2. Prescription For Love

Carson occupied one of the rocking chairs with a cup of coffee and an amazing-looking biscuit balanced on a plate on her knee. The scent of something marvelous—yeasty and sweet—emanated from the kitchen on a wave of strong coffee fumes.

Abby’s mouth instantly watered. “What is it?”

“Buttermilk biscuits with fresh blueberries. Lila and Mama are making breakfast.”

Abby tried not to moan on her way inside. Carrie and Presley were filling their coffee cups from an industrial-sized coffee urn. The table was laden with baskets of biscuits, slabs of butter, syrup, and fruit. A few dozen plates and piles of silverware filled one end.

“Oh my God, this is heaven,” Abby murmured.

Ida Rivers ladled mountains of scrambled eggs from a cast-iron skillet the size of a satellite dish onto a platter. She smiled at Abby over her shoulder. “I hope you came hungry.”

Abby blushed, instantly shy, a sensation she wasn’t usually prone to experiencing. But this was Flann’s mother, and a woman she greatly admired. And she’d just been hungering for her daughter.

“Famished. Anything I can do?”

“Lila and I have the food situation under control. I understand Carrie is handling the important business of the morning.” Ida shook her head. “We could have used her when Carson got married.

Harper and Flann were about as useful as tits on a bull as far as the planning end of things went.”

Abby’s mouth dropped and she couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Oh my God. I’m going to have a hard time getting that image out of my mind anytime I look at either of them.”

Ida smiled, set the eggs aside, and forked slices of ham onto another platter. “Well, we all have our strengths.”

“Flannery certainly does,” Abby said quietly.

Ida nodded and continued spearing ham with a practiced flip of her wrist. “She does, but she’s never been willing to see it.”

“She just needs to slow down long enough to notice.” “You seem to have noticed, though,” Ida said.

“It’s not hard to see, when you look. She’s wonderful.” Abby paused. “She’s kind and brave and tender.”

Ida handed her the platter of eggs. “I’m glad you know that. Put this on the table for me?” “Of course.”

“And don’t let her fool you,” Ida said conversationally as she deposited the ham beside the biscuits. “She’s just been waiting for someone to catch her. Even if she doesn’t know it.” “This looks delicious,” Abby said. “And I’ll remember that.” Ida hummed and went back to laying out bacon into a skillet.

Flann wasn’t the only one who’d been running. Abby’d been running from her own needs in the race to take care of everyone else’s for fifteen years. But she’d stopped running now, and the thought wasn’t the least bit scary.

Now she had all the time in the world. She grabbed her coffee, piled more food than she usually ate in three meals onto a white porcelain plate, and traipsed out to the porch to join the others. She took the last rocker. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

Carrie flipped open a loose-leaf binder that was sectioned with colored tabs and turned to the first section. “Okay—location and setup.” She pointed a matching colored pencil at Carson. “Since you know the homestead and the local vendors, you’re in charge of that. Tents, tables, chair rental, all that kind of thing. Okay?”

“Got it,” Carson said. “We can just use the same people we did for my wedding. In fact, I still have the old lists.” She rummaged in a voluminous bag at her side and pulled out a stack of spreadsheets. “It’s been a few years, but it’s a starting place.”

Carrie waggled her fingers. “Gimme.”

For the next two hours, they divided up phone calls to vendors, discussed floral arrangements, menus, musicians, guest lists, childcare facilities, and the need for Porta-Potties versus comfort vans, all the time accompanied by a cacophony of power tools, pounding, shouts, and laughter coming from the direction of the barn. Men, women, girls, and boys drifted in and out of the kitchen, filling plates, and discussing weather, crops, sports, and opinions on the latest books and movies. Blake and Margie rushed in with a scrum of teens who acted as if they hadn’t seen food in a millennium. Abby noted Blake’s jubilant expression and avoided embarrassing him by calling out hello.

By midday, the skeleton of the damaged portion of the barn had been erected and people swarmed over the roof, laying down new slate and tin. Abby kept an eye out for Flann but couldn’t find her until almost one when Flann walked over to an outdoor hose across the yard, turned it on, and doused her head and shoulders with water. Her wet T-shirt clung to her torso as she shook her head vigorously like a dog coming out of the lake after a particularly wonderful swim. When she brushed both hands through her soaked hair, she glanced at the back porch, caught Abby watching, and sent her an if-you-like-it-come-and-get-it smirk. Abby’s mouth went dry.