“Coughing woke you, did it?”

He nodded. “The wife’s been nagging me about it. Says she can’t sleep for the noise.”

And his wife was frightened too. “We’ll get an EKG and a couple of blood tests. Then we’ll talk.”

“Can’t you just give me some medicine for the cold?”

“If it’s a cold, I might be able to,” Harper said. “But let’s see first.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“We’ll work something out when the time comes. You need the tests, John.”

He blew out a breath and gripped the paper-covered examination table with both hands. “All right, Doc. Whatever you say.”

A few minutes later the nurse brought her the EKG strip. As she had suspected from the history and physical signs, the abnormalities suggested cardiac damage, possibly chronic. Silent MIs were not rare, and even those producing symptoms were often ignored by patients or written off as muscle strains or indigestion. John was lucky he wasn’t one of the high percentage of men whose first heart attack was fatal. When she went in to talk to him, his eyes were frightened. In her experience, people always knew when their condition was more serious than they wanted to believe until the moment when they were forced to accept they had a problem.

“There’s some abnormalities on your EKG, John. What it tells us is that there have been some problems with your heart that you might not even have been aware of. We need to find out exactly what the trouble is. That means a few more tests.”

He swallowed audibly. “Is it bad?”

“The fact that you’re here means it’s not as bad as it could be, but we won’t know for sure until we can study the blood flow to your heart. I want you in the hospital while we do that so we can monitor you.”

“I can’t stay now,” he exclaimed. “I’ve got new crops in the ground and more work than I can handle with the herd. I don’t have time to be away from the farm—who’s gonna look after things?”

“I can’t let you go home. Right now there’s fluid in your lungs and that tells me your heart isn’t working as well as it should. We can take some of the load off that with medication, but we need to find out what the underlying cause is.” She’d heard a variation of this argument from the time she’d started following her father on rounds and had had it herself at least a few hundred times. She’d learned a long time ago, men like John Prince would not be persuaded out of fear for themselves. “You’ve got, what—three kids, all of them still in school? You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of them and Sally Lynn.”

“Jesus, Doc.” He rubbed his face. “What am I gonna tell Sally Lynn.”

“I can talk to her first if you want me to.”

“Yeah, that would be good.” He stared at the floor. “I don’t want her worrying.”

“She won’t if you let me take care of you.” She squeezed his arm. “We’ll get this sorted out and we’ll get you back to work. All right?”

He lifted his eyes and searched hers. She held his gaze. He needed to see that she was confident. He needed to believe in her.

“Okay.”

“Good. I’ll go get Sally Lynn, and we’ll go over things together.”

By the time she finished admitting him, it was almost eleven thirty. She hadn’t had anything to eat since she’d made pancakes and eggs for Flann at six in the morning. Flann had gone home to go to sleep, and her big plans for the day had been to plant a half dozen tomato seedlings in the back garden. That had been put on hold when she’d gotten the call from the PA in the ER who thought John Prince was on the verge of heart failure. After seeing John into the elevator to the ICU, she stopped in the cafeteria to grab lunch. As she carried her tray to a table by the window, she saw Presley sitting alone with a cup of coffee, a half-eaten sandwich, and her iPad. She hesitated, then headed for her.

“Do you mind some company?”

Presley looked up and smiled. “Not at all. Please.” She put her iPad aside. “Just finishing rounds?”

“No, had a patient in the ER to see. You?”

“Just finished up.”

“I guess I can’t talk you into softball?” Harper asked, biting into her turkey club sandwich.

“You’re nothing if not persistent. But no.”

Harper grinned, twisted the top off her bottle of water, and took a swallow, studying Presley. She was dressed for work again—soft pale green shirt with a cream-colored jacket and black trousers. Her makeup was subtle, her hair loose and pushed back behind her ears. She wore a single ring on the ring finger of her right hand, a square-cut dark red stone in a gold band. Simple, elegant. Exactly like her. “Persistence is often rewarded.”

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” Presley said. Charming was an understatement where the Rivers sisters were concerned, but now she was forewarned—and armed. “I do need to know where to get rooster—chicken food, though.”

“For the rooster in the tree?”

“Yes. Well, he’s not in the tree right now. He’s digging around in the yard.”

“It’s summer,” Harper said. “With all the grass and hay around, he’s probably doing pretty well.”

“I was just reading that he should have grit and some corn and high-quality food as well. I have a list already of what I need.”

“You looked that up on the Internet, huh?”

Presley regarded her guardedly. “Yes, why?”

“You realize you could have asked just about anyone here and they would’ve been able to tell you.”

“Number one, I don’t know anyone here except you and your family, and number two…” She shook her head. Harper was far too good at getting her to discuss things she had no intention of discussing. “Never mind.”

“And number two,” Harper said with maddening self-assurance, “you’re used to doing things for yourself.”

Harper was right, and her perceptiveness left Presley feeling uncomfortably exposed. “I suppose, yes, that’s true. Aren’t you?”

“Sure—unless someone knows more than I do and I can save myself time and a headache by asking.”

“That means you have to trust them,” Presley pointed out.

Harper gave her a long look. “It does.”

“Seeing as you weren’t around, I was forced to turn to other sources of information.”

“Does that mean you trust me?”

Presley flushed. Damn it, Harper was doing it again. “Where chickens are concerned.”

Harper laughed. “If you’re done with lunch, I’ll take you to the feed store and we can see about outfitting your rooster.”

“That’s not necessary. If you just tell me—”

“I’d like to,” Harper said.

“If you’re sure, I’d appreciate it.” Presley paused. “In fact, I’d like that too. For Rooster’s sake, of course.”

“Of course.” Harper’s slow-lidded smile sent a shiver down Presley’s spine that she resolutely ignored.

Chapter Fifteen

Presley wandered around a store creatively called Tractor Supply consulting the list on her iPhone of things she needed for Rooster. While she shopped, Harper chatted with one of the clerks at the checkout counter. She paused in one section containing racks of shirts and pants and boots. Who knew you could shop for clothes at the tractor store? She plucked a green-and-white checked shirt from a hanger and held it out. The simple style and bright colors had a certain charm. She laughed to herself, thinking how that would go over in the boardroom matched with a pair of jeans and boots. The memory of Harper looking totally at ease in a plain white shirt and faded jeans reminded her that actions, not the outward trappings of success, were the true measure of ability.

“Looking to expand your wardrobe?” Harper said from behind her.

Presley put the shirt back. “Just…curious.”

“That navy would look good on you.” Harper held up a cotton top with a scooped neck.

She was right. The blue would complement her eyes. Looking at clothes with Harper seemed too familiar, too personal, somehow—as if Harper were mentally dressing or undressing her. The intimacy was unnerving. Growing up, Presley had shopped with her mother and had quickly learned to accept her mother’s choices over her own desires. She’d occasionally shopped with friends in high school until one of the girls was caught shoplifting, and Presley’s parents threatened to freeze her credit cards if she continued with unauthorized purchases. As an adult, she had a regular personal shopper at one of the upscale department stores who would choose an assortment of pieces for her when she called and have them ready for her to try on when she arrived.

She held up the top and had no trouble imagining Harper in a big sunny bedroom, a backdrop of brilliant blue sky outside the window, slowly easing the simple cotton shirt over her head. Of her breasts falling free and Harper’s hands—

“I guess it makes sense to shop here while you’re getting the rest of your supplies.” Presley put the shirt back and quickly walked on with no destination in mind.

“The clothes tend to be better made for hard work,” Harper said when she caught up to her. “And in a lot of cases less expensive than similar things at regular department stores.”

Presley grabbed a pair of women’s work boots. Thankfully, they didn’t conjure the slightest erotic thought in her head. “I’m trying to figure out what I would be doing to need these.”

Harper laughed. “If you had chickens, you might want to wear them while you’re cleaning out the coop.”

“Give me a little time to get my mind around that,” Presley murmured and set the boots down.

“City girl.”

Harper’s tone was teasing and Presley decided she liked it.

“Come on,” Harper said, “there’s something I want to show you.”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

“Then just hold that thought.”

Harper reached out, and for a second Presley thought she was going to take her hand. A flush of pleasure raced through her as she lifted her own, automatically ready to take Harper’s. Harper stilled, that dark unfathomable look back in her eyes. The breath inexplicably stilled in Presley’s chest.