2. Prescription For Love

“Carrie,” Presley said. “If you want to go out with Flann, it’s perfectly fine. She’s a big girl and so are you, and whatever happens or doesn’t happen isn’t going to affect our friendship or our working relationship.”

“Maybe,” Carrie said, sounding anything but certain. “I told her I’d think about it.”

Abby listened without comment. She didn’t know Carrie or Flann well enough to even have an opinion, other than the fact that she agreed with Carrie. Getting involved with Flannery Rivers was not something to take lightly. The woman had the potential for being a serious heartbreaker. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about anything in that regard. The little twinge of envy was only a reminder she hadn’t had a date in years. Maybe someday—with someone a lot safer than a surgeon with a God complex, no matter how gorgeous she might be.

*

Flannery grabbed one end of a stack of two-by-fours from the truck and slid them out of the bed.

Glenn grabbed the other, and together they carried them around behind the barn. Harper followed with toolboxes and a cooler with beer for later.

“Where’s the chicken wire?” Flann asked.

“In the barn,” Harper called.

“I’ll get it.” Flann jogged around the side of the barn, noting the other vehicle in the drive. Abby must be here already. She’d seen Presley when they pulled up. The women must be on the back porch, probably talking about them. She grinned. She hoped so. Carrie had said no to a private dinner after the game the night before, but there was no rush. She’d seen Abby a time or two in passing during the week, but they’d been headed in opposite directions. Abby had been polite, and nothing else. Not even a second’s extra smile suggesting she might welcome a conversation sometime. The dismissal irked more than Flann expected.

The sliding barn door was partly open and she slipped through into the cool, dim, sweet-scented air and walked down the main aisle. The stalls on one side stood open, waiting for the return of horses who hadn’t been in residence for a long time. She wouldn’t be surprised if Harp filled those stalls before long. Harp was a farmer by heritage as much as she was a doctor. Flann slowed at the sound of soft murmuring.

A teenager knelt by a pile of hay, stroking a black and white kitten.

“Hey,” Flannery said softly.

The teen turned, and Flann saw the resemblance to Abby in the angle of the cheekbones and the curve of the jaw. This must be Blake. He was of the age where gender was often hard to tell at first glance with arms and legs that seemed too long and thin and a slender body that hadn’t filled out yet. From a distance he might’ve been a boy or girl. Up close, it was still a coin toss. She wondered how he handled the confusion that must arise from time to time. Even more so for him. “I’m Flann Rivers.” “Blake Remy,” the teen said in a melodic tenor. “Presley said it was okay if I came in here.”

“Sure, why not. How are the kittens doing?”

“They’re all really cute,” Blake said. “I didn’t see the mother, though.”

“She’s probably taking a snooze someplace cool. Come sundown, she’ll go hunting.” “For what?”

“Most anything. Bird, mole, rabbit.”

“No. Rabbit?”

Flann laughed. “The other day she dragged one back through the cat door for the kittens.”

Blake grimaced. “They eat them?”

“They do. These are barn cats, friendly because they’ve been around people since they were born, but their hunting instincts aren’t blunted. They kill to eat, and hunting is instinctual for them. The kittens will be going out with her before long.”

“I guess it’s okay, hunting to eat.”

“Natural.”

“They’re not meant to be pets, are they?” His tone held regret.

“You looking for a cat?”

“I was thinking more dog.”

“There’s a shelter in the next village, about eight miles away.”

Blake stuffed his hands in his pockets and straightened up. “Yeah?”

“I can tell you how to get there, if, you know, your mom is up for it.” “I’m working on that.”

Flann laughed. “I know how that is. So what’re you doing now?”

Blake made a face. “Hanging out while my mom talks to her friends.”

“You feel like building a chicken coop?”

“Sure, I guess. But I don’t really know anything about construction.” “No better time than now to learn.”

CHAPTER EIGHT