“This way,” Harper said quietly, her hand slowly falling back to her side.

Presley nodded, knowing she should feel foolish, but she didn’t. For just a few minutes, she wanted to let go of everything she’d been trained to do and want, and just follow her instincts. And her instinct was to follow Harper.

She pushed her oversized cart down rows stacked with big bags of animal and bird feed, through aisles filled with fence posts and stakes and all manner of tools, large and small, watering troughs, and other equipment. Toward the back of the warehouse, waist-high barriers screened off four sections about eight feet square. Harper stopped and pointed into one of them. Presley looked down and caught her breath.

“Oh.” A frightening melting sensation filled her chest.

A dozen fluffy yellow balls, about four inches high with feet, scurried around, pecking at the straw and the crushed feed in a little tin tray with miniature beaks so fragile they didn’t even appear real. Little feathers, coarser and darker, displaced some of the fuzz covering their wings.

“Chicks.” Presley stated the obvious and hoped she sounded less girlish than she felt.

“Yep. They’re the last of the bunch. It’s a little late in the season and these are bigger than they usually are when they go home, but that’s a good thing because you don’t have to be as careful about the temperature as you would if they were hatchlings.”

“They’re really cute.”

Harper cradled one in her hands and passed it to Presley. “Here.”

Having no choice, Presley took it. The feathers were incredibly soft, and its bright black eyes reminded her of Rooster’s, inquisitive and lively. It pecked at her finger and she laughed. “They never stop that, do they?”

“Pretty much never. Chad says if you take half a dozen, they’re yours for five dollars.”

Presley stared at her. “What in the world would I do with half a dozen chickens?”

Harper grinned. “That rooster will know what to do.”

Presley raised a brow. “I imagine that he would. But aside from the obvious, I don’t think we can trust him to take care of all the other matters.”

“Chickens pretty much look after themselves, once they’re a little bigger. I’ll take a look at the coop and get it back into shape for you. Nature will do the rest.”

Reluctantly, Presley put the chick back into the pen. “I can’t. I have no idea how to look after them, and what about when I’m gone?”

“You’ll find someone to take them. Or eat them.”

Presley gasped. “Certainly not.”

“If you change your mind, they’ll be here a few more days.”

“Rooster is quite enough of a responsibility,” Presley said and backed away so she wouldn’t see the milling chicks and could quash the impulse to take them home. “Besides, we have cats in the barn. They might eat them.”

“Barn cats know about chickens. They’d probably be friends.”

For an insane moment, Presley considered it. They were cute and, from her reading, not very much trouble at all. And she’d get eggs… Reason mercifully prevailed. She’d be long gone before these little ones were ready to lay eggs. “No.”

“Okay,” Harper said, her tone suggesting she wasn’t convinced Presley was convinced.

To prove her certainty, Presley pushed her cart hurriedly to the checkout counter.

Once outside, Harper piled the supplies in the back of her pickup truck. “I’ll drive you back to the hospital so you can get your car.”

Presley checked her watch. “Don’t you have softball practice this afternoon?”

Harper nodded.

“Where?”

“Out past my place a bit.” Harper opened Presley’s door for her.

“Thanks.” Presley was used to people opening doors for her, but when Harper did it, she felt special. Harper treated her as if she was all that mattered—as if time had no meaning when they were together. She climbed into the truck and Harper started the engine. “That took longer than I expected. If you drive me back to the hospital, you’re going to be late.”

“That’s okay. I’m having fun.”

So am I. So much fun, she’d lost track of time, something she never did. “Flannery will object, I expect. Just take me home—I’m on your way. I’ll have Lila drive me to get my car when she leaves today.”

“How about I stop home and change, and you come with me to practice. I’ll take you home after and carry this stuff in for you.”

Presley frowned. “Wait. What are you talking about? Why would I go to practice?”

Harper grinned and pointed at the sky. “Saturday afternoon. Blue sky, warm sunshine. It’s a beautiful day. Carrie will be there too. What are you going to do at home?”

“Well, I—” Presley folded her arms, aggravated at being put on the spot, and thought about her usual weekend activities. An hour at the gym in the mornings, an espresso on the way back to her condo, and then catching up on the week’s news on her iPad. By the afternoon, she’d be bored and end up working until the obligatory business or family gathering on Saturday evening. She hadn’t considered what she’d do here on the weekend. The gym was out, since she hadn’t seen anything resembling one in town. She had no plans for the evening and had already worked half a day. She had several books on her iPad she was planning on reading—but that sounded like an excuse, which it wasn’t. Not exactly. “I have quite a few things already planned.”

“Three hours,” Harper said, “counting the trip to your house and mine. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll take you home.”

The idea of relaxing in the sun was oddly appealing. There was nothing waiting for her at the White place except Rooster, and he’d be there later in the day. And spending a few hours watching Harper would be no hardship. “All right, but I want your word that you won’t badger me about playing.”

“I swear.” Harper swung left out of town. “What’s your sport, then?”

“Golf.” Her parents had signed her and Preston up for golf lessons when they were eight, explaining golf was the sport of the business world and that many a deal was brokered on the greens. She didn’t particularly enjoy the game, but she was competitive, and that was enough to make her a good golfer, and her parents were right. She often spent a weekend morning on the greens at her club discussing business with financiers, real estate developers, politicians, and CEOs. “Do you play?”

“No.” Harper rolled down her window and the smell of country wafted in. Hot tar, green fields, livestock. “There’s a public course about ten miles from here. A lot of people around here play. If you miss playing—”

“I don’t.”

Harper glanced at her. “Why do you play, then?”

“It’s good for business.”

“I see.” Harper didn’t sound as if she thought that was much of a reason to do anything.

“I thought all doctors played golf,” Presley said testily.

“A lot do, for the same reasons. But if I’m going to spend time doing something, I’d rather it be for pleasure.”

“Like today.”

Harper glanced over at her. “Yes.”

*

Harper pulled down the drive and stopped in front of her house. Originally the farm manager’s house, the plain two-story wood building was set back a hundred yards from the road with a cornfield beginning another hundred yards beyond her back porch. The barn was out back to the right, her garden to the left, and the chicken coop in between. Chickens roamed across the grass in front of the house. She cut the engine and swung around the front of the cab to hold open Presley’s door just as Presley was climbing down. Harper held out her hand and Presley took it, leaning into Harper as she steadied herself.

Presley looked around, her fingers tightening around Harper’s. “They’re so pretty. And they’re all different.”

Harper pointed out the various chicken species one by one. “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh,” Presley said, laughing. “A chicken aficionado I’m not. I like the white ones with the speckles, though.”

“Mmm, good choice. They’re nice and tender. Roast one up on a Sunday afternoon—” She ducked when Presley swatted at her shoulder. “Seriously, sometimes we do have to eat the livestock. Kids learn that pretty early in life.”

Presley glanced down. She was still holding Harper’s hand. No one else was around, and suddenly, the intimacy was overwhelming. She had no idea what she was doing. Worse, when she was with Harper, she forgot why she’d come to this place where she had no place, where her job put her at odds with everyone, especially this woman who seemed able to make her forget herself with alarming ease. She released Harper’s hand. “It must be very difficult for children, for anyone, to grow fond of an animal and then…”

“Farm kids have to learn that animals, like crops, are part of what keeps a farm going. The smart parents teach their children not to name the animals that will eventually be culled for food or other reasons. The 4-H clubs give the kids a place to bond with their animals and bring their pets to show off. No good parent would sacrifice one of those.”

Presley had wanted a dog. Her parents had said no—they traveled too much, and then there would be prep school. “It’s so different than what I’m used to.”

“What is that?” Harper didn’t care if she was late for softball. She’d been playing all her life and practice was more social outing than anything else. Flannery would give her a hard time, but it wouldn’t risk her position at shortstop. She was still quick and had one of the strongest arms on the team. Flann was a better batter, but then Flann was always the flashier of the two of them.

Right now, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather be doing than standing in her front yard, surrounded by a bunch of clucking chickens, talking to Presley Worth. Presley didn’t know her, but she seemed to want to, and that mattered more than anything else at that moment.