Flann raked a hand through her hair. “Right. Sorry. How’s it look?”

“It’s salvageable. The roof needs shoring up in the back, about a quarter of the slates are gone or broken and need to be replaced, and we’ll need to put on new siding.” Glenn dropped a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Luckily, we’ve got a pretty good crew. As soon as Harper says the word, we’ll get going.”

“I’ll talk to her. Maybe next weekend we can get started.”

“Good enough.”

“Glenn,” Flann added with calm she didn’t feel, “I’m going to head over to my place. Can you grab a ride with Abby when she wakes up?”

Glenn shot Flann an appraising look and nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

Flann turned away as the trio continued to the house. Glenn and Abby—perfect match. Perfect. Duty done. Now she could forget all about Abby and the hot, hard press of Abby’s body cleaving to hers or the way Abby tilted her head to deepen the kiss, guiding Flann right where she wanted her. God, the woman was all flame and sweet temptation. And off-limits.

The barn had taken a beating. The chicken coop they’d built just before the storm hit was miraculously still standing. Sections of roof had blown away but most of the structure remained. Glenn was right. The damage was primarily to the exterior. The barn was worth saving, and they could do it.

“What’s the problem?” Harper said from behind her.

Flann didn’t turn around. “No problem.”

“Didn’t look that way when you were storming down the stairs.”

“Leave it alone, Harp.”

“Something happen with Abby?”

“Nothing happened.” Flann gritted her teeth. “Why don’t you go find your perfect woman and curl up in your perfect house and have perfect sex and leave me the fuck alone?”

Harper debated tackling her, dragging her to the ground, and pummeling her until she talked. It would be faster and probably easier for both of them. However, their mother was in the kitchen, and they’d catch hell if she found out, and she was too damn tired to wrestle anyhow. She stepped up beside Flann and stared at the mess of the barn. “What did you do?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being the family hero?”

“It’s a burden, I’ll admit,” Harper said quietly, “but I’ve learned to bear it.”

Flann barked a laugh. “You ass.”

Harper grinned. “Since we both know I’ve made plenty of mistakes, I’ll take that comment as self-directed. What’d you do?”

Flann gripped a handful of hair and twisted. The pain cleared her head a little but didn’t make her feel any better. “I kissed her.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Harper said. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Now you’re a mind reader as well as a saint?”

“You’ve been practically drooling every time you look at her.”

“Bullshit.”

“Have it your own way. You kissed her. And?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t welcome, and I should’ve known that from the beginning.”

“Did you barge in with your usual lack of finesse? Maybe you just caught her off guard.”

“Fuck you,” Flann said for form, but she couldn’t muster up much heat. “It was a mistake, all right?”

“Why was it a mistake?”

“That should be obvious.”

“Not to me,” Harper said. “You’re single, she’s single, you’ve got the hots for her, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s been sending you a few appreciative looks too.”

“Oh, for chrissakes, Harper. It’s not about hormones.”

Harper stared. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not about wanting to get laid, okay? Abby’s—she’s just not somebody I want to fool around with, okay? She’s got a kid, she’s got a new job, a whole new life to get settled into. Christ, she’s actually got a life. The last thing I want, or she wants—which she made abundantly clear—is for us to get mixed up in anything.”

“I thought you said you just kissed her. Was there a lot more you left out?”

“No.”

“Sounds like a lot of overreacting to me.”

“Look,” Flann said. “It was a bad idea. I know it. She knows it. Won’t happen again.”

“Flann,” Harper said, “if you care—”

“I don’t, okay?” Flann turned and stalked away. “I don’t.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Abby opened her eyes in an unfamiliar room, sunlight washing over her face. The ornate tin ceiling was painted a soothing taupe. A breeze fluttered through the open window, scented sweetly with hay and clover. Had she really slept? She must have. A collage of memories bombarded her. Presley’s farm. The beautiful bedroom. The storm. The long night in the ER and the morning…Flann. Oh God, Flann. Heat stroked through her, settling unerringly in the pit of her stomach. Flann’s kisses—arrogant and unapologetic, simmering and demanding. Her kissing Flann back, just as greedy. Where had the greed, the need, come from? She’d kissed women before, felt desire before, but never such all-consuming hunger. The mindless, endless want haunted her still. Her breasts tingled with the memory of Flann’s hands just barely grazing her flesh. Her clitoris swelled and pulsed. The ache between her thighs grew heavier, an unfamiliar and ecstatic beat. How easy it would’ve been to say yes. Her body was still saying it. Her heart and mind, though, were retreating from emotions and sensations she’d never expected and wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to embrace.

Abby pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the bed. Sometime in her sleep coma she’d shed her clothes. They lay in a heap by the bed. She brushed her hand over her breasts and down her belly, experiencing the swell and planes of flesh as if for the first time. This body, alive with sensation, felt nearly as unfamiliar as the longing that even now rose through her. She hadn’t just opened her eyes in a strange room, she’d awakened in a body transformed to a world that looked and smelled and felt different than the day before. She laughed out loud. Sleeping Beauty indeed, roused from oblivion by a kiss. And in Flann’s case, the handsome prince couldn’t have been handsomer, but Abby’s erstwhile prince had been anything but gentle and refined. More a marauder than a royal courtier, storming the castle to make her claim. Flann had urged her to take, and she had, but she’d wanted to be taken as well.

Come to bed, Flann’s dark eyes commanded.

And Abby’d almost said yes.

“But I didn’t,” Abby whispered. She was no fairy-tale princess, there was no prince in the guise of a drop-dead-gorgeous surgeon coming to save her when she didn’t need saving, and the only fairy-tale ending she needed was a nice stable life with no drama and a secure future for her and her son. And if her body thought otherwise, there were logical reasons for that. She was, after all, living breathing flesh, and she knew very well where desire came from: the pulse of blood, the rush of hormones, the burst of pheromones that ignited neural pathways. All perfectly rational and explainable. No reason to attach any extreme significance to that kiss. Okay, those kisses, plural. Now that she’d had time to slow down, take a metaphorical breath, she was simply aware of sensations she hadn’t had time to acknowledge before. And other than that, life went on just as it had before. Still the same responsibilities, the same obligations, the same plan to fulfill. And right now, that plan included taking care of her son and getting her butt—her naked butt—to work.

Instantly, she saw herself naked in Flann’s arms, and after seeing Flann’s bare legs more than once, she had no trouble imagining the rest of her unclothed. The pounding between her thighs jumped into overdrive. For a millisecond she contemplated sliding back under the sheets and finishing the fantasy with her hand between her thighs.

Wonderful. Now she’d regressed to the age of fourteen. When exactly had she lost all control of her senses?

Resolutely, she gathered up the crumpled scrubs and prayed the bathroom was nearby. A shower would make all the difference. At this point, she’d even try a cold shower and see if the old adage was true. Spending the rest of the day in a state of unrequited arousal was not her idea of fun. She halted at the end of the bed and took in the small wicker basket someone had placed just inside the door with a neat stack of scrubs and an array of toiletries. She opened the folded note atop the pile.

Bathroom is across the hall on your right. I thought you could use these. Talk to you later, Pres.

“I’m going to kiss you for this.” Abby quickly pulled on the old scrubs, picked up the basket, and dashed across the hall to the bathroom. The doors up and down the hall were closed and she couldn’t help wondering if Flann slept behind one of them. As soon as the thought occurred to her, she saw Flann and Carrie wrapped up together. The image prompted a mental snarl, and she twisted the shower dial hard enough to send a blast of water splashing onto the tiles outside the enclosure. She yanked off the old scrubs, pushed them into a clothes hamper in the corner, and stepped under the spray.

After the first few minutes with her arms braced on the wall and hot water beating a tattoo on her back, she started to think rationally again. She’d sent Flann on her way, not that she’d really had any choice. They couldn’t very well have sex in Presley’s house with half the hospital plus Flann’s parents and her son in attendance! That was beside the point anyhow—she didn’t want to have sex with Flann. Okay, she did, but not in the real world. Just in the little slice of fantasy world that had bled over into hers when she wasn’t looking. Flann and Carrie were a much better match—hell, Flann had practically described Carrie when she’d said what she was looking for in a woman. Bright, beautiful, sexy, and not ready to settle down. If Flann had pulled her Prince Charming routine on Carrie, all the better.