by Radclyffe
She walked through the ICU to the room at the end where they put the pediatric patients. Peggy was the only child in the unit. She lay in the center of the bed, her arms and legs outstretched and connected to IVs, EKG leads, a blood-pressure cuff, and a urinometer. The breathing tube ran to the ventilator beside the bed. She looked like a pale blond doll amongst all the equipment. The nurse who was charting vital signs smiled when she walked in.
“How’s she doing?” Harper asked.
“She’s been fine. We just sent a blood gas.”
“Great.” Harper listened to her chest. The breath sounds were clear and evenly distributed on both sides. She’d had to sedate her so she would tolerate the breathing tube and would need to keep her that way as long as the tube was needed. Hopefully, the steroids would kick in quickly, the swelling would go down, and the antibiotics would knock out the infection. As quickly as kids went bad, they bounced back too. “Did someone go to get her mother?”
“As soon as I get her cleaned up a little more, I’ll send Nancy down for her.”
“Thanks. Call me if anything changes.” Satisfied that everything was stable, Harper charted a few notes. She was done at the hospital and had no more reason to stay. She especially had no reason to drop by admin, but the urge to see if Presley had remained was still there, an annoying presence in the back of her mind like the throb of a sore tooth. Pushing the impulse aside, she left the ICU.
Flann, still in scrubs, sauntered down the hall in Harper’s direction. “I was just going to check on her.”
“She’s stable.”
“Good.” Flannery fell in beside Harper as she headed for the stairwell. “So how did our Ms. Worth come to be down in the ER during all of that?”
“When did she become our Ms. Worth?” Harper heard the crankiness in her voice. Every time the subject of Presley came up her hackles rose for no good reason. Of course, the woman herself was irritating enough to be the explanation. Flann’s obstinate refusal to recognize anything about her other than the fact that she was attractive and intelligent just added to her annoyance.
Flann grinned. “Well, I figured since we were sharing—”
“Knock it off, Flann.”
“Oh, sensitive. Is there something I should know?”
Harper stopped walking and jammed her hands on her hips. “It seems like you should already know without being told. Presley is not a member of your fan club. She’s here to take over the hospital, and we don’t even know what the plans are.”
“I didn’t know I had a fan club. Is there a website?”
Harper blew out a breath. “You know, sometimes you are a real pain in the ass.”
“Really?” Flannery raised her brows. “I never knew you thought that.”
Harper laughed. Flann could always make her laugh, even when she’d broken one of Harper’s toys, or gotten them both in trouble with one of her harebrained schemes, or drawn the attention of one of the girls Harper had given a thought to. She couldn’t stay mad at her. “Would you just think about something besides your hormones? Just this once.”
“I was,” Flann protested, the devil-may-care glint in her eyes at odds with her innocent tone. “I was thinking I’d go undercover, and when Presley falls victim to my charms, she’ll tell me everything, and I could report back.”
“Your charms notwithstanding,” Harper said, “I don’t think she’s going to fall victim to anything at all. If we’re not careful, we’ll be the ones picking ourselves up off our asses.”
“You’re really worried, aren’t you,” Flann said.
“Aren’t you?”
“I sort of thought I’d wait to see what was actually proposed before I got all doom and gloom about it.”
“Spend some time with her,” Harper said, and immediately regretted the suggestion. Why the idea of Flann and Presley together bothered her so much was just another irritation. Why should she care? “Listen to the questions she asks. I’m not getting the sense that she thinks the hospital’s all that necessary.”
“Come on, Harper. Why would they buy it if they didn’t want it?”
“I’ve been looking into SunView. There are more things in the SunView Health System than hospitals, and a lot don’t involve direct patient care.”
“Yeah, but this is a functioning hospital.”
“Do you really think that matters?”
Flann grimaced. “Yeah, I do.”
“I hope you’re right,” Harper said, but she had a bad feeling that Flannery’s legendary intuition was off this time. Presley might not be the cold, mechanical number cruncher she’d first taken her to be. That was evident from the way she’d reacted in the ER a little while ago. She’d comforted Jenny Giles instinctively, and that sort of kindness came from genuine caring. Those flashes of warmth disappeared pretty quickly when she started talking about the reason she was here, though. Then she was all hard facts and cold figures, and the questions she asked seemed to be leading to the conclusion that the hospital was superfluous. Nothing could be further from the truth. The hospital was the heartbeat of the community. Or, Harper had to admit, at least the center of her life. She couldn’t help thinking Presley meant to destroy it.
*
Flannery glanced at the big clock on the OR wall: 3:05. An hour and nine minutes. Excellent time. She checked the incisions again and cauterized the last few small bleeders.
“Happy up there?” she asked Ray Wilcox, the anesthesiologist.
“Smooth as can be,” Ray said. “What do you figure, fifteen minutes?”
“That sounds about right.” Flannery looked across the table to Glenn, who had assisted her on the laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Glenn had good hands and would have made an excellent surgeon, but she said she liked being a PA, liked the direct patient care without the hassle of running a practice. Flann counted herself lucky to have Glenn as backup at night and a first assistant in the OR. “You want to finish closing for me?”
“Sure.” Glenn held out her hand and the scrub nurse passed her the needle holder and suture.
“Page me when she’s extubated.”
“Will do.”
Flann stepped back from the table and waited for the circulating nurse to untie her gown. She pulled it off and tossed the gown into the hamper and the gloves into the trash. “Thanks, everybody.”
She grabbed her white coat from a hook inside the locker room and stopped in the family waiting area to talk to Margaret Hancock’s husband. Earl Hancock wore faded work pants, worn boots, and a pressed white shirt frayed at the collar. His hands were chapped and scarred, the knuckles swollen from decades of hard physical labor in all kinds of weather. He’d shaved close that day, and a couple of nicks marred his weathered cheeks. His deep-set blue eyes were clouded with worry. Margaret and Earl were high-school sweethearts and had been married going on forty years. Like Flann’s mother and father, they were lifelong friends and lovers and partners. She’d seen it work, knew it could, but her parents’ example was a lot to live up to. The idea of trying and failing kept her from getting too involved with anyone. She’d leave that particular legacy to Harper. That was one area in which she had no desire to compete.
“She’s fine,” Flann said. That was likely all he’d hear, but she’d repeat it all later if need be. “She’ll be in the recovery room in about fifteen minutes.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not in there. She’ll be asleep yet anyhow. The gallbladder came out without any problems. She had a few stones, and I suspect that’s what was causing all the pain every time she ate.”
“So she’s going to be better now?”
“I think she’s going to be a lot better. She’ll need to take it easy for a week or so at home, but we were able to do everything through the small incisions I told you about, with the laparoscope, so she won’t have too much pain and the healing will be a lot faster.”
He rubbed his jaw. From his expression, he didn’t really understand everything she was talking
about, but he took her at her word and his eyes cleared. “That’s good then.”
“Better than good. That’s excellent.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “The nurses will let you know when she goes upstairs and her room number.”
“Okay. Thanks, Doc.”
“You bet.”
Flannery made a quick stop in the OR control room to check on her room. Two rows of four monitors showed the interiors of the eight operating rooms. She’d been in OR six. Glenn had finished sewing and was cleaning the abdomen before putting on the dressings. Flannery reached through the window, nodding to the ward clerk, and flipped the toggle on the intercom. “Is the tube out, Glenn?”
Glenn looked up. “Yes.”
“Everything good?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks.” She flipped the toggle back. “How you doing, Darlene?”
“Can’t complain,” the thin redhead with tired eyes said. She’d married her high-school sweetheart right after graduation and at twenty-five had four kids already. Flannery didn’t think much of her husband, who had trouble keeping a job, but Darlene seemed happy enough with him, which was probably what really mattered.
“You look terrific,” Flann said. “I like your new haircut.”
Darlene’s eyes lit up, and she patted her hair self-consciously. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Flannery waved and took off down the hall. So far, the day was looking good. Her surgeries had gone like clockwork and all her patients were doing fine. She had nothing scheduled for the rest of the afternoon except possibly a few hours with a very attractive woman who challenged her on most every level. She strolled by the admin offices and ducked into the alcove by the staff office, expecting to see her father’s secretary ensconced at the desk. She drew up short.
She’d known Alice Cunningham her entire life and enjoyed flirting with the cheerful sixty-year-old. The woman behind the desk, however, was not Alice. Not by a long shot. She looked about twenty-five and like she ought to be doing commercials for natural health products, she appeared so completely untarnished. Creamy complexion, red-gold eyebrows over spring-grass-green eyes, and shimmering hair the color of polished copper. Loose waves fell to her shoulders and framed her oval face. Except for the lace-topped figure-hugging plum-colored top she wore, she might have stepped down from a horse-drawn carriage a century ago. As Flann watched, pleasantly entranced, those green eyes widened and the full rose-tinged lips parted.
Flann said, “I’m staring, aren’t I.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Forgive me.” Flann pressed a hand to her chest. “I couldn’t help myself. You are truly beautiful.”
“Ah.” Pink colored the ivory cheeks. “Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” She spoke slowly, as if to a dangerous animal she wasn’t quite certain was safe, or to a madman.
Flann laughed. “Let’s start again. I’m Flannery Rivers. And who are you?”
“Carrie Longmire. Administrative assistant to Presley Worth.”
“Aha. The boss’s right hand.”
Carrie laughed. “Well—”
“Actually,” Presley said from the doorway of her office, “she’s occasionally both my hands and my brain. And she’s busy.”
“I am,” Carrie said quickly, pulling her keyboard closer.
Flann spun around. “Hello. Are you ready for your tour of the local wildlife?”
“I’m afraid my schedule—”
Carrie coughed delicately, and Presley shot her a look. Flann watched the silent exchange and noted that the beautiful Carrie Longmire held considerable sway with the formidable new hospital exec. Interesting.
Presley sighed. “We did work through lunch, and I suppose it would be a good idea for both of us to get a introduction to the area.”
“Excellent.” Flann looked from Presley to Carrie. The day just kept getting better. “I would be delighted to escort you both.”
Carrie popped up from behind her desk and grabbed an oversized leather bag.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Presley said and disappeared into her office.
“Does she bite?” Flann whispered.
Carrie smiled sweetly. “Only when necessary.”
Chapter Ten
Flannery drove them into the village and parked on the main street, a two-lane road running through six or seven blocks of the village proper. The area would have been called quaint except that on close inspection many of the buildings showed unmistakable signs of deterioration and at least a third of the storefront businesses were closed. The village itself was an odd mixture of residences and businesses mingled together, as if houses had been built with an eye toward the proximity to the essentials of community life—work, school, and church. Several old brick factories stood along the river, their windows broken out and, in some cases, the roofs collapsed or damaged by fire.
“What was the industry here?” Presley asked.
“The Hudson River Valley has always been agricultural, but in the early settlements the river also provided power for mills, primarily flax, and transportation routes for textile and paper production. Once those goods started shipping by rail and manufacturing eventually moved out of the country altogether, the factories died away. Now tourism and agriculture are the primary sources of income in this area.”
Carrie said, “I read somewhere recently that a big electronics factory is locating near here. That will bring in new money, won’t it?”
Presley was impressed. Carrie had always been a self-starter, which was one of the many reasons she would do well. Her amiable, outgoing manner put clients at ease, and she had a keen business mind coupled with an aggressive determination to succeed. That little tidbit about a major new industry in the area was news, and something she’d have to factor in to her projections.
“That’s true, at least the factory is being built not far from here,” Flannery said. “But in general, people don’t like to commute, so I’m not sure how much housing spillover we’ll get. Still, the hospital draws from a large catchment area throughout the rural counties and provides jobs for a lot of the local community.”
“How far are we from the major highway? The Northway, isn’t it?” Presley said.
“Not far—at least not by rural standards. Probably twenty minutes, but then it’s another fifteen or twenty to the next regional hospital and a good forty-five to anything larger than that.”
Presley made a mental note to include that data in her assessment. She pointed to a feed store across the street. “That place—would they have rooster food?”
Flannery stopped, a grin spreading across her face. She’d changed into jeans and a polo shirt before they’d left the hospital, and she looked more like one of the tourists ambling along the streets than the urban surgeons Presley was used to dealing with. “No, ’fraid not.”
Presley frowned. “Mail-order then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well then, where—”
“You could probably get chicken food, if you’re talking about, you know”—she made flapping movements with her arms—“cluck, cluck.”
“I see. Thank you for being so very helpful.” Presley tried to hide her smile with a glare. Flannery was charming enough to pull off the teasing, a friendly bantering Presley had never shared with anyone. Her family was not big on humor, and people she worked with wouldn’t assume the familiarity. When Flannery laughed, her brown eyes alight, Presley relented and joined in.
“How about people food?” Carrie asked. “Any place in town good for takeout or eat in?”
“There’s a diner, opens at three and closes about two.”
“Wait,” Carrie said. “Three in the afternoon until two in the morning?”
“Other way around—a.m. to p.m. No supper. Most everybody’s inside and in bed soon after the sun goes down. No late-night business.”
“You’re not really seri
ous,” Presley said.
“Actually, I’m not exaggerating by much. The farmers are all up and out before sunrise, and once the sun goes down there’s not much to do around here. So supper is an early affair and then everyone turns in.”
Presley sent up a prayer to the gods of the Internet that she’d at least be able to contact the outside world somehow at night while the rest of the community slumbered.
“Where’s the supermarket?” Carrie asked.
Flannery pointed in the opposite direction from which they’d arrived in town. “There’s a small grocery on the far end of town with local produce in season and just about anything you’d need in terms of essentials. Good pizza and sandwiches too. There’s a big organic full-service place about twenty-five minutes south of here.”
Carrie looked aghast. “Twenty-five minutes. For groceries.”
“That and most big department stores, for clothes and that sort of thing.”
“Oh my God.” Carrie looked at Presley. “You knew and you didn’t warn me.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your flight.”
“Come on,” Flannery said. “I’ll buy you an ice cream while you recover from the culture shock.”
“This makes up for the grocery a little,” Carrie said as they sat on a wooden bench in front of the ice cream shop with enormous cones of homemade ice cream.
When they’d finished, Flannery took them through the rest of the town and pointed out the post office, the small, still-family-run pharmacy, the pizza place, the diner, and the bar that served food until ten at night. All in all it took them forty minutes of leisurely walking.