"Well doesn't she make an interesting picture," Mina said softly.

"Would that be your Dr. Hotty Pants?"

"Mina," Wynter hissed, "for God's sake...she'll hear."

"Ooh, she's a real looker. I bet plenty of men have been brokenhearted to find out she plays for the other team."

Pearce glanced up to the porch idly, then fixed on Wynter and waved. "Hey."

"Hey." Wynter waved back, unable to put the image of Pearce--in low-slung black jeans, scuffed brown boots worn down at the heels, and olive-green army jacket with faded patches where the insignia had once been--together with a man. It didn't seem right. "You think? She doesn't seem like the type guys would go for."

"It's not what she's wearing, honey, it's her face. She's beautiful- and I bet she's got a body to match under that bad-boy get up."

"She does. And I think she looks great exactly the way she is,"

Wynter said. Pearce was just Pearce. An attractive, desirable woman where everything fit just the way it should. Her looks, her brains, her spirit. Her charm. Oh my God. What am I thinking.

"Did I say she didn't?" Mina gave her a look, then ambled over to the porch rail and called down. "You sure you want to get mixed up with these crazy men, honey?"

"I figure someone needs to keep them out of trouble," Pearce called back.

Mina laughed. "Well, good luck. You'll need it."

Wynter joined Pearce on the sidewalk while Mina headed for Wynter's new house. "You made it."

"Just in time, it looks like."

"I'm going to direct traffic inside. If you get tired, don't feel you need to stay--"

"Are you kidding? These are a bunch of anesthesiologists and internists, for crying out loud. They'll quit a long time before me." She scanned the porch, looking for the glimpse of Wynter's life that she didn't know. "Where's your daughter?"

"Upstairs with Mina's sister and Ken and Mina's kids. I'll introduce you later--if you want."

"Sure. I'd like that." She turned when Ken called her name. "Time for me to flex my muscles."

Impulsively, Wynter grasped her arm. "Be careful, okay?"

Pearce laughed. "No sweat. I'll see you later."

Wynter sidled around the tailgate and joined Mina inside. The three-story Victorian, renovated by a recent owner, featured a clerestory ceiling in the rear of the first floor that opened all the way to the third.

The hardwood floors gleamed. The kitchen had been modernized as well, and although she rarely had time, she looked forward to the opportunity to cook. Decks opened off the kitchen as well as off the master bedroom on the third floor. Although the backyard was postage-stamp sized, she contemplated yet again getting a puppy for Ronnie. The problem was that when the sublet was over and she moved to a permanent location where Mina and her extended family were unavailable to help with child care, a dog would be out of the question.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Mina pointed several men who had boxes marked kitchen in their arms toward the rear, calling after them, "And don't drop them on the floor when you put them down."

"Ronnie keeps asking for a puppy. She's a good age for it, but I just don't see how I can handle taking care of one."

"Our kids want another one too. Maybe we could work out joint custody," Mina suggested. "Our yards are side by side, and if we put a gate in the fence, we can share the whole space."

Wynter shook her head. "It's going to be hard enough as it is for her not to be with you and the kids every day once we get a permanent place. I don't want to add a puppy to everything else she's going to miss."

Mina pursed her lips as if to disagree but merely said, "We'll see."

For the next hour and a half, Wynter directed the half dozen men carrying boxes of books, furniture, and suitcases to various parts of the house. One of the last items off the truck was a tiger oak rolltop desk that she'd inherited from her grandmother. It was huge, heavy, and cumbersome, but she loved it and had carted it all over the country.

"Where to?" Pearce asked as she balanced one rear corner of the desk on her knee at the foot of the second-floor staircase. Ken had the front and another anesthesia resident, Tommy Argyle, had the opposite back corner.

"The middle room on the second floor. On the wall opposite the fireplace."

"It's going to be a tight corner up here," Ken called down.

"We might have to lift it up over the banister," Pearce said. She glanced at Tommy. "Think you can handle it?"

"Huh. With one arm tied behind my back."

Wynter rested a hand on Pearce's shoulder and said quietly, "Do you compete with everyone about everything?"

"It's no fun otherwise." Pearce craned her neck and called up to Ken, "Let's get this done. I smell pizza."

Wynter turned, and sure enough, the pizza delivery man stood behind her in the middle of the living room with eight large pizza boxes cradled in his arms. "Back here in the kitchen. I'll show you."

Wynter and Mina were setting out paper plates, napkins, and bottles of soda and beer when a crash sounded from above followed closely by a chorus of shouts. Wynter ran ahead of Mina and started up the stairs two at a time. Ken came racing down and nearly collided with her.

"Ice. We need some ice," Ken said urgently.

"What happened?" Wynter, a sick feeling in her stomach, searched the landing above but saw no one.

"Tommy dropped the damn thing."

"Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, but Pearce got her hand caught--"

"Oh God. Pearce." Wynter pushed around Ken and ran upstairs.

The men huddled around a figure on the floor. The desk sat on its side nearby. She pushed at the nearest figure. "Move. Move out of the way."

Pearce slumped on the floor, one arm cradled across her chest, her head leaning back against the wall. Her face was ashen. Wynter dropped to her knees beside her. "Let me see."

"Give me a minute," Pearce whispered.

Wynter could hear the pain in her voice and it tore at her. She was used to seeing people in pain from far greater injuries, but she felt exactly the way she did when Ronnie hurt herself. She wanted to absorb the pain, take it away at all costs. So she did exactly what she did when Ronnie was hurt. She put her arm around Pearce's shoulders and drew her close. "Let me see, honey. It's okay."

Eyes still closed, Pearce buried her cheek against Wynter's chest, trying to lose herself in the scent of petals and raindrops and long ago joy. "Hurts. Hurts like a mother."

"I know. I know it does." Wynter pillowed Pearce's head between her breasts, rocking her softly. Then she kissed the top of her head and stroked her sweaty cheek. "Are you bleeding?"

"Don't know. Don't think so."

Wynter felt a rush of relief. Her stomach was twisted into knots, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. "Do you think you can let me look now?"

"Couldn't have been my foot," Pearce said, her voice stronger.

"Had to be my goddamn hand."

"Pearce," Wynter said more firmly, her own strength returning along with Pearce's. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

With a soft groan, Pearce sat forward, still half in Wynter's lap. She lifted her left hand, gently supporting it with her right. It was already twice its normal size, the knuckles scraped and swollen.

"Range your fingers for me...slowly," Wynter instructed quietly, one hand on the back of Pearce's neck, lightly caressing her.

Even though the pain threatened to overpower her, Pearce managed to extend her fingers nearly completely, but she could not make a fist.

There was too much swelling. "I don't think anything's broken."

Wynter laughed softly. "Thank you Dr. X-ray Eyes. That's so helpful."

Ken clambered up the stairs, shouting, "I've got the ice."

"Good. Give it to me." Wynter reached behind her without taking her eyes off Pearce's hand and set the plastic bag of ice on the floor by her feet.

"Is it bad?" Ken asked anxiously. "Should we take her to the ER?"

Wynter felt Pearce tense. "No. We're okay. I'll be down in a minute."

Ken rocked back and forth uncertainly for a minute, and then when ignored, crept away.

"I'm going to palpate it," Wynter said.

Wincing, Pearce gently probed the base of each finger. "I don't feel anything."

"Just let me confirm." Gently, Wynter repeated the action, searching for point tenderness that would indicate a fracture. On close examination, Pearce's fingers did not appear deviated, and there was no apparent deformity of the hand. The marked swelling and rapidly discoloring skin made it difficult to examine her critically, however.

"We've got to X-ray this."

"Let's ice it first and see what it looks like in a few hours. The last thing I want to do is sit in the emergency room for half the day." What Pearce didn't say was that if she showed up in the emergency room, someone would call her father within two minutes. She didn't want him involved. She didn't want to hear him tell her that she shouldn't have been doing anything to endanger her hands. Every time she worked on her car, she heard his voice admonishing her. She could just imagine what he'd say about her moving furniture.

"I'll call ahead and let them know we're coming," Wynter said.

"I'm sure they'll get you right in--"

"No," Pearce said fiercely.

Wynter recognized the fear beneath the stubbornness, and because she couldn't imagine Pearce being afraid of anything, she relented.