“My pleasure.”

Mine too, Presley almost said, and caught herself just in time. The air was still and warm inside the tree house, the scent of leaves and bark a sweet backdrop. The sun at her back painted the floor in swatches of gold. Harper stood half in shadow and half in sunlight, the contrast a reflection of her hidden depths. She was far more complex than the simple country doctor she liked to project—she had a secret life, secret pleasures she obviously didn’t share easily. Presley discovered she wanted to open those hidden doors to Harper’s secret self. That desire was not without risk. Harper’s gaze was the most direct Presley had ever known, unwavering, searching, making her feel as if all of her secrets were on display, making her feel vulnerable in a way both frightening and exhilarating. Despite feeling exposed, she wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t yield to the faint tremor growing in her depths. Her heart hammered in her throat.

“Harper,” Margie called up from below. “You up there?”

Harper’s gaze never left Presley’s. “Yeah.”

“Mama says dinner. Dad just drove in.”

“All right, we’re coming.” Harper smiled ruefully. “Sorry. Family calls.”

“Yes,” Presley said, although the concept was foreign to her. Her family commanded.

Harper reached down to open the hatch and held out her hand. “You should go first. I’ll help you get started down.”

Presley slid her hand into Harper’s. Her fingers were warm and strong and sure. Like her. The trembling spread into Presley’s core, but she didn’t let go.

Chapter Twelve

Presley judged she had five minutes at most on the walk up to the house to prepare to meet Edward Rivers again. She had no doubt he would be polite, but she regretted the distrust she was going to see in his eyes. Not that she could do anything to change that. She had not created the circumstances, and even if she had been in charge of the acquisition and not Preston, she would very likely have done exactly the same thing. Business was business. She was not responsible for ACH running in the red. That situation had been years in the making. The hospital management couldn’t be faulted for anything other than wishful thinking and having failed to keep up with the times, while physicians like Edward Rivers were notoriously bad businessmen and likely hadn’t noticed the changing landscape. Harper’s generation tended to be savvier about financial realities, although if Harper was any example those lessons hadn’t penetrated into this area. The economy of medicine had been changing rapidly for the past decade, and those institutions and physicians who couldn’t adapt would eventually be displaced. None of that was her doing, and now she was in no position to reverse it. She was not here to save ACH. She was here to give the greatest return possible to SunView and its investors. Still, she wished she was not the instrument destined to bring about events that would surely alienate the Rivers family.

Harper slowed when they were halfway up the hill to the house. “I meant to mention—you can change your mind about coming with me on calls. I understand you have a job to do, and you’re busy.”

Presley’s relief was instantaneous. There was the opening she’d wanted and had been wondering how to bring about since she’d let her emotions rather than her brain speak for her. Now she could step back, out of the Rivers family’s circle of influence, and return to anonymity. She would always be accountable and would always be willing to take responsibility for her decisions, but she was most effective working behind the scenes, not out in the open where she would have to see the confusion and anger and pain in Harper’s eyes or the sad resignation in her father’s. She wouldn’t have to see Harper at all, and considering how effortlessly Harper distracted her from her goal, that was for the best. Logically she should jump at the offer.

“Trying to get rid of me?” she said instead.

“Not at all. I…” Harper shrugged and looked mildly bewildered. “I enjoyed taking you around this morning.”

“I enjoyed it too. So let’s stick to the plan.”

“It’s not always enjoyable. Sometimes it’s boring, sometimes painful, sometimes aggravating.” Harper laughed. “Especially in the middle of the night.”

“It’s very quiet around here at night,” Presley said. “Flannery tells me everything closes at sundown.”

“Flann exaggerates,” Harper said. “Actually, a little bit earlier than that.”

“Wonderful,” Presley muttered, and Harper laughed again. She liked Harper’s understated humor, the playful tone an invitation—subtler and somehow more personal than Flannery’s—for her to join in. She might not be a joiner, but Harper was hard to resist. “So really you’ll be doing me a favor and saving me from the dangers of Dancing with the Stars.”

“That I’d like to see.”

Harper’s smile sent heat shimmering across Presley’s face. “I’m afraid it’s a well-guarded secret.”

“Safe with me, then.” Harper pressed a hand to her heart.

Presley believed her. “So we have a date?”

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.”