“If you weren’t considering her, you would have told her no already,” Reese pointed out reasonably.

“It’s not like I have a lot of options. I have to come back to work. I want to come back to work. But I don’t want to spend any more time away from you and the baby than I absolutely have to.” Tory blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re right. I do need the help. Dan is leaving tomorrow, and we’re busier than we’ve ever been.” She smiled, her eyes bright. “And in case you’ve forgotten, Sheriff, you and I are getting married in a few months.”

Reese grinned. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Jean and Kate have been wonderful about handling a lot of the arrangements, but there are still things I’m going to need to do myself. Plus, my parents will be coming in.” Tory shook her head. “God, I can’t think about all of that right now.”

“You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“I know. But the fact remains, with me going back to work now, it’s going to be a strain.”

“And KT is available.”

“Yes.” Tory sighed. “She’s ready to start tomorrow.”

“If it doesn’t work out, there’s no reason you can’t just tell her so.”

“I know.”

“But if she hurts you,” Reese said quietly, “even just by being here, she goes.”

“You’re really all right about it?”

“I want you to have help. She’s here and she’s competent,” Reese shrugged. “Seems like the thing to do.” She didn’t add that it might finally be the opportunity for Tory to truly put that part of her past behind her.

Tory moved away from the desk and back to Reese. She placed her palms flat against Reese’s chest and leaned into her, her thighs pressed to Reese’s as she kissed her. With her lips still close to Reese’s mouth, she murmured, “And if anything about this hurts you, in any way, I’ll send her away.”

Reese slid her arms around Tory’s waist and kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, and finally her lips. “While I have you, nothing can hurt me.”

Pia looked up from the copy of the operative report that KT had provided, her gaze unblinking. While she’d read, her face had revealed none of the compassion or sympathy she’d felt at witnessing the impersonal record of a woman’s destruction. The harm was done; it was her job to undo it. “You haven’t started any physical therapy yet?”

“No,” KT replied. She was sitting at the kitchen table in front of the open back door, sipping iced tea and regarding the hand therapist intently. “I’ve only been out of the cast a few days.”

“How much pain are you having?”

KT shrugged. “It’s tolerable.”

“It’s important that I know,” Pia continued reasonably, “Otherwise, it’s difficult for me to fashion the appropriate treatment plan.”

“Seven out of ten,” KT grudgingly informed her.

Pia nodded, although she was willing to bet that the surgeon was underestimating her level of discomfort. She’d never met a surgeon without a healthy dose of machismo. Sometimes, in situations like this, that turned out to be unhealthy. The worst thing that could happen in the aftermath of this type of injury would be to rapture one of the tendon repairs or avulse one of the reconnected nerves, and that could happen if the patient or the therapist pushed too hard or too fast. Such an event at this point would almost certainly guarantee a permanent loss of function, and for a surgeon, any loss of function was going to prevent her from resuming her career.

“I anticipate that you’re looking at three to six months, possibly longer, of intensive therapy.”

“Understood.” KT planned to make her stay in therapy as short as possible. She’d work the program the therapist designed for her, and she’d work it hard. She didn’t intend to be disabled for very long.

“We’ll need to meet daily for the first six weeks,” Pia added.

Again, KT nodded. “Whatever you say.”

“I can see you here, but the schedule might be slightly erratic depending upon my responsibilities in Hyannis. I don’t work a regular shift there, although I go in nearly every day.”

“As long as I have a few days’ notice, I’ll fit myself into your schedule.” KT hoped she wasn’t being overly optimistic making these arrangements. After all, Tory hadn’t said that she would hire her. Still, she’d seen the look in Tory’s eyes. It wasn’t the sympathy that she cared about or even the anger that she’d seen every other time she’d looked into her former lover’s eyes. It had been that brief moment of tenderness, that precious instant when the past had faded and they had been nothing more than two women who cared about one another. The connection, no matter how fleeting, had felt so strong that it had obliterated the long years of loneliness and confusion. At least for her.

Pia tilted her head and smiled. “Are you always so accommodating, Dr. O’Bannon?”

KT smiled, but her eyes remained flat and without humor. “No.”

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“What’s wrong with today?”

Pia laughed. “Let’s say 9 a.m. Just leave me your number in case something comes up.”

KT provided her with her cell number and then rose. “Thank you.”

“Where are you staying?” Pia asked as she walked KT to the door.

“I’ve got a room at the Crown Point until I can find a condo to rent.”

Pia was about to offer a few suggestions about finding a place, and then thought better of it. It was usually best to keep things on a purely professional level, especially when a woman was as dangerously attractive as this one.

“Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Dr. O’Bannon.”

“Please, call me KT.”

“And I’m Pia.”

“Thank you.” KT looked into the deep brown eyes and smiled. “Pia.”

Pia steadfastly ignored the slight flutter of her heart as she watched her newest client walk up the flagstone walkway and disappear down the street. She wasn’t particularly worried about her reaction. She had a heartbeat, and that’s all it would take to find KT O’Bannon attractive. But she’d had quite a few years of practice being attracted without becoming involved, and she had no intention of changing that now.

Chapter Eight

KT walked east on Commercial Street back toward the center of town. It was mid afternoon on the Friday of Labor Day weekend, and she had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Despite her many years in Boston, she’d crossed Cape Cod Bay only rarely to visit the small village that had begun as a thriving Portuguese fishing community, evolved into a center for avant-garde artists in the early twentieth century, and finally emerged as a Mecca for gays and lesbians. She hadn’t visited at all since learning that Tory had settled there after their separation. She’d always expected that Tory would eventually return to Boston, believing that the quiet life of a small-town doctor could not possibly satisfy her for long. They had chosen different specialties, but they’d both been aggressive, determined physicians at the top of their respective fields when they’d shared a life.

Standing in front of Spiritus Pizza, surveying the narrow, crowded streets that teemed with tourists, gay and straight, she was struck by the energy humming in the air and wondered if she might have been wrong about what the tiny town had to offer. Wrong about that, as she had been about so many things. She shook off the questions that she had long since tired of asking, having no answers, and turned toward the sound of music on the opposite side of the street. The heavy beat of dance music emanated from the Pied, which she vaguely recalled had once been called the Pied Piper.

She smiled to herself, appreciating the irony, as she abruptly crossed to the wood deck pathway that led to the front door. When she saw the two young women in white T-shirts and jeans seated at a small table just inside, she grimaced and reached for her wallet. Another fumble-fest. Still, she managed to get the money out with reasonable aplomb and slid a twenty into her front pocket along with the change from her cover charge so that she wouldn’t have to take her wallet out again. Her fingertips brushed the small pills, and she considered taking another one. The heat and the walk with her arm hanging down had caused her fingers to swell and throb viciously. There were only two tablets left out of the six she had counted out that morning. She made her way through the surprisingly large afternoon crowd to the bar and ordered a drink instead.

“Thanks,” KT said with a nod to the stocky butch in the baseball cap behind the bar. She took a long pull on the draft beer, welcoming the slightly bitter aftertaste as the cold brew washed away some of the heat and dust of her morning. Perhaps after another, it would wash away some of the pain as well.

The large rear deck was visible through the oversized open window that connected the far end of the bar to the outside space, allowing those enjoying the sea and the sun to refill their drinks without coming back inside. Briefly, KT considered joining the women for a look at the sailboats on the harbor and the kayakers traversing the inlet in their red and yellow shells. Thinking about the water and the paddlers made her think of Tory and all the meets they’d been to. And then she saw again, as clearly as the day it happened, the final heat that Tory ever raced saw the other scull blindsiding Tory’s and the splintering shell, heard the screams, and relived those few agonizing seconds when she’d feared Tory would never surface. Her stomach clutched, her entire left side erupted into pain, and without even thinking, she reached for one of the two last pills. She washed it down with the beer and decided to stay inside in the cool darkness of the bar, away from the water.

“That looks nasty,” a redhead about KT’s age observed as she leaned against the bar and indicated KT’s arm with a tilt of her chin. “Cut the tendons?”