by Radclyffe
Blake nodded. “Okay, but I’m sure.”
He probably was. He rarely changed his mind once he voiced a desire. She wouldn’t mind a dog either, especially at night. She was discovering the quiet country nights under the vastness of a sky filled with a million stars she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years made her feel small and inconsequential. Added to that, the nights were so deep, dark, and still, she almost wished for the sound of traffic outside her bedroom window. Almost.
A screen door banged and Presley raced across the porch and down the stone path toward them. Abby got out just in time to be caught up in a big hug.
“Have any trouble finding the place?” Presley looked relaxed in a yellow sleeveless top and dark green capris.
“No.” Abby turned slowly, taking in the rolling fields and woods in the distance. “It’s gorgeous out here.”
“Isn’t it?”
Blake got out and stood by the side of the car. He’d worn a black T-shirt with a stylized dragon breathing fire made from red and silver sequins, skinny blue jeans, and bright blue sneakers with no laces. He’d done something to his hair with gel that made it look spiky. He’d also grown another inch, Abby realized. David was over six feet, and it looked like Blake might come within a few inches of that.
“Hi, Blake,” Presley called easily before Abby could make introductions. “I’m Presley. You probably don’t remember me.”
Blake shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was ages ago.” Presley looped an arm around Abby’s waist. “Come on out back, you two. Carrie’s there. She’s staying on here until the wedding and then moving to Harper’s place.”
Another porch stretched the width of the back of the house, where Carrie waited in one of the white wood rockers lined up by the railing. Her crop top, cut-off denim shorts, and flip-flops made her look considerably younger than when Abby had seen her at work. A low bench served as a table and held a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and a plate of cookies.
“You’ve met Carrie,” Presley said.
“Yes, hi again,” Abby said. “Carrie, my son, Blake.”
“Hey, Blake,” Carrie said, holding out her hand.
“Hi,” Blake said quietly.
“Go ahead,” Presley said. “Help yourselves to something to drink. And be sure to try the cookies.”
Abby poured lemonade for herself and Blake, handing him a glass. “These cookies look fabulous. It smells like they were just baked. I’m impressed, Pres.”
“Don’t be,” Presley said with a laugh. “I have the most amazing housekeeper, Lila. She cooks, bakes, shops, and pretty much keeps me alive. She made the cookies this afternoon before she left. She also put a pot roast in the oven along with the rest of dinner.”
“I think we might need a Lila, Mom,” Blake said, munching a cookie and dropping down on the top stair of the wide plank steps.
“Maybe you could just learn to cook,” she said mildly.
“Yeah, right.” He paused with the half-eaten cookie in his hand. “Hey, I think there’s something wrong with that chicken.”
Abby followed his gaze as a black bird with iridescent tail feathers stumbled around the corner and toward the porch. One leg was clearly damaged in some way.
“Oh, that’s Rooster,” Presley said. “He’s fine. I mean, he obviously isn’t, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all.” She broke off a piece of chocolate-chip cookie and tossed it out onto the lawn.
The bird made an ungodly screeching sound and attacked the morsel with a series of ferocious pecks. Blake watched with a widening grin. “He’s pretty cool. Do you have more?”
“No chickens, but there are some kittens in the barn. If you want to take a look, you’re welcome to walk around. The kittens are only a few months old and really friendly.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.” Blake jumped up as if his pants were on fire, obviously anxious to be free of their company.
“Go,” Abby said.
He strode off in the direction of the barn. Abby was aware of both Presley and Carrie watching him, but they didn’t ask anything so she didn’t comment.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Abby said. “We both needed a break from unpacking, and a chance to put a little space between us. Moving is not a lot of fun.”
“Unless you’re like me,” Carrie said, “and you just throw everything into one suitcase, sublease your apartment, and buy a plane ticket. That’s pretty much what I did when Presley told me about this job. Of course, I didn’t realize I’d be staying when I headed out here.”
“How are you liking it?” Abby asked.
“I love it.” Carrie grabbed a cookie. “The hospital is beautiful and the people are all pretty great to work with. And I love waking up every morning to sunshine and the green. I love the green.”
“There is that.” Abby looked off toward the barn. She couldn’t see Blake. “I hope Blake adjusts—I at least had summers in the mountains, but he’s a city kid through and through.”
“It’s not nearly as provincial as it first seems,” Presley said. “You’ll find after a while everything you need is here.”
Carrie laughed. “Well, your experience isn’t exactly anything to go by. You’ve only been here a little while and you’re suddenly engaged and about to be married.”
Presley pushed a foot on the floor and set her chair rocking. “I know. It’s so crazy, every time I think of it, I’m afraid I might be dreaming.”
“If you are,” Carrie said, “I am too. So don’t wake any of us up.”
“When is the big day?” Abby asked.
“We just decided last night,” Presley said, a blush tinting her cheeks. “The last Saturday in July.”
Carrie coughed and sat up straight. “That’s a month away!”
“Yes, but—”
“Oh my God! We have to go shopping, we have to start planning, we—”
“Carrie, it’s just going to be a small—”
“Oh, bullshit to that!” Carrie grabbed another cookie and took a big bite. “I’ll start on the lists.”
Presley held up her hands in surrender. “Okay—you’re the official wedding planner.”
“Of course.”
“And you’ll both be in the bride’s party—the bride being me. Harper says she can’t quite see herself as a bride, but bridegroom works.”
“Mmm, that’s kind of sexy,” Carrie said.
“Well, consider the source,” Presley said, and they all laughed.
“Harper seems terrific,” Abby said. She meant it personally and professionally. She’d had a busy first week in the ER, and Harper had been down half a dozen times to evaluate patients, never complaining when she’d been called, always arriving as soon as she reasonably could, and offering excellent clinical advice. She was great with patients and staff too. A doctor’s doctor. If Abby was sick, she’d want Harper to be the one answering the call. Unless she needed surgery, and then she’d want Flannery Rivers.
Presley glanced at her watch at the sound of a vehicle crunching across the gravel. “Somebody’s early for dinner.” She walked to the far end of the porch, leaned out, and scanned the driveway. She waved and turned back with a big smile. “Apparently Harper and Company are planning on doing a little construction work in exchange for supper.”
“Convenient timing,” Carrie said. “Who’re the other handy hands?”
“Flann and Glenn are with her.”
“Have you met Glenn yet?” Presley asked Abby.
“Yes, last night, as a matter of fact.” Abby had called for a surgery consult on a farm worker with a swollen hand, and Glenn had responded. The surgical physician assistant covered the house on rotation with Flann and several of the other local surgeons. Abby wasn’t used to PAs being first call, but she’d worked with residents her entire career and knew they had more experienced backup if needed. What she hadn’t counted on was how very good Glenn was all on her own. Abby’d had only to discuss the case with Gle
nn and sign off after Glenn spoke briefly with Flann by telephone to ensure everyone was covered legally. “She’s really good.”
“She was an Army medic in Iraq,” Carrie said. “Three tours, I think.”
“It shows,” Abby said.
“I think Flann prefers working with her over anyone else,” Carrie said.
“She’s the calm to Flann’s storm,” Presley said with a laugh.
Abby smiled. “You said it, I didn’t.”
“Sometimes I think Flann just likes to talk a good game,” Carrie said.
“Sometimes,” Presley agreed. “At least she’s honest about who she is.”
“She is.” Carrie blew out a breath. “She asked me out.”
“Oho,” Presley said with a whistle in her tone. “Stepping into deep waters, huh?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie mused. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Looking for something a little more serious?” Presley asked.
“Not necessarily. I don’t really know, actually. But Flann and I get along fine right now, and with you and Harper being so close, I don’t want to confuse things.”
“Carrie,” Presley said. “If you want to go out with Flann, it’s perfectly fine. She’s a big girl and so are you, and whatever happens or doesn’t happen isn’t going to affect our friendship or our working relationship.”
“Maybe,” Carrie said, sounding anything but certain. “I told her I’d think about it.”
Abby listened without comment. She didn’t know Carrie or Flann well enough to even have an opinion, other than the fact that she agreed with Carrie. Getting involved with Flannery Rivers was not something to take lightly. The woman had the potential for being a serious heartbreaker. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about anything in that regard. The little twinge of envy was only a reminder she hadn’t had a date in years. Maybe someday—with someone a lot safer than a surgeon with a God complex, no matter how gorgeous she might be.
*
Flannery grabbed one end of a stack of two-by-fours from the truck and slid them out of the bed. Glenn grabbed the other, and together they carried them around behind the barn. Harper followed with toolboxes and a cooler with beer for later.
“Where’s the chicken wire?” Flann asked.
“In the barn,” Harper called.
“I’ll get it.” Flann jogged around the side of the barn, noting the other vehicle in the drive. Abby must be here already. She’d seen Presley when they pulled up. The women must be on the back porch, probably talking about them. She grinned. She hoped so. Carrie had said no to a private dinner after the game the night before, but there was no rush. She’d seen Abby a time or two in passing during the week, but they’d been headed in opposite directions. Abby had been polite, and nothing else. Not even a second’s extra smile suggesting she might welcome a conversation sometime. The dismissal irked more than Flann expected.
The sliding barn door was partly open and she slipped through into the cool, dim, sweet-scented air and walked down the main aisle. The stalls on one side stood open, waiting for the return of horses who hadn’t been in residence for a long time. She wouldn’t be surprised if Harp filled those stalls before long. Harp was a farmer by heritage as much as she was a doctor. Flann slowed at the sound of soft murmuring.
A teenager knelt by a pile of hay, stroking a black and white kitten.
“Hey,” Flannery said softly.
The teen turned, and Flann saw the resemblance to Abby in the angle of the cheekbones and the curve of the jaw. This must be Blake. He was of the age where gender was often hard to tell at first glance with arms and legs that seemed too long and thin and a slender body that hadn’t filled out yet. From a distance he might’ve been a boy or girl. Up close, it was still a coin toss. She wondered how he handled the confusion that must arise from time to time. Even more so for him. “I’m Flann Rivers.”
“Blake Remy,” the teen said in a melodic tenor. “Presley said it was okay if I came in here.”
“Sure, why not. How are the kittens doing?”
“They’re all really cute,” Blake said. “I didn’t see the mother, though.”
“She’s probably taking a snooze someplace cool. Come sundown, she’ll go hunting.”
“For what?”
“Most anything. Bird, mole, rabbit.”
“No. Rabbit?”
Flann laughed. “The other day she dragged one back through the cat door for the kittens.”
Blake grimaced. “They eat them?”
“They do. These are barn cats, friendly because they’ve been around people since they were born, but their hunting instincts aren’t blunted. They kill to eat, and hunting is instinctual for them. The kittens will be going out with her before long.”
“I guess it’s okay, hunting to eat.”
“Natural.”
“They’re not meant to be pets, are they?” His tone held regret.
“You looking for a cat?”
“I was thinking more dog.”
“There’s a shelter in the next village, about eight miles away.”
Blake stuffed his hands in his pockets and straightened up. “Yeah?”
“I can tell you how to get there, if, you know, your mom is up for it.”
“I’m working on that.”
Flann laughed. “I know how that is. So what’re you doing now?”
Blake made a face. “Hanging out while my mom talks to her friends.”
“You feel like building a chicken coop?”
“Sure, I guess. But I don’t really know anything about construction.”
“No better time than now to learn.”
Chapter Eight
Abby listened with half an ear to Presley and Carrie, mostly Carrie, discussing wedding plans—contingencies for the outdoor ceremony in case it rained, menu choices for the reception, music, traditional or individualized vows, floral arrangements, decorations, and a multitude of other details—and, with the other half of her mind, concentrated on the hammering, sawing, and occasional shouts from the direction of the barn. Blake hadn’t returned from his explorations, and she suspected he’d volunteered for or been conscripted into Harper’s construction company. She tried not to worry about how he was getting along or what he might be getting into. He had to be able to make his way in the world without her running interference, as much as she wanted to. All the same, he was still a teenager, and teens were not known for their best judgment. Added to that, Blake had had more than his share of disappointment and shattered dreams in the last year. Her instincts told her the adults could be trusted to be sensitive and responsible, but he was still hers to protect.
“I think I ought to check on the roast,” Presley said when Carrie flipped a page in the notebook she’d been filling with wedding to-do lists. “Or at least look at the instructions Lila left as to when to take the cover off and brown it.”
“You think we should eat inside”—Carrie put her pen and notepad aside—“or set up out here? The weather called for thunderstorms.”
Several wooden picnic tables sat in a shady corner of the yard beneath two big oak trees. The nearly cloudless sky was clear and blue, the temperature warm enough for a T-shirt, at least until the sun went down.
“I think we should eat outside if we can,” Presley said.
“I’ll hunt around for a tablecloth,” Carrie said.
“What can I do to help?” Abby said.
Presley shook her head. “Not a thing. Relax, I’m sure you need it after this crazy week.”
“Sitting out here has done more for my mental health than anything I can think of in a long time,” Abby said. “If you don’t need me for a few minutes, though, I think I’ll take a walk.”
“Go ahead,” Presley said. “There are no rules or have-tos out here.”
Abby laughed. “That is definitely unique and different.”
When Presley and Carrie disappeared inside, Abby strolled across the yard to the driveway
and down a gentle slope toward the barn. Fenced pastures surrounded it, empty of animals now, but she could imagine animals grazing in them sometime in the not too distant past and imagined it wouldn’t be long before some did again. The fences were still in reasonable repair, although here and there a post had tilted and a horizontal crosspiece had fallen out. The barn itself was weathered, with peeling red paint, but still sturdy looking. A section of the slate roof spelled out 1896 in various contrasting colors. NYC was the palace of the new and shiny. Out here, it seemed, history infused everything, from the hospital to the homes. She’d spent most of her life in the city, Blake all of his. Would they forever be outsiders here?
Abby reminded herself Presley and Carrie were newcomers, and they’d found their places. She and Blake would do the same.
She followed the sounds of construction around the back to the barn. Harper, Flannery, Glenn, and Blake were surrounded by sheets of plywood, coils of chicken wire, a plethora of tools, and a pair of sawhorses piled with lumber. Blake wore a pair of leather work gloves and plastic goggles someone must’ve lent him and a fierce look of concentration as he held a board in place while Flannery drove nails into it with a power gun. The pop-pop of the nails shooting into wood had Abby’s stomach flipping in a rapid somersault. She told herself not to create disaster scenarios and waited until they had the board secured in place before advancing into the construction zone. She didn’t want to distract anyone at a critical moment.
“How’s it going?” she asked brightly.
Activity stopped and everyone looked at her as if she were an alien who had just landed in a great big silver spaceship.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Okay.”
“Super.”
Apparently she should be able to tell the state of affairs by looking. She studied the tall rectangular structure that Blake and Flann were attaching to the back side of the barn while the others waited with expectant expressions. Harper and Glenn appeared to be the design engineers, measuring, cutting, and directing where various pieces would go. She cocked her head and studied it. “It looks like a giant birdcage.”
