Harper’s gaze intensified. “I’ll need your number.”

“Let me have your cell,” Presley said.

Harper immediately slid her phone from her front pocket, tapped in a password, and handed it over. Presley selected contacts, entered her name and cell phone number, and handed it back. Over Harper’s shoulder, she saw Margie standing on the back porch watching them. “Your little sister is very bright.”

“My little sister is exceptional, and she is also prone to inquisitiveness.” Harper glanced back and raised her voice. “Somehow, she never grasped the concept of private space. A habit likely to get her hung upside down by her ankles out her bedroom window.”

“You wish you were strong enough,” Margie called back, a taunting grin on her face.

“Don’t forget the last time,” Harper said. “I seem to remember screams for mercy.”

Margie looked outraged. “I was nine!”

Harper chuckled.

Presley felt a moment of envy. Margaret Mitchell Rivers was an intelligent, bright, self-confident young woman whose family told her she could do and be anything, because she was special. All Presley could remember was never having been quite good enough. “You have a wonderful family.”

“We’re not always so wonderful,” Harper said. “Flannery’s a wiseass, Margie is a nosy nudge. Carson—” Harper paused. “Actually, Carson is pretty much always perfect. Cheerleader, prom queen, married the captain of the football team, graduated summa from college.”

“Where is her husband?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Ah. That’s really hard.”

Harper’s jaw tightened. “He hasn’t seen his son except on the Internet. We taped the delivery for him.”

Presley touched Harper’s hand. “Hopefully he’ll be home soon.”

“Yeah.”

The screen door banged and Flannery called down from the porch. “Stop lollygagging. Mama won’t serve until everyone is here.”

“Sorry,” Presley said. “I’m keeping you from your family.”

“That’s all right. No one will starve.”

Presley smiled. “Come on. Let’s go join them.”

Everyone was seated when they walked in. Two empty chairs sat on either side of the center of the table. Presley sat between Margie and Carson, and Harper took the one opposite her between Flannery and Carrie. Edward Rivers sat at one end and Ida at the other. The table was laden with platters of chicken and potatoes and vegetables and hot rolls and sweet corn and salad. It was all she could do not to moan out loud. She hadn’t had a decent meal in—she couldn’t remember when.

“Well, go ahead,” Ida said from the head of the table and a bevy of hands instantly reached to the center of the table. For the next few minutes no one spoke as platters were passed and silverware rattled.

Finally, Carrie said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen food like this all in one place in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Presley said. “It all looks wonderful.”

Ida laughed.

“Don’t take too long admiring,” Flannery said, “or else it will all be gone.”

The talk flowed easily, with Edward asking after Carson’s husband Bill and Margie telling everyone about her soccer team’s current standing in the upcoming schedule and the baby occasionally punctuating the conversation with happy babble. Presley was content to listen and answer whatever polite inquiry was directed at her with vague references to her home and family.

At one point Flannery said, “Thunderbirds’ first practice is tomorrow, don’t forget. You’re playing, right, Harp?”

“’Course.”

Flannery leaned around Harper and said to Carrie, “Can you play softball?”

Carrie gave Flannery a lofty look. “Can eagles fly?”

Suddenly conversation stopped and Carson, Harper, and Flannery stared at her.

Carrie colored. “What?”

“Slow pitch or fast pitch?” Carson asked.

“Fast pitch.”

“What position do you play?” Harper asked.

“It’s been a while—I played some in college.”

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 chicken 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?”