Against Doctor's Orders

by Radclyffe

Harper straightened. “You played college ball?”

  “Some. I was a reliever.”

  “Reliever? Reliever!” Flannery’s eyes sparkled. “Pitcher?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We practice tomorrow afternoon at three. I’ll pick you up,” Flannery said.

  “Oh, but I—I just got here and I’ve work—”

  “You should, Carrie,” Presley said. The excitement in Carrie’s voice was hard to miss, and if she didn’t find some social outlet, she’d just end up working all the time for what might turn out to be several months. While that might be all right for Presley, it wasn’t fair to expect Carrie to keep her hours.

  Carrie’s eyes gleamed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Positive.”

  “All right,” Carrie told Flannery. “I’m in.”

  When the meal ended, everyone carried their plates to the long counter next to the big deep sink. Ida said, “Carson, Margie, I think it’s your turn tonight.”

  “Yes, Mama,” they both said and rose to begin loading the dishwasher and doing the larger dishes by hand.

  Edward said to Presley, “Would you care for a short whiskey, Ms. Worth? We usually have a little drink on the porch after dinner.”

  Harper and Flannery took down glasses.

  “Mama?” Harper said.

  “Not just yet, sweet. The rest of you go on ahead.”

  Presley rarely drank and when she did it was always wine, but she understood she was being invited to a Rivers ritual that had less to do with the alcohol and more to do with time spent together. Her family tended to operate in reverse—social interactions were often the excuse for consumption.

  “Carrie?” Flannery asked. “Something for you?”

  Carrie, ever sensitive to politics and subtle signs of power, shook her head. “I’m not much of a whiskey drinker, so I think I’ll stay here and lend a hand.” She grinned at Margie. “Maybe get some more local gossip.”

  A minute later, Presley followed Harper, Flannery, and Edward outside where a trio of rockers sat on one end of the long porch looking down toward the river. Flannery hoisted herself onto the railing and leaned back against the post, whiskey glass in hand. Presley took the rocker between Edward and Harper, and they all sat in silence for a few moments as the sun set beyond the river. As twilight crept onto the porch and a chorus of night sounds filled the air, Presley waited for the interrogation to begin, expecting Edward Rivers to bring up the issue of the hospital transition. But the conversation, slow and easy, turned to the things most country people probably talked about—the weather, the local economy, the look of the early crops. Edward asked a few questions about patients, none of whom he referred to by name, but it was obvious he knew everyone Harper and Flannery cared for. Listening, Presley closed her eyes and drifted in the warm evening air, the burn of the whiskey spreading through her and the sonorous voices of the Rivers doctors blending with the distant rush of water and wind.

  *

  Harper crouched in front of the rocking chair and gently touched Presley’s knee. “Presley?”

  Presley’s eyes jerked open and she gripped the arms of the chair as she glanced around. Her gaze fell on Harper. “Oh my God. I am so completely embarrassed.”

  Harper grinned. She’d yet to see Presley off guard, and her consternation was appealing. She looked younger and just a little unsure. “No need to be. You weren’t snoring.”

  “Well, that’s a small blessing. I do apologize. I’m afraid it was just so,” she lifted a shoulder, “relaxing.”

  The sound of her voice held surprise, as if relaxing was not something she was used to doing. Harper was vaguely pleased that Presley had been able to do that there, on the porch, in the still, peaceful evening. As long as she could recall, these moments with her father had been among her most favorite. Sometimes that was the only time she saw him, as he was so often away from home on calls. She’d been surprised when he’d invited Presley and wondered what he had hoped for her to know about them. Her father never did anything without a reason. She’d been secretly glad when he hadn’t brought up the question of Presley’s plans for the hospital. This was neutral ground. This was family. She realized her hand was still resting on Presley’s knee, and she drew back.

  “It’s actually only been a few minutes. Flann just got a call, so she’s leaving. When you’re ready to go home, I’ll drive you and Carrie back.”

  “It’s late,” Presley said. “We should go.”

  Presley rose at the same time as Harper. Presley was only inches away in the semi-darkness with only moonlight silvering the planes of her face. Her scent mingled with the flowers that Harper’s mother had planted along the porch, a hint of spice amidst the sweetness. Their eyes were almost level, and Presley’s searched hers. Harper’s heart beat faster, her fingertips tingled.

  “It’s been a wonderful evening,” Presley said, her voice husky.

  “Yes,” Harper said, meaning it. From the instant she’d walked into the kitchen and seen Presley at the table, she’d thought of nothing except her. She was a captivating puzzle, one thing on the surface—cool, refined, commanding—and another in her hidden reaches—warm, engaged, and attentive, as she’d been when talking with Margie. As she’d been in the tree house—embracing the things that mattered to Harper with genuine delight. At the family table, Presley had studied each of them, her eyes probing and discerning. Presley looked and listened and saw what mattered, even as she kept her own secrets close. Secrets Harper wanted to unlock. Seeing her here in the gathering night, her shields and barriers falling away as she slid into the vulnerability of sleep, Harper saw only a beautiful woman, and she would’ve been happy just to sit by her side in the deepening night. But Flann had been quietly watching too, and Harper didn’t know what she might see.

  “Thank you for the tree house too,” Presley said.

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  “Am I,” Presley said softly in the near dark.

  “Yes.” Harper almost took her hand. Even a touch might say too much and she held back. “Whenever you feel the need to hide, the door’s open.”

  “Next time, I’ll dress for it.”

  Harper wanted to say she looked beautiful just as she was. The urge to touch her was still so strong and unexpected she stepped away before she could. “You did just fine as you were.”

  “Well,” Presley said, a note of reluctance in her voice, “I’ll find Carrie.”

  “I’ll meet you at the car.”

  Harper hurried from the porch, as if the distance might keep her safe from feelings she didn’t want to face. She started the car and a minute later Presley and Carrie emerged. She got out, walked around, and opened the doors for them. Presley got in front with her. Carrie leaned over from the backseat between them. The roads were empty, and the drive only took a few minutes.

  “It’s so dark out here,” Carrie said when Harper turned down the drive to the White place.

  “No streetlights. No city glow,” Harper said.

  “That’s what it is,” Presley said. “I never realized the stars and moon could be so bright.”

  “You should leave your porch light on when you go out at night,” Harper said.

  “You’re right,” Presley said. “I can barely see the porch.”

  As Harper pulled up in front of the house, her headlights illuminated the side yard.

  “Wait, stop,” Presley said sharply.

  Harper braked. “What is it?”

  “Rooster.”

  Harper glanced around and saw nothing in the road. She hoped she hadn’t run over it. “Where?”

  Presley pointed through the windshield. “There. In the tree. What is he doing?”

  Harper followed where she gestured and laughed. “He’s roosting.”

  The rooster hunched on a lower branch of the oak, his head tucked down and his body close to the branch.

  “Why is he out here?”

  “He needs a perch. The chi
cken coop has probably collapsed,” Harper said.

  “Is that safe?” Presley asked.

  “Probably.”

  Presley shifted to face Harper. “Probably?”

  “There are predators that might bother him, but he’s likely safe this close to the house and in the tree.”

  “I suppose he’s used to it,” Presley said softly, gazing back at the tree. “Being the only one.”

  Harper studied her, her elegant suit, her sophisticated style, her polished beauty. For all of that, she radiated loneliness. Harper gripped the wheel. “I can take a look at the coop for you, see if it needs repairing.”

  Presley shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine, and you’re much too busy to waste your time on that.”

  Carrie leaned forward from the backseat again. “Yes, like playing softball. Will you be at practice, Harper?”

  “Planning on it.”

  “Great.” She glanced at Presley. “Sure we can’t talk you into it?”

  “Ah, no.” Presley smiled, her face soft in the glow of the dash lights.

  Oddly disappointed, Harper pulled all the way into the turnaround so her headlights illuminated the walk up to the porch. “I’ll see you there then, Carrie. If Flann can’t make it, I’ll stop by and give you a ride.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.” Carrie jumped out and closed the door, waiting beside the car for Presley.

  “Have a good weekend,” Presley said.

  “Yes. Good night.”

  Harper waited until Presley and Carrie entered the house, then turned around and started down the drive. She expected the weekend to be busy—they always were, and time usually passed quickly. Tonight, though, Monday had never seemed so far away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun came up without the accompanying blast of heat that quickly followed at home. Instead, the breeze on Presley’s skin was cool and invigorating. She’d been reading in bed since four when she’d finally given up trying to sleep. She hadn’t fallen asleep easily, either. She’d still been replaying the events of the last few days, particularly the afternoon and evening with Harper. From the moment they’d met, Harper had occupied far more of her attention than any woman had managed previously. She wasn’t a nun and she enjoyed female company, socially or sexually, but she rarely thought about the women after the evening had passed. She just hadn’t found any of those interactions memorable enough to interrupt her concentration or distract her from her busy schedule. Harper had somehow changed all of that.

  Harper was constantly disrupting her plans and her equilibrium. That odd effect was, of course, purely situational and perfectly understandable. Harper and her family were focal players in the new acquisition, and she needed to find a way to work around them because she doubted working with them would be possible. And working around Harper was a little bit like trying to drive around the Rockies rather than taking a pass over the crest. Harper was as immovable and impenetrable as an ancient rock formation.

  Tired of thinking about things she couldn’t control, she pulled on sweats and a T-shirt and went to see what culinary miracles Lila had left in the kitchen. Not only could she get used to the weather, she could definitely get used to the food. Plain and simple and rich in flavor and substance, a lot like the people. She poured coffee, took it outside, and reminded herself to keep on point and not to be seduced by the rural charms—or the rural charmers.

  A few minutes later, Carrie said from the doorway behind her, “I woke up to the most amazing smell.”

  Presley looked back. “Today it’s cinnamon rolls.”

  Carrie came out carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a roll on a paper napkin. She sat down on the top step opposite Presley and stretched her legs down the stairs. Presley broke off another piece of the still-warm, soft bun and tossed it onto the ground, where Rooster promptly pecked it into tiny bits. When he’d devoured them he clucked and regarded Presley with bright black eyes.

  “He seems to like it,” Carrie said.

  “I think he likes almost anything, but I doubt a steady diet of breakfast muffins and cinnamon rolls is very good for him.”

  “He does look a little raggedy.”

  “I know,” Presley said broodingly. “I don’t think he likes being an only rooster.”

  “At least he’s getting fed,” Carrie said between bites. “Speaking of which, where is the magician who made these things? If you tell me it’s you, I’m going to cry that I didn’t know about it before this.”

  Presley laughed. “Not hardly. That would be Lila. She’s already been and gone.”

  “She must have been here before the sun came up because it’s not even six.”

  “I think that’s late for these parts.”

  “Huh,” Carrie said. “I’m used to getting up early, but everything here seems on a different timetable. Time passes differently. At least it felt that way last night.”

  “I think that’s because everyone here still functions as if it were 1920,” Presley muttered.

  “That bad?” Carrie tossed Rooster some roll. “The Rivers doctors seemed pretty sharp.”

  Presley sighed and sipped her coffee. “Their medicine, technically, can’t be faulted. It’s their practice models that haven’t changed in God knows how long. No, wait”—she held up a hand—“check that. I think I do know how long. Since at least Edward Rivers’s father began his practice, and I’ll wager his father before him. They still make house calls.”

  Carrie nodded. “I realized that when Flannery left to go see a boy who’d apparently fallen off the roof of a barn and fractured his arm. That’s the kind of thing that would go to urgent care at home.”

  “I agree,” Presley said.

  “Although Flannery said by the time she got to the boy’s house and took care of his arm, it would take less time than if the family took him to the emergency room, someone else saw him first, then called her, and then everyone waited for her to show up.”

  “That’s true, I’m sure,” Presley said. “Convenient for the family, but tough on the doctors. They’re saving the patients a few hours at the expense of their own time.”

  “In this case, the doctors don’t really seem to mind. Strange, isn’t it?” Carrie said musingly. “Everyone just seems to take it as normal.”

  “I guess for them it is. But they ought to at least be charging more for the convenience it affords the patients.”

  Carrie pursed her lips. “Is there an inventive way to code for it, do you think? So the reimbursement would better fit the level of care?”

  Presley smiled. Carrie wasn’t going to be her admin for long. “That’s what you’re going to look into. Find out who the major insurers are in this area. Review their scales and payment levels and see if you can find any holes.”

  “I thought we were going to turn this around fast,” Carrie said cautiously.

  “The Rivers doctors are not going to let go easily.”

  “That would be the understatement of the century, but they’re only a small part of the hospital.”

  “Do you think that means they have only a little power?”

  Carrie shook her head. “Edward Rivers seems quiet and easygoing, but I had the feeling he was taking our measure over dinner.”

  Presley smiled. “You mean, like we were taking his?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t think any of them can be taken for granted.”

  “They’re all sort of interesting, though, don’t you think?”

  “Interesting. Yes,” Presley said, “that would be one word.”

  “Hot might be another.”

  “I don’t think I want to go there.” Even as she said it, Presley realized it was definitely true. The last thing she wanted to do was think about the appeal of the Rivers sisters or the fact that Carrie might feel the same way.

  “Harper—” Carrie began.

  “Harper is the heir apparent. She’s as important in the greater scheme of things as her father.”

>   “I was going to say Harper seems like the quiet one, compared to Flannery, but I think Flannery’s flip attitude is just a smokescreen. She’s not nearly as uninvolved as she might want us to believe.”

  Presley nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “So,” Carrie said, blotting up the crumbs with a fingertip. “Just pretending you were going to taste the local menu, what’s your flavor? Dark chocolate like the quiet, intense family doc or something with a little more zing—mint chocolate chip surgeon, perhaps.”

  “I would prefer not to think of the Rivers sisters in terms of edibles.” Presley definitely did not want to imagine taking a taste of Harper. She was afraid if she did, anything less might leave her hungry.

  Carrie laughed. “Probably safer. I could see that becoming a craving.”

  “I was planning on going into the hospital for a while.” Presley rose and dusted off the back of her sweats. She scattered the rest of her cinnamon roll on the ground for Rooster. What she needed was work to get her back on track.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. Really. Get settled. You’ll have plenty to do come Monday.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve got my laptop. I can get started on the insurance—”

  “I mean it. Get unpacked, maybe drive around the neighborhood if you want.”

  “Should I start apartment hunting? I don’t want to be an imposition.”

  Presley waved a hand at the house. “Look at this place. It’s huge. You might as well stay here.” She hesitated. “Besides, the company will be nice.”

  Carrie gave her a surprised smile. “Great. I’d love to stay.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Presley went back inside to pour herself another cup of coffee. She wished everything was settled as easily. She planned to spend the rest of the weekend looking at the numbers, but she didn’t expect them to tell her anything different than what she already knew. The hospital was dying.

  *

  Harper heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel, got up from the kitchen table, poured another cup of coffee, and carried it out to her back porch. Flann, in the rumpled blue shirt and jeans she’d worn to dinner, climbed out of her Jeep and trudged across the yard. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles made her deep-set brown eyes appear even deeper. Harper held up the coffee, Flann took it, sipped deeply, and slumped against the porch post.