by Radclyffe
“I promise.”
Presley stepped onto the bottom rung and reached up for the one above her head. When she wavered, Harper grasped her waist. Presley looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow quirked.
“Where exactly am I going?”
“You’ll know when you get there. Grab the next one and step up.” Harper tried not to stare at the very shapely ass directly in her line of sight.
“I don’t generally set out on a journey without knowing exactly what my destination will be.”
“I think my mother just said the same thing about me. Maybe we should take an adventure.”
Presley stared down at her for a moment longer. “Perhaps we should.”
She turned back to the tree and started to climb. Harper waited until she’d gone up several rungs and then started after her. “Doing all right?”
“It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”
“I’m right behind you.”
“And if I fall, we’re both going down.”
“You won’t fall.”
“I suppose at least I’ll have someone qualified to remove the splinters.”
Harper smiled to herself.
“Wait, there’s something up here. Oh!”
Harper scrambled up as Presley disappeared. She reached the hatch in the floor of the tree house and levered herself inside. Presley was already looking out the window toward the river. “Worth the splinters?”
“This is incredible!” Presley spun around, amazed by this hidden treasure in the trees. Harper grinned at her, her pleasure so obvious it was contagious. Presley’s stomach fluttered in the oddest way. Now she understood why Harper had hesitated to reveal it. This place was special. “You built this?”
“Flann and I started it as a lark when we were kids,” Harper said quietly. “But I’ve been working on it all my life.”
“Can I…” Presley gestured, wanting to explore.
“Sure. It’s totally safe.”
Presley slowly circled the room. More than a room. The tree house was really a cabin nestled in the branches of the huge oak that rose through the center of the room and out through the roof. The plank floor circled the trunk for ten feet on all sides, with windows on each of the four walls. A sofa with soft plum cushions took up part of one wall, bookshelves another, and a wood-burning stove the corner between the other two. The walls themselves were plain unfinished wood, gnarled and grained and obviously very old. The screened windows and a trap door over the hatch enclosed the space entirely.
She studied the books on the handmade shelves, expecting medical tomes or historical fiction with local settings. Instead she saw rows of numbered Tom Swifts and the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew—originals, from the look of them.
“Let me guess—Tom Swift for Flannery, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew for you?”
Harper rocked on her heels, studying her with that intense probing gaze. “How do you conclude that, Sherlock?”
Presley laughed. “Well, my dear Watson, Swift is an adventurer, first and foremost, and that would appeal to the surgeon in Flannery. The others are detectives, who study clues and ferret out hidden secrets. Much more in keeping with a medical specialist.”
“You know a lot more about medicine than you let on,” Harper said.
“Thanks.” Unexpectedly pleased again, Presley settled on a window seat beneath an open window, stretched out her legs, and propped her elbow on the narrow sill. From this height she could see patches of water framed by sun-dappled leaves and bits of blue sky peeking through the branches overhead. The isolation appealed to her. But more than that, the peace was a refreshing breeze cleansing her soul.
“It’s sort of like a cocoon, isn’t it,” she murmured.
Harper came to stand beside her. “I always thought of it like a cave.”
Presley looked up at her. Her skin shone golden in the slanting late-afternoon light. They might have been anywhere, in any age, and the timeless moment called to Presley in some primal way. “Either way, it’s a place to rest, maybe hide, and perhaps emerge changed.”
“I always thought of it as a place to keep things from changing.” Harper’s smile was crooked, whimsical.
“And there is our difference.”
“One of them.”
“We don’t need to be on opposite sides of this, you know, Harper.”
“Maybe we aren’t. I guess time will tell.”
“Yes.”
“Where do you go?” Harper asked. “To hide?”
Presley didn’t have an answer Harper would understand. “There’s nothing I want to escape from.”
“You’re lucky, then.”
“Not really.” Presley sighed. “I just let go of some of the things I wanted a long time ago.”
“What kind of things?” Harper stepped back and leaned against the tree. In her faded denim, plain shirt, and scuffed boots, she looked completely at home in the rough, hand-built room. She could have been a frontiersman from two hundred years before. Perhaps she would have been happier then too—living simply where honest work received honest reward and a chicken sufficed as well as a silver coin in payment.
She was also waiting for Presley to say more, but she’d already said far too much. “I bet you’re good at getting your patients to reveal their secrets. You have a way of looking at someone that makes it seem like you’re really interested.”
“I am. But most of them want to tell.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Besides, there’s nothing much to tell. I enjoy my work.” Presley knew she sounded defensive. “So there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“I enjoy my work too. But sometimes we have to step away from it in order to come back stronger.”
“You can’t step away until the battle is won.”
“What battle are you fighting?”
Presley felt heat rise to her face and waved her hand. “Figure of speech.”
Harper looked as if she didn’t believe her, but this time she didn’t press. “Okay.”
“What do you do when you don’t want to be alone?” Presley wanted to know as much as she wanted the conversation on safer ground.
“I play softball.”
“Of course you do.” Presley laughed and shook her head. “The all-American pastime.”
Harper grinned. “There’s a hospital team. We’re part of the local league. We could use another player or two. How about you and Carrie?”
“Me? No,” Presley said emphatically. “I have no idea if Carrie knows anything about softball. And we’re probably not going to be here long enough to really contribute.”
Harper stiffened. “Really? How long do you plan on staying?”
“I expect the initial phases will be done well before the summer is over.”
“And then you leave.”
“Yes. We’ll put a transition team in place and—”
“And you’ll move on to your next conquest.”
“No, I will go back to the head office in Phoenix.”
“And do what there?”
“Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.” Presley didn’t know how Harper had suddenly turned the conversation around to her again, but she wanted to put an end to that right now.
“Try me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You don’t know I won’t be interested unless you tell me.”
Harper’s tone held both challenge and invitation. How did she manage that? Presley said, “Just some business challenges that need my attention.”
“Is Preston your only sibling?”
“How do you know about Preston?”
Harper lifted a shoulder. “The Internet.”
“The Internet. You’ve been investigating us.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Presley said quickly. “And yes, Preston is my only sibling. We’re twins, actually.”
“Like me and Flann.”
Pr
esley frowned. “I didn’t realize you were twins.”
“We’re not really, not biologically, but we’re close to that in some ways. When we were growing up, Flann was actually much more verbal than me even though she’s the younger. Once she got started, people worried I was never going to talk. She did that for both of us.”
“I am not at all surprised.” Presley laughed. “I’m sure you were the quiet, thoughtful one and she was the adventurer, always the first one to try something new. You would’ve been much more cautious.”
Harper grimaced. “You make me sound boring.”
“Not at all. Simply careful.”
“Careful.” She nodded. “Maybe.”
“I’m glad you showed me this tree house. I think I can almost understand the pleasure of escaping.”
Harper smiled. “You really should try it sometime.”
“I think maybe it takes a tree house.”
“Then you should build one.”
“If I ever decide to, I’ll have you design it for me.”
“My pleasure.”
Mine too, Presley almost said, and caught herself just in time. The air was still and warm inside the tree house, the scent of leaves and bark a sweet backdrop. The sun at her back painted the floor in swatches of gold. Harper stood half in shadow and half in sunlight, the contrast a reflection of her hidden depths. She was far more complex than the simple country doctor she liked to project—she had a secret life, secret pleasures she obviously didn’t share easily. Presley discovered she wanted to open those hidden doors to Harper’s secret self. That desire was not without risk. Harper’s gaze was the most direct Presley had ever known, unwavering, searching, making her feel as if all of her secrets were on display, making her feel vulnerable in a way both frightening and exhilarating. Despite feeling exposed, she wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t yield to the faint tremor growing in her depths. Her heart hammered in her throat.
“Harper,” Margie called up from below. “You up there?”
Harper’s gaze never left Presley’s. “Yeah.”
“Mama says dinner. Dad just drove in.”
“All right, we’re coming.” Harper smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Family calls.”
“Yes,” Presley said, although the concept was foreign to her. Her family commanded.
Harper reached down to open the hatch and held out her hand. “You should go first. I’ll help you get started down.”
Presley slid her hand into Harper’s. Her fingers were warm and strong and sure. Like her. The trembling spread into Presley’s core, but she didn’t let go.
Chapter Twelve
Presley judged she had five minutes at most on the walk up to the house to prepare to meet Edward Rivers again. She had no doubt he would be polite, but she regretted the distrust she was going to see in his eyes. Not that she could do anything to change that. She had not created the circumstances, and even if she had been in charge of the acquisition and not Preston, she would very likely have done exactly the same thing. Business was business. She was not responsible for ACH running in the red. That situation had been years in the making. The hospital management couldn’t be faulted for anything other than wishful thinking and having failed to keep up with the times, while physicians like Edward Rivers were notoriously bad businessmen and likely hadn’t noticed the changing landscape. Harper’s generation tended to be savvier about financial realities, although if Harper was any example those lessons hadn’t penetrated into this area. The economy of medicine had been changing rapidly for the past decade, and those institutions and physicians who couldn’t adapt would eventually be displaced. None of that was her doing, and now she was in no position to reverse it. She was not here to save ACH. She was here to give the greatest return possible to SunView and its investors. Still, she wished she was not the instrument destined to bring about events that would surely alienate the Rivers family.
Harper slowed when they were halfway up the hill to the house. “I meant to mention—you can change your mind about coming with me on calls. I understand you have a job to do, and you’re busy.”
Presley’s relief was instantaneous. There was the opening she’d wanted and had been wondering how to bring about since she’d let her emotions rather than her brain speak for her. Now she could step back, out of the Rivers family’s circle of influence, and return to anonymity. She would always be accountable and would always be willing to take responsibility for her decisions, but she was most effective working behind the scenes, not out in the open where she would have to see the confusion and anger and pain in Harper’s eyes or the sad resignation in her father’s. She wouldn’t have to see Harper at all, and considering how effortlessly Harper distracted her from her goal, that was for the best. Logically she should jump at the offer.
“Trying to get rid of me?” she said instead.
“Not at all. I…” Harper shrugged and looked mildly bewildered. “I enjoyed taking you around this morning.”
“I enjoyed it too. So let’s stick to the plan.”
“It’s not always enjoyable. Sometimes it’s boring, sometimes painful, sometimes aggravating.” Harper laughed. “Especially in the middle of the night.”
“It’s very quiet around here at night,” Presley said. “Flannery tells me everything closes at sundown.”
“Flann exaggerates,” Harper said. “Actually, a little bit earlier than that.”
“Wonderful,” Presley muttered, and Harper laughed again. She liked Harper’s understated humor, the playful tone an invitation—subtler and somehow more personal than Flannery’s—for her to join in. She might not be a joiner, but Harper was hard to resist. “So really you’ll be doing me a favor and saving me from the dangers of Dancing with the Stars.”
“That I’d like to see.”
Harper’s smile sent heat shimmering across Presley’s face. “I’m afraid it’s a well-guarded secret.”
“Safe with me, then.” Harper pressed a hand to her heart.
Presley believed her. “So we have a date?”
Harper’s gaze intensified. “I’ll need your number.”
“Let me have your cell,” Presley said.
Harper immediately slid her phone from her front pocket, tapped in a password, and handed it over. Presley selected contacts, entered her name and cell phone number, and handed it back. Over Harper’s shoulder, she saw Margie standing on the back porch watching them. “Your little sister is very bright.”
“My little sister is exceptional, and she is also prone to inquisitiveness.” Harper glanced back and raised her voice. “Somehow, she never grasped the concept of private space. A habit likely to get her hung upside down by her ankles out her bedroom window.”
“You wish you were strong enough,” Margie called back, a taunting grin on her face.
“Don’t forget the last time,” Harper said. “I seem to remember screams for mercy.”
Margie looked outraged. “I was nine!”
Harper chuckled.
Presley felt a moment of envy. Margaret Mitchell Rivers was an intelligent, bright, self-confident young woman whose family told her she could do and be anything, because she was special. All Presley could remember was never having been quite good enough. “You have a wonderful family.”
“We’re not always so wonderful,” Harper said. “Flannery’s a wiseass, Margie is a nosy nudge. Carson—” Harper paused. “Actually, Carson is pretty much always perfect. Cheerleader, prom queen, married the captain of the football team, graduated summa from college.”
“Where is her husband?”
“Afghanistan.”
“Ah. That’s really hard.”
Harper’s jaw tightened. “He hasn’t seen his son except on the Internet. We taped the delivery for him.”
Presley touched Harper’s hand. “Hopefully he’ll be home soon.”
“Yeah.”
The screen door banged and Flannery called down from the porch. “Stop lollygagging. Mama won’t serve until ever
yone is here.”
“Sorry,” Presley said. “I’m keeping you from your family.”
“That’s all right. No one will starve.”
Presley smiled. “Come on. Let’s go join them.”
Everyone was seated when they walked in. Two empty chairs sat on either side of the center of the table. Presley sat between Margie and Carson, and Harper took the one opposite her between Flannery and Carrie. Edward Rivers sat at one end and Ida at the other. The table was laden with platters of chicken and potatoes and vegetables and hot rolls and sweet corn and salad. It was all she could do not to moan out loud. She hadn’t had a decent meal in—she couldn’t remember when.
“Well, go ahead,” Ida said from the head of the table and a bevy of hands instantly reached to the center of the table. For the next few minutes no one spoke as platters were passed and silverware rattled.
Finally, Carrie said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen food like this all in one place in my life.”
“Neither have I,” Presley said. “It all looks wonderful.”
Ida laughed.
“Don’t take too long admiring,” Flannery said, “or else it will all be gone.”
The talk flowed easily, with Edward asking after Carson’s husband Bill and Margie telling everyone about her soccer team’s current standing in the upcoming schedule and the baby occasionally punctuating the conversation with happy babble. Presley was content to listen and answer whatever polite inquiry was directed at her with vague references to her home and family.
At one point Flannery said, “Thunderbirds’ first practice is tomorrow, don’t forget. You’re playing, right, Harp?”
“’Course.”
Flannery leaned around Harper and said to Carrie, “Can you play softball?”
Carrie gave Flannery a lofty look. “Can eagles fly?”
Suddenly conversation stopped and Carson, Harper, and Flannery stared at her.
Carrie colored. “What?”
“Slow pitch or fast pitch?” Carson asked.
“Fast pitch.”
“What position do you play?” Harper asked.
“It’s been a while—I played some in college.”