the surge of sympathy. She couldn’t stroke away her hurt the way she wanted to. She’d have to hurt her a little more before she could help her. “Come on, sit down so I can get a good look at it. I need to clean it up a little bit more.”
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