Chapter Seventeen #2
“You’re the doctor.” He sauntered out ahead of her, then lifted his brows at the man who stood in the kitchen with a bloody rag around his left hand. “Looks like you’ve got a problem there.”
“Good eye,” Brian said dryly and glanced at the gauze-wrapped hand. “Looks like I’m not the only one.”
“Busy day for the doc.”
“The doc,” Kirby said as she walked in, “hasn’t had five minutes to—Brian, what the hell have you done?” Heart in her throat, she leaped forward, grabbed his wrist, and quickly unwrapped the rag.
“Damn knife slipped. I was just—I’m dripping blood all over the floor.”
“Oh, be quiet.” Her heart settled back when she studied the long slice on the back of his hand. It was deep and bleeding freely, but nothing had been lopped off. “You need stitches.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, about ten of them.”
“Look, just wrap it up and I’ll get back to work.”
“I said be quiet,” she snapped. “You’ll have to excuse me, I—” She glanced over, frowned. “Oh, I guess he left. Come into the back.”
“I don’t want you sewing on me. I only came because Lexy and Kate went half crazy on me. And if Lexy hadn’t been pestering me, I wouldn’t have cut myself in the first place, so just dump some antiseptic on it, wrap it up, and let me go.”
“Stop being a baby.” Taking his arm firmly, she pulled him into the back. “Sit down and behave yourself. When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“A shot? Oh, listen—”
“That long ago.” She washed up quickly, put the necessary tools in a stainless-steel tray, then sat down in front of him with a bottle of antiseptic. “We’ll take care of that afterward. I’m going to clean this, disinfect, then I’ll give you a local.”
He could feel the wound throbbing in time with his heart. Both picked up speed. “A local what?”
“Anesthetic. It’ll numb the area so I can sew you back together.”
“What is this obsession of yours with needles?”
“Let me see you move your fingers,” she ordered. “Good, good. I didn’t think you’d cut through any tendons. Are you afraid of needles, Brian?”
“No, of course not.” Then she picked up the hypo and he felt all the blood drain out of his face. “Yes. Damn it, Kirby, keep that thing away from me.”
She didn’t laugh as he’d been dead certain she would.
Instead, she looked soberly into his eyes.
“Take a deep breath, let it out, then take another and look at the painting over my right shoulder. Just keep looking at the painting and count your breaths. One, two, three. That’s it.
Little stick, that’s all,” she murmured and slid the needle under his skin. “Keep counting.”
“Okay, all right.” He could feel the sweat crawling down his back and focused on the watercolor print of wild lilies. “This is the perfect time for you to make some snotty comment.”
“I worked in ER. Saw more blood during that year than a layman does in three lifetimes. Gunshots, knifings, car wrecks. I never panicked. The closest I’ve ever come to panicking was just now, when I saw your blood dripping onto my kitchen floor.”
He looked away from the print and into her eyes. “I’ll mop it up for you.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” She grabbed a swatch of surgical paper to make a sterile field, then paused when he touched his hand to hers.
“I care too.” He waited until she looked at him again. “I care a lot. How the hell did this happen?”
“I don’t know. What do you think we should do about it?”
“It’s probably not going to work, you know. You and me.”
“No.” She picked up the suture. “Probably not. Keep your hand still, Brian.”
He glanced down, saw her slide the suturing needle under his skin. His stomach rolled. Taking another deep breath, he looked back at the painting. “Don’t worry about making it neat. Just make it fast.”
“I’m famous for my ladylike little stitches. Just relax and keep breathing.”
Since he figured it would be more humiliation than he could stand to pass out on her, he tried to obey. “I’m not afraid of needles. I just don’t like them.”
“It’s a common phobia.”
“I don’t have a phobia. I just don’t like people sticking needles in me.”
She kept her head bent so he wouldn’t see her smile. “Perfectly understandable. What was Lexy pestering you about?”
“The usual. Everything.” He tried to ignore the slight tug as she drew the edges of the wound together.
“I’m insensitive. I don’t care about her—or anyone else, for that matter.
I don’t understand her. No one does. If I was a real brother, I’d lend her five thousand dollars so she could go back to New York and be a star. ”
“I thought she’d decided to stay here through the summer.”
“She had some sort of go-round with Giff. Since he hasn’t come crawling after her, she’s gone from the sulky stage—which was our big treat yesterday—to the nasty stage. Are you almost done?”
“Halfway,” she said patiently.
“Half. Great. Wonderful.” His stomach rolled again. Okay, think about something else. “Who was the beach bum?”
“Hmm? Oh, the burn. Tussle with a coffeepot. Says he’s an artist, on his way to the Keys. He may be over at the campground for a while. I never did get his name.”
“What kind of an artist?”
“A painter, I think. He wanted me to pose for him. Damn it, be still,” she said when his hand jerked.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I was flattered, thank you very much, but didn’t have time. He made me nervous.”
Brian’s free hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, making her curse. “Only a couple more,” she began.
“Did he touch you?”
“What?” No, it wasn’t fear or pain in his eyes, she realized. It was fury. And that was wonderfully satisfying. “Why, yes, of course, Brian. One-handed, he wrestled me to the floor in a wild burst of lust and ripped off my clothes.”
Brian’s fingers dug in. “I want a straight answer. Did he put his hands on you?”
“No, of course he didn’t. I just got nervous for a minute because the office was empty and he seemed overly interested.
Then it turned out he just wanted to sketch my hands.
” She fluttered the fingers of her left one.
“Angel hands. Now be still before you ruin my work and end up with a nasty scar. Not that your jealousy isn’t flattering. ”
“I’m not jealous.” He removed his hand and willed the green haze over his vision to subside. “I just don’t want some beach bum hassling you.”
“He didn’t hassle me, and if he had I could have handled it. One more now.” She tugged, knotted, snipped, then examined the neat line of stitches carefully. “A lovely job, if I do say so myself.” She rose to prepare his tetanus shot.
“How would you have handled it?”
“Handled what? Oh, we’re still on that, are we? With a polite rebuff.”
“And if that hadn’t worked?”
“One good squeeze on that burn and he’d have been on the floor screaming in pain.”
When she turned back, careful to keep the hypo behind her back, she saw Brian smiling. “You would have too.”
“Absolutely. I once cooled the ardor of an oversexed patient by pressing ever so gently on his larynx. He quickly decided to stop making obscene suggestions to me and the nursing staff. Now you want to look at the lilies again, Brian.”
He paled. “What have you got behind your back?”
“Just look at the lilies.”
“Oh, Christ.” He turned his head, then a moment later yelped and jerked.
“Brian, that was the alcohol swab. This’ll be over in ten seconds. You’re going to feel a prick.”
He hissed. “A prick, my ass. What are you using, an upholstery needle?”
“There, all done.” She smoothed a bandage over the needle prick, then sat down to wrap his hand. “Keep this dry. I’ll change the dressing for you when it needs it. In about ten days, two weeks, we’ll see about taking the stitches out.”
“Won’t that be fun?”
“Here.” She reached in the pocket of her smock and took out a Tootsie Pop. “For being such a good boy.”
“I know sarcasm when I hear it, but I’ll take the sucker.”
She unwrapped it for him, stuck it in his mouth. “Take a couple of aspirin,” she advised. “The local’s going to wear off quickly and it’s going to hurt some. You want to get ahead of the pain, not chase it.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss it?”
“I suppose.” She lifted his hand, touched her lips lightly to the gauze. “Be more careful with your kitchen tools,” she told him. “I like your hands just the way they are.”
“Then I don’t suppose you’d object if I moseyed on over here later tonight, wrestled you one-handed to the floor, and tore your clothes off.”
“I don’t suppose I would.” She leaned forward until her lips met his, then with a little sigh lingered there. “The sooner the better.”
Brian glanced over at the examination table, and his grin spread slowly. “Well, since I’m here now, maybe you should give me a complete physical. Haven’t had one in a couple, three years. You could wear your stethoscope. Just your stethoscope.”
The idea made a nice curl of lust slide into her stomach.
“The doctor is in,” she began, then came back to earth when she heard the outside door open.
“But I’ll have to give you an evening appointment.
” She eased back, then stood to remove the tray.
“I’ve had a morning full of chicken pox, and that’s my next patient. ”
He didn’t want to go, he realized. He wanted to sit there and watch her. He wanted to study her, the competent way she handled her instruments, the brisk and graceful way she moved. So he stalled and did just that.
“Who’s got the chicken pox?”
“Who under ten doesn’t, is more like it. We’re at seven and counting.” She glanced around. “Have you had it?”
“Oh, yeah, the three of us got it at the same time. I think I was nine, so that would have made Jo about six, Lex just under three. I guess my mother went through a couple of gallons of calamine.”
“Must have been great fun for all of you.”
“It wasn’t so bad, after the first couple of days. My father went over to the mainland and brought back this huge box of Lincoln Logs, at least a dozen coloring books, and that jumbo box of Crayolas, Barbie dolls, Matchbox cars.”