“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.”
