“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?”

“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.