“I got the feeling,” Carrie said, treading carefully, “that she wasn’t really mentally in the game. I think this afternoon’s meeting threw her off.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Presley sighed. Harper wasn’t the only one thrown by the meeting. “But it had to be done.”

“What would happen if you presented Preston with a totally different scenario. One in which the Rivers doesn’t die?”

“It’s not just about Preston. I can’t take risks with the shareholders’ money. And…”

“And?”

Presley sighed. “I need to deliver this project on time and without major obstacles if I’m going to have any hope of taking over from my father. I need to lock in the support of key people, and I can do that by demonstrating I can get the job done quickly and efficiently. This job, any job. And by showing I can be ruthless when I need to be when profits are at stake.”

“What do you think would happen to Preston’s position if you turned this place around and it made a profit again?”

“That would take a miracle,” Presley said, “and I’m fresh out of those.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Presley closed the file, shut her laptop, and swung her desk chair around to face the window. The bright sunny day did little to lighten her mood. The numbers didn’t look any different now than they had on Friday. The weekend had dragged, and she’d finally driven to the hospital to look at some of the data Carrie had pulled together for her, hoping the change of scenery would distract her from thinking about Harper. It hadn’t.

A heavy sensation tugged at her with every breath. Summer bloomed with inexorable beauty, as if mocking her burgeoning unhappiness. Usually when she was lost in the numbers, she didn’t think about anything else—but not today. Today thoughts of Harper pulled at her, and she’d catch herself wondering if Harper’s jaw was giving her trouble, or simply missing her and wishing they could escape for a few hours to the tree house, where the world was reduced to a lazy river flowing by, the flutter of young green leaves, and an impossibly blue sky. She imagined lying on the worn sofa flanked by handmade bookshelves with her head on Harper’s shoulder, listening to the birds, a world apart. A world of their own.

She shook her head. When had she become so foolish? That was Harper’s world, not hers. They shared something, though—they shared the Rivers, and she was about to destroy that. How could Harper—either of them—ever have imagined they could be anything other than adversaries? Still, she’d tried again today to find some other path. Carrie might have been on to something with the urgent care network, or as things stood currently, the lack of any centralization of the scattered facilities, but without an immediate infusion of funds, she couldn’t justify the time and money it would take to build a strong referral base. Nor could she justify the risk to the shareholders. If she went back to SunView and proposed they put more money into the Rivers when she’d come here for a quick turnaround and a nice profit to show in the quarterly shareholders’ report, she’d lose the support of half of management. And not just on this issue, but on the matter of succession.

Still, the potential in Carrie’s figures nagged at her. Potential was what made the game so exciting. Turning potential into profit was what she was good at.

Maybe all she needed was a little distance, a little perspective, and a fresh look at the big picture. She locked her office and walked to the cafeteria for coffee and a late lunch. Somehow the day had gotten away from her, for which she was grateful. If she worked a few more hours here she could avoid coming in the next day. Avoid running into Harper.

As she carried her coffee to her favorite table by the window, she spied Emmy Reynolds coming through the line, seeming to ponder the food as if she didn’t recognize any of it. When she’d stood for at least a minute in front of one of the hot food selections, apparently not hearing the question put to her by the food service employee, Presley set down her tray and walked over to her.

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

Emmy Reynolds stared at Presley through blank, exhausted eyes. Her hair appeared clean but tangled. She wore no makeup. Circles ringed her puffy lower lids.

Presley touched her arm. “I’m sure you don’t remember me. I’m Presley Worth. I was with Harper the night your son Jimmy was admitted to the hospital.”

Emmy started and life returned to her eyes. “Oh yes. I’m sorry. I do remember you now.”

“How is Jimmy doing?”

“He was doing really well, everyone said,” Emmy blurted. “Then just this morning he developed a fever. It might be nothing”—she rushed on, picking at a loose thread on her sweater, tugging it and twirling it around her index finger—“but they’re having trouble getting it down and Harper said Jimmy might need…if he doesn’t improve…” Her voice choked off and tears filled her eyes.

“Why don’t you sit down and let me bring you something to eat. Is your husband here with you?”

“Don? Oh, no. He’s home with Darla, our youngest.” She looked away. “One of us tries to be here all the time, but it’s hard with the farm, and we can’t leave Darla for too long. Scary for her.” Her gaze came back to Presley. “If we weren’t so close to the hospital, I don’t know what we’d do.”

Presley thought of the hour drive to the nearest medical center and remembered the worn farmhouse surrounded by fields and machinery and animals, of the life that needed tending and a boy who needed his parents by his side. “Go sit down now—I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Emmy did as Presley suggested and Presley brought her a plate of food, a glass of milk, and some juice. “I’m betting coffee has been your main staple for the last few weeks. So I brought you something else.”

Emmy laughed faintly and a tiny bit of color came back to her cheeks. She picked up the milk. “You’re right and thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. Carson has been helping with the paperwork for the financial assistance we need for the medical bills, and Harper is taking care of everything else. There are lots of doctors looking after Jimmy, but Harper is the one we count on. She hasn’t left Jimmy all day. She’ll make sure everything that needs to be done is done.”

“Yes, I’m certain she will,” Presley said, as sure as Emmy.

Emmy ate a few bites of meatloaf and set down her fork. “They’re saying the hospital might close.”

Presley wasn’t surprised the rumor mill was churning. “That’s not something you need to worry about now.”

“You’re in charge of all that, right?”

“Yes, I am.” Presley had never had to face the individuals impacted by SunView’s policies in such a personal way. They had PR people who handled that at community meetings and the like. A wave of disquiet passed through her.

“I hope you can find a way so that doesn’t happen. We need this place.”

“Yes, I understand that.” Presley pushed back her chair. “I’ll let you finish in peace. I hope Jimmy is feeling better soon.”

“Thank you,” Emmy said softly.

*

When Rooster crowed at barely dawn, Presley rolled over and immediately thought of Harper. Was she still at the hospital? Was Jimmy better? How was Harper dealing with a boy so like the sister she had lost to the same disease? Harper. The ache of missing her left her hollow.

She got up, showered, and tried to settle into her morning routine. She failed. She couldn’t keep pretending none of this mattered—this place, these people, this woman.

When she pulled into the hospital staff lot, Harper’s truck was in the same spot it had been in when Presley had left fourteen hours before. Of course, Harper could be making early rounds and just happened to park in the same place, but something told her the explanation wasn’t so simple. As she hurried into the hospital, she debated what to do. In the end the decision was easy.

She turned in the opposite direction from her office and toward the pediatric intensive care unit. The unit was small, only four rooms. Two were occupied. Jimmy Reynolds was in bed number four. Presley didn’t go in, but the low lights inside were enough to see by. A man slept with his head on the bed. Don Reynolds. Only Jimmy’s head and shoulders were visible. He looked like a doll beneath the sheets, so small and fragile surrounded by monitors and equipment. The scene was heartbreaking and horrifying, and one she would never be able to erase. How many scenes just like this had Harper witnessed? Her throat closed. Where was she?

A woman in scrubs came up to her. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m Presley Worth. I’m—”

The woman smiled fleetingly. “Yes, Ms. Worth. I know who you are. I’m the charge nurse. Were you looking for someone?”

“Is Harper here?”

The nurse shook her head, a faintly wry expression on her face. “Believe it or not, she finally left. I told her she was too damn tired to drive, so hopefully she’s taking a nap in one of the on-call rooms.”

“The on-call rooms? Where—”

“Around the corner and down the hall. One’s marked surgery and the other medicine. Usually no one’s in there.”

“How’s Jimmy?”

The nurse sighed. “The fever’s better, but his white count is just about zero. Any kind of infection now…” She glanced into Jimmy’s room, her expression compassionate. “He’s got nothing left to fight with.”

Dread tightened around Presley’s heart. She couldn’t imagine how Don and Emmy must feel. Anger followed close behind the terror. How could this happen? What kind of justice was there in the world where an innocent child… She cut off the fruitless rumination. There were no answers to questions like that. All that could be done was to fight.

“Thank you.” Presley quickly walked away.

A minute later, she stood in front of the door marked medical on-call room, pondering whether to knock. If Harper was sleeping, she shouldn’t bother her. If she was awake, she had no cause to disturb her either. She had no reason to be there at all beyond her need to see Harper, to somehow help. On the other side of the door, a phone rang and then a voice murmured for a few seconds.

When silence fell once more, Presley tapped on the door.

“Who is it?” Harper’s voice was rough and hoarse.

“Harper, it’s Presley. I’m sorry—”

The door opened and Harper stared out at her. She wore a rumpled shirt, and her stethoscope no longer hung around her neck. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face slack. She looked like she’d lost a dozen pounds. The left side of her jaw was swollen and discolored.

“God,” Presley whispered, gently touching the bruise. “That looks awful.”

“Hi.” Harper’s smile was lopsided and just as devastating as ever.

Presley laughed shakily. “Hi. Sorry. You’re trying to sleep, aren’t you?”

“Don’t think I can.”

“Let me drive you home.”

Harper shook her head. “I need to be here in case Jimmy—”

“You can’t take care of him if you’re falling apart. The nurse said he’s stable right now.”

“You checked? How did you know he was in trouble?”

Presley’s face flamed. “I saw his mother yesterday and she told me he was having a rough time. And then I saw your truck and I thought—anyhow…” She took Harper’s hand. “Please let me take you home. Let me take care of you for a change.”

Harper’s shoulders sagged. “You know what? That would be good.”

Presley linked her arm through Harper’s on the way out to her car, almost afraid if she let go, Harper would drift away. As Presley drove, Harper dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Weariness washed off her in waves. Presley reached over and took her hand, needing the contact. Harper’s fingers threaded through hers.

Presley turned carefully into Harper’s drive, trying not to wake her, and slowed by the back porch. “We’re here.”

Harper opened her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You need to be in bed.”

Harper smiled faintly. “I need breakfast, I think.” Her lids slowly closed.

Presley eased out of the car, came around to open the passenger door, and gently shook Harper’s shoulder. “Harper? Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Harper followed without resistance. Presley circled her waist and together they walked in the back door, through the house, and upstairs. The bedroom looked as it had before, neat and orderly and very much Harper. She’d made her bed. Of course she had. When Harper made no move to get into bed, Presley pulled down the sheets. When she turned, Harper was watching her with an expression Presley remembered all too well. Harper had looked at her that way in bed, when she’d been inside her. As if Presley were everything and all that mattered.