2. Prescription For Love

“Cripes,” she gasped, when the cold water doused her head. While she fought with the dial to regulate the temperature, her mind cleared and she got her second wind. She’d be good for another half a day at least. And the day stretched ahead of her like a long, empty hallway. Not knowing how long she’d be tied up with the trauma, she’d left a message with her answering service halfway through the case to reschedule her morning hours. Barring emergencies, her time was her own. She didn’t really have anything to do with it—work was her recreation as well as her profession. Other than playing softball four nights a week in the spring and summer, she didn’t do much else except work, take a woman out to dinner or a movie a few times a month, and find reasons not to leave the hospital. The hospital was the core of her social life. Like a lot of single doctors, or those who weren’t single but weren’t in any hurry to get home, she spent a fair amount of time hanging around, talking to other staff in the cafeteria or the OR lounge or the ER.

Unfortunately, the only person she really wanted to talk to was Abby, and she’d been avoiding her. She hadn’t seen her since the morning she’d left Presley’s while Abby was asleep. Abby hadn’t been on call the night before when the trauma came in, and she’d managed not to see her the day before either. Avoiding her turned out to be a lot easier than not thinking about her. When she wasn’t completely focused on an operation or patient evaluation, like now, memories of those few moments in Abby’s room replayed in vivid detail. Who knew her body had perfect recall? She didn’t usually dwell on a physical encounter, but she couldn’t get those few moments with Abby out of her head. Every second seemed imprinted on her skin—when Abby had been pressed so close against her even air couldn’t find room between them, when Abby’s arms had wrapped around her neck and her fingers drove into her hair, pulling her head down for a deeper kiss, urging her to plunder and claim.

Flann’s clitoris twitched. “God damn it.”

She was too damn old to get riled up from just a kiss, and definitely not from only thinking about a kiss. She slid her palm down her belly and pressed the swelling between her thighs with her fingertips. She caught her breath. She wasn’t too old for jerking off in the shower, but not in the locker room. And not while she was thinking about a woman she’d already moved past.

She twisted off the dial, stepped out, and grabbed one of the skimpy towels housekeeping provided for staff use. She’d taken the dressing off her leg the day before, and she carefully dried the area around the sutures before cursorily mopping up the rest of the water on her skin and hair. The leg looked fine. Abby had done a good job. As she patted the sutures, the image of Abby kneeling before her, wrapping a bandage around her thigh, jumped into her consciousness and the faint throb between her legs became a piercing ache.

She’d seen herself then, could see herself now, sliding her hand into the hair at the nape of Abby’s neck and guiding her face upward until her mouth closed over her. Her thighs suddenly weakened and she shot out her arm to brace herself against the wall. Her belly tightened, the need a fist twisting in the pit of her stomach. She blew out a long breath and forced her mind to blank.

Glenn came in as she was pulling on jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and gave her the diversion she needed. “Everything quiet?”

“Looks like it.” Glenn opened her locker and pulled out her street clothes and a motorcycle helmet. “I’ll have my beeper if you need me.”

“Aren’t you off today?”

Glenn grinned as she changed and tossed her scrubs. “Yeah, but it’s more fun being here.” Flann laughed, but the sound rang hollowly in her ears. “True.” “See you,” Glenn said on her way out the door.

“Ride safe.” Flann dialed the recovery room from the phone by the door. When the clerk answered, she said, “This is Rivers. Can I talk to George Baker’s nurse?”

“Hold on.”

“Hi, Flann,” another woman said a moment later.

Flann recognized the voice. Becky McAllister. Twentyfive, blond, bright, great breasts, and dynamite in bed. They’d had a few breathless weeks half a year ago before Becky decided she’d rather settle down with her old high-school boyfriend. No hard feelings on Flann’s part. She’d known Becky was experimenting, but that didn’t bother her. In fact, it made things a lot easier. Becky was looking for a good time in bed, and Flann knew just how to deliver that.

Abby, now, she wasn’t looking for a bedmate. She wasn’t looking for anything at all, at least she didn’t think she was. Flann wasn’t sure she agreed. Abby was passionate, intelligent, sensitive, and giving. She wasn’t the kind of woman to spend her life alone, if she’d look past all her responsibilities and see she deserved a life. What was it Abby had said? A couple of kids, a house with a yard, a dog or two. Yeah, she could see Abby there. Abby was born for family.

“Flann?”