Against Doctor's Orders

by Radclyffe

  Harper’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Even if uninvited?”

  “Invitation was not required, and to say I didn’t enjoy it would be a lie.” She made herself smile, made her voice lighten. “Let’s chalk it up to”—she gazed around, pointed to the sky as Harper had before—“the effect of this incredibly beautiful day.”

  “All right,” Harper said, her voice husky. “We can try that.”

  “I’ll wait out here while you change your clothes.”

  “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

  Presley bristled. “Of course not. A kiss is not an assault. It’s flattering. And enjoyable. And you, you are a gentleman.”

  Harper laughed but her face was strained. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Presley would not allow Harper to accept blame where there was none. She wasn’t even sure she hadn’t somehow invited that kiss, although she would be sure not to again. “And I’m willing to bet there’s iced tea in your refrigerator.”

  “Am I my mother’s daughter?”

  “Yes,” Presley said, “and your father’s.”

  “We can’t forget that, can we?”

  “I’m afraid not, Dr. Rivers.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Presley sat on Harper’s back porch with a glass of iced tea while the chickens that had followed her around the corner waddled back and forth across the yard. She’d sat on more porches the last few days than she ever had in her life and was beginning to see the value of letting one’s mind drift in the sunlight or the twilight. Today, though, nothing was going to settle her mind, or her body for that matter. Harper was inside changing, and Presley was grateful for the few minutes alone to try to collect herself. The kiss had taken her off guard. She’d been kissed before, but never in her recollection when she wasn’t expecting it. Kisses were not something that happened unless she decided they would. Maybe it was only the element of surprise that had made the kiss so incendiary, so overpowering. Maybe she was only shaken because she hadn’t prepared herself the way she usually did, hadn’t weighed and considered what would naturally follow, hadn’t already decided that more, for an evening at least, would be pleasant. She hadn’t chosen to be kissed.

  There had been nothing pleasant about Harper’s kiss. Pleasant was a far too inadequate word for what had happened when their lips touched. The heat, the force of it, had surged through her, knocking barriers aside like floodwaters careening over parched land, deluging everything in its path. She’d been helpless to stop and desperate for more, opening like the crevices in a thirsty earth, aching to be filled until she overflowed. She’d known desire she hadn’t imagined possible. She was no blushing virgin, but thinking about the way she’d responded to just a simple kiss brought heat to her cheeks and everywhere else. She pressed the cool, sweating glass to her forehead and closed her eyes.

  What a monumental misstep. Of all the people in this town, Harper Rivers was probably the worst person she could have become involved with. She’d practically compromised herself professionally, something that had never happened, not once in her life. Not that anything between them, friendship or more, would make a difference to her decision-making, but it was simply bad form. And worse than that, she’d let things get out of hand with someone she genuinely liked. Harper was funny, warm, attentive, and mesmerizing in her intensity. She was honest and strong. And damnably sexy.

  When she could think a little more clearly, she’d need to find a way to extricate herself gracefully from a relationship that was moving too fast, without alienating Harper. If only the spinning sensation in her head and the hungry churning in her middle would go away.

  The door behind her opened, and Harper emerged. Presley took in the long length of bare legs, tight black athletic shorts, and a sleeveless T-shirt that molded to Harper’s lean body. Her breasts were subtle curves beneath the cotton, an invitation Presley refused to acknowledge despite the dryness in her throat and tightness in her depths. Harper’s eyes were dark and brooding again. Her hair was tousled, and Presley had an inexplicable urge to run her fingers through it, to tousle it even more. She rose and held out the empty tea glass. “As good as your mother’s.”

  Harper smiled for an instant. “That’s because it is.”

  “You like living so close to them, don’t you.”

  “Far enough for privacy, close enough to stay in touch.”

  Presley nodded as if she understood, although she didn’t. “I see my family regularly. The times are in my appointment book.”

  Harper’s gaze softened, her mouth gentled. “No one ever had to tell me family came first. It’s just always been.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be good with anyone so close, so inside.”

  “I can’t imagine being without it.”

  “Is that what you want? For your life.”

  “Yes.” The shadows fled Harper’s eyes. “A wife, a big house, at least four kids, a few dogs, a couple of cats, chickens—”

  Presley laughed and held out her hand. “Yes, I see. You are your father’s daughter.”

  “And my mother’s.”

  “Yes.” Presley felt a little better. A little more grounded. They were so wrong for each other. She was right in stopping things at a kiss. “We should go so you aren’t any later.”

  The drive to the baseball field took less than ten minutes, and they didn’t make conversation on the drive. Presley spent the time divided between looking out the window at the endless stretch of green, a color she still couldn’t quite get used to in so many varieties and abundance, and watching Harper’s hands as she drove. Her hands were sure and strong, her fingers long and slender. As Harper’s hand cupped the head of the gearshift, Presley remembered the press of Harper’s palm against the center of her back, the hold possessive and unquestionable. She rarely let herself be possessed, even during sex. She didn’t mind aggressive lovers, as long as no one thought to dominate her. Yet she’d welcomed the subtle control in Harper’s hand drawing her closer, gone willingly into the inferno of Harper’s embrace. She’d thrilled to Harper’s power.

  “Do you still want to stay?” Harper asked quietly as they approached the field.

  “Of course.” Presley smiled. To leave now would be to admit the kiss had unsettled her, and confessing weakness was not in her makeup.

  “Good.” Harper pulled in at the end of a long line of vehicles, mostly pickup trucks and SUVs of one kind or another. She turned on the seat to face Presley. “There’s sunscreen in the glove box in front of you. If you weren’t planning on being outside today, you might need it.”

  “You’re right, I will. Thanks.” She smeared some of the lotion on her face and bare arms, aware that Harper was watching her as she did. She liked it when Harper looked at her. She hurriedly finished and put the lotion away.

  Harper came around to open her door, and she climbed down. Harper guided her with a hand on her arm but moved away as soon as they started for the field. Harper carried her glove and had pulled on a worn blue baseball cap that sat low on her forehead and shaded her eyes. All Presley could see was her mouth, and that was the last place she wanted to look. She studied the ball field instead. A big mesh backstop stood behind home plate. Two sets of bleachers faced the field on opposite corners and, surprisingly, were half-full of people, some with coolers, babies in strollers, or umbrellas for shade. Obviously, watching practice was a form of entertainment for more than those who were actually playing. The team was mixed men and women, about fifty-fifty as far as she could tell.

  Harper stopped by one set of bleachers. “If you want to leave, just give me a wave. I’ll take you home.”

  “I’ll be fine. Enjoy the practice.”

  “I’ll see you in a while.” Harper ran over to where Flann and Carrie were tossing a softball back and forth. Flann said something, and Harper waved her off and kept walking. Carrie looked over to the bleachers and waved, a big smile on her face. She, at least, was having a good day.

&nbs
p; Presley waved back and climbed to the top row of the bleachers and looked for Harper. She spied her at shortstop. A tall, thin African American man was hitting balls to her from home plate. Harper moved with lithe grace, fielding the ground balls and whipping them to first base. She was quick and fast and strong. After a few minutes, Flann selected a bat from a stack against the fence and strolled to home plate. Carrie took the mound and pitched to a small blonde crouched behind Flann. The first ball whizzed past Flann.

  “Lucky pitch,” Flann shouted.

  Carrie only smiled. Flann swung at the second pitch but missed. A few hoots of laughter and catcalls rose from the players on the field. She hit the third ball, a grounder that skidded past Carrie. Harper scooped it up from behind her, tossing it to first base. The rest of the players rotated at bat and Carrie pitched, alternating with several other pitchers who, from what Presley could tell, were not as fast or accurate as Carrie.

  “She’s gonna kill the other teams,” Margie announced, dropping onto the bench beside Presley. She wore a ball cap similar to Harper’s, a sleeveless navy T-shirt with Thunderbolts emblazoned above a cloud slashed through with a jagged lightning bolt, and baggy shorts. Sipping a soda from a tall cardboard cup, she stretched her legs out in front of her and propped her elbows on her knees.

  “She seems to be good,” Presley said.

  “She’s really good.”

  “Do you play?”

  “I do, but I like soccer better. It’s faster. How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “Do you play?”

  “No. A little tennis. Golf mostly.”

  Margie drained her cup and set it aside. “Do you like your job?”

  “Yes,” Presley answered automatically, even as a small part of her hesitated.

  “Which parts?”

  Somehow she didn’t have to ask what Margie meant. The girl was incredibly intuitive. That, combined with her inquisitive mind, was going to take her far one day. She’d be a dangerous adversary. As it was, she was challenging. “If I said I enjoyed being able to move pieces around on a chessboard, would that make sense?”

  “If you were the queen, yes.”

  “Why not the king?”

  “Too limited. The queen has greater reach, more maneuverable.” Margie grinned. “More power.”

  Presley laughed. “Well then, you understand.”

  “Come on, Harper!” Margie called. “You can hit that ball.”

  Harper dug her feet into the dark earth in the batter’s box and squared off against Carrie again. Carrie’s pitch sailed past her.

  Margie hooted. “Business is a good field for people who like to be in charge and in control, and who enjoy power.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, exactly, but you’re right. And what about you?” Presley said, finding yet another Rivers sister who somehow managed to turn the conversation in directions she’d rather avoid. “What do you enjoy?”

  “People,” Margie answered instantly. “I like watching them, figuring out what makes them work.”

  “Are you planning to follow in the family tradition, then?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. If I do, though, I’ll be a psychiatrist.”

  “You’d make a good one. You’re observant and perceptive.”

  “Thanks!” Margie’s grin widened. “Are you going to date Flann?”

  “Ah,” Presley said, deciding they’d reached the boundary of personal revelation. “If I were, I don’t think I would tell you. That would be a question better put to Flannery. However, I can easily say no.”

  “Okay, fair enough.”

  “How about you,” Presley said. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  Margie shook her head. “Nobody special. My group doesn’t really pair off much, and I figure when I meet the person who wants to see inside me and I want them to, then I’ll know. Boy or girl, I don’t think it will matter.”

  How was it this girl could be so sure about something so confusing to so many? Presley found the thought of wanting anyone to see inside her not just foreign, but dangerous. Inside was where she hid her weaknesses—the things she wanted and was willing to sacrifice for. At least, once she might have been. Not any longer. “Your family is terrific.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Margie studied her with that sharp, inquisitive stare. “You’d fit in, you know.”

  “Oh,” Presley said, “I don’t know about that. I’m more of a loner, I think.”

  “We all are sometimes. That’s why Harper has a tree house and Flann rides her motorcycle and Carson runs.”

  Yes, but you all come home. I never do. Presley said, “Thank you for saying so.”

  As the sun slowly dropped, Margie pointed out the various players, all hospital employees, and they chatted about casual things until finally the players began to gather up their equipment and drift off toward their vehicles. Harper, Flannery, and Carrie walked over together.

  “That was awesome,” Carrie said, beaming.

  “Great pitching,” Harper said.

  “Word is going to spread fast.” Flannery grinned at Carrie. “They’ll be gunning for you.”

  “Let them come,” Carrie said.

  Flannery laughed.

  Harper looked up at Presley. “Doing okay?” The damp ends of her hair clung to her throat and neck, and a smudge of dirt streaked her left cheek. She looked sweaty and outrageously sexy.

  “Doing great, thanks.”

  Flannery pulled off her red ball cap and ran her hand through her hair. The sandy waves were wet and darker than usual. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and energy. “Everybody up for pizza?”

  “Yeah,” Carrie and Margie exclaimed together.

  Harper was silent, still looking at Presley. Waiting. She should make an excuse, go home. Get away from Harper until her system settled and she was herself again.

  “I’m hungry,” Presley admitted.

  Harper smiled. “Me too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The pizza place turned out to be the bar Flannery had pointed out to them in the village. The Hilltop was crowded even at five in the afternoon with men and women drinking at the bar, talking boisterously, while the televisions at either end played competing sports events. A few tables in an adjoining room comprised the eatery. The smells coming from the back where the kitchen must be instantly reminded Presley she hadn’t had much lunch, and breakfast was a muffin a long time before that. They took seats around a big round table covered with a bright yellow oilcloth dotted with blue roses. She ended up sitting between Harper and Carrie. After everyone gave their preferences and vetoed certain other toppings, they chose three pizzas and ordered from a friendly waitress in jeans and a T-shirt who greeted the Rivers sisters by name.

  Once the food was ordered, Flannery said, “Tammy’s slammed. I’ll get our drinks. What does everyone want from the bar?”

  “Beer,” Harper and Carrie said simultaneously.

  “Coke,” Margie said.

  “I, ah, suppose wine would be out of the question,” Presley said.

  “Possible to get,” Harper said, “but possibly lethal.” She paused, a whisper of a smile flickering across her mouth. “Are you feeling adventurous?”

  “Not that much,” Presley said, instantly reminded of their conversation in the tree house. She’d never sought adventure, only conquest. Her pleasure had always been more in the outcome rather than the process of attaining her goal. She’d never have imagined adventure would take the form of a quiet community in the foothills of the Adirondacks or a woman who challenged everything she thought she knew about herself. “I’ll have beer too.”

  Flannery rose and Carrie followed, saying, “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Harper asked Presley, “Did this afternoon’s revelry convince you to give softball a try?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Presley said, “although I did enjoy watching everyone play. When’s the first game?”

  “Midweek. We’re
hoping to keep the word about Carrie quiet until after the first game.”

  “Good luck on that,” Margie said.

  “Yeah, I think I saw a few spotters in the crowd today.”

  “It sounds like you take your softball seriously,” Presley said offhandedly.

  Harper and Margie both stared at her.

  “What?”

  “Well, of course we take it seriously,” Harper said as if explaining something very simple to someone very dense. “The league champions get to ride in the first car in the Labor Day parade. It’s very prestigious.”

  Carefully, Presley studied first Harper, then Margie. Both wore identical innocent expressions. “You are all truly frightening.”

  They both laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Flannery set glasses down on the table and passed them around to the appropriate people.

  “I was being briefed on the importance of winning the softball tournament,” Presley said.

  “Oh yeah. Our team has been first car three years in a row. Everyone wants to unseat us.”

  “First car?” Carrie asked, sounding confused.

  Flannery dropped into a chair and explained to Carrie.

  “Oh, we are so going to win, then,” Carrie said.

  We. Presley sipped her beer, wondering at how easily Carrie had embraced the community. Wondering too what that meant for the work they had to do—work it was so easy to forget, sitting here with the charismatic Rivers sisters.

  An hour and half later, after finishing off most of the pizzas and two rounds of drinks, everyone allowed they were ready to leave.

  “I’ll take you and Carrie home,” Harper said.

  Flannery looked like she was about to protest, then cupped Margie’s neck and said, “Come on, kid. I’m your ride.”

  “See you at the game,” Margie said to Presley.