Against Doctor's Orders

by Radclyffe

  Presley couldn’t argue the village had its charms, with its quiet, almost genteel sensibility, but she suspected she would soon chafe at the absence of readily accessible conveniences. She glanced at her watch. “I think Carrie and I should probably make a quick run to that supermarket you mentioned. Our housekeeper is going to help with the food shopping, but we don’t have much of anything else in the house.”

  “You said you hadn’t had lunch and it’s almost suppertime,” Flannery said. “Come to my house for dinner.”

  “No,” Presley said quickly. Too quickly to be polite, probably, but the idea of socializing further with Flannery was out of the question. Flannery was for all intents and purposes her employee. “Thank you, but you’ve already been far too kind.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Flannery said, “I gave you the wrong idea. I’m not cooking. That would be my mother. Everyone has dinner at the big house on Friday night.”

  “Well, we certainly can’t intrude.” Presley backed up a few steps and glanced at Carrie for support. A family dinner. That meant Harper would be there. While Flannery had been entertaining her and Carrie, she’d managed not to think about the way she’d left things with Harper earlier. She couldn’t recall the last time anyone had seen her lose control like that. Seeing Harper at dinner would require a truce if not an apology for losing her temper, and that would just be—awkward. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t appreciate surprise gue—”

  “My mother is used to us bringing friends home. We’ve been doing it all our lives.”

  “Yes, but we’re not dressed and—”

  Flannery raised her brows. “You don’t look naked to me.”

  Presley shot Carrie another look.

  “You know,” Carrie said, “dinner would be great if it really wouldn’t be a huge imposition on your mother. Maybe we could help? I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

  Flannery laughed. “Not unless you’d like to lose some of your appendages. My mother might put you to work, but you’ll have to wait until she deems you worthy. Let’s go, we’re not that far away.”

  “I really don’t thi—” Presley’s protest died as Carrie grabbed her arm.

  “I think meeting the Rivers family would be a wonderful idea,” Carrie said.

  Outmaneuvered again. Bowing gracefully to the inevitable, Presley said, “For a short while, yes. Thank you so much.”

  “Like I said,” Flannery said, leading the way back to her Jeep, “entirely my pleasure.”

  *

  The house at the end of the long drive was different than anything Presley had seen in town or the surrounding farmland they’d passed through in the last ten minutes. The stately mansion, sprawling along the water’s edge, was surrounded by copses of trees and fields of corn just breaking through the earth that swept like soft green wings along the riverfront. From the drive, the front of the house had a formal appearance with tall symmetrical windows set in brick, and heavy white colonnades framing the entrance. A Volvo sat under a porte cochere on the left, and Flannery pulled up behind it.

  “Good, Carson’s here. Have you met her yet?”

  “Not yet.” Presley had wanted to have a little more information before she talked to the third Rivers sister about hospital census, admission patterns, medical records, and other demographic data, but now her plans had been preempted. An all-too-familiar occurrence lately and not one she welcomed.

  Carrie leaned forward from the backseat. “This is amazing. How much land is there?”

  Flannery cut the engine and opened her door to admit a breeze smelling of earth and water and green things. “The original parcel was fifteen hundred acres. Over the centuries, some was portioned off to the offspring of the original owners so the children could homestead near their parents and grandparents. Currently, we have a little over five hundred acres.”

  “Do you live here, then?” Presley asked, secretly horrified at the thought of living anywhere near—let alone with—her parents. Obligatory dinners and social events always turned into critiques of her and Preston’s latest accomplishments, or lack thereof.

  “Not me, no.” Flannery’s expression closed for an instant before her usual smile returned. “Harper has the old caretaker’s place just back up the road a quarter mile, and Carson and her husband Bill have ten acres round the next bend.”

  Of course Harper would be the one closest to home, Presley thought. She was the heir apparent not just at the hospital, but here too.

  “Five hundred acres.” Carrie stepped out and looked around. “It’s magnificent. And I think I smell dinner.”

  Presley walked between Flannery and Carrie on the way to the house, preparing for a less-than-warm welcome. She doubted anyone in the Rivers family was happy about the transition. But Carrie was right, meeting the family was a good way to judge what she might be up against in the next few weeks. She refused to consider it might be the next few months.

  Another porch stretched the length of the back of the house, facing a long grassy slope down to the river. Across the river, which looked to be a quarter of a mile wide, were at least four more huge fields and a white farmhouse beyond those. Otherwise there were no neighbors in sight.

  “Here we are.” Flannery held open the screen door and gestured them inside.

  Steeling herself, Presley walked into an enormous kitchen redolent of something wonderful. A younger woman who had to be Carson, since she looked like a red-haired copy of Harper, sat at the table with a child in her lap. A gold wedding band glinted on her left hand. An older woman with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples and striking blue eyes the same shade as Harper’s, wearing a red-and-white checked apron around her neck and a plain blue cotton dress, chopped carrots at a cutting board by the sink. She glanced over and took in Presley and Carrie in one swift glance.

  “Hello. I’m Ida Rivers.”

  “Presley Worth,” Presley said. “Please forgive us for intruding, but Flannery—”

  Flannery strode by and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I told them there was plenty of room at the table and the best food in the county right here.”

  “Well, you weren’t lying about the first part.”

  “Hello,” Presley said, shaking Ida’s offered hand and turning to the woman at the table. “You must be Carson.”

  “Guilty.” Carson reached around the baby, who was waving a cookie in the air with vigorous delight, and took Presley’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “I’m Carrie,” Carrie said, shaking hands all around. “I’m Presley’s admin.”

  “Welcome to town.” Ida went back to her preparations. “Flannery, get our guests something to drink.”

  “Wine? Beer? Something soft?”

  “Would iced tea be a possibility?” Presley asked.

  Carson laughed. “In Mama’s house? Always.”

  Flannery edged around her mother and took glasses down from a glass-fronted wooden cabinet hanging above the counter. She set them on the table and filled them with tea. Presley took a glass and sat at the plank table as a vehicle rumbled outside, followed a moment later by footsteps. The screen door swung open and Harper strode in.

  Harper stopped abruptly, taking in the group. For just an instant, Presley thought she saw pleasure sweep across Harper’s face before Harper glanced at Flann and something else moved into her eyes. A question. Or displeasure. She had probably been looking forward to a pleasant family dinner only to discover, instead, the enemy in her camp. Her gaze settled on Presley.

  “Hi, Presley.”

  “Harper. Good to see you again.” And despite the way they’d parted, it was. Harper radiated a deep, intense energy that caught one up like the slowly building pleasure of a fine wine, heady and strong.

  “Hello,” Harper said to Carrie, holding out her hand. “I’m Harper Rivers.”

  “Carrie, Presley’s admin.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Have you heard from your father?” Ida asked.

  “A
few minutes ago. He’s on his way.” Harper leaned against the counter and stared at Presley. “How was your afternoon?”

  “Educational,” Presley said, her throat dry despite the iced tea. Harper had changed as well and wore faded black jeans, an open-collared white short-sleeved shirt, and black boots. She must have just showered. Her hair was still damp and a few thick strands clung to her neck. She looked lean and taut and darkly forbidden. As with the finest chocolate, one bite would never be enough. Presley gave herself a mental shake. She’d never really cared for chocolate. “Flannery is an excellent guide.”

  “No doubt.”

  The glint in Harper’s eyes brought heat to Presley’s face. She pulled her gaze away when the swinging doors on the far end of the room opened and a teenager barreled in. The last Rivers sibling. Tall and coltish and destined to be a blue-eyed beauty.

  “I’m starving.” The girl glanced around, took in Carrie and Presley. “Hi, everybody. Dinner soon?”

  “Soon enough,” Ida said.

  “Awesome.” With the remarkable self-assuredness of a teenager, she passed through the kitchen and out to the back porch, a book under her arm. As she passed, Presley caught a glimpse of the title. Money in the Twenty-first Century.

  “We’ll have dinner when your father gets home,” Ida announced to the room in general. “Let’s say half an hour, if I know what on his way means to him.”

  “Is there anything we can do—” Presley began.

  “Yes, you can relax and enjoy yourselves. Flannery, Harper, show your guests around.”

  “Oh, that’s really not nec—”

  Carrie jumped up. “If it’s all right, I would love to see the house. I adore old historic homes.”

  “You’re in the right place,” Flannery said. “I’ll give you a tour. Presley?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just enjoy the view.” Presley escaped to the back porch and out of range of Harper’s brooding gaze. The teenager was sitting on the top stair, her back against the carved white post. “Do you mind company?”

  “Nope. I’m Margie.”

  “Presley. How’s the book?”

  “Not bad, but I think it’s already a little outdated. They’re recommending bonds, for one thing.”

  Presley nodded. “That’s a problem with books—by the time they’re published, some of the data is already outdated, especially in fast-moving areas like the economy.”

  “Are you here about the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Independent institutions like the Rivers have trouble running in the black.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Margie set the book aside and wrapped her arms around her knees, studying Presley with unwavering scrutiny. “Can you turn it around or are you going to liquidate?”

  Presley wondered if the girl was a plant. Maybe she was just a very young-looking twenty-something. She tried to remember what Harper had told her about the order of the siblings. She could have sworn there were only four. She hedged. “I just got here. No decisions without data, right?”

  “True, but someone must’ve done it before the acquisition, though, right?”

  Presley narrowed her eyes. Definitely a plant.

  From behind them, Harper said, “Margie, subjecting a visitor to an inquisition would be considered impolite even by Yankee standards.”

  Margie grinned at Presley. “Sorry.”

  “Not at all,” Presley said. “If you like, I can give you a couple of titles you might enjoy better than that one.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Harper said, “Dad just called and he’s going to be just a few minutes later than he thought.”

  Presley stood and dusted off her trousers. “I’ll leave you two—”

  Harper stepped closer, her intense gaze all Presley could see. “Would you like to take a walk down to the river?”

  The words came out before she could stop them. “I would. Yes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Harper guided Presley on a winding stepping-stone path across the grassy lawn and down toward the river where clusters of maples and evergreens leaned out above the water, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. As they walked, she slipped her hand beneath Presley’s elbow. “It’s a little uneven on these stones. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I think I’ll have to give up wearing any kind of heels.”

  Harper laughed. “You’ll probably be fine inside the hospital. Besides, you look good in them.”

  “Ah…thanks.”

  Presley seemed surprised and maybe a little embarrassed by Harper’s comment. Harper felt much the same. She rarely—okay, possibly never—commented on a woman’s appearance, at least not one she wasn’t dating. Presley somehow had her acting unlike herself in all sorts of ways.

  They stopped on the riverbank where craggy boulders edged the water. An occasional powerboat sped by, its engine an unnatural growl in the otherwise still air. Strands of Presley’s hair floated around her face, and Harper had the urge to catch one in her hand and tame it back into place—or loose all the rest.

  Presley turned and caught her staring. For a long moment neither spoke. Finally Presley broke the silence. “I didn’t realize the river was so large this far north. I’ve seen it in New York City, of course.”

  “It doesn’t really narrow until a little farther upriver from here, although there are falls intermittently along the way.”

  “Do you have a boat?”

  “Not anymore. We did when we were kids, but none of us have much time, and truthfully, there’s too much traffic on the river now. I prefer to canoe or kayak on some of the smaller lakes around here.”

  Presley threaded an errant lock back into place with a swift, economical gesture, as she seemed to do everything. That motion decided Harper—she definitely wanted to tug free the clasp at Presley’s nape and watch the wind run through her thick hair like subtle fingers. Presley was a woman who needed rumpling.

  “I suppose after a week in the hospital, getting away to someplace quiet is what you’re looking for,” Presley said.

  “Most of the time.” Harper slid her hands into her pockets to avoid embarrassing them both again and watched the waves ripple by on the river. “Although I’ve always liked quiet places.”

  “Oh? And where did you go to find that in a house with four sibs?”

  Harper considered how to answer. The question was personal, and she didn’t do personal easily. She found herself wanting to answer, which made her pause. Parts of Presley came out when she was away from work that Harper very much enjoyed. Presley’s question indicated she’d remembered Harper had once had four sisters, even though she had only mentioned Kate once. Presley listened and took note of things. There was power in listening, and Harper already was at a disadvantage. Presley had the ultimate authority at the hospital, and now she was here at the farm, the one place Harper always believed to be unassailable. This was where she came when she was disappointed or uncertain or disillusioned. When she’d walked into the kitchen and seen Presley at the table, her first reaction had been pleasure, followed quickly by disquiet. Presley had looked right sitting there, and there was no reason she should. Harper had intended to limit her socializing with Presley to the simple courtesies extended to any guest in her home until her mother came up beside her as she leaned on the counter by the open window, listening to Presley and Margie talking on the back porch.

  “Took you by surprise, didn’t it,” Ida said. “Them being here.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ida rubbed Harper’s shoulder. “You’re not one for liking surprises.”

  “You think I would be after all these years with Flann.”

  “True enough.” Ida laughed. “Sometimes, Harper, you have to look beyond what you know to find what you want.”

  Harper glanced at her mother. “Could you speak plain on that?”

  “I think I just did.” Ida gave her a little shove. “Go entertain our gues
t. I raised you with better manners than this.”

  Harper had done as her mother asked, and when Presley had agreed to the walk, she’d been surprised again at the pleasure the prospect of a walk gave her. Now she was enjoying their lazy conversation that ambled like the breeze through the grass, shifting direction with careless ease, and enjoying looking at her too. She puzzled over the inexplicable urge to share something even more personal than the time they’d spent together in the hospital. Practicing medicine was personal, but this, this place was a private passion and secret pleasure. Presley watched her, waiting, as if knowing she was trying to come to a decision. That was enough to make her decide.

  “Come on,” Harper said, “I’ll show you.”

  “All right.”

  Harper took Presley’s elbow again and led her away from the river onto a cool, shadowy path through the trees. Twenty yards in she stopped, and Presley glanced around before giving her a questioning look.

  “Do you think you can climb in those shoes?” Harper asked.

  “Climb? As in a tree?” Presley’s voice rose as if Harper had suddenly lost her mind.

  Harper grinned. “Sort of. More like a ladder. But if you don’t think you can handle it…”

  Presley’s eyes sparked. Clearly turning down a challenge was not in her nature. “Can I do it without shoes?”

  “I guess it depends on how tough you are.”

  Presley immediately kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot on the soft mossy ground, her hands planted on her hips. “Ha. Show me this ladder of yours, Dr. Rivers.”

  Chuckling, Harper guided her around the trunk of a huge oak tree that had to be hundreds of years old, given the width of the trunk. On the far side, wide thick boards had been nailed to the trunk, forming a ladder climbing into the thick branches overhead. Presley tilted her head back.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “I think I should go first. If I fall, I’ll expect you to catch me.”