“Well, now, my day has suddenly brightened, Annabelle, because here comes one of the most handsome men in all of Howling.”
The lady walking toward Branna looked familiar; the blonde hair was streaked with gray, and she was tall with big shoulders. She hadn’t changed much since Branna’s father had forced her to visit the doctor years ago when she’d fallen ill. She had the smile and face of an angel, but to Branna, she could easily pass for the devil. She remembered thinking that Dr. McBride, like all doctors, had that pleasant façade, but underneath she’d be like the others and soon cause her pain.
“No bias involved either,” Branna heard someone drawl. Looking to the desk, she saw another woman, who, on closer inspection, she remembered very well. Annabelle Smith.
“None.” Dr. McBride gave her son a smacking kiss on the cheek before looking at Branna. She flinched as the woman lifted a hand toward her, pathetic person that she was. Branna then turned her face and buried it into the large, warm chest at her side.
“Get me out of here, Jake, please,” Branna begged.
“This is Branna O’Donnell, Mom,” the beast said, wrapping an arm around her waist as she tried to leave. “She had an accident. Seems she got knocked over and hit her head hard and hurt her wrist.” Branna knew there would be all kinds of silent signals going on over her head, but she didn’t care; her eyes were shut and she was pressed into a solid chest, even if it was Jake McBride’s. Closing her eyes, she tried to put herself somewhere else, like she’d done after the accident. A place where there was no more pain.
“Branna, honey, I’ve had personal experience with that chest, and I know it’s a fine place to rest, but you really need to let me look you over now,” Dr. McBride said.
Oh, God.
Her hands gripped Jake’s shirt again as she looked up; she couldn’t help it. At least if she was anchored to him, in some weird way, she thought maybe she would stay safe.
“Your head hurting you, Branna?”
“It’s killing her,” Jake answered for her.
“Hey, Branna, remember me?”
Opening her eyes, she looked into the face of the other woman in the room who had once been her friend.
“Annabelle, you know I-I have to go, that I can't stay here.”
Annabelle Smith was tall with golden brown hair that tended to curl in the rain and brown eyes that melted when she saw animals. Well, they once had anyway, and she was also one of the few people who knew why Branna was terrified of doctors.
“Dr. McBride is the best, Branna. How about you come sit in the chair and let her take a quick look at you? Then she'll give you something for your sore head.”
“I-I don’t th-think I can, Annabelle.”
“Sure you can, and while I'm still pissed with you for leaving me without a word, after ten years I've just about forgiven you, so why don't you let me, Jake, and Dr. McBride here help you.”
Branna’s hand stayed clutched in the side of Jake’s shirt, the other Annabelle held, and they all made their way across to the chair, while Dr. McBride chatted to her son about his favorite meatballs that she was making him for dinner that night. Branna latched onto the silly conversation like a lifeline, focusing on each word to distract herself from what was to come.
“Finish it with a brownie and chocolate sauce, and I’ll be persuaded to look at Dad’s Bronco before I leave.”
“Deal.”
Branna sat with Annabelle on one side holding her hand and Jake on the other.
“I’m just going to have a look at you now, Branna. If at any time you want me to stop, you just say. If something hurts, you just let me know, and if you feel sick, then you just turn to your right and throw up on Jake’s shoes,” Dr. McBride said.
“My mother, the caring face of Howling. If only your patients really knew you like I do.”
Branna had a brief vision of her mother and quickly pushed it aside.
Dr. McBride talked as she checked Branna over, her words directed to either Belle or her son, and Branna sat tense and silent while she did so. When the doctor touched her head, Branna bit her lip.
“We need to give that a cleanup, Annabelle, and maybe a stitch or two?”
“No needles… please.” Branna heard the plea in her words. She was pathetic. How could a person of twenty-six still be traumatized by events that happened fifteen years ago? She hated herself for the weakness that still plagued her.
“It’s all right, Branna. I’m not going to hurt you,” Dr. McBride said gently.
“You sure are a scaredy-cat, Branna O’Donnell. If I’d known in school you were this easy to crack, I would have tried harder.”
