by Radclyffe
Margie called, “See you at the barn raising.”
“I’ll call you,” Blake said.
Abby waited until Flann drove away, leaning on the porch post and thinking about all the things she hadn’t realized she wanted until now. She picked up the empty wine bottle and Flann’s empty glass, found hers, and swallowed the last few drops.
“I saw the two of you kissing, out by the grill,” Blake said quietly.
“Did it bother you?” Abby laughed softly. “More than the usual embarrassment when you come face-to-face with the fact that your parent has a romantic life?”
Blake snorted. “I think that was more than romance.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“No, it didn’t bother me. I like Flann a lot. I guess you do too.”
“I do like her. I’m glad you feel the same.” Abby hesitated. “What about you and Margie? Are you…romantically interested too?”
Even in the dim moonlight, Blake’s chagrin was clear. “No, Mom. Jeez. We’re friends.”
“Well, okay. I was just wondering. I can tell you’re really close friends, and I’m glad about that. I just wasn’t sure if it was…more.”
“I’m not ready to have a girlfriend,” Blake said. “Or a boyfriend, or whatever.”
“Right,” Abby said, “or whatever.” She slid her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “Whenever you want to talk about it, let me know.”
“Same goes,” Blake said.
Abby gave him a little push toward the house. “Smart-ass.”
But she was very glad that Blake liked Flann. Very, very glad.
Chapter Twenty-five
The homestead was dark when Flann pulled down the drive a little before ten thirty to drop Margie home. She smiled to herself. Early to bed, early to rise…et cetera, et cetera. Her mother would be up at four as she had been Flann’s whole life, even though she didn’t have a houseful to get off to school with only Margie living at home now. The kitchen would still smell like fresh coffee, bacon, and hot biscuits, and the table would still be set and waiting for whoever showed up. Sometimes she or Harper would roll in with the sun after a late-night call. Her father would be up shortly after her mother if he hadn’t been out all night working, and then they’d all be out of the house again by six for early morning rounds.
The routine was a constant she’d come to think would never change, but as she looked back over the last few years, she realized life had been slowly changing for a long time. Carson was the first to leave when she’d married Bill while still in college. Harper moved into the caretaker’s house when she and Flann returned from residency to start practice at the Rivers, but that had seemed almost like she still lived at home. Harper was gone now, having pretty much vacated the little house to live with Presley in their new home.
Flann hadn’t spent a night sitting on the back porch with Harper and her father, talking about cases, in weeks. Margie was getting ready to drive soon, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d be off to college. While Flann had been focused on avoiding any kind of personal ties, everyone else had been making their own lives. Oh, she could always come home—they all could and would, she knew that in her heart. But her life wasn’t here anymore—it was somewhere else, waiting for her to be brave enough to grab it. The idea no longer seemed impossible.
“I’ll see you at the game tomorrow night,” Flann said as she helped Margie get her bike out of the back of the Jeep.
“You playing?”
“Not a whole game yet,” Flann said. “I’m giving my leg a rest.”
“You’ll be there, though, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Flann ruffled her hair. She wanted to tell her to hold on to these summer nights, to imprint them in her bones, because the time would come when the memories would remind her of what really mattered the most.
“Okay, that’s good.”
Margie looked younger in the moonlight, younger and innocent and maybe just a little worried. Margie rarely if ever looked uncertain, and warning bells went off. “Is everything going okay with you?”
“Oh, sure.”
She didn’t sound so sure, and Flann wasn’t much for subtlety anyhow. “How are things with Blake?”
Margie leaned against the Jeep. “You mean with him and the other kids?”
“Yeah. Or with you.”
“Him being trans, you mean.”
Flann reined herself in to go at Margie’s pace. “If that’s part of it, sure.”
“Pretty much okay.”
Margie wasn’t one for noncommittal statements either. Flann leaned next to her and slid her hands into her pockets. This could take some time, and she had nowhere else to be that mattered more. “Does that mean sometimes yes but sometimes no?”
“Everybody I’ve introduced him to has been cool. But you know, all my friends are cool.”
Flann laughed and bumped her shoulder. “Of course.”
“Richie West is an ass,” Margie said emphatically.
Richie West. Flann snorted. Richie West was one of those aimless guys a few years out of high school with no particular ambition who never really wanted to grow up—longing for the glory days of adolescence and resenting anyone who broke away from the pack. Flann saw him now and then, hanging around with a bunch of similar going-nowhere guys tinkering with motorcycles, drinking too much, and basically waiting for their big break to come along unaided by anything they might do. “He’s giving you trouble?”
“Not really,” Margie said. “Just the usual bullshit.”
“What kind of bullshit do you mean?” Flann tried to keep her temper out of her voice so Margie would keep talking. If an older guy was after Margie, she was going to put a stop to that right quick. “He’s been bothering you?”
Margie hunched a shoulder. “He’s tried to get me to go for a ride with him a couple of times.”
“A ride.” Flann gritted her teeth. God, she wanted to kill him. “And what did you say?”
Margie grinned, her straight white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. She was a young lioness, and one day, she would rule her own pride. “I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“And he let it drop?”
“Sort of. Yeah, I guess.”
“Come on, Margie. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to hunt him down and kick his ass.” She was laughing, knowing Flann didn’t choose physical violence as a first resort.
“What’s the rest of it?”
“He just makes comments when he sees me sometimes, and then Blake and I were walking home tonight and…” She shrugged again. “I told you, he’s an ass.”
“What did he say?”
“He just followed us awhile on his motorcycle, saying how Blake was a freak and if I wanted a dick he had one for me.” Margie huffed. “He is a dick, but I didn’t say it.”
“Smart move,” Flann said, a cold wave of fury rolling through her. “What did the two of you do?”
“Nothing. It’s better not to engage.”
Flann stroked her hair. “You’re pretty damn smart, you know that?”
“Yeah.” Margie leaned against her, and Flann slid an arm around her shoulders. “Blake is really brave, you know?”
Flann kissed the top of her head. “Yep. And so are you. If West bothers you again, you let me or Harper know.”
“Okay.”
Margie made no move to move away and Flann kept her close. They might not have too many moments like this.
“So, you and Dr. Remy have a thing?” Margie said finally.
“Margie,” Flann groaned. “Personal. Remember?”
“Well, how come you can ask me about my personal stuff, then?”
“That’s different.”
“Why, because you’re older?”
“Partly.” Margie snorted, and Flann laughed. “I like her, okay?”
“Me too. Blake says she’s been really cool with everything.”
“They’re both pretty awesome.”
“Yeah, I think so too. So,” Margie said, “you do have a thing?”
Flann sighed. “Maybe.”
“Good. So—”
“That’s all you get. Go to bed.” Flann gave her a little shove toward the house. “Good night!”
Margie loped off, calling, “You too.”
Flann started the Jeep. She was ready for bed, and she’d probably even be able to sleep now. Talking about Abby and Blake, thinking about them, settled her in a way she hadn’t imagined possible. They mattered, and she hadn’t known she’d wanted that, but she did. She wanted a life where love mattered.
*
Flann kept watching the parking lot as game time drew closer. Blake and Margie sat with Presley in the stands, but Abby hadn’t come. The disappointment was a sharp pain in Flann’s chest. She hadn’t seen Abby all day, but every second when she wasn’t busy, she thought of her. She replayed the kisses, how could she not? But mostly she came back to the moments they’d shared strolling through the market and sharing a bottle of wine while the sun went down. Moments far more intimate than anything she’d experienced naked in bed with near strangers. She wanted Abby naked in bed—she’d awakened with a craving for her that left her out of sorts and aching all day—but she wanted the quiet connections too. She wanted it all.
She tried to distract herself by watching the warm-ups. Carrie was loosening up, pitching to Harper. Usually Glenn would be hitting fly balls to the outfielders, but Glenn was missing in action too. Glenn never missed a game and was never late unless she and Flann were held up in the OR. A sliver of heat raced down Flann’s spine. Glenn and Abby were missing. Together.
No, that was just coincidence. Abby wasn’t a player, and Abby wouldn’t have kissed her the way she’d kissed her if she was interested in anyone else. Still, a little niggle of doubt ate at her. She didn’t want Abby kissing anyone else. But then how was Abby supposed to know that?
“God damn it.”
“You’re talking to yourself. You don’t want to scare the horses.”
Flann frowned at Harper, belatedly noticing Carrie had left the field to get some water. “There are no horses.”
“All the same.” Harper scanned the stands and grinned in Presley’s direction. “You’re not playing tonight, are you?”
“I thought maybe I could DH,” Flann said, “if things get tight later on.”
“Probably better if you give that leg a little more time to heal.”
“Geez, when did you start channeling Mama?”
“Abby’s admitting a patient with a rule-out MI, in case you were wondering,” Harper said casually.
Flann crossed her arms and pretended not to be relieved. “One of yours?”
“No, Lorraine Peterson’s. But I was seeing one of my patients in the ER when Lorraine’s patient came in. Abby’ll probably be along soon.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I just thought you might want to know that. Seeing as how you’ve been glued to the stands for the last half hour.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, okay.” Harper shrugged. “’Cause, you know, I thought the two of you had a thing.”
“Jesus, is everybody interested in my love life now?”
“Is there one?”
Flann stomped over to the bench and sorted through the equipment bag to find her glove. “I’m gonna catch fly balls for a while.”
“Don’t do much running.” Harper looked around as if to check who was nearby. They were alone. “Hold on.”
“What?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t do any running at all, Flann.”
Flann tucked her glove under her arm. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Abby is special. So is Blake.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think what you don’t know is that you are too. Always have been.”
“For fuck sake,” Flann muttered. “Falling in love has really made you go soft.”
“And it’s just made you harder to live with,” Harper shot back.
“I’m not falling in love.”
“Aren’t you?” Harper’s brow raised. “Then you probably don’t care that Hank Anderson asked me if Abby was available. And he’s not the only one. Marsha—”
Flann growled. “Abby’s not available.”
“I didn’t think so. Maybe you should tell her that.” Harper grinned. “Don’t push that leg tonight. We’ve got a barn to raise tomorrow.”
Flann dropped onto the bench and scanned the bleachers one more time. No Abby. Hank Anderson was an ass, and Marsha Fitzroy was a player. She wondered how many other people were going to come sniffing around. God damn it. Abby was hers. Hers.
Glenn and Abby showed up together a few minutes before game time. Flann watched Abby climb into the stands and settle next to Presley. She looked at home, she looked perfect. The pain in Flann’s chest eased.
Glenn hustled over and grabbed the equipment bag, nodding to Flann. “Hey.”
“I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
Glenn grabbed her glove and sat to lace up her spikes. “Abby and I were looking at a patient with a diabetic foot ulcer. I cleaned it up a little bit but didn’t think he needed to be admitted.”
“I didn’t get a consult.”
“Oh, I stopped by on my way out. Just to check.”
“You always stop in the ER before you leave at the end of the day?”
“Usually,” Glenn said, tying her shoe. “That way I can catch anything that might need to be seen later at night.” She straightened and glanced at Flann. “Cuts down on the calls for the night person.”
“Right,” Flann said, blowing out a breath. “I appreciate that. We all do.”
Glenn grinned. “Besides, I’m trying to get Abby to go out to dinner with me—”
“You might want to back off there.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Glenn said, a grin sliding free. “Just wanted to be sure, though.”
“You set me up for that,” Flann said in wonderment.
“Couldn’t help myself.” A rare spark of amusement flared in Glenn’s usually unreadable eyes.
“Damn,” Flann muttered. “You are a woman of hidden depths.”
“Not so much,” Glenn said. “You ready to play some ball?”
Flann grinned, checked the stands, and caught Abby’s eye. She waved, and Abby waved back. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Abby waved to Blake a few rows below her and settled next to Presley.
“Hi,” she said, opening a bottle of water, her attention riveted to the field. The game was about to start and Flann was pacing by her team’s bench, alternately watching the field and glancing over at Abby. “Not playing is driving her crazy.”
“Who?” Presley’s attention was riveted on Harper at second base.
“Flann. The other gorgeous Rivers sister. Hello, Presley.”
“Oh hey, Abby.” Presley smiled, sounding as if awakening from a daydream. “Oh!” Presley grabbed Abby’s hand and pointed to the woman beside her who sat with a toddler in her lap. “This is Carson—Flann’s sister.”
Abby straightened and leaned around Presley. Of course Carson was a Rivers sister. She was striking, just like the rest of them. With her ivory skin, clear green eyes, and lightly feathered auburn hair, she didn’t look much older than Margie. The toddler was probably a little over a year, his toothy smile and blue eyes filled with joy. She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Abby Remy.”
Carson smiled. “Great to meet you. I’m sorry I missed you until now. It’s been so crazy lately, with the storm and everything.”
“I know. I hope you didn’t get much damage.”
“Just a little on the roof and a lot of yard damage. We’ve been in cleanup mode, but nothing serious.” The baby chortled and Carson bounced him. “This would be Davey.”
“He’s gorgeous.�
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Carson’s smile widened. “Thanks.”
Abby pointed to Blake. “The one next to Margie would be mine.”
“Margie introduced us. He’s gorgeous too.”
“Thanks.”
A cheer rose and Abby glanced over to watch the players take the field. Flann’s team was up to bat. Abby slowly relaxed in the early evening sun, the tension in her shoulders easing as she let the constant demands of the ER fade away. Flann had finally settled onto the bench, but it was clear being a spectator did not agree with her. She alternately yelled advice and silently muttered to herself. Every now and then she glanced Abby’s way and grinned, a grin Abby was certain anyone watching could read. Flann’s heated gaze spoke of sinful things, of dark kisses and secret caresses, and more. The more was becoming a disturbingly constant distraction, physically and mentally.
She’d slept fitfully the night before, and she couldn’t really blame it on the heat. Her windows had been open and a breeze had cooled her bare skin, but still she’d twisted and turned, her body blazing not from the summer air, but from the memory of Flann’s hands, her mouth, and the way Flann’s caresses made her ache. The arousal pulsing in her depths had kept her just on the brink of awakening, and when she’d finally given up on sleep and opened her eyes, she’d been swollen and heavy with urgency. Even her breasts had been tender and full. When she’d cupped her breast and caught her nipple between her thumb and fingers, the answering beat between her thighs had grown more insistent.
She could have come quickly if she’d wanted, but perversely, she hadn’t wanted to rush. She’d wanted to tease herself the way Flann’s kisses had teased her. Lying naked atop the sheets, she’d slowly stroked while recalling the heat in Flann’s eyes and the way Flann’s mouth had claimed hers and the possessive grip of her hands. She’d finally let herself orgasm when she couldn’t stand the pressure anymore, and Flann’s face had flickered before her eyes as her back arched and she bit down on a cry.
She smiled to herself now, imagining how much more potent the reality would be. When her gaze turned outward from the memory, she found Flann staring at her across the field, the look on her face one that suggested she knew exactly what Abby was thinking.
