organs.
"Or a few inches lower, and I couldn't have penetrated anything ever again."
Lara gave him a retiring look. "How lucky for you.
She had remained professionally detached, although each time her arms had encircled him while bandaging his wound, her cheek had come close to his wide chest. He had a lean, sunbaked, hairspattered torso. The Ace bandage bisected his hard, flat belly. She'd worked the emergency rooms of major city hospitals; she'd stitched up shady characters before-but none quite this glib, amusing, and handsome.
"Believe it, Doc. I've got the luck of the devil."
"Oh, I believe it. You appear to be a man who lives on the edge and survives by his wits. When did you last have a tetanus shot?"
"Last year." She looked at him skeptically. He raised his right hand as though taking an oath. "Swear to God."
He eased himself over the side of the examination table and stood with his hip propped against it while he rebuttoned his jeans. He left his belt unbuckled. "What do I owe you?"
"Fifty dollars for the after-hours office call, fifty for the sutures and dressing, twelve each for the injections, including the one you wasted, and forty for the medication."
"Medication?"
She removed two plastic bottles from a locked cabinet and handed them to him. "An antibiotic and a pain pill. Once the lidocaine wears off, it'll hurt."
He withdrew a money clip from the front pocket of his snug jeans.
"Let's see, fifty plus, fifty, plus twenty-four, plus forty comes to
"One sixty-four.
He cocked an eyebrow, seeming amused by her prompt tabulation.
"Right. One hundred and sixty-four." He extracted the necessary bills and laid them on the examination table. "Keep the change," he said when he put down a five-dollar bill instead of four ones.
Lara was surprised that he had that much cash on him. Even after paying her, he still had a wad of currency in high denominations.
"Thank you. Take two of the antibiotic capsules tonight, then four a day until you've taken all of them."
He read the labels, opened the bottle of pain pills and shook out one.
He tossed it back and swallowed it dry. "It'd go down better with a shot of whiskey." His voice rose on a hopeful, inquiring note.
She shook her head. "Take one every four hours. Two if absolutely necessary. Take them with water," she emphasized, seriously doubting that he'd stick to those instructions. "Tomorrow afternoon around four-thirty, come in and I'll change your dressing."
"For another fifty bucks, I guess."
"No, that's included."
"Much obliged."
"Don't be. As soon as you leave, I'm calling Sheriff Baxter."
Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he regarded her indulgently.
"And get him out of bed at this time of night?" He shook his head remorsefully. "I've known poor old Elmo Baxter all my life. He and my daddy were buddies. They were youngsters during the oil boom, see? It was kinda like going through a war together, they said.
"They used to hang out around the drilling sites, came to be like mascots to the roughnecks and wildcatters. Ran errands for them to buy hamburgers, cigarettes, moonshine, whatever they wanted. He and my daddy probably procured some things that old Elmo would rather not recall," he said with a wink.
"Anyway, go ahead and call him. But once he gets here, he'll be nothing but glad to see me. He'll slap me on the back and say something like, Long time no see,' and ask what the hell I've been up to lately." He paused to gauge Lara's reaction. Her stony stare didn't faze him.
"Elmo's overworked and underpaid. Calling him out this late over this piddling accident of mine will get him all out of sorts, and he's already cantankerous by nature. If you ever have a real emergency, like some crazy dopehead breaking in
"Or a few inches lower, and I couldn't have penetrated anything ever again."
Lara gave him a retiring look. "How lucky for you.
She had remained professionally detached, although each time her arms had encircled him while bandaging his wound, her cheek had come close to his wide chest. He had a lean, sunbaked, hairspattered torso. The Ace bandage bisected his hard, flat belly. She'd worked the emergency rooms of major city hospitals; she'd stitched up shady characters before-but none quite this glib, amusing, and handsome.
"Believe it, Doc. I've got the luck of the devil."
"Oh, I believe it. You appear to be a man who lives on the edge and survives by his wits. When did you last have a tetanus shot?"
"Last year." She looked at him skeptically. He raised his right hand as though taking an oath. "Swear to God."
He eased himself over the side of the examination table and stood with his hip propped against it while he rebuttoned his jeans. He left his belt unbuckled. "What do I owe you?"
"Fifty dollars for the after-hours office call, fifty for the sutures and dressing, twelve each for the injections, including the one you wasted, and forty for the medication."
"Medication?"
She removed two plastic bottles from a locked cabinet and handed them to him. "An antibiotic and a pain pill. Once the lidocaine wears off, it'll hurt."
He withdrew a money clip from the front pocket of his snug jeans.
"Let's see, fifty plus, fifty, plus twenty-four, plus forty comes to
"One sixty-four.
He cocked an eyebrow, seeming amused by her prompt tabulation.
"Right. One hundred and sixty-four." He extracted the necessary bills and laid them on the examination table. "Keep the change," he said when he put down a five-dollar bill instead of four ones.
Lara was surprised that he had that much cash on him. Even after paying her, he still had a wad of currency in high denominations.
"Thank you. Take two of the antibiotic capsules tonight, then four a day until you've taken all of them."
He read the labels, opened the bottle of pain pills and shook out one.
He tossed it back and swallowed it dry. "It'd go down better with a shot of whiskey." His voice rose on a hopeful, inquiring note.
She shook her head. "Take one every four hours. Two if absolutely necessary. Take them with water," she emphasized, seriously doubting that he'd stick to those instructions. "Tomorrow afternoon around four-thirty, come in and I'll change your dressing."
"For another fifty bucks, I guess."
"No, that's included."
"Much obliged."
"Don't be. As soon as you leave, I'm calling Sheriff Baxter."
Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he regarded her indulgently.
"And get him out of bed at this time of night?" He shook his head remorsefully. "I've known poor old Elmo Baxter all my life. He and my daddy were buddies. They were youngsters during the oil boom, see? It was kinda like going through a war together, they said.
"They used to hang out around the drilling sites, came to be like mascots to the roughnecks and wildcatters. Ran errands for them to buy hamburgers, cigarettes, moonshine, whatever they wanted. He and my daddy probably procured some things that old Elmo would rather not recall," he said with a wink.
"Anyway, go ahead and call him. But once he gets here, he'll be nothing but glad to see me. He'll slap me on the back and say something like, Long time no see,' and ask what the hell I've been up to lately." He paused to gauge Lara's reaction. Her stony stare didn't faze him.
"Elmo's overworked and underpaid. Calling him out this late over this piddling accident of mine will get him all out of sorts, and he's already cantankerous by nature. If you ever have a real emergency, like some crazy dopehead breaking in
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