“Aha.” For the first time in her life Mari wished she’d been more into sports instead of clothes when she’d been a teenager. “Sorry. I’m out.”

Glenn laughed. “No problem—we’ll still feed you, but it is a requirement that you come and cheer us on.”

“And when and where would this cheering take place?”

“Usually Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. I’ll take you over to the field the first time.”

“You’re kidding. You play that many games?”

“Only during the spring and summer,” Glenn said seriously.

“That has to be, like, dozens of games.”

“Well, sure. And then there are the playoffs and the finals and the championship game. That winds up by late August.”

“Okay, I can see this is a really big deal around here.”

“Don’t you have sports where you come from?”

“I suppose we do,” Mari said, “but I’ve never paid much attention to it. The professional sports you see on television are so commercialized.”

“What about those five brothers of yours, didn’t they play sports?”

“In high school, sure, and I did go to most of their games. Basketball and soccer. No baseball, though.”

Glenn shook her head. “Philistines.”

Mari smiled. “I hereby promise to be a devoted champion of your team.”

“Your support will be greatly appreciated.” Glenn glanced at her watch. “And I guess it’s time for us to get to it.”

“Thanks again for taking the lecture this morning,” Mari said as she gathered up her things. “I really would’ve been beat if I’d had to stay up much longer.”

“Not a problem.” Glenn searched her face. “You’re okay for a full shift? Over the jet lag?”

“I’m absolutely fine,” Mari said, certain from the glimpse of worry in Glenn’s gaze she’d been right to keep some things to herself. “Let’s go clear the board.”

*

Abby tapped on Presley’s door at a little before eight. She knew Presley would be in, since she kept longer hours than most of the staff. She was behind her desk with her laptop open, her cell phone by her right hand, an iPad propped up against a stack of folders, and a supersize coffee in her left hand. She looked, as always, impeccable in a navy silk blazer and open-collared white silk shirt. A multistrand gold necklace rested just below her collarbone and a square-cut diamond glittered on the ring finger of her left hand. Her blond hair was swept back from her face and fell to just above her shoulders in thick easy waves. She smiled when she saw Abby peer in the doorway. “Hey, come on in.”

“Busy? Of course you are busy.” Abby made for the chair across from Presley. “How many worlds have you conquered this morning already?”

“Only a few,” Presley said, laughing. “What’s going on? Problem in the unit?”

“No, the ER’s fine. Well, we could always use more money, more personnel, more space—” Abby grimaced. “Really, we’re full most of the time and believe me, I’m glad for it, but if we increase our trauma call, we are badly going to need more rooms. Plus the MRI…”

“I’m working on it.”

“Believe me, I know that and I’m appreciative,” Abby said. “This is something personal. It won’t take long.”

Presley immediately sat forward, pushing aside her computer as if whatever major undertaking she’d just been involved in was completely unimportant to her. Her gaze fixed on Abby. “Is something wrong between you and Flann?”

“No, God no. Everything’s fine.” She blushed. “Ridiculous, I know, but perfect is the word I use in my head.”

“Blake is okay?”

“Blake is thriving. Somehow”—she shook her head—“he’s talked me into letting him and Margie volunteer in the ER this summer. If you and Harper agree.”

“I’ll discuss it with Harper and legal, but I don’t see a problem there.” Presley grinned. “The two of them are scary when they get their heads together.”

“Thank God it’s good scary.”

“Amen. So—what do you need?”

Abby didn’t have much time and she knew Presley didn’t either. “Flann wants to get married.”

“Of course she does, she’s more of a nester than Harper and doesn’t have a clue,” Presley said. “She took one look at you and Blake and knew where she belonged.”

Abby’s heart lurched. She hadn’t ever expected to need anyone the way she needed Flann, the way she loved her—body and soul. “She has been using the M-word from day one.”

“And is there a problem?” Presley’s question was gentle. “I know we lost touch for a while, but I think I can read happy all over you.”

“Oh no—I mean, yes, I couldn’t be happier. It’s just that you know Flann—her idea of a proposal is let’s get married and today would be time enough.”

Presley laughed. “Yeah, that’s Flann.”

“I’ve managed to hold her off for a month or so, but I don’t want this to interfere with what you and Harper have planned. After all, you got there first, so to speak.”

“Abby,” Presley said with a shake of her head, “I think it’s great. Harper will be beside herself. And so will Edward and Ida. Besides, I can’t wait to help plan your wedding.”

“Oh, please, anything you can do. Everything.” Abby pushed a hand through her hair, relief pouring through her. “I don’t know anything about weddings.”

“We’ll be old hands at it by the time Harper and I get around to it in—God, is it really only two weeks? We’ve got so much to do, we need another meeting.”

“Brunch this weekend?”

“At the latest.”

“I’ll gather the troops and let everyone know where and when.” Abby stood. “Thank you, thank you.”

Presley came around her desk and gave Abby a quick hug. “I am so happy for you. Flann is fabulous.”

“I really love her,” Abby said quietly. “And so does Blake.”

“Well, Flann is lucky to have you both. Is it a secret?”

“I don’t think Flann has told her parents yet, and we haven’t told Blake, so I’d keep it quiet for a while.”

Carrie said from the doorway, “Keep what quiet?”

Abby looked over her shoulder. “Flann and I are getting married.”

Carrie gave a little victory wiggle. “Good for you. Congratulations. Oh boy, another wedding!”

Abby thought about all she had to do in the ER, and her son who still had to find his way emotionally, physically, and in the community, and stemmed the rising panic. “Oh boy, indeed.”

Chapter Eleven

The board was full all morning and Mari ran from cubicle to cubicle seeing patients, checking on the students, and tracking down Abby or another ER doc for final sign-off on her own and the students’ cases. They were good students, responsible and caring, but they were still students. They had no idea what they didn’t know and were flush with coming out of the classroom where they thought they had learned everything there was to know. She’d felt the same way her first few days on her clinical rotations. Around eleven thirty, a quick wave of dizziness when she stood up after spending a precious fifteen minutes at a table in the little break room with a cup of tea while charting her last discharge notes reminded her she hadn’t had anything to eat since the croissant and coffee at six in the morning. She really did need to pay more attention to eating. She couldn’t do much about fretful sleeping or her frenetic pace in the ER—that was the job, after all—but she could at least try to eat. Her appetite still was nothing like it used to be, and some flavors and smells had gone off for her completely. Thank God, she still loved pizza.

Thinking about pizza made her think of Glenn, and she got that odd little twinge of heat in the center of her chest that seemed to be happening every time she thought of her or heard her voice in the hall outside a curtained room or caught a glance of her, leaning a shoulder casually against the wall while conferring with Abby or one of the students. She always looked so confident, so focused, so…sexy. Oh, hell. She had no time for out-of-the-blue thoughts like that, and no place for what they might lead to. Not for a long, long time.

Lunch. Then back to work. Just as she dropped the chart into the outbox at the nurses’ station, Antonelli stormed around the corner as if leading an assault on some enemy encampment, his usual pace, and flagged her down. She wasn’t actually assigned to him as a supervisor, but for whatever reason, he’d decided she was his go-to person. She didn’t mind, she liked teaching.

He loomed over her, two hundred twenty pounds of barely constrained muscle and testosterone to her one twenty. “Hey, Mari, I’ve got a hot appy that needs to go up to the OR. I’m going to call the surgeon, okay?”

“Whoa, take five there, soldier.”

“Marine.” His tone suggested high insult.

“Okay, marine.” Mari gestured to an out-of-the-way corner where they could talk without patients overhearing them. “Run it down for me.”

He looked annoyed, his dark brows lowering for an instant, but he followed her out of the way of hall traffic. Although he was impatient and cocky, he respected the chain of command, and she respected him for that. He was smart, maybe the smartest of the bunch, but he was quick on the draw, a result undoubtedly of his military experience. She refrained from reminding him this wasn’t the battlefield, and every decision didn’t have to be made between one heartbeat and the next. She didn’t discount his field experience and what he had learned from it, but a civilian ER was a different kind of battlefield, and sometimes, careful surveillance and planning was just as important as the ability to rapidly assess and respond.

“It’s textbook,” Antonelli said in his usual confident and moderately dismissive voice as soon as they were alone. “Twenty-five-year-old female, twelve hours of progressively increasing right lower-quadrant pain, nausea, low-grade temp.”

“White count?” Mari asked.