A woman in scrubs came up to her. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m Presley Worth. I’m—”

The woman smiled fleetingly. “Yes, Ms. Worth. I know who you are. I’m the charge nurse. Were you looking for someone?”

“Is Harper here?”

The nurse shook her head, a faintly wry expression on her face. “Believe it or not, she finally left. I told her she was too damn tired to drive, so hopefully she’s taking a nap in one of the on-call rooms.”

“The on-call rooms? Where—”

“Around the corner and down the hall. One’s marked surgery and the other medicine. Usually no one’s in there.”

“How’s Jimmy?”

The nurse sighed. “The fever’s better, but his white count is just about zero. Any kind of infection now…” She glanced into Jimmy’s room, her expression compassionate. “He’s got nothing left to fight with.”

Dread tightened around Presley’s heart. She couldn’t imagine how Don and Emmy must feel. Anger followed close behind the terror. How could this happen? What kind of justice was there in the world where an innocent child… She cut off the fruitless rumination. There were no answers to questions like that. All that could be done was to fight.

“Thank you.” Presley quickly walked away.

A minute later, she stood in front of the door marked medical on-call room, pondering whether to knock. If Harper was sleeping, she shouldn’t bother her. If she was awake, she had no cause to disturb her either. She had no reason to be there at all beyond her need to see Harper, to somehow help. On the other side of the door, a phone rang and then a voice murmured for a few seconds.

When silence fell once more, Presley tapped on the door.

“Who is it?” Harper’s voice was rough and hoarse.

“Harper, it’s Presley. I’m sorry—”

The door opened and Harper stared out at her. She wore a rumpled shirt, and her stethoscope no longer hung around her neck. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face slack. She looked like she’d lost a dozen pounds. The left side of her jaw was swollen and discolored.

“God,” Presley whispered, gently touching the bruise. “That looks awful.”

“Hi.” Harper’s smile was lopsided and just as devastating as ever.

Presley laughed shakily. “Hi. Sorry. You’re trying to sleep, aren’t you?”

“Don’t think I can.”

“Let me drive you home.”

Harper shook her head. “I need to be here in case Jimmy—”

“You can’t take care of him if you’re falling apart. The nurse said he’s stable right now.”

“You checked? How did you know he was in trouble?”

Presley’s face flamed. “I saw his mother yesterday and she told me he was having a rough time. And then I saw your truck and I thought—anyhow…” She took Harper’s hand. “Please let me take you home. Let me take care of you for a change.”

Harper’s shoulders sagged. “You know what? That would be good.”

Presley linked her arm through Harper’s on the way out to her car, almost afraid if she let go, Harper would drift away. As Presley drove, Harper dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Weariness washed off her in waves. Presley reached over and took her hand, needing the contact. Harper’s fingers threaded through hers.

Presley turned carefully into Harper’s drive, trying not to wake her, and slowed by the back porch. “We’re here.”

Harper opened her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You need to be in bed.”

Harper smiled faintly. “I need breakfast, I think.” Her lids slowly closed.

Presley eased out of the car, came around to open the passenger door, and gently shook Harper’s shoulder. “Harper? Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Harper followed without resistance. Presley circled her waist and together they walked in the back door, through the house, and upstairs. The bedroom looked as it had before, neat and orderly and very much Harper. She’d made her bed. Of course she had. When Harper made no move to get into bed, Presley pulled down the sheets. When she turned, Harper was watching her with an expression Presley remembered all too well. Harper had looked at her that way in bed, when she’d been inside her. As if Presley were everything and all that mattered.

“I’ve imagined you back here in my bed,” Harper said quietly. “A thousand times.”

Presley swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Come on. You need some sleep.”

“If I said I needed you—”

Presley pressed her fingers to Harper’s mouth. “Shh. Not now.”

Carefully, Presley unbuttoned Harper’s shirt, helped her shrug it off, and tugged at the white tank underneath. She opened Harper’s trousers and dragged down the zipper. “Get these off and climb into bed.”

Harper braced one hand on Presley’s shoulder, pushed her pants down, and kicked them off along with her shoes. She stood naked, unself-conscious. Harper was beautiful, her throat and arms tanned golden all over, her chest and breasts and belly a creamy beige.

Presley cast desperately about for something to take her focus off Harper’s body. She trembled to touch her. “Should I get you something for your jaw?”

“You could kiss it and make it better.”

“You’re half-dead on your feet, but”—Presley leaned forward, careful not to brush against Harper’s nudity, and kissed the bruise on her cheek—“there. Now, bed.”

Harper dropped onto the bed. Presley pulled the sheet over her and smoothed back her hair. Harper’s eyes were already closing.

“Get some sleep. Sweet dreams.”

Harper’s eyes opened, startlingly clear. “I hope I dream of you.”

Presley’s heart clutched painfully. Leaving her was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Presley’s cell rang a little before six that evening. The readout said private caller, and half expecting a wrong number, she answered absently. “Presley Worth.”

“Presley, it’s Harper.”

Presley rose from the top step where she’d been sitting with a glass of wine, as if standing would somehow give her more control over the excitement surging through her. “You’re awake, although I have no idea how or why. Feeling better?”

“Enormously. I owe you—”

“No, you don’t.” Presley leaned against the porch rail, warmed by the sound of Harper’s voice. Rooster stopped scratching in the dirt where she’d thrown some fruit scraps and eyed her with his small black bead of an eye, as if sensing something important had just happened. Could he tell her blood was racing? “What can I do for you?”

Harper laughed and Presley flushed. Even over the phone Harper’s voice woke something hungry inside her, a delicious hunger she hadn’t known before.

“Ah—” Presley hadn’t been so tongue-tied since the first time a girl in high school had asked her for a date. Come to think of it, not even then. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“I was wondering if we could meet in the morning. There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

“I can’t.”

“Later in the day, then—”

“Harper, I’m flying to Phoenix tomorrow.”

“Phoenix…” Harper was silent. “Are you leaving?”

“Not just yet,” Presley said, sadness softening her voice.

“Tonight? Can I stop by? I know it’s unorthodox and probably an inconvenience—”

Presley half laughed, half sighed. “Harper, really. I think at this point we can dispense with the formality. If you want to talk, by all means come by. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Then come over now. Lila left cornbread and stew that smells delicious. I was just about to eat.”

“That’s hardly necessary, considering I’m barging in on your evening.”

“It’s fine. Please.”

“All right. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Presley disconnected. Fifteen minutes. She looked at the shapeless jeans and plain gray T-shirt she’d thrown on to feed the barn kittens and clean up their corner of the barn. Well, that would never do. She sprinted inside, left her wineglass on the kitchen table, and hurried to the stairs. Carrie was just coming down dressed in her softball gear.

“Coming to the game after all?” Carrie asked.

“Harper’s coming over. Impromptu meeting.”

Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “Here? Must be important. Do you need me?”

“No. You go ahead.”

“I guess Harper won’t be at the game.” Carrie sighed. “There goes my night.”

Presley stopped in the middle of the stairs and stared. “Harper?” she said carefully, fighting the strangest urge to growl. “I didn’t realize you—”

“Teasing, Presley. Teasing.” Carrie laughed. “I don’t have designs on her, and if I had given it a thought—well, I suppose when I first saw her, the thought crossed my mind, I’m sure it crosses every eligible woman’s mind for a few seconds—I certainly wouldn’t be thinking it now. Not when she’s got your scent all over her.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just a figure of speech, but she’s a marked woman. She just doesn’t know it yet. And neither, apparently, do you.”

“You do realize you’re not making any sense.”

Carrie continued downstairs. “I’m making perfect sense, and you’d understand what I’m talking about if you’d stop trying to talk yourself out of it.”

Presley held up a hand. “I don’t have time for cryptic conversation. Have a good game. Be careful.”

“I will.” Carrie paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, Presley?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve never had any trouble leaving your mark at SunView. Maybe you should try that here.”

Presley nodded as if she understood and hurried to her room. In her bedroom, she quickly pulled on black pants and a short-sleeved cobalt-blue shirt, slipped into loafers, and gave her hair a quick brush. After a glance in the mirror, she threw on enough makeup to make her look like she’d been sleeping far better than she had been. She was downstairs in the kitchen when Harper’s truck came down the drive. A few minutes later footsteps on the back porch announced her presence. Presley tried valiantly to ignore the rapid pounding of her heart, but it was hard when the knock came on the screen door and she saw her there, backlit by the setting sun. Something that had been swirling around inside her, uneasy and unsettled, floated into place. For the first time in days, her world brightened.