Prescription for Love

by Radclyffe

  *

  “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 e
mail.”

  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.”