Prescription for Love

by Radclyffe

  Margie laughed and tried to squirm free.

  Blake grinned. “That’s okay. I’m going to wage a long, careful campaign about a puppy.”

  “Oho,” Flann said, letting Margie go. “Something tells me your mom won’t be easily taken in.”

  “Nope,” Blake said. “But she loves animals, so it won’t be too hard.”

  “You two pick out half a dozen,” Harper said.

  Ten minutes later they were headed back to Presley’s with a cardboard box of six peeping chicks balanced on the seat between Blake and Margie.

  From the front seat, Harper said, “Presley’s going to be pretty busy at work for the next few weeks. Maybe you two could drop over during the day and check on the chicks. Do you drive yet, Blake?”

  “Not yet. I’ll be able to get my permit in a couple weeks, but I haven’t really thought about it all that much.”

  “Bike?” Flann said. “It’s not that far a ride.”

  “I’m getting one soon.” Blake shifted uncomfortably. “But I don’t know much—like nothing—about chickens.”

  Margie said, “The White place is about the same distance for you as it is for me from home—about five miles. That’s an easy ride. We could meet up and do it together.”

  Blake’s heart jumped. He didn’t care if he had to get up at dawn, as long as he had something to do and someone to do it with. And Margie was really easy to be with. She was smart and funny and she accepted him for him, at least she did right now. If he came out, put words to who he was, maybe she wouldn’t. His chest hurt but he had to try. “Yeah, sure. We could do that. What time?”

  “I’ll talk to Presley, Harp,” Margie said. “We can work out a schedule.”

  Harper glanced back and grinned. “You’re in charge, Margie.”

  “Of course,” she said and settled back in the seat.

  Blake said, “I have to get a bike right away.”

  “We’ve got plenty at the house. You can borrow one of ours for a while.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure,” Flann said. “There’s one of mine there I’m not using. Feel free. We’re about the same height, so the fit should be good for you.”

  “Are you sure?” Blake asked.

  “Absolutely. I’ll bring it by your place tomorrow,” Flann said.

  “That would be so terrific. Thanks.”

  As Harper gave her a sharp look, Flann said, “Don’t mention it.”

  *

  Abby set out a stack of multicolored plastic plates, glasses, and disposable utensils on the red-and-white checked oilcloth that Carrie had spread over one of the two picnic tables. As she turned to go back in the house, Harper pulled up and Margie and Blake piled out of the backseat of the pickup, talking animatedly about something. Flannery jumped down from the passenger side, and for an instant, Abby had no thought in her head except how good Flann looked in tight blue jeans and her faded gray T-shirt. Better than any woman had a right to look. She caught her wandering mind and dragged her thoughts back into safer lines. Harper reached in to the backseat and came up with a cardboard box that she carried toward the house.

  “Hey, Presley,” Harper called. “You got a minute?”

  Presley came to the screen door and looked out. “I’m just about to pull the roast out. What’s up?”

  “Got you a little something.”

  Presley hipped the door, wiping her hands on a pale yellow dish towel. “I hope it’s dessert.”

  Harper, Flann, and the kids laughed.

  “Not exactly.”

  Harper set the cardboard box on the porch and gestured for Presley to open it. “See what you think.”

  Presley knelt, folded back the cardboard flaps, and squealed, “Oh my God.”

  Abby didn’t think she’d ever heard Presley squeal before in her life.

  “Can I touch them?” Presley asked, wonder in her voice.

  “Sure.” Harper crouched beside her, a hand on her back.

  The small possessive gesture struck Abby with an arrow of longing she hadn’t expected. Her life had slowed down enough for her to actually realize there might be things she was missing, things she might even need, and she wasn’t at all sure she was happy with that. She still had so much to do—a new department to set up, a residency to establish, politics to maneuver. She’d be working twelve-hour days, if she was lucky. And then there was Blake. Moving a teenager to a new town and a new school was daunting enough. Dealing with his transition, and the challenges that came along with that, was a full-time job in and of itself. She had no time for anything else, and even entertaining the idea of dating was foolhardy.

  She glanced away from Harper and Presley and discovered Flannery studying her, her deep brown eyes laser sharp and so focused Abby felt the heat. She also felt the flush climb to her cheeks and cursed her autonomic nervous system and the hormones that seemed to have suddenly awakened. Flann grinned, just a tilt of the corner of her mouth that seemed to say I know what you’re thinking right now, and Abby schooled her expression, hiding the sudden rapid kick of her heart. Flann didn’t need to know the way she looked at her made her feel intensely present, powerfully alive, and unfortunately, unwillingly aroused. Hormones and reflex. At least she was smart enough to recognize reactions she couldn’t control and ignore them.

  Carrie came through the door exclaiming, “What is it? What happened?”

  Presley rose, a chick cradled in her hands. “Look.”

  “Oh my God,” Carrie squealed in an exact replica of Presley.

  Abby expected Flann to break their connection when Carrie arrived, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached into the box, lifted out a chick, and carried it to Abby. “Here you go.”

  She’d cradled Blake against her breast moments after his first breath, held newborns hundreds of times, even delivered a couple in the emergency room. She cherished the innocence of new life, and the fragility of the tiny chick in her hands struck at what was most fundamental to her—the urge to protect and nurture.

  “I’m not going to squeal,” she murmured.

  “Somehow, I didn’t think you would,” Flannery said just as quietly. “But I wouldn’t mind just a little one.”

  Abby laughed but refused to look at her, would not give in to the urge to see that heavy-lidded stare concentrated on her. “Wrong woman.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Flann said, her voice low and soft and warm, too deep and thick for honey, more like molasses. The promise of a bite beneath the sweetness.

  The other voices, the sensation of the other bodies nearby, faded away. Flann filled Abby’s senses, the lure of her voice, the hint of spice that was her unique scent, the caress of her gaze. Abby took a quick step back and hit the porch post. She had nowhere to go, and Flann was so close. Too close. So close she couldn’t draw a breath without tasting her, and the hunger surged so hot and hard she gasped. No. No, no, no. She eased aside and carried the chick back to the box to safety. Safety for both of them.

  Frowning, Flann watched her retreat again. She’d heard the slight catch in Abby’s breath, seen the faint flicker of her pupils when their gazes had caught and held. She knew Abby felt what she felt—the tug of recognition, a chain of connection as natural as breathing. She didn’t understand it and she wasn’t sure she wanted it, but denying it was as impossible as denying the pulse of desire in her belly.

  Abby seemed bent on denying Flann even existed, let alone stirred anything inside her. Maybe she had the right idea. Flann folded her arms as Abby put a maternal hand on Blake’s shoulder. Blake glanced at his mother with a quick smile. There was the bond Abby cherished, and rightly so. Flann had no business even thinking about a relationship—hell, she wasn’t thinking about a relationship, more like a sizzling, incendiary night or two—with a woman like Abby. A woman who had a life and responsibility far greater than Flann ever wanted to have.

  Flann looked away and caught Carrie’s gaze. Carrie smiled. Flann relaxed a little. Safer, much safer. They were alrea
dy friends with no dangerous undercurrents, nothing to pull her down and drag her into places she didn’t want to go. No gut-deep tug of craving she was better off without. She smiled back.

  Chapter Ten

  “Why don’t you two take the chicks into the barn,” Harper said. “We’ll get them set up with a heat lamp and a pen after we eat.”

  “We’ll put them in that back stall,” Margie said. “That way the kittens can see them, and they’ll get used to each other.”

  “Good idea,” Flann said.

  Blake picked up the box of chicks and said to Margie, “Maybe we should put them up high on something for now, so the mother cat doesn’t bother them.”

  “Good idea,” Margie said. “Come on, I’ll show you a spot.”

  The two of them ambled off toward the barn. From the bits of conversation Flann had heard on the ride back from Tractor Supply, Margie and Blake seemed to have bonded around the animals, books, and movies. Margie was the perfect person to introduce Blake into the local teen circles—she was popular, smart, and sure of herself. Any new kid needed a sponsor, and Blake almost certainly more than most.

  “They’re getting along well,” Abby said from beside Flann.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Margie is special.”

  “Yeah. She’s the baby and we might have spoiled her a bit, but it doesn’t show. She’s smarter than the rest of us already, and she’s got a big heart.”

  “Blake is lucky to have made a friend like her so soon. I was worried he might not. He’s not usually shy and never had any trouble making friends before…” Abby hesitated.

  Flann glanced behind them. The others had disappeared into the kitchen. “Coming out can be hard enough. Coming out as trans must be tougher on a lot of levels.”

  Abby sighed. “Being different in any way is a hurdle for a teenager—this, well, I feel like I’m in uncharted waters most of the time. Did Margie say something about it?”

  Flann shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind. Harper told me in private that Presley mentioned it. We figured the kids would work that out for themselves.”

  “I’m trying to let Blake decide who he tells, and how much, and when—but sometimes it’s so damn hard. I want to jump in and fix things for him.”

  “Sure you do,” Flann said. “He’s your son. I’d feel the same if it was Margie or a kid of mine. Looks to me like you’re doing just fine.”

  “Thanks. I’m so close to the situation, I can’t really tell sometimes.”

  Flann grinned. “Anytime you need a curbside consult, just ask.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Abby rested her hand on Flann’s forearm. “I guess I could use a few understanding friends too.”

  Where Abby’s soft fingers rested, Flann tingled. Heat bloomed in her belly. A rush of want surged through her. Any other place, any other time, any other woman, she would have reached for her, pulled her close, whispered an invitation. Flann stilled, at a loss.

  “Sorry,” Abby murmured, pulling away.

  “No.” Flann grabbed her hand. “I mean, you do. I…all of us…you’re not alone.”

  “I’m glad,” Abby whispered.

  Presley appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Time to bring the food out. All hands on deck.”

  Abby dropped her hand and Flann stopped herself from reaching for it. A rumble of thunder rolled over the ridge on the far side of the back field, and she checked overhead. Mountains of blue-black clouds filled the western sky.

  Flann frowned. “Be right there.”

  The air suddenly turned hot and heavy. Pent-up electricity raised the hairs on the backs of her arms. The leaves on the trees shading the yard turned underside-up with the shift in barometric pressure, sure signs of a storm bearing down.

  “Hey, Harp,” Flann called.

  Harper walked out onto the porch. “What’s up?”

  “We might have to change our minds about eating outside,” Flann said.

  Harper craned her neck. “You’re right. It’s a big one.”

  “Yeah, and it’s coming fast.” Unease roiled in Flann’s chest. The wind had picked up another notch in just the last few seconds. Summer storms were nothing new, and thunderstorms often tore through the valley in a matter of minutes, seemingly having risen out of nowhere and disappearing almost as fast, leaving behind brilliant sunshine and clear, clean skies. This one was barreling down even faster than most.

  Abby stepped up beside her. “I can’t believe how it’s gotten so quickly.” She glanced toward the barn. “The kids are going to get wet.”

  “They should be back before it hits.”

  Presley, Carrie, and Glenn crowded behind them. Jagged blades of lightning dueled above the horizon.

  “Wow,” Presley said, “are we getting rained out?”

  “Looks like it.” Flann kept watching the clouds. A blast of wind rattled the shutters against the wood clapboards on the old house and the maple trees bent with the force of it. Dirt devils spawned in the drive.

  “Flann?” Abby’s voice rose in alarm.

  “I know. It’s…”

  The clouds coalesced into a solid wall of black from earth to sky.

  “Fuck,” Flann said. “Harp, I think—”

  The funnel dropped from the sky between one heartbeat and the next, a whirling, churning mass twisting toward them.

  “Oh my God,” Abby breathed. “Is that—?”

  “Tornado,” Flann shouted. “Get in the house!”

  Harper pushed Presley toward the house. “Everybody down in the cellar. I’ll get the windows.”

  A roar of rushing air lifted the slates above their heads, the clatter like a thousand bones jerking to life. Carrie shrieked as a gust nearly toppled her over, and Glenn grabbed her around the waist. Together the two of them staggered inside.

  “The kids!” Abby plunged into the yard, bending into the wind, her hair flying behind her in a wild tangle.

  “I’ll get them,” Flann yelled. “Abby!”

  Abby never slowed.

  Flann cursed and jumped down. The wind plastered her shirt to her chest, the bottom lifting up like a sail. Leaves and sticks and loose stones cannoned across the yard. She caught Abby, twisted them both away from the force of the gale, and pushed her back toward the porch. “I’ll go! Get inside. Harper!”

  Harper wrapped an arm around the porch post, grabbed for Abby’s hand, and pulled her protesting across the porch and inside.

  Flann pivoted into the wind. Dirt stung her eyes. Loose branches ripped from trees and arrowed wildly. She blocked her face with her forearm and lowered her shoulders, struggling against a wall of air shoving back at her like a hundred linebackers. The eighty yards to the barn might as well have been eight hundred. She raised her head at the roar of a freight train closing in.

  The twister crested the ridge behind the house and trees snapped off, sucked up into the funnel like matchsticks. Adrenaline dried her mouth and shot her pulse into overdrive. She kept pumping her aching thighs and staggered up to the open barn door. “Margie! Blake!”

  The roof rattled and clacked, the walls shuddered, and the 200-year-old beams groaned, drowning out all sound. Flann staggered inside and stumbled down the aisle on numb legs. Sharp pain pierced her eardrums and she swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to clear them. Blake and Margie crouched in the last stall, the box of chicks shielded between them.

  “You okay?” Flann dropped down beside them, searching for the best cover. Above their heads, foot-square beams supported the roof. If those held, they’d be safe; if they came down, they’d be crushed. She grabbed the kids by the arms. “Get over in the corner. Hurry!”

  “Why?” Margie shouted.

  Blake hugged the box of chicks to his chest.

  “Twister’s coming.” Flann dragged them along.

  “Can I see?” Margie cried, trying to pull free.

  Flann yanked her back down. “Not this time, short stuff.”

  Bl
ake yelled, “It feels like the building’s going to blow away.”

  “We’ll be okay. Just keep your head down.” She herded them tightly into the corner next to the supporting post. If the walls came down, the corner might stand. And with any luck they’d be sheltered beneath the upright. It was the best she could do.

  “What about my mom?” Blake looked ready to bolt.

  “Harper has her. She’s—”

  A howl filled the air like the arrival of a marauding demon. Spears of light shot down around them, and the roof lifted away with a wrenching scream. Flann pushed the kids down and covered them as a torrent of wood rained down.

  *

  A banshee wail filled the basement. Abby pressed her back against the stone foundation where Harper had directed her to crouch. The others huddled around her on either side. The power had gone out as they’d stumbled down the stairs, and a murky haze enveloped her. Her eardrums throbbed, threatening to burst. Terror clawed at her throat. Blake and Margie were out there somewhere, and she was helpless to protect them. Flann had disappeared too. Had she even made it to the barn?

  Bile climbed into her throat. She huddled in the basement while Blake and Margie and Flann could be hurt, needing her, and she wasn’t there. Every instinct screamed for her to force her way up those stairs and outside. She railed inwardly at the monster threatening her child. Of all the things she had imagined that might harm him, this was a foe she could not fight. A wave of frustration, of rage and fear, welled in her chest, and she choked on a cry.

  Presley gripped her hand and leaned close. “Flann…be…right.”

  No reason would console her. No promise would convince her. She trusted no one to do what she must do, and she was impotent. Helplessness burned her throat, nausea curdling her stomach. The screaming wind grew louder and the floor above them creaked and heaved.

  She shut her eyes and felt like a coward.

  Minutes, hours passed and at last the screaming subsided. The terrible pressure in her ears relented and she could hear again.

  “Is it over?” She jumped up and swayed, legs rubbery. “The kids. Flann.”