by Radclyffe
“Passing on late-night supper?”
Presley spun around. “Flannery. What in the world—” She caught herself, taking in Flannery’s scrubs. The last time she’d seen her had been after the practice, in a ratty T-shirt and gym shorts. “Saturday night. An accident?”
Flann shook her head. “For once, something better. A delivery.”
Presley could feel her brows climb. “You’re here delivering a baby?”
“Right now, I’m just babysitting. Valerie Simpson, the OB, was up at Lake George with her husband and twins when one of her patients decided to deliver early. She called and asked me if I could cover for her until she could get here.”
Presley immediately thought of the liability issues. OB was one of the specialties with the highest malpractice insurance rates and the largest number of suits brought against practitioners, primarily because anything involving either the mother or the child for years to come could potentially result in a suit. Flannery was no doubt capable, but she wasn’t a board-certified OB/GYN physician. There had been a time, not that many years before, when a general surgeon like Flannery would routinely provide care in many of the areas that were now relegated to subspecialists. General surgeons used to set fractures, deliver babies, treat trauma, and operate on every part of the body. Now some surgical specialty existed for almost everything—the eyes, the ears, the chest, the abdomen, the vascular system, the soft tissues, the female reproductive organs, the male urinary system, and of course, the world of the fetus before and after birth. “Does this happen often?”
“Not too often—I’ve assisted on a few tough deliveries when I’ve been handy. Every once in a while I’ll scrub in on a hysterectomy if Valerie needs help.”
“I’m beginning to see why you and Harper like this kind of practice. The things you do are almost unheard of in other places.”
Flannery’s gaze was direct and unwavering. “That’s a shame, don’t you think?”
“For doctors like the two of you, yes, it probably is. There are those, though, who would argue that you can’t possibly be good at all of those things, and specialization is the best way to provide the most effective care.”
Flannery didn’t appear offended. She made a face as if to say, so what. “I know my limits. So does Harper. That counts for more than anything.” She grinned, and the devil was back in her eyes. “I know what I’m good at too, so that helps.”
Presley laughed. “It’s in the genes, that surgical arrogance, isn’t it?”
“Might be in my blue jeans.”
“God, I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“Pretty much.” Flannery picked up her tray and tilted her chin toward the hot table behind her. “You sure you don’t want something to eat? It’s free.”
“Really? Every night?”
“Yes, for the night staff and whoever else might be here working.”
“That’s got to be pricey.” Presley followed as Flannery walked toward a table.
“That’s it for you, isn’t it, the bottom line?” Flannery sat down, her comment not delivered critically, but simply matter-of-factly.
Presley took no offense. Why should she? “Yes, it has to be. That’s my job. Don’t you think being profitable is important?”
“It’s one thing that’s important.” Flannery picked up half of a huge triple-decker sandwich and took a healthy bite. She chewed for a few moments and sipped some coffee. “It’s not everything, though. Sometimes sacrificing a little of the bottom line for quality is worth the trade-off.”
“One hopes not to sacrifice either.”
“Let me ask you something. SunView—big hospitals, little hospitals, everything in between?”
“More or less. Fewer of the smaller ones all the time.”
“If you were sick or someone you loved was sick, where would you want them to go?”
“It would depend on what was wrong. I would want them to go where they could get the best care.”
“Okay, fair enough.” Flannery went back to her sandwich for a minute. “Define the best care.”
Presley pushed away the cup of coffee she didn’t want anymore. “I would think that would be obvious. The most up-to-date, accurate, effective care possible.”
“So you wouldn’t care if a robot delivered the treatment, as long as it was effective.”
Presley sighed. “I know where you’re going with this. Yes, the personal factor matters. Of course I would rather have a doctor like you or Harper, someone who knows me, who understands what’s important to me, who cares about me and my life beyond the illness, but—”
“You noticed? Harper must be doing a good job.”
Presley stiffened, a chill rippling down her spine. “I’m sorry?”
“Harper—she’s taking you around to show you the human side of things. Smart of her.”
“And I suppose that’s all part of some grand plan?” Presley said, feeling the coolness in her voice. “To sway me somehow?”
“I didn’t say that,” Flannery said, her tone conciliatory. “You can’t have a plan until you know where all the pieces fit on the board, and you’re pretty good at keeping that to yourself.”
“And what’s your role in all of this?”
Flannery’s eyes danced. “I was hoping to seduce you and then get the inside scoop, but I don’t see that happening now.”
Presley could not contain her laughter. “My God, your ego is lethal.”
Flannery lifted a huge piece of berry pie off her tray and placed it on the table between them. She picked up a spoon and handed it to Presley. “Share some pie?”
“I’m not even going to ask why you decided not to seduce me.”
“Can’t,” Flannery said, cutting off a piece of pie and forking it into her mouth. “It’s an unwritten rule.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No poaching, not when it’s serious.”
“I’m not following the metaphor.”
The laughter in Flannery’s eyes winked out. “Harper. She’s interested, you got that, right?”
Slowly, Presley sat back in her seat. “This is a conversation we’re not going to have.”
“All right, as long as we’re not having it, let me just mention one thing. She’s not like me. She doesn’t go in for variety. When she notices a woman, it’s because the woman means something to her.”
“Is that a warning?”
“No. Harper’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” Flannery picked up the spoon Presley had put down on the table and broke off another piece of pie. She held it out to Presley. “But you don’t know her well enough to know any of that, so I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Try it, it’s really good pie.”
Presley took the spoon and contemplated flinging its contents. When Harper notices a woman, it’s because she’s serious. She didn’t want Harper to be serious about her. Did she? “Have you had very many pies thrown at you?”
Flannery grinned. “Quite a few, actually.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’ll back off now so you can eat that instead of throwing it.”
“Thank you.” Presley tried it. “Excellent pie.”
“Told you. What are you doing here so late, by the way?”
“Harper got a call while she was taking me and Carrie home, and I went out with her. She had to admit the boy and I came along.”
Flannery frowned. “Who?”
“Jimmy Reynolds. Harper thinks he has leukemia.”
“Son of a bitch,” Flannery said. “If that’s what Harper thinks, then he does. She doesn’t make mistakes about things like that.” Flannery rubbed her face. “That’s going to be hard on her.”
“Yes, children must be so difficult—”
“Especially after Katie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Katie, she came between Carson and Margie. She died of leukemia.”
“Oh God,” Presley whispered. “I’m so sorry for all of you.”
/>
“Do me a favor,” Flannery said.
“All right,” Presley said, not needing to hear what Flannery wanted. Flannery was thinking of Harper, and so was she.
“If she doesn’t get out of here tonight, call me. I’ll come and drag her home. She’s gonna wear herself out trying to cure this kid.”
“Do you always look after her?”
“It’s mutual. That’s what siblings do.”
“Yes. Of course.” The cold settled around Presley’s heart. She had no idea what siblings did, only what competitors did. “Actually, we’re going to have breakfast, so I’ll be sure she gets some rest after.”
“Are you now?” Flannery studied her before sliding the pie a little closer. “Good. Have another bite.”
Chapter Twenty
A little after four a.m., Harper checked the staff lounge adjacent to the nurses’ station for Presley. She expected her to have left, even though she’d said she wanted to stay. The nights got long and lonely in the hospital after midnight. A single counter light burned in the kitchenette tucked into one corner. The television suspended on the wall by a thick metal bracket was silent, a rare and blessed event. Usually the set played day and night, tuned to a network talk show or, more often, a soap. Presley was stretched out on the sofa, her shoes lined up neatly on the floor beside it, her iPad resting on her chest. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, her breathing even. She was deeply asleep. Harper leaned against the door and looked at her.
Despite the fact that they’d both been in the same clothes going on a day, Presley looked a hell of a lot better than her, as if she could open her eyes and stride to the front of the boardroom in perfect command. Her pale green shirt and black trousers were apparently made of some miracle material that never wrinkled or lost their crisp, fresh appearance. Her hair appeared lustrous and tangle free. Presley was the embodiment of style and power, a combination Harper had never given much thought to before and now found seductively appealing. But what made her want to run her fingers through those perfect blond waves and wake Presley with a soft, claiming kiss had only a little to do with Presley’s attractiveness. She wanted to see that surprised look of wonder again—the one Presley had displayed when she first took in the tree house, as if she’d made a marvelous discovery. The pleasure she’d revealed when she’d slowly walked around, fingers trailing over the wood, the furniture, the old books on the shelves, as if everything was remarkable and new to her.
Harper had wondered then what kind of world Presley had come from that something as simple as that tree house could be so enthralling. Presley’s enchantment enchanted Harper, and from that moment on, she wanted to be the one to put that look of simple joy back on Presley’s face. She wanted to share with Presley what mattered most to her and learn what mattered to Presley, in the places Presley hid away from others. She had no doubt those soft, vulnerable places were there. She’d seen them in Presley’s eyes in the tree house, heard them in her voice when she’d talked to Margie, witnessed them when Presley stayed through the night to find out about a boy she’d just met. Stayed for Harper too. That thought was one she didn’t quite know what to do with. Presley turned her head and opened her eyes as if Harper had made some sound or movement that awakened her. But she hadn’t.
“How did you know I was here?” Harper asked.
Presley smiled. “I felt you.”
“Did you.”
Presley’s eyes were languorous and inviting. “Yes. You were watching me.”
“I was.” Harper’s throat was dry. “Do you mind?”
“No. I like it.” Presley’s gaze roamed over her. “I didn’t know I would.”
“You must get looked at a lot. You’re very beautiful.”
“I like that you think so. Another surprise.” Presley’s lips parted ever so slightly. “You do that a lot. Surprise me.”
“I like that.” Harper clenched inside, imagining the softness of Presley’s mouth on her body. She wanted the press of Presley’s flesh beneath her hands.
Presley touched the sofa by her hip. “Come sit down. You must be exhausted.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No?”
Harper shook her head. “Just now I won’t be able not to touch you, and this is hardly a private place.”
Presley sat up and pushed her hair back with both hands. As if by divine design, every strand seemed to fall into place perfectly. “Do you have another suggestion?”
“Yes. My place.” Harper swallowed, tried to ignore the pounding in her belly. “I promised you breakfast.”
“Yes, you did.” Presley rose and slipped into her shoes.
“How do you do that?” Harper asked.
“How do I do what?”
“Look so perfectly put together when all the rest of us mortals would look like yesterday’s dinner.”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Presley laughed and color flooded her face.
Harper was very glad she’d stayed in the doorway. She liked seeing the heat in Presley’s face, liked that she’d been the cause. “Where’s your car?”
“In the back lot. Not far from where you parked.”
“Follow me, then?” Harper asked Presley as they walked out into the night.
“I will.”
Dawn was still an hour away and the night was cool beneath a starlit sky. The half-moon gave just enough light to see by.
“Wait,” Harper said.
Presley stopped. “What?”
Harper slid her fingertips into Presley’s hair and drew her close. “I have to do this.”
She kissed her slowly, savoring the softness of her lips. She stopped before she couldn’t, her breath trapped in her chest and desire a sharp pain in her belly. “You’re beautiful in the moonlight.”
“And you are dangerous,” Presley said in a husky voice, “in any light.”
“No,” Harper murmured, “not me. Flann is the charmer. I don’t have her way with women.”
Presley pressed her palm to the center of Harper’s chest and kissed her, a firm but fleeting kiss. “There you are quite wrong, Dr. Rivers.”
“I have a terrible urge to put my hands on you,” Harper confessed.
Presley drew a shaky breath. Harper was trembling. I have a terrible urge to put my hands on you.
Presley couldn’t think why she should stop her. Harper just made her want so damn much. She summoned the last of her willpower. “And I would like it very much if you would go get into your truck and show me how to get to your house.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I want a lot of things, but right now I think the safest place for us is in our separate vehicles.”
“All right. My place isn’t far.”
Presley sighed in relief when Harper turned away, doing what she had not been able to do—break the connection between them. Somehow Harper managed to do what no one and nothing else in her life had ever accomplished—broken her control. She didn’t want to want her. She didn’t want to touch her, and she couldn’t seem to stop either one. Hopefully by the time she’d driven a few miles, she’d have regained control of her reason and put her runaway hormones back where they belonged—behind locked doors until she was in charge again. Perhaps by the time she reached Harper’s, the kiss would no longer tingle on her lips. She could only hope, because she didn’t seem to have the ability to do anything else.
*
Harper watched Presley’s headlights in her rearview mirror as she traveled the empty roads home. The kiss left her agitated and high at the same time. She ought to back off, the timing was all wrong. Hell, Flann was probably right. Everything was all wrong, but Presley had kissed her back. And she wanted more.
The short drive wasn’t long enough to dispel the simmering in her gut, but the cool air had cleared her head a little by the time she reached the house. She stopped in front of the barn, and Presley pulled in behind her and got out.
“I’ll just be a minute,”
Harper said when she climbed out of the truck. “You can wait for me on the back porch or come with me if you want. I need to do a few things in the barn.”
Presley walked toward her. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Company would be nice.” On impulse, Harper held out her hand. When Presley’s hand slipped into hers, a sense of rightness filled her. “I just need to feed the animals since I never got back here last night.”
The cats, one yellow male and a tortoiseshell female, were curled up together on a window shelf in the back of the barn, the same place they’d slept since they were kittens. They raised their heads when she opened two cans of food and jumped down as soon as she put the bowls on the floor.
“I have kittens,” Presley said.
“Oh yeah? How many?”
“Four. I haven’t seen the mother.”
“She might have left them.”
“No. Really?”
“It’s possible.” Harper petted the tortie. “Their mother hung around until they were about five weeks old, and then one day she just didn’t come back. They stayed, though.”
“I’d better check on them later. They might need food.”
Harper laughed. “It depends on what you want.”
“I’m sorry?”
“All you have to do to keep barn cats is feed them.”
“Well, of course I’ll feed them.”
“Then they’ll be yours forever.”
Clouds passed through Presley’s expressive eyes. “But what will happen when I’m not there anymore?”
“Then I imagine they’ll miss you,” Harper said softly.
Presley took Harper’s hand again. “Who else?”
“What do you mean?” Harper murmured.
“Who else do you need to feed?”
Harper smiled. “The goats.”
“Goats. What do you do with goats?”
“These particular goats are mostly pets, but they have excellent coats, and right before winter, we’ll strip them and donate the fiber to a local fiber mill. They’ll spin it into yarn.”
“Do you—knit?” Presley tried to hide her disbelief but failed.