The answering cry was distinctly un-Rooster-like. Stepping forward cautiously, she peered into a dim corner and shiny eyes stared back.

“Oh!” She jerked back as her brain deciphered the shapes. Little heads, little faces. Kittens. Four—no, five.

“Caw?”

Presley spun around. Rooster hopped up. “Oh no. This is not good.”

“What isn’t?” Carrie said from the doorway.

“Livestock everywhere,” Presley said.

Carrie joined her. “Look how cute! Where’s the mother?”

“Not too close, I hope.” Presley flapped a hand at Rooster. “Shoo. Go. Cats. Birds. Bad. Go.”

He cocked his head and didn’t move.

“Should we feed them?” Carrie said.

“No! Maybe they’ll go away.”

Carrie’s face fell.

“Fine. Why not!” Presley stalked toward the door and Rooster obligingly followed. “Why don’t we just give up business altogether and become farmers.”

“Ah,” Carrie said, unable to hide a smile, “we can probably manage both. Multitasking is our specialty.”

“Right.” Presley slid into her car and started the engine. Carrie jumped in beside her. Rooster watched as she U-turned around and roared away. Simply perfect.

Chapter Nine

Harper dictated Peggy Giles’s admission H&P and a procedure note, and headed for the ICU to make sure the baby was stable. She had no reason to go down the east corridor, although she wondered if Presley had gone back to her office and had to force herself not to wander over to check. What would be the point—they’d come to an impasse and they’d probably only argue. She wasn’t sure how things had unraveled quite so quickly. Presley had actually seemed interested and relaxed while they’d been making rounds, and Harper had enjoyed introducing her to patients and describing their care. Sharing her work came naturally, given that everyone in the family was part of it and always had been, but she’d rarely discussed it with anyone outside the family, not even the women she’d dated. There’d never seemed to be any need, when Flann or Carson or her parents were always around to bounce things off or share an exciting story with. Today had been different—showing Presley what the Rivers meant to her, to everyone within its walls, mattered on more than a professional level. Sharing her world with Presley had been satisfying in a way she hadn’t expected, at least until Presley had retreated into the alien landscape of budgets and cost-benefit analysis and other things that didn’t belong anywhere in the province of caring for patients. The thread of connection they’d been weaving had abruptly snapped, and that bothered Harper more than she wanted to admit. Fortunately, she had more important things to occupy her mind.

She walked through the ICU to the room at the end where they put the pediatric patients. Peggy was the only child in the unit. She lay in the center of the bed, her arms and legs outstretched and connected to IVs, EKG leads, a blood-pressure cuff, and a urinometer. The breathing tube ran to the ventilator beside the bed. She looked like a pale blond doll amongst all the equipment. The nurse who was charting vital signs smiled when she walked in.

“How’s she doing?” Harper asked.

“She’s been fine. We just sent a blood gas.”

“Great.” Harper listened to her chest. The breath sounds were clear and evenly distributed on both sides. She’d had to sedate her so she would tolerate the breathing tube and would need to keep her that way as long as the tube was needed. Hopefully, the steroids would kick in quickly, the swelling would go down, and the antibiotics would knock out the infection. As quickly as kids went bad, they bounced back too. “Did someone go to get her mother?”

“As soon as I get her cleaned up a little more, I’ll send Nancy down for her.”

“Thanks. Call me if anything changes.” Satisfied that everything was stable, Harper charted a few notes. She was done at the hospital and had no more reason to stay. She especially had no reason to drop by admin, but the urge to see if Presley had remained was still there, an annoying presence in the back of her mind like the throb of a sore tooth. Pushing the impulse aside, she left the ICU.

Flann, still in scrubs, sauntered down the hall in Harper’s direction. “I was just going to check on her.”

“She’s stable.”

“Good.” Flannery fell in beside Harper as she headed for the stairwell. “So how did our Ms. Worth come to be down in the ER during all of that?”

“When did she become our Ms. Worth?” Harper heard the crankiness in her voice. Every time the subject of Presley came up her hackles rose for no good reason. Of course, the woman herself was irritating enough to be the explanation. Flann’s obstinate refusal to recognize anything about her other than the fact that she was attractive and intelligent just added to her annoyance.

Flann grinned. “Well, I figured since we were sharing—”

“Knock it off, Flann.”

“Oh, sensitive. Is there something I should know?”

Harper stopped walking and jammed her hands on her hips. “It seems like you should already know without being told. Presley is not a member of your fan club. She’s here to take over the hospital, and we don’t even know what the plans are.”

“I didn’t know I had a fan club. Is there a website?”

Harper blew out a breath. “You know, sometimes you are a real pain in the ass.”

“Really?” Flannery raised her brows. “I never knew you thought that.”

Harper laughed. Flann could always make her laugh, even when she’d broken one of Harper’s toys, or gotten them both in trouble with one of her harebrained schemes, or drawn the attention of one of the girls Harper had given a thought to. She couldn’t stay mad at her. “Would you just think about something besides your hormones? Just this once.”

“I was,” Flann protested, the devil-may-care glint in her eyes at odds with her innocent tone. “I was thinking I’d go undercover, and when Presley falls victim to my charms, she’ll tell me everything, and I could report back.”

“Your charms notwithstanding,” Harper said, “I don’t think she’s going to fall victim to anything at all. If we’re not careful, we’ll be the ones picking ourselves up off our asses.”

“You’re really worried, aren’t you,” Flann said.

“Aren’t you?”

“I sort of thought I’d wait to see what was actually proposed before I got all doom and gloom about it.”

“Spend some time with her,” Harper said, and immediately regretted the suggestion. Why the idea of Flann and Presley together bothered her so much was just another irritation. Why should she care? “Listen to the questions she asks. I’m not getting the sense that she thinks the hospital’s all that necessary.”

“Come on, Harper. Why would they buy it if they didn’t want it?”

“I’ve been looking into SunView. There are more things in the SunView Health System than hospitals, and a lot don’t involve direct patient care.”

“Yeah, but this is a functioning hospital.”

“Do you really think that matters?”

Flann grimaced. “Yeah, I do.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harper said, but she had a bad feeling that Flannery’s legendary intuition was off this time. Presley might not be the cold, mechanical number cruncher she’d first taken her to be. That was evident from the way she’d reacted in the ER a little while ago. She’d comforted Jenny Giles instinctively, and that sort of kindness came from genuine caring. Those flashes of warmth disappeared pretty quickly when she started talking about the reason she was here, though. Then she was all hard facts and cold figures, and the questions she asked seemed to be leading to the conclusion that the hospital was superfluous. Nothing could be further from the truth. The hospital was the heartbeat of the community. Or, Harper had to admit, at least the center of her life. She couldn’t help thinking Presley meant to destroy it.

*

Flannery glanced at the big clock on the OR wall: 3:05. An hour and nine minutes. Excellent time. She checked the incisions again and cauterized the last few small bleeders.

“Happy up there?” she asked Ray Wilcox, the anesthesiologist.

“Smooth as can be,” Ray said. “What do you figure, fifteen minutes?”

“That sounds about right.” Flannery looked across the table to Glenn, who had assisted her on the laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Glenn had good hands and would have made an excellent surgeon, but she said she liked being a PA, liked the direct patient care without the hassle of running a practice. Flann counted herself lucky to have Glenn as backup at night and a first assistant in the OR. “You want to finish closing for me?”

“Sure.” Glenn held out her hand and the scrub nurse passed her the needle holder and suture.

“Page me when she’s extubated.”

“Will do.”

Flann stepped back from the table and waited for the circulating nurse to untie her gown. She pulled it off and tossed the gown into the hamper and the gloves into the trash. “Thanks, everybody.”

She grabbed her white coat from a hook inside the locker room and stopped in the family waiting area to talk to Margaret Hancock’s husband. Earl Hancock wore faded work pants, worn boots, and a pressed white shirt frayed at the collar. His hands were chapped and scarred, the knuckles swollen from decades of hard physical labor in all kinds of weather. He’d shaved close that day, and a couple of nicks marred his weathered cheeks. His deep-set blue eyes were clouded with worry. Margaret and Earl were high-school sweethearts and had been married going on forty years. Like Flann’s mother and father, they were lifelong friends and lovers and partners. She’d seen it work, knew it could, but her parents’ example was a lot to live up to. The idea of trying and failing kept her from getting too involved with anyone. She’d leave that particular legacy to Harper. That was one area in which she had no desire to compete.

“She’s fine,” Flann said. That was likely all he’d hear, but she’d repeat it all later if need be. “She’ll be in the recovery room in about fifteen minutes.”

“Can I see her?”

“Not in there. She’ll be asleep yet anyhow. The gallbladder came out without any problems. She had a few stones, and I suspect that’s what was causing all the pain every time she ate.”

“So she’s going to be better now?”

“I think she’s going to be a lot better. She’ll need to take it easy for a week or so at home, but we were able to do everything through the small incisions I told you about, with the laparoscope, so she won’t have too much pain and the healing will be a lot faster.”

He rubbed his jaw. From his expression, he didn’t really understand everything she was talking about, but he took her at her word and his eyes cleared. “That’s good then.”

“Better than good. That’s excellent.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “The nurses will let you know when she goes upstairs and her room number.”

“Okay. Thanks, Doc.”

“You bet.”

Flannery made a quick stop in the OR control room to check on her room. Two rows of four monitors showed the interiors of the eight operating rooms. She’d been in OR six. Glenn had finished sewing and was cleaning the abdomen before putting on the dressings. Flannery reached through the window, nodding to the ward clerk, and flipped the toggle on the intercom. “Is the tube out, Glenn?”

Glenn looked up. “Yes.”

“Everything good?”

“Yep.”

“Thanks.” She flipped the toggle back. “How you doing, Darlene?”

“Can’t complain,” the thin redhead with tired eyes said. She’d married her high-school sweetheart right after graduation and at twenty-five had four kids already. Flannery didn’t think much of her husband, who had trouble keeping a job, but Darlene seemed happy enough with him, which was probably what really mattered.

“You look terrific,” Flann said. “I like your new haircut.”

Darlene’s eyes lit up, and she patted her hair self-consciously. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Flannery waved and took off down the hall. So far, the day was looking good. Her surgeries had gone like clockwork and all her patients were doing fine. She had nothing scheduled for the rest of the afternoon except possibly a few hours with a very attractive woman who challenged her on most every level. She strolled by the admin offices and ducked into the alcove by the staff office, expecting to see her father’s secretary ensconced at the desk. She drew up short.

She’d known Alice Cunningham her entire life and enjoyed flirting with the cheerful sixty-year-old. The woman behind the desk, however, was not Alice. Not by a long shot. She looked about twenty-five and like she ought to be doing commercials for natural health products, she appeared so completely untarnished. Creamy complexion, red-gold eyebrows over spring-grass-green eyes, and shimmering hair the color of polished copper. Loose waves fell to her shoulders and framed her oval face. Except for the lace-topped figure-hugging plum-colored top she wore, she might have stepped down from a horse-drawn carriage a century ago. As Flann watched, pleasantly entranced, those green eyes widened and the full rose-tinged lips parted.