The Best Medicine Read Free Page B

going to put stitches in your face, so you might want to show a little respect.”
    Oh, I liked her! Whatever her name was.
    His eyes popped open at her words, and he blinked faster. I could see his gaze slowly coming into focus. He looked me over, as if taking in a mental inventory of all my various parts.
    “You’re the doctor?”
    I got that reaction a lot. The price of being a short, curvy redhead in the land of tall, lab-coated men and their biggie-sized egos. But if my mother had taught me anything, it was how to never let anyone make me feel like less than I was. I wasn’t about to be reduced by an unemployed twenty-seven-year-old who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday afternoon than get drunk and play with his man toys. I crossed my arms and lifted my chin, making me at least half an inch taller.
    “Yes, Mr. Connelly. I’m Dr. Evelyn Rhoades, a board-certified plastic surgeon. I hear you had an accident today, so I’m going to take that bandage off your face and take a look. Got it?”
    I set the chart down and moved over to the other side of the bed.
    “Sure. Yeah. Of course.” His small nod ended in a grimace, maybe due to pain caused by his injuries, or more than likely, the onset of his inevitable hangover. The aroma of alcohol permeated the air around him. Not the stale, sour stench that usually accom panied homeless alcoholics. This was more of a sweet, cloying smell, like bubbly pink champagne left out after a party. Mixed with cocoa butter. Apparently my booze-swizzling patient was not so irresponsible as to forgo sunscreen.
    “Are you in any discomfort, Mr. Connelly?” I asked.
    “I’m fine.” His glance told me he had more to say but that whatever it was had nothing to do with his medical condition and everything to do with his impression of me. He seemed intrigued but a little suspicious.
    “Dr. McKnight is treating his arm and shoulder,” the nurse said. “We’re waiting on some X-rays, but he doesn’t appear to have any fractures or signs of concussion.”
    I pulled on purple latex gloves. “It sounds like you could have been hurt much worse, Mr. Connelly. Statistically speaking, you were lucky.”
    His ridiculously silver-blue eyes met mine. “Yeah, I’m a lucky guy.” He started to chuckle but seemed to reconsider and coughed instead. His hands moved guardedly to his chest, indicating some level of pain. Even though he was covered by a blue-speckled hospital gown, I noticed all kinds of muscles flexing and squeezing as he did that.
    His, and mine.
    Damn you, Gabby and your foda pena !
    I nudged a black rolling stool closer to the stretcher with my knee while a voice in my head reminded me he was twenty-seven. And unemployed. And drunk.
    And a patient! There was that little matter as well.
    “Mr. Connelly, I’m here to address your facial injury, so let’s deal with that first.”
    I ignored the way his gown slipped off his shoulder as he readjusted on the bed. I ignored the edge of his deltoid tattoo peeking out from the shifting fabric too. It didn’t allure me in any way. I was a professional. I would simply concentrate on his injury, not his physique. Just because Hilary and Gabby thought I needed some sexual gymnastics, and just because it had been ages since my last horizontal workout with a man, and just because it was my birthday, this man-boy from Neverland was certainly not what I needed. What I needed was to get to work.
    The nurse started setting up a suture tray without being asked, while I gently peeled off the gauze.
    My patient had a jagged laceration running along the edge of his jaw, ending at his chin. It was about three centimeters long, deep but not all the way to the bone. Still, a wound like this would require a multilayer closure, and he’d most definitely have a scar. I could keep it minimal, though. I’d leave him dashing rather than disfigured. I could do that. I had mad skills.
    “You’re going to need some stitches, Mr. Connelly. Have you ever