2. Prescription For Love

Flannery grabbed a roll from a basket on the table, broke off a piece, and munched it. She passed the basket to Abby, who took one, suddenly ravenous. “Mostly broken bones, although Fred Endee gave us a little bit of a challenge with a punctured lung.”

Flannery’s mother shot her a look. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he? You know his wife hasn’t been doing well for the last couple of years. If the both of them are laid up, it will be a problem taking care of Patty at home.”

“I hope to have him out of bed tomorrow and home in a couple of days. I’ll ask Carson to get visiting nurses to stop by the house to check on Patty until then.”

Ida nodded. “That sounds fine.”

Presley, Carrie, and Glenn trooped into the kitchen from the back porch.

“Oh my God, Ida, you’re a saint!” Carrie beelined for the coffeepot.

Glenn pulled out a chair next to Abby. “I just called the ER. Dewers made it in, it’s quiet, and unless something changes, Dewers says for you to take half a shift off.”

Six hours free. Abby sighed. “Glenn. Thank you for calling. My brain must not be firing on all cylinders, or I would have done that myself as soon as I got here.”

“You would have as soon as you had something to eat,” Flann interjected abruptly. “Give yourself a break, Abby. You’re running on fumes.”

Abby stared, surprised at the edge in Flann’s tone. “I didn’t do anything the rest of you—”

“Flann’s right,” Glenn said, resting a hand on Abby’s forearm. “You saw twice as many patients as everyone else last night. You deserve to coast a few minutes, Abs.”

Flann abruptly pushed back her chair and stalked out onto the back porch. Abby squelched the urge to follow. She’d seen Flann irritated, exhilarated, cool and calm, and forceful and commanding. She’d never seen the dark, brooding expression in her eyes before, and she wanted to soothe it away. Bad idea. Not her problem, and definitely not her woman to soothe. Still, the urge to go after her gnawed at her like an unfinished refrain.

Presley paced, coffee cup in hand. “Ida, have you heard from Harper? I haven’t been able to reach her for the last few hours.”

“The last I heard from her and her father was about midnight. They were heading out to start answering calls. I imagine—”

“Hey, baby.” The back door opened wide and Harper strode in, her dark eyes alight and fixed on Presley.

Presley set down her cup and launched herself at Harper all in one motion. “How are you? I was really worried.”

Harper gathered her up, kissed her soundly, and after a long moment, let her go. “Everything’s good. Just tired.”

Edward Rivers entered, glanced around the room, nodded to Abby and Glenn as if their presence was completely expected, and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Good morning, my dear. How was your night?”

“I checked on the neighbors up and down River Road. Everyone was doing fine.” She wiped her hands on a towel and pressed her palm to her husband’s cheek. “Carson, Bill, and the baby are fine. They had some flooding and they’ll be busy with cleanup for a while, but nothing too bad.”

“Good, thank you.”

He covered her hand with his, turned her palm up, and kissed it. Ida smiled and turned back to the stove. Edward took off his suit jacket, shook out the wrinkles, and hung it carefully on a coat tree in the corner. Tall, fit, and clear-eyed, he exuded quiet confidence. His white shirt had lost the creases in the sleeves, but he nevertheless looked as crisp and fresh as when Abby had been introduced to him in Presley’s office the first time. Abby could see Harper in his quiet surety, just as she could see Flann in Ida’s brisk authority and effortless command. Edward accepted a cup of coffee from Harper and sat at the head of the table. Everyone else filled in on either side. Flannery, Abby noticed with an odd twist of disappointment, sat at the opposite end of the table and did not glance her way.

Keeping half an ear out for some sign of Blake and Margie, Abby joined in as Edward, Harper, and Flannery brought each other up to date on patients and follow-up situations. Presley and Carrie, both looking tired but content, sipped their coffee and quietly made plans to draw up emergency protocols for similar situations.

Just as Ida began placing breakfast on the table, Blake and Margie tumbled into the kitchen like a pair of playful puppies. Blake’s hair was damp and stood on end as if he’d toweled it dry and not bothered to comb it. He wasn’t usually so casual about his appearance, especially not recently. He wore a blue-denim button-down shirt and faded jeans, both at least a size too big for him, and a wide grin. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, hon—Blake. Hi, Margie.”

“Hi, Dr. Remy.” Margie had scooped her long blond hair into a green John Deere cap and pulled the damp strands through the back tab. She wore shorts and a scrub top with flip-flops. “Hi, Daddy.” “Good morning, darlin’,” Edward said, pausing in his conversation with Harper.