Against Doctor's Orders

by Radclyffe

  “Afraid not.”

  “There’s plenty more in the cafeteria, then. Need directions?”

  “I can probably find it. I’ll just follow the coffee.”

  “Good. Need any help, let me know. Always guaranteed to be fresh. The coffee, that is.”

  The mild flirtation was surprisingly pleasant and Presley grinned. “No doubt.”

  The blonde grinned back and continued off with the clattering cart. Presley followed the signs toward the outpatient area, interested to see what kind of facilities were available. More signs pointed to cardiology, pediatrics, and the walk-in clinic. A few patients waited in seating areas here or there. She backtracked and took a left turn toward the emergency room and instantly felt the controlled tension in the air. The overhead lights were brighter, a row of wheelchairs lined one wall, and men and women in various colored scrubs hurried by. A young man in blue scrubs nodded to her as he pushed a gurney holding an old man with an oxygen cannula in his nose and a beeping portable cardiac monitor by his side. The old man’s eyes were closed, his stubbled cheeks pale, and his frail body barely made a ripple in the crisp white sheet covering him. Somewhere up ahead a child wailed.

  She glanced into the patient waiting area across from the closed double doors marked Patients Only. Rows of plastic chairs faced a cubicle where a woman in a flowered smock sat at a computer behind a sliding Plexiglas window. A frazzled brunette in low-cut jeans and a frilly white ruffled top that exposed her pale midriff rocked a red-faced, tear-streaked toddler. An old woman with thick ankles and heavy black shoes in a worn gray sweater and shapeless faded floral housedress sat against the far wall with her palms pressed against her broad thighs, staring straight ahead as if she were somewhere else. Waiting for news, perhaps about the old man. Two teenage girls with teased hair and nearly identical tight, scoop-necked tank tops huddled over their phones in another corner, thumbs flicking rapidly as they texted.

  The ER swished open, and Presley caught a glimpse of a big whiteboard with names scrawled in Magic Marker next to room numbers. Charts sat in slots down the wall beside the board. Over half of the ten or so slots were filled. Busy for a weekday morning.

  Presley recalled the stats for the last year. The hundred-and-twenty-bed hospital had seen over eight thousand patients come through the emergency room with an admission rate of 15 percent. The hospital ran at 85 percent capacity and the OR at 90, employed a hundred nurses, nearly that number of ancillary technicians, another twenty in the clerical ranks, and a half dozen administrators. There were no full-time physician employees—all were private practitioners with admitting privileges. The model was an old one and not particularly efficient—too many overlapping specialties and not enough centralization. The number of inpatients at any time could easily be cared for by far fewer hospital-employed physicians. However, that wasn’t a problem she needed to be concerned with. The location within sixty miles of a medical center made the entire facility redundant.

  As the ER doors started to close, two women walked through talking intensely in low voices. The taller, dark-haired one with a stethoscope slung around her neck was dressed casually in black pants and a neatly pressed pale blue shirt. The other, a sandy-brown-haired woman in hospital greens and a white lab coat, paused, and both scrutinized Presley.

  The dark-haired one caught the door before it could swing closed and smiled. “Are you on your way in to see a patient?”

  The question, or maybe it was the quick, warm smile and honey-slow voice, caught Presley off guard. A morning for surprises. “No. Thanks. Actually, I’m looking for the administrative wing.”

  The one in scrubs laughed, her dark brown eyes dancing. Her grin was cocky and confident. “Well, we wouldn’t exactly call it a wing, but maybe a wing tip.”

  “That will do nicely,” Presley said.

  “I’m headed that way.” The dark-haired one held out her hand. “Harper Rivers.”

  Another Rivers. Presley took her hand. It was large, warm, and strong. “Presley Worth.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Harper Rivers’s eyes were a dramatic shade of deep blue, and Presley had a hard time looking away. She released Harper’s hand. “You too.”

  “I’m Flannery,” the sandy-haired one said, edging into Presley’s field of vision. “The better-looking sib.”

  Presley glanced from one to the other and saw it then—the bold angle of the jaws, the firm straight noses, the full expressive lips. Eyes of a different color, but similar intelligent, confident gazes. The supply of Rivers doctors was apparently endless.

  “I’ll wisely reserve comment,” Presley said.

  Harper laughed and Flannery grinned.

  “Are you new in town?” Flannery asked.

  Curious, Presley nodded. “I am. How did you know that?”

  The grin returned. “Because I don’t know you, and I would’ve remembered if I’d seen you before.”

  “Aha,” Presley said. The woman was so self-assured she didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed at using such an old line, and that made her interesting. “Of course.”

  Harper Rivers shook her head, her expression amused. “Don’t you have a case, Flann?”

  “I’m going.” Flannery backed up a step, her focus still on Presley. “Staying long?”

  “A while.”

  “Excellent. If you need a tour guide or…anything, I’ll be free later today. Just call the operator. She’ll page me.”

  Harper called after her, “Let me know what you find.”

  Flannery tossed a salute. “Will do. Lunch?”

  “Sure.” As Flannery disappeared around a corner, Harper turned back to Presley Worth, who looked after Flann with amused, faintly appraising blue eyes. Harper was used to seeing interest in a woman’s eyes when they considered Flann, but Presley’s expression was far more contemplative, as if she was trying to decide if Flann was worth her time. An unfamiliar reversal where Flann was concerned. Harper searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound like a follow-up to Flann’s invitation. “Been in town long?”

  “That obvious?”

  Harper laughed. “Only to someone paying attention—between me and Flann, we know the families of every patient in the hospital. Plus…”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Harper didn’t usually strike up conversations with women out of the blue, and definitely not in the hospital. That was Flann’s special skill. Flann was at ease with women anywhere and always had more dates and interested women than she could handle. Not so Harper. She preferred slow introductions and cautious explorations. She didn’t date much—she liked her privacy, and dating anyone at the hospital automatically meant everyone in the community would know before the night was out. And she’d grown up with many of the women she saw outside her professional arena and thought of them as friends, not romantic possibilities.

  “Oh no,” Presley said. “You started it—now you have to finish.”

  The teasing challenge in Presley’s voice caught Harper’s attention. “Your tan is a few weeks too early for the local weather, and…”

  Presley made a keep-going gesture.

  “And you look like a city girl.”

  “Why do I think that might be a veiled insult?”

  “Not at all,” Harper said hastily. “You look terrific.”

  “You’re forgiven, then.”

  Harper shook her head. “Sorry. Flann is the one with the smooth lines. I’m just a simple country doctor.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” Presley said. “I must be keeping you.”

  “I’m just making rounds. I’ll walk you down—do you have a room number?”

  Presley hesitated. This was neither the time nor place to discuss her purpose with anyone, and most especially not one of the hospital’s dynastic family. “Actually, I’m here…about a job.”

  Not strictly true, but not exactly a lie either. She wondered what Harper knew of the takeover and had the odd desire not to dispel
their easy exchange quite so quickly. She must be more tired than she thought.

  “Come on,” Harper said. “You’ll want personnel.”

  Presley followed along. “What’s your specialty?”

  “Family practice.”

  “You work here at the clinic?”

  “I staff it in rotation with about six others, but most of my practice is community based.”

  “And your sister’s a surgeon.”

  “Flann’s a general surgeon—she did a trauma fellowship, so she handles most anything out of the ordinary.”

  Presley frowned. “What’s your trauma clearance?”

  Harper gave her a questioning look. “Level three. Flann transfers out the complicated ones after they’re stabilized.”

  They turned down another corridor lined with offices, the doors standing open and people visible within, working at desks.

  “Are you staying in town?” Harper asked.

  “Just a little ways outside.”

  “Family in the area?”

  “No,” Presley said, realizing her tone was sharper than she intended.

  Harper paused in front of a partially open door. “This is personnel. You probably want to speak to someone in here if it’s about a job.”

  “And where would the chief administrator’s office be?”

  “That would be the room at the end.” Harper glanced at her watch. “Anyone there should be able to help you.”

  Presley smiled. “Thank you for the tour.”

  “Anytime.” Harper smiled wryly as if at some private joke. “And of course, there’s always Flann to continue the tour.”

  “Of course.” Presley laughed.

  “Good luck.”

  Presley frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “With the job application.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

  “Well, good-bye then.”

  “Have a good day,” Presley called as Harper Rivers walked away.

  Harper turned back, her expression so intense Presley caught her breath. “You too.”

  Presley really hoped she would, but she suspected before the day was out the Riverses and quite a few others would be less than happy to see her.

  Chapter Four

  Harper slid the cafeteria tray onto a table by the window and sat down facing Flannery. A lilac bush that had bloomed sometime in the last two days, its branches laden with deep purple flowers, brushed gently against the corner of the glass as if inviting her outside. Someone had opened the window, and the sweet vanilla scent of blossoms and fresh-cut grass beckoned. Down the hill, the church spire at the far end of town speared above slate rooftops, glinting in the sunlight. A twinge of spring fever and an unfamiliar restlessness toyed with her concentration. She rarely thought of escaping her schedule or her responsibilities, and the teasing urge to leave everything behind for just a day annoyed and unsettled her. She focused on Flann and the patient they shared, bringing her world back into order. “Everything go okay?”

  Flannery balanced a hot dog in one hand and took a sip from the cup of steaming coffee she held in the other. “No problems. The appendix was red-hot, though. Another few hours and things could’ve gotten messy.” She took a bite and chased it with more coffee. “It’s good you jumped right on it.”

  “Are you sending him home tomorrow?”

  Flannery nodded. “As long as he’s not running a fever. I saw Tim Campbell giving out cigars in the lobby. Looks like you made his night too.”

  Harper laughed. “I’d say Mary did that.”

  “So…” Flannery polished off the rest of her hot dog in two bites and reached for a plastic plate with a huge slab of chocolate cake on it. “What’s the story with the new visitor?”

  Harper forked up a few pieces of salad and considered ignoring the question as if she didn’t understand where Flann was headed. But she knew Flann, and she recognized the bird-dog glint in her eyes—bright and eager and relentless—when she spied quarry. No point in avoiding the inevitable. “There’s probably a story there, but I don’t have it.”

  “You can get a patient’s life history in five minutes without even trying, but you spend—what—fifteen minutes with a hot-looking woman, and you don’t know the story?” Flannery shook her head. “Clearly, I failed to teach you anything of importance.”

  “I can’t remember you teaching me much of anything, seeing as how you’re always trying to catch up to me.”

  Flannery grinned. “I’d say once I was able to walk, we were even.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Harper said, the game an old one and her mind only half on the familiar rivalry. Ordinarily, Flannery’s unremitting competition never bothered her, and on those occasions when they bumped up against each other around a woman, Harper had been happy to concede the chase to Flannery. That idea didn’t appeal to her right now. In fact, some instinctive resistance rose inside her when she thought of Flannery pursuing Presley Worth, although if she had to say why, she wasn’t sure she could. She’d only spent a few minutes in Presley’s company, but those few minutes had left more of an impression than had any woman she’d met in a long time. True, Presley was unlike many of the women she’d known since childhood, but her unfamiliarity wasn’t what appealed the most. Presley seemed totally self-contained and just a little bit apart from everything, and that very aloofness piqued Harper’s curiosity. For someone whose life was grounded in the lives of others as hers had been since birth, Harper found that very insularity intriguing. Presley was a mystery she’d like to unravel, a desire as unusual as it was disconcerting. It didn’t hurt a bit that Presley had been unfazed by Flannery’s teasing flirtations—unlike most women faced with Flann’s megawatt attention, Presley hadn’t melted, she’d teased back in a way that had put her in control. Harper spent so much time letting others lean on her, the idea of someone else in charge was appealing.

  “Hey.” Flannery’s voice cut into her reverie.

  “What? Sorry.”

  “I was asking for the details—where she’s staying, what is she doing here, is she married, that sort of thing.”

  “How would I know that?” Harper rankled at Flannery’s assumption that Presley was hers for the asking.

  “Well, what did you talk about?”

  “Nothing, really. I only spent a few minutes with her. I walked her down to the admin offices. She said she came about a job.”

  Flannery’s brows drew down. “A job? And you didn’t ask about that? Didn’t it strike you as just a little odd?”

  “Why would it?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way she looked.”

  “I’ve got two eyes, don’t I?”

  Flannery grinned. “Yes, but sometimes I’m not sure you actually see anyone unless they’re sitting on one of your exam tables.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Harper was feeling grumpier by the second—much the way she used to when Flann bugged her until she joined in on one of her harebrained schemes in college. Schemes that usually led to her bailing Flann out of one mess or another.

  “Meaning, half the time you don’t notice when a woman is sending you interested signals.”

  “There weren’t any signals.”

  “Good.” Flannery collected the rest of the crumbs of chocolate cake on her fork and licked them off. “Because I’m pretty sure I was getting some, so…as long as you don’t mind, I thought I’d follow up on that.”

  The grumpiness turned to outright irritation. “Since when did you care what I thought about you chasing a woman?”

  Flannery put the fork down beside her plate and cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t remember any time when it really bothered you. If it had—”

  “If it had, are you saying you would’ve done anything any differently?”

  “I don’t know,” Flannery said, her tone curious. “I guess I’d like to think so.”

  “Hell, it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t get the sense she was sending signals to either one of us, and
I think it’s kind of premature for us to be sitting here discussing something that isn’t even likely to happen.” Harper rose and grabbed her tray. “I’ve got some calls to make and patients this afternoon. I’ll catch up to you later sometime.”

  “Sure.” Flannery rose, her expression pensive. “Hey, Harp?”

  Harper turned. “Yeah.”

  “Keep your antennae tuned, just in case.”

  Harper laughed and left to dispose of her tray, rolling her shoulders to work out the pain that lanced between her shoulder blades. Flann was just being Flann, and neither she nor Flann had any reason to think Presley Worth had given them a second thought. Presley had been friendly and she’d joined in Flannery’s game, but she hadn’t given any indication she wanted more. Harper had no idea why that bothered her quite so much.

  When her pager went off just as she reached the lobby, she was grateful for the interruption to her brooding thoughts and strode to Dora’s desk. “Can I use your phone, beautiful?”

  Dora laughed as she always did when Harper called her that and turned her phone to face Harper. “Of course you can, handsome.”

  Harper grinned. Dora was one of her favorite people. Dora had been her first-grade teacher and, like almost everyone else Dora’s age in town, was still her father’s patient. When Harper’d returned to begin practicing medicine at the Rivers, Dora had been one of the first to tell her how glad she was to see her back home. Harper dialed the page operator. “Harper Rivers.”

  “Hi, Harper,” Sandy Reynolds said.

  “What have you got, Sandy?”

  “Your father asked me to catch you. He wants you to meet him in the medical staff office as soon as you can.”

  Frowning, Harper checked her watch. She had a forty-minute drive to see Charlie Carlyle, an elderly farmer with diabetes who’d called her answering service to say he was having trouble with his foot. That could be anything from an ingrown toenail to a diabetic ulcer or something worse, and she didn’t want to leave him waiting too long. On the other hand, a summons from her father wasn’t something she could ignore, and after what he’d told them all that morning, a call from him in his official capacity as chief of staff couldn’t be anything good.