All her life, Harper had been known by everyone. When she started going on rounds with her father, everyone knew her father and her mother and her, even though they’d never met. Her story was known before she’d even lived it. Most of the time she didn’t mind, but sometimes the familiarity left her feeling invisible. With Presley, she felt completely new, and when Presley looked at her, she felt solid and seen. She wanted to tell her everything, from the silliest stories of her childhood to what it meant to her to have the faith of her patients and her community. She wanted to tell her what mattered, what lived inside her.

“It’s a long story,” Presley said, “and you’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care,” Harper murmured and moved a step closer. Presley’s hand came to rest on her chest and her eyes widened, full of questions. Her fingers curled into Harper’s shirt.

“Harper, this isn’t—”

Harper kissed her, there in the hot summer sun under a blue, blue sky with the sounds and scents of life all around them. She gently stroked Presley’s forearm, reveling in the soft, silky texture of her skin. Presley’s lips were even softer, satin against her own, tempting her senses. Presley’s mouth slid softly over hers until their lips fit perfectly. The breeze was cool and fresh against the back of her neck, and every sensation was magnified a thousand times. She didn’t need to breathe. She was more alive than she’d ever been, never having known until this moment she’d been sleepwalking, waiting for the woman whose kiss would taste like eternity. Hunger exploded, sending fiery need raging through her. She slid her arm around Presley’s waist, pulled her closer, and pressed her mouth harder to Presley’s, wanting more. Presley’s palm pushed back against her chest, pushing her away. The kiss dissolved, leaving Harper with only the sound of her own breathing harsh in her ears.

“Harper, no,” Presley said softly.

Harper let her go, stepped back, searched for words in her addled mind. “I…seem to have forgotten myself.”

Presley drew a deep breath and waited a second for the swirling in her head to dissipate. She hadn’t moved, at least she didn’t think she had, but she had no memory of how she’d ended up in Harper’s arms. She remembered exactly how that had felt. Her body still tingled with the memory. Harper’s body had been hard, hot, powerful and for an instant, Presley surrendered. Surrendered, something she never, ever did. In a heartbeat, every instinct spurred her to fight back. To fight the wanting and the longing and the insanity of that kiss. When she was sure her voice was steady, she said, “You are an excellent kisser, Harper.”

Harper’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Even if uninvited?”

“Invitation was not required, and to say I didn’t enjoy it would be a lie.” She made herself smile, made her voice lighten. “Let’s chalk it up to”—she gazed around, pointed to the sky as Harper had before—“the effect of this incredibly beautiful day.”

“All right,” Harper said, her voice husky. “We can try that.”

“I’ll wait out here while you change your clothes.”

“Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

Presley bristled. “Of course not. A kiss is not an assault. It’s flattering. And enjoyable. And you, you are a gentleman.”

Harper laughed but her face was strained. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Presley would not allow Harper to accept blame where there was none. She wasn’t even sure she hadn’t somehow invited that kiss, although she would be sure not to again. “And I’m willing to bet there’s iced tea in your refrigerator.”

“Am I my mother’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Presley said, “and your father’s.”

“We can’t forget that, can we?”

“I’m afraid not, Dr. Rivers.”

Chapter Sixteen

Presley sat on Harper’s back porch with a glass of iced tea while the chickens that had followed her around the corner waddled back and forth across the yard. She’d sat on more porches the last few days than she ever had in her life and was beginning to see the value of letting one’s mind drift in the sunlight or the twilight. Today, though, nothing was going to settle her mind, or her body for that matter. Harper was inside changing, and Presley was grateful for the few minutes alone to try to collect herself. The kiss had taken her off guard. She’d been kissed before, but never in her recollection when she wasn’t expecting it. Kisses were not something that happened unless she decided they would. Maybe it was only the element of surprise that had made the kiss so incendiary, so overpowering. Maybe she was only shaken because she hadn’t prepared herself the way she usually did, hadn’t weighed and considered what would naturally follow, hadn’t already decided that more, for an evening at least, would be pleasant. She hadn’t chosen to be kissed.

There had been nothing pleasant about Harper’s kiss. Pleasant was a far too inadequate word for what had happened when their lips touched. The heat, the force of it, had surged through her, knocking barriers aside like floodwaters careening over parched land, deluging everything in its path. She’d been helpless to stop and desperate for more, opening like the crevices in a thirsty earth, aching to be filled until she overflowed. She’d known desire she hadn’t imagined possible. She was no blushing virgin, but thinking about the way she’d responded to just a simple kiss brought heat to her cheeks and everywhere else. She pressed the cool, sweating glass to her forehead and closed her eyes.

What a monumental misstep. Of all the people in this town, Harper Rivers was probably the worst person she could have become involved with. She’d practically compromised herself professionally, something that had never happened, not once in her life. Not that anything between them, friendship or more, would make a difference to her decision-making, but it was simply bad form. And worse than that, she’d let things get out of hand with someone she genuinely liked. Harper was funny, warm, attentive, and mesmerizing in her intensity. She was honest and strong. And damnably sexy.

When she could think a little more clearly, she’d need to find a way to extricate herself gracefully from a relationship that was moving too fast, without alienating Harper. If only the spinning sensation in her head and the hungry churning in her middle would go away.

The door behind her opened, and Harper emerged. Presley took in the long length of bare legs, tight black athletic shorts, and a sleeveless T-shirt that molded to Harper’s lean body. Her breasts were subtle curves beneath the cotton, an invitation Presley refused to acknowledge despite the dryness in her throat and tightness in her depths. Harper’s eyes were dark and brooding again. Her hair was tousled, and Presley had an inexplicable urge to run her fingers through it, to tousle it even more. She rose and held out the empty tea glass. “As good as your mother’s.”

Harper smiled for an instant. “That’s because it is.”

“You like living so close to them, don’t you.”

“Far enough for privacy, close enough to stay in touch.”

Presley nodded as if she understood, although she didn’t. “I see my family regularly. The times are in my appointment book.”

Harper’s gaze softened, her mouth gentled. “No one ever had to tell me family came first. It’s just always been.”

“I’m not sure I’d be good with anyone so close, so inside.”

“I can’t imagine being without it.”

“Is that what you want? For your life.”

“Yes.” The shadows fled Harper’s eyes. “A wife, a big house, at least four kids, a few dogs, a couple of cats, chickens—”

Presley laughed and held out her hand. “Yes, I see. You are your father’s daughter.”

“And my mother’s.”

“Yes.” Presley felt a little better. A little more grounded. They were so wrong for each other. She was right in stopping things at a kiss. “We should go so you aren’t any later.”

The drive to the baseball field took less than ten minutes, and they didn’t make conversation on the drive. Presley spent the time divided between looking out the window at the endless stretch of green, a color she still couldn’t quite get used to in so many varieties and abundance, and watching Harper’s hands as she drove. Her hands were sure and strong, her fingers long and slender. As Harper’s hand cupped the head of the gearshift, Presley remembered the press of Harper’s palm against the center of her back, the hold possessive and unquestionable. She rarely let herself be possessed, even during sex. She didn’t mind aggressive lovers, as long as no one thought to dominate her. Yet she’d welcomed the subtle control in Harper’s hand drawing her closer, gone willingly into the inferno of Harper’s embrace. She’d thrilled to Harper’s power.

“Do you still want to stay?” Harper asked quietly as they approached the field.

“Of course.” Presley smiled. To leave now would be to admit the kiss had unsettled her, and confessing weakness was not in her makeup.

“Good.” Harper pulled in at the end of a long line of vehicles, mostly pickup trucks and SUVs of one kind or another. She turned on the seat to face Presley. “There’s sunscreen in the glove box in front of you. If you weren’t planning on being outside today, you might need it.”

“You’re right, I will. Thanks.” She smeared some of the lotion on her face and bare arms, aware that Harper was watching her as she did. She liked it when Harper looked at her. She hurriedly finished and put the lotion away.

Harper came around to open her door, and she climbed down. Harper guided her with a hand on her arm but moved away as soon as they started for the field. Harper carried her glove and had pulled on a worn blue baseball cap that sat low on her forehead and shaded her eyes. All Presley could see was her mouth, and that was the last place she wanted to look. She studied the ball field instead. A big mesh backstop stood behind home plate. Two sets of bleachers faced the field on opposite corners and, surprisingly, were half-full of people, some with coolers, babies in strollers, or umbrellas for shade. Obviously, watching practice was a form of entertainment for more than those who were actually playing. The team was mixed men and women, about fifty-fifty as far as she could tell.