Prescription for Love

by Radclyffe

  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.”