Hot Rocks Read Free

I’d almost told him to park his opinion. “Whatever. I hurt too much to argue.”
    “Glad to hear it because I hate losing arguments with patients. Now my wife … well, that’s a different situation.” He grinned. “Sometimes she lets me think I won.”
    “Is it possible to turn off the siren? I don’t think I’m critical, and it’s not helping.”
    “Larry. The lady says you’re not helping her headache. Can you close it down except for intersections? She’s in no danger.”
    From the driver’s seat, I heard laughter as the keening ceased. “Passengers can sure be picky. Some complain if I give them the first-class siren treatment, while others are insulted if I don’t. However, contrary to what she might think, the damn thing drives me nuts, too.”
    “Tell him I am picky. So picky, I’d prefer a taxi.”
    They responded with laughter.
    The ambulance reached the hospital with a squeal of tires, and they rolled me inside.
    “Head trauma,” Tommy called when we cleared the door.
    A medical team rushed in and, before I could protest, pushed me into a curtained area and transferred me to a bed. Gentle but firm hands were all around, each doing something different, each in a professional manner. They undressed me, helped me into a hospital gown that covered my chest and little else, then did a quick inventory of my possessions and whisked them away.
    In what seemed like record time, I’d had my temperature and blood pressure taken, been weighed and had my height measured, been asked innumerable questions, and at least forty-two people had examined the lump on my head. Well, maybe not that many, but some took more than one look. I was sure I’d felt that many fingers. None of the nametags read Doctor .
    A man in a white lab coat bustled into the area, blowing through the curtain like an applause-starved actor. “Hello. I’m Dr. Rasmussen, your neurologist. I’m all yours until we release you from bondage. What have we here?”
    I wanted to make a sarcastic comment about his use of we but didn’t. He’d probably heard them all. Besides, he and his line of banter were cute.
    One of the nurses said, “Head trauma. Possible concussion. All vitals are normal.”
    Inwardly, I grimaced. Never thought of this kind of headache as normal. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s abnormal.
    As he plugged his stethoscope into his ears and applied the frozen disk to my chest, I looked him over. White jacket over navy slacks. He had the right kind of name tag, or the kind I’d been looking for. It read Dr. Rasmussen . Also, he was handsome, wore no wedding band, and was the right age.
    “Deep breath,” Dr. Rasmussen said before lowering the stethoscope and fingering the lump.
    Forty-third set of fingers. Still didn’t feel normal.
    “Yep, we do have a boo-boo. Interesting.”
    “To whom?” I said. “From my side, it simply hurts like hell. Break out the pain juice.”
    He looked at the chart. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s way too early for pain medications.” He waggled his eyebrows. “There are tests to be run.”
    I stared at him, wondering if he was really a doctor. Doctors were supposed to be solemn people of age who said, “Hmm” a lot.
    He shined an itty-bitty flashlight into first one eye, then the other. “Hmm,” he said.
    One test passed.
    “Eyes of blue. My favorite color. And now that you know one of my secrets, it’s time for us to exchange names. I’m Dr. David Rasmussen.”
    He gave me the eyebrows again. “That’s supposed to generate a response—preferably your name.”
    If he was a doctor, I should cooperate. If he was a hatchet murderer, I’d better cooperate. “Elizabeth Angeline Bowman. Some call me Beth. Some call me Angie. Take your pick.”
    “Much better.” He eyed me. “For now, we’ll go with Ms. Bowman. After you’ve gotten to know me better, I think I’ll choose Beth. But the fun is yet to come. Let’s get on with the examination.”
    I groaned. “I’m okay. No