© 2015 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-571-8

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: November 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

By Radclyffe

Romances

Innocent Hearts

Promising Hearts

Love’s Melody Lost

Love’s Tender Warriors

Tomorrow’s Promise

Love’s Masquerade

shadowland

Passion’s Bright Fury

Fated Love

Turn Back Time

When Dreams Tremble

The Lonely Hearts Club

Night Call

Secrets in the Stone

Desire by Starlight

Crossroads

Homestead

Against Doctor’s Orders

Prescription for Love

Honor Series

Above All, Honor

Honor Bound

Love & Honor

Honor Guards

Honor Reclaimed

Honor Under Siege

Word of Honor

Code of Honor

Price of Honor

Justice Series

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Shield of Justice

In Pursuit of Justice

Justice in the Shadows

Justice Served

Justice For All

The Provincetown Tales

Safe Harbor

Beyond the Breakwater

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Storms of Change

Winds of Fortune

Returning Tides

Sheltering Dunes

First Responders Novels

Trauma Alert

Firestorm

Oath of Honor

Taking Fire

Short Fiction

Collected Stories by Radclyffe

Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace

Radical Encounters

Edited by Radclyffe:

Best Lesbian Romance 2009-2014

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets

Breathless: Tales of Celebration

Women of the Dark Streets

Amore and More: Love Everafter

Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales

By L.L. Raand

Midnight Hunters

The Midnight Hunt

Blood Hunt

Night Hunt

The Lone Hunt

The Magic Hunt

Shadow Hunt

Acknowledgments

Like a lot of teenagers (especially those who don’t quite fit for one reason or another), I couldn’t wait to leave home, get to college, and be myself. That road took me a few states away from my small upstate New York village to Philadelphia and a busy career in surgery I enjoyed (mostly). I’ve been back almost ten years this December, thirty miles from where I grew up—living on a farm, no less. Last night I went a few miles down the road to the county fair, the very same one my parents took me to every single summer when I was a kid. The fair is still one of my favorite summer events and I still eat too much awful wonderful fair food. I just finished this book a few weeks ago, and everything I love about living here is in it—the sights, the sounds, the unpredictable weather, the beauty, and quite a few of the people. Nowhere is perfect, and every community has problems, but I wouldn’t want to live or work anywhere else. I do wish sometimes I could have been a doctor at the Rivers back when it was first built in the early 1900s—but for that there’s always fiction. I hope you enjoy the Rivers community as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

Many thanks go to: senior editor Sandy Lowe for shouldering much of the important daily BSB work so I can stay on deadline, editor Ruth Sternglantz for a keen ear and knowing eye, editor Stacia Seaman for amazing “catches” books after book, Sheri Halal for a super cover, and my first readers Paula, Eva, and Connie for encouragement and inspiration.

And as always, thanks to Lee for being her. Amo te.

To Lee, for making life a surprise

CHAPTER ONE

Abby studied Blake’s brooding profile and feared she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. A week ago they’d been living in New York City, and now she’d uprooted them from friends and community and transplanted them to a rural town in upstate New York. She might as well have teleported them to another planet. “I’ve got to get to the hospital. Are you going to be all right here alone today?”

Blake turned from the window, his blue eyes stormy. “Sure.”

She’d gotten used to monosyllabic responses, ever since she’d told him about the new job and what that meant. She hadn’t expected him to take well to the news, and to be fair, their conversations had dwindled to quick exchanges about schedules and appointments ever since Blake’s fourteenth birthday. He’d been having a tough time at school the past year, but that didn’t mean he was eager to leave his classmates and the excitement of Manhattan. She’d hoped this new place would be safer for him, but maybe physical safety wasn’t the only thing that mattered. And she’d be late if she didn’t hurry, but she couldn’t just leave him looking so lost. Maybe he was fifteen and hugs were history, but he needed to know he was not alone. “What are you going to do today?”

“I guess walk around, check the place out.” He smiled, more a grimace than anything else. “That ought to take me an hour or so.”

“The movers will be here with the rest of the boxes and the big pieces this afternoon. You can get your room set up.”

“We’re going to get cable, right?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Abby breathed. “We’re not exactly in a third-world country.”

“Are you certain?” Blake looked out the window again and Abby pictured their backyard, a sweeping expanse of green, more a meadow than a lawn, that meandered down to a clear-water creek. The creek twisted through stands of oak and evergreens and separated their property from a cornfield, at least she thought it was corn. Right now all she could see were rows and rows of five-inch-high green stalks. She imagined in the summer they’d be surrounded by whatever was growing out there, like shipwrecked sailors marooned on a desert island. Still, she’d been happy they’d been able to get anything on such short notice, and the renovated old schoolhouse had a quirky charm she liked.

“We’ll get used to it,” she said, fervently hoping that was true.

“Sure,” Blake repeated with a lift of his shoulder.

“I’ll call you. Keep your phone with you.” Abby kissed his cheek. His face was so smooth, almost baby soft still, but that would change soon too. Abby firmly reminded herself they’d cross those bridges when the time came. All children changed, and she could handle it. She’d survived when he’d cut his hair without telling her. Now she was used to the short sides and long floppy top with the dark strands always falling into his eyes. He was a beautiful boy. Her boy. “There’s money in the cookie jar if you need it.”

“Sure.” Blake didn’t look over as she walked out the door, but just as the screen closed behind her, she heard his soft “Thanks, Mom.”

Good enough for starters.

Abby started down the short gravel drive, past the picket fence in need of a coat of paint that marked their front yard, and headed into town. The two-lane through the village was divided by a fading yellow line and bordered on both sides by three- and four-story buildings with ornate cornices, tall narrow windows, and deep porches fronting the stores. One out of three of those storefronts was shuttered and empty. Ten minutes later, she turned in between two stone pillars, one bearing a brass plaque reading Argyle Community Hospital, and drove up a winding road between groves of apple trees. She slowed as an ivy-covered red brick building with a white colonnaded entrance and two symmetrical wings extending out in a lazy U came into view on the hillside above the village. A rolling grassy lawn studded with shrubs and flower beds edged the circular drive in front. A pretty place with tall, gracious windows and an air of peace and tranquility. Not the feelings she usually associated with a hospital, but then this was nothing like NYU Medical Center—or any hospital she’d ever trained at.

Following the signs to the visitors’ lot, she drove around the front oval and parked. The lot was mostly empty at seven in the morning. She pulled on the navy blazer she’d stowed in the passenger seat, grabbed her briefcase, and walked the short distance to the main entrance. The expansive lobby with its high-domed ceiling, dark walnut paneling, and rows of oil paintings of solemn-faced men looked as if it hadn’t changed in two hundred years. It probably hadn’t.

No one manned the reception desk at the moment, but a discreet sign saying ER pointed to a doorway set into an alcove. She walked through and was immediately ensconced in the familiar sights and sounds of a busy hospital. The hallway was lit with overhead fluorescents and the walls were painted the familiar institutional beige, although surprisingly adorned with carved wainscoting and, here and there, an honest-to-God oil painting. The speckled gray-tiled floors were worn in two parallel rows from decades of stretchers and wheelchairs traveling down them.