by Radclyffe
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Presley said. Charming was an understatement where the Rivers sisters were concerned, but now she was forewarned—and armed. “I do need to know where to get rooster—chicken food, though.”
“For the rooster in the tree?”
“Yes. Well, he’s not in the tree right now. He’s digging around in the yard.”
“It’s summer,” Harper said. “With all the grass and hay around, he’s probably doing pretty well.”
“I was just reading that he should have grit and some corn and high-quality food as well. I have a list already of what I need.”
“You looked that up on the Internet, huh?”
Presley regarded her guardedly. “Yes, why?”
“You realize you could have asked just about anyone here and they would’ve been able to tell you.”
“Number one, I don’t know anyone here except you and your family, and number two…” She shook her head. Harper was far too good at getting her to discuss things she had no intention of discussing. “Never mind.”
“And number two,” Harper said with maddening self-assurance, “you’re used to doing things for yourself.”
Harper was right, and her perceptiveness left Presley feeling uncomfortably exposed. “I suppose, yes, that’s true. Aren’t you?”
“Sure—unless someone knows more than I do and I can save myself time and a headache by asking.”
“That means you have to trust them,” Presley pointed out.
Harper gave her a long look. “It does.”
“Seeing as you weren’t around, I was forced to turn to other sources of information.”
“Does that mean you trust me?”
Presley flushed. Damn it, Harper was doing it again. “Where chickens are concerned.”
Harper laughed. “If you’re done with lunch, I’ll take you to the feed store and we can see about outfitting your rooster.”
“That’s not necessary. If you just tell me—”
“I’d like to,” Harper said.
“If you’re sure, I’d appreciate it.” Presley paused. “In fact, I’d like that too. For Rooster’s sake, of course.”
“Of course.” Harper’s slow-lidded smile sent a shiver down Presley’s spine that she resolutely ignored.
Chapter Fifteen
Presley wandered around a store creatively called Tractor Supply consulting the list on her iPhone of things she needed for Rooster. While she shopped, Harper chatted with one of the clerks at the checkout counter. She paused in one section containing racks of shirts and pants and boots. Who knew you could shop for clothes at the tractor store? She plucked a green-and-white checked shirt from a hanger and held it out. The simple style and bright colors had a certain charm. She laughed to herself, thinking how that would go over in the boardroom matched with a pair of jeans and boots. The memory of Harper looking totally at ease in a plain white shirt and faded jeans reminded her that actions, not the outward trappings of success, were the true measure of ability.
“Looking to expand your wardrobe?” Harper said from behind her.
Presley put the shirt back. “Just…curious.”
“That navy would look good on you.” Harper held up a cotton top with a scooped neck.
She was right. The blue would complement her eyes. Looking at clothes with Harper seemed too familiar, too personal, somehow—as if Harper were mentally dressing or undressing her. The intimacy was unnerving. Growing up, Presley had shopped with her mother and had quickly learned to accept her mother’s choices over her own desires. She’d occasionally shopped with friends in high school until one of the girls was caught shoplifting, and Presley’s parents threatened to freeze her credit cards if she continued with unauthorized purchases. As an adult, she had a regular personal shopper at one of the upscale department stores who would choose an assortment of pieces for her when she called and have them ready for her to try on when she arrived.
She held up the top and had no trouble imagining Harper in a big sunny bedroom, a backdrop of brilliant blue sky outside the window, slowly easing the simple cotton shirt over her head. Of her breasts falling free and Harper’s hands—
“I guess it makes sense to shop here while you’re getting the rest of your supplies.” Presley put the shirt back and quickly walked on with no destination in mind.
“The clothes tend to be better made for hard work,” Harper said when she caught up to her. “And in a lot of cases less expensive than similar things at regular department stores.”
Presley grabbed a pair of women’s work boots. Thankfully, they didn’t conjure the slightest erotic thought in her head. “I’m trying to figure out what I would be doing to need these.”
Harper laughed. “If you had chickens, you might want to wear them while you’re cleaning out the coop.”
“Give me a little time to get my mind around that,” Presley murmured and set the boots down.
“City girl.”
Harper’s tone was teasing and Presley decided she liked it.
“Come on,” Harper said, “there’s something I want to show you.”
“I’m breathless with anticipation.”
“Then just hold that thought.”
Harper reached out, and for a second Presley thought she was going to take her hand. A flush of pleasure raced through her as she lifted her own, automatically ready to take Harper’s. Harper stilled, that dark unfathomable look back in her eyes. The breath inexplicably stilled in Presley’s chest.
“This way,” Harper said quietly, her hand slowly falling back to her side.
Presley nodded, knowing she should feel foolish, but she didn’t. For just a few minutes, she wanted to let go of everything she’d been trained to do and want, and just follow her instincts. And her instinct was to follow Harper.
She pushed her oversized cart down rows stacked with big bags of animal and bird feed, through aisles filled with fence posts and stakes and all manner of tools, large and small, watering troughs, and other equipment. Toward the back of the warehouse, waist-high barriers screened off four sections about eight feet square. Harper stopped and pointed into one of them. Presley looked down and caught her breath.
“Oh.” A frightening melting sensation filled her chest.
A dozen fluffy yellow balls, about four inches high with feet, scurried around, pecking at the straw and the crushed feed in a little tin tray with miniature beaks so fragile they didn’t even appear real. Little feathers, coarser and darker, displaced some of the fuzz covering their wings.
“Chicks.” Presley stated the obvious and hoped she sounded less girlish than she felt.
“Yep. They’re the last of the bunch. It’s a little late in the season and these are bigger than they usually are when they go home, but that’s a good thing because you don’t have to be as careful about the temperature as you would if they were hatchlings.”
“They’re really cute.”
Harper cradled one in her hands and passed it to Presley. “Here.”
Having no choice, Presley took it. The feathers were incredibly soft, and its bright black eyes reminded her of Rooster’s, inquisitive and lively. It pecked at her finger and she laughed. “They never stop that, do they?”
“Pretty much never. Chad says if you take half a dozen, they’re yours for five dollars.”
Presley stared at her. “What in the world would I do with half a dozen chickens?”
Harper grinned. “That rooster will know what to do.”
Presley raised a brow. “I imagine that he would. But aside from the obvious, I don’t think we can trust him to take care of all the other matters.”
“Chickens pretty much look after themselves, once they’re a little bigger. I’ll take a look at the coop and get it back into shape for you. Nature will do the rest.”
Reluctantly, Presley put the chick back into the pen. “I can’t. I have no idea how to look after them, and what about when I’m gone?”
“You’ll
find someone to take them. Or eat them.”
Presley gasped. “Certainly not.”
“If you change your mind, they’ll be here a few more days.”
“Rooster is quite enough of a responsibility,” Presley said and backed away so she wouldn’t see the milling chicks and could quash the impulse to take them home. “Besides, we have cats in the barn. They might eat them.”
“Barn cats know about chickens. They’d probably be friends.”
For an insane moment, Presley considered it. They were cute and, from her reading, not very much trouble at all. And she’d get eggs… Reason mercifully prevailed. She’d be long gone before these little ones were ready to lay eggs. “No.”
“Okay,” Harper said, her tone suggesting she wasn’t convinced Presley was convinced.
To prove her certainty, Presley pushed her cart hurriedly to the checkout counter.
Once outside, Harper piled the supplies in the back of her pickup truck. “I’ll drive you back to the hospital so you can get your car.”
Presley checked her watch. “Don’t you have softball practice this afternoon?”
Harper nodded.
“Where?”
“Out past my place a bit.” Harper opened Presley’s door for her.
“Thanks.” Presley was used to people opening doors for her, but when Harper did it, she felt special. Harper treated her as if she was all that mattered—as if time had no meaning when they were together. She climbed into the truck and Harper started the engine. “That took longer than I expected. If you drive me back to the hospital, you’re going to be late.”
“That’s okay. I’m having fun.”
So am I. So much fun, she’d lost track of time, something she never did. “Flannery will object, I expect. Just take me home—I’m on your way. I’ll have Lila drive me to get my car when she leaves today.”
“How about I stop home and change, and you come with me to practice. I’ll take you home after and carry this stuff in for you.”
Presley frowned. “Wait. What are you talking about? Why would I go to practice?”
Harper grinned and pointed at the sky. “Saturday afternoon. Blue sky, warm sunshine. It’s a beautiful day. Carrie will be there too. What are you going to do at home?”
“Well, I—” Presley folded her arms, aggravated at being put on the spot, and thought about her usual weekend activities. An hour at the gym in the mornings, an espresso on the way back to her condo, and then catching up on the week’s news on her iPad. By the afternoon, she’d be bored and end up working until the obligatory business or family gathering on Saturday evening. She hadn’t considered what she’d do here on the weekend. The gym was out, since she hadn’t seen anything resembling one in town. She had no plans for the evening and had already worked half a day. She had several books on her iPad she was planning on reading—but that sounded like an excuse, which it wasn’t. Not exactly. “I have quite a few things already planned.”
“Three hours,” Harper said, “counting the trip to your house and mine. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll take you home.”
The idea of relaxing in the sun was oddly appealing. There was nothing waiting for her at the White place except Rooster, and he’d be there later in the day. And spending a few hours watching Harper would be no hardship. “All right, but I want your word that you won’t badger me about playing.”
“I swear.” Harper swung left out of town. “What’s your sport, then?”
“Golf.” Her parents had signed her and Preston up for golf lessons when they were eight, explaining golf was the sport of the business world and that many a deal was brokered on the greens. She didn’t particularly enjoy the game, but she was competitive, and that was enough to make her a good golfer, and her parents were right. She often spent a weekend morning on the greens at her club discussing business with financiers, real estate developers, politicians, and CEOs. “Do you play?”
“No.” Harper rolled down her window and the smell of country wafted in. Hot tar, green fields, livestock. “There’s a public course about ten miles from here. A lot of people around here play. If you miss playing—”
“I don’t.”
Harper glanced at her. “Why do you play, then?”
“It’s good for business.”
“I see.” Harper didn’t sound as if she thought that was much of a reason to do anything.
“I thought all doctors played golf,” Presley said testily.
“A lot do, for the same reasons. But if I’m going to spend time doing something, I’d rather it be for pleasure.”
“Like today.”
Harper glanced over at her. “Yes.”
*
Harper pulled down the drive and stopped in front of her house. Originally the farm manager’s house, the plain two-story wood building was set back a hundred yards from the road with a cornfield beginning another hundred yards beyond her back porch. The barn was out back to the right, her garden to the left, and the chicken coop in between. Chickens roamed across the grass in front of the house. She cut the engine and swung around the front of the cab to hold open Presley’s door just as Presley was climbing down. Harper held out her hand and Presley took it, leaning into Harper as she steadied herself.
Presley looked around, her fingers tightening around Harper’s. “They’re so pretty. And they’re all different.”
Harper pointed out the various chicken species one by one. “Which is your favorite?”
“Oh,” Presley said, laughing. “A chicken aficionado I’m not. I like the white ones with the speckles, though.”
“Mmm, good choice. They’re nice and tender. Roast one up on a Sunday afternoon—” She ducked when Presley swatted at her shoulder. “Seriously, sometimes we do have to eat the livestock. Kids learn that pretty early in life.”
Presley glanced down. She was still holding Harper’s hand. No one else was around, and suddenly, the intimacy was overwhelming. She had no idea what she was doing. Worse, when she was with Harper, she forgot why she’d come to this place where she had no place, where her job put her at odds with everyone, especially this woman who seemed able to make her forget herself with alarming ease. She released Harper’s hand. “It must be very difficult for children, for anyone, to grow fond of an animal and then…”
“Farm kids have to learn that animals, like crops, are part of what keeps a farm going. The smart parents teach their children not to name the animals that will eventually be culled for food or other reasons. The 4-H clubs give the kids a place to bond with their animals and bring their pets to show off. No good parent would sacrifice one of those.”
Presley had wanted a dog. Her parents had said no—they traveled too much, and then there would be prep school. “It’s so different than what I’m used to.”
“What is that?” Harper didn’t care if she was late for softball. She’d been playing all her life and practice was more social outing than anything else. Flannery would give her a hard time, but it wouldn’t risk her position at shortstop. She was still quick and had one of the strongest arms on the team. Flann was a better batter, but then Flann was always the flashier of the two of them.
Right now, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing than standing in her front yard, surrounded by a bunch of clucking chickens, talking to Presley Worth. Presley didn’t know her, but she seemed to want to, and that mattered more than anything else at that moment.
All her life, Harper had been known by everyone. When she started going on rounds with her father, everyone knew her father and her mother and her, even though they’d never met. Her story was known before she’d even lived it. Most of the time she didn’t mind, but sometimes the familiarity left her feeling invisible. With Presley, she felt completely new, and when Presley looked at her, she felt solid and seen. She wanted to tell her everything, from the silliest stories of her childhood to what it meant to her to have the faith of her patients and her community. She wanted to tell her wh
at mattered, what lived inside her.
“It’s a long story,” Presley said, “and you’re going to be late.”
“I don’t care,” Harper murmured and moved a step closer. Presley’s hand came to rest on her chest and her eyes widened, full of questions. Her fingers curled into Harper’s shirt.
“Harper, this isn’t—”
Harper kissed her, there in the hot summer sun under a blue, blue sky with the sounds and scents of life all around them. She gently stroked Presley’s forearm, reveling in the soft, silky texture of her skin. Presley’s lips were even softer, satin against her own, tempting her senses. Presley’s mouth slid softly over hers until their lips fit perfectly. The breeze was cool and fresh against the back of her neck, and every sensation was magnified a thousand times. She didn’t need to breathe. She was more alive than she’d ever been, never having known until this moment she’d been sleepwalking, waiting for the woman whose kiss would taste like eternity. Hunger exploded, sending fiery need raging through her. She slid her arm around Presley’s waist, pulled her closer, and pressed her mouth harder to Presley’s, wanting more. Presley’s palm pushed back against her chest, pushing her away. The kiss dissolved, leaving Harper with only the sound of her own breathing harsh in her ears.
“Harper, no,” Presley said softly.
Harper let her go, stepped back, searched for words in her addled mind. “I…seem to have forgotten myself.”
Presley drew a deep breath and waited a second for the swirling in her head to dissipate. She hadn’t moved, at least she didn’t think she had, but she had no memory of how she’d ended up in Harper’s arms. She remembered exactly how that had felt. Her body still tingled with the memory. Harper’s body had been hard, hot, powerful and for an instant, Presley surrendered. Surrendered, something she never, ever did. In a heartbeat, every instinct spurred her to fight back. To fight the wanting and the longing and the insanity of that kiss. When she was sure her voice was steady, she said, “You are an excellent kisser, Harper.”