2. Prescription For Love

Abby could imagine her singing the blues, spinning tales of heartbreak and betrayal. Something about Glenn spoke of sadness and sorrow, but perhaps she just misread her reserved nature for something more. Abby smiled. “Aha. I see chickens in the future. Hence the need for the coop.”

Harper grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m sure.” Abby was certain the surprise would be welcome. Presley seemed very fond of the rooster, of all things. “I’ll get out of your way, but at the risk of sounding like an overly protective mother, I don’t want Blake using power tools.”

Blake groaned. His expression suggested he’d never seen her before and couldn’t possibly be the person in question.

Abby shrugged. She could tolerate being temporarily disowned if it kept him safe.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Flann said. “I never use power saws and I’m the only one manning the nail gun.”

“Yeah,” Blake said. “I’m just the grunt.”

Just a grunt. Blake didn’t seem the least bit upset by that prospect. In fact, he looked like he was having more fun than she’d seen in weeks, possibly months. A glimmer of hope surged. Maybe this move would be all right after all.

“All right—everybody be careful and have fun.” Abby waved and headed back toward the house, slowing when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned as Flann jogged toward her.

“Blake is the youngest on the job,” Flann said. “That means all the scut work and the grunt work.”

“I understand. There’s a hierarchy.” Abby brushed a lock from her eyes as the breeze picked up and played havoc with her hair.

Flann nodded. “Yep. You have to be an apprentice before you can get to the good stuff.”

“How is he doing?” Abby didn’t want to say Blake had never done anything like this before. Life was filled with first times now.

“Studying everything like it’s brain surgery and he’ll be operating alone tomorrow.”

She smiled. “He rarely does anything lightly.”

“He’s doing fine. And he isn’t doing anything that’s dangerous. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m probably being overprotective.” Abby sighed, grateful to Flann for taking the time to reassure her and feeling just the tiniest bit foolish for worrying. “A few bumps and bruises aren’t going to hurt him. I just don’t want any missing parts.”

“Listen, you have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Flann said with surprising insight. “I know what can happen and how quickly. I can’t afford to get hurt, neither can Harper or Glenn, and we sure wouldn’t let Blake do anything dangerous.” “I trust your judgment, but he’s my son.”

“Totally understood. But I hope you trust us, because we’ve got quite a lot of work to do around here and he’s already volunteered to help out again.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips, pretending to consider. Secretly she was thrilled that Blake was making connections. “Free labor.”

Flann grinned. “Everybody starts at the bottom, right?”

“Oh, I know.” She’d been trained in the same hierarchical structure as Flann, where the lowest understood their position and counted on one day reaching the top. Then those who followed would take care of the scut work. “If he’s having fun, I’m more than happy for him to spend some time working with you. Thanks for teaching him the right way to do things.”

“Nothing to thank me for. Or any of us. He’s a good worker and a nice kid. And we can use the help.”

“He needs something to do, and needs to interact with people other than me.” She exhaled softly, ambushed momentarily by Flann’s sweat-soaked T-shirt clinging to her surprisingly broad shoulders and sculpted chest. “There’s more to life than what I can teach him, and so many things here that I don’t know anything about. I can’t help him with those things.”

“It seems to me you’re doing a fine job. He’s friendly, smart, polite, with a good sense of humor.

That’s a lot to say for a teenager.”

“I know. But he’s also spent a lot of time alone.” Abby studied Flann, unveiled some of her secrets.

“And he’s vulnerable. I appreciate you looking out for him.”

“My pleasure.” Flann rubbed a trickle of sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.

Abby followed the sweep of her bare forearm, caught by the way her sun-burnished skin gleamed over taut muscles. She resisted the sudden urge to thumb away a smudge of dirt on Flann’s cheek. Flann had a way of capturing her attention when she wasn’t being careful. Even worse, the way Flann said pleasure sounded as if she meant something far more intimate than simply befriending Abby’s son on a sunny afternoon in the summer, and the idea stirred her. She needed to escape, away from Flannery Rivers and her unexpected sensitivity and sexy

everything.

“I’ve got to help Presley,” Abby said, backing away.

Flann sensed the fast retreat and wondered what she’d said to cause Abby to run. They’d been having an easy conversation, a real conversation, about something that mattered, and the connection had felt good. Warm and solid and