“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.

Flann said, “I’m staring, aren’t I.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Forgive me.” Flann pressed a hand to her chest. “I couldn’t help myself. You are truly beautiful.”

“Ah.” Pink colored the ivory cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” She spoke slowly, as if to a dangerous animal she wasn’t quite certain was safe, or to a madman.

Flann laughed. “Let’s start again. I’m Flannery Rivers. And who are you?”

“Carrie Longmire. Administrative assistant to Presley Worth.”

“Aha. The boss’s right hand.”

Carrie laughed. “Well—”

“Actually,” Presley said from the doorway of her office, “she’s occasionally both my hands and my brain. And she’s busy.”

“I am,” Carrie said quickly, pulling her keyboard closer.

Flann spun around. “Hello. Are you ready for your tour of the local wildlife?”

“I’m afraid my schedule—”

Carrie coughed delicately, and Presley shot her a look. Flann watched the silent exchange and noted that the beautiful Carrie Longmire held considerable sway with the formidable new hospital exec. Interesting.

Presley sighed. “We did work through lunch, and I suppose it would be a good idea for both of us to get a introduction to the area.”

“Excellent.” Flann looked from Presley to Carrie. The day just kept getting better. “I would be delighted to escort you both.”

Carrie popped up from behind her desk and grabbed an oversized leather bag.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Presley said and disappeared into her office.

“Does she bite?” Flann whispered.

Carrie smiled sweetly. “Only when necessary.”

Chapter Ten

Flannery drove them into the village and parked on the main street, a two-lane road running through six or seven blocks of the village proper. The area would have been called quaint except that on close inspection many of the buildings showed unmistakable signs of deterioration and at least a third of the storefront businesses were closed. The village itself was an odd mixture of residences and businesses mingled together, as if houses had been built with an eye toward the proximity to the essentials of community life—work, school, and church. Several old brick factories stood along the river, their windows broken out and, in some cases, the roofs collapsed or damaged by fire.

“What was the industry here?” Presley asked.

“The Hudson River Valley has always been agricultural, but in the early settlements the river also provided power for mills, primarily flax, and transportation routes for textile and paper production. Once those goods started shipping by rail and manufacturing eventually moved out of the country altogether, the factories died away. Now tourism and agriculture are the primary sources of income in this area.”

Carrie said, “I read somewhere recently that a big electronics factory is locating near here. That will bring in new money, won’t it?”

Presley was impressed. Carrie had always been a self-starter, which was one of the many reasons she would do well. Her amiable, outgoing manner put clients at ease, and she had a keen business mind coupled with an aggressive determination to succeed. That little tidbit about a major new industry in the area was news, and something she’d have to factor in to her projections.