"Sorry," she murmured. "Cold hands are a hazard of theprofession."
She had to gently shift his muscled arm forward, out of her line of sight with another touch. He remained frozen, barelybreathing.
Maybe the attraction zinging through her veins was one-sided. Maybe he was married, though she didn't see a ring on hisfinger.
The laceration wasn't deep, but she could see how the location would be difficult to treat without help. It was surrounded by a fading yellow bruise. Curving along his upper ribcage, every time he moved, the bandages wouldpull.
She stepped back, relieved for the momentary distance. "I can stitch you up, but you'll need to take it easy for severaldays."
He shook his head very slightly, still not looking ather.
"If you lift too much weight or haul... I don't know, bales of hay or a baby cow or something, you'll rip out the stitches, and we'll be right backhere."
His gaze flicked to meet hers for the briefest second. Was that a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips? It disappeared too quickly to besure.
"I'mserious."
His eyes were downcast again. "I can't afford timeoff."
"I can have the office phone your boss," sheoffered.
He immediately tensed up, shouldersrigid.
She glanced down at the counter, at his chart. "Oh. I have a sticky note here from Rene at the front desk. I think it says"—she squinted at the loopy handwriting—"you put down that you're a cash pay but normally the bills are sent to the... Triple H? I think she wanted me to find out if it was a mistake." She looked back up at theman.
His stare was hard, any hint of humor gone behind a blank mask. His eyes narrowed, his hands clenched. If she’d thought him tense before, she hadn’t met tense. She figured any second, he’d vibrate right off thetable.
"I'm a cash pay." The words were said with deadly seriousness. And then she saw his throat work as he swallowed. Looked away again. "I'm good for it. I can makeinstallments."
Pride was a funny thing. So he didn't want thisTriple Hto pay for the appointment. He still held that tension in every line of his body. The charge would only be for an appointment and sutures. She didn't know the ins and outs of billing—that's what an office manager was for—but how much could itcost?
She cleared her throat, forcing false brightness. "I'll make sure she gets it billed correctly." She reached up to the upper cabinet, pulled out a syringe. "Let me just get a local to numbthe—"
"That's notnecessary."
She looked over her shoulder at him. "Are you sure? Most patients find the needle uncomfortable."Uncomfortablewas an understatement. Most people freaked out just looking at the curved surgicalneedle.
"I'msure."
"Okaaaay."
She assembled needle and thread and washed her hands again for goodmeasure.
He kept his focus on the floor as she moved close to thetable.
"Can you hold your arm away for me?" she askedquietly.
He obliged, holding the limbaloft.
Several inches below the laceration was a fading scar she hadn't noticed on the first pass. Farming must be more dangerous than she’dthought.
"You'll feel a stick," shewarned.
But he didn't jump at the first prick of the needle. She couldn't even be sure he wasbreathing.
"Deep breath," shesaid.
And then his chest expanded beneath herhand.
