“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.

“Long night,” Harper said. “I thought it was supposed to be a quick callout.”

Flann rubbed her face. “The arm wasn’t the problem. I splinted him and set him up for X-rays in a couple of days when the swelling goes down. But then a pickup and a Mini Cooper played chicken out on 46. They’re still picking up the pieces.”

“Jesus,” Harper said. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come and lent a hand.”

“Glenn was on call, so I had plenty of help in the OR. The driver of the Cooper, a nineteen-year-old girl visiting from out of state, never even made it to the hospital. The young guy in the pickup—wife, and two kids in diapers—was coming home from a bachelor party for his cousin. They think maybe he fell asleep. Ruptured his spleen, perforated his colon, broke his femur all to hell. He’ll be rehabbing for six months.”

“Anybody we know?”

“Distant relative to the Durkees, I think. I didn’t know him, though.”

“You get any sleep at all?”

“Couple minutes while they got the OR set up and then for a little bit while I waited to see how he was gonna do in post-op.”

“He going to make it?”

“He ought to, barring unforeseens. His leg’s a mess. The ortho guys will have to take care of that. I got it stabilized, so they have a few days to fool around with it.”

“You know, if you hadn’t been there, that guy would’ve died.”

“Maybe. But you know the argument. He would have gotten a fast ambulance ride to the nearest level one or two, or maybe even a medevac hop. Statistically, if it didn’t take too long, his chances ought to be about the same.”

“Yeah, except look at where we are. How long do you think it would’ve taken to get all that organized, even if it only meant a forty-five-minute ride in the bus? Tell me he wouldn’t have tanked en route.”

“Sure, he probably would have the way his spleen was gushing. But EMTs and paramedics are as good as us most times handling that kind of crisis.”

“True enough. But they’re not going to open up a belly if he crashes.”

“Can’t argue. I do have the God factor going for me.” Flann drank some more coffee and stared at her, a bit of life sparking back into her eyes. “What are you getting at, Harp?”

Harper flushed. “Not getting at anything. I’m just saying—”

“You sound like you’re trying to put together a case. You think we’ve got a fight coming, don’t you.”

Harper leaned against the opposite post, shoving her hands into her back pockets. The muscles in her jaw throbbed and she consciously unclenched her teeth. She’d lain awake half the night thinking about what might be coming, and what—if anything—she could do about it. Presley hadn’t revealed anything she could really sink her teeth into, but the trustees wouldn’t have wanted to unload the hospital if they hadn’t thought it was a losing proposition. Presley was a businesswoman, through and through, and everything about her said she was good at it. “I don’t think SunView is in the business of charity.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Flann said. “But they are in the business of business—and they want to make money. If the hospital can make money again, then what would be the point of not making that happen?”

“I don’t know—a bigger profit margin? I don’t know what drives people like…” She almost said Presley, but she couldn’t lump Presley into the faceless mass of people she didn’t know and couldn’t understand. Presley was not a faceless name. She’d already become more than that. She was a flash of humor, a sudden brilliant smile, an unexpected gasp of wonder. She was a surprise and an enigma. Fascinating and frustrating.