by Lyn Gardner
“The entrance wound is on the back of my leg. I could never manage to get a good look at it,” Alex said as she turned her back to Maggie. Feeling her shirttail being lifted out of the way, Alex waited for Maggie to say something, but when she heard the woman gasp, it confirmed what Alex had already known.
Blanching at the sight of the wound, Maggie asked, “How did this happen?”
“When I woke up after the crash, I found that a piece of metal had gone through my seat…and through my leg.”
“Jesus Christ!” Maggie exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“If you remember, you weren’t in any shape to listen, and once I got myself free, it wasn’t too bad.”
“Well, it looks bad now.”
“Yeah?”
“Alex, it’s definitely infected. You need to lie down and let me see what I can do.”
Moving off the sofa to allow Alex room, Maggie opened the first-aid kit and examined the contents. Although there seemed to be plenty of gauze, bandages and tape, the only disinfectant was a partially filled bottle of isopropyl rubbing alcohol.
Returning to sit on the edge of the sofa, Maggie lifted the tails of the shirt and looked at the gash again. It was less than two inches long, but the entire thing was swollen, and yellow pus appeared to be building just below the surface of the skin. Gently, Maggie ran her finger over the cut, hoping that the slight pressure she was applying would force it to open on its own, but when Alex yelped in pain, Maggie pulled her hand away. Thinking for a moment, she looked around the room, and seeing a cast-iron kettle hanging on a hook over the fire, she asked, “The pot over the fireplace, what’s that for?
“I use it to boil water.” Alex answered, looking over her shoulder at Maggie.
“Do we have salt?”
“Yes, in the cellar. Why?”
“Because we need to draw this infection out.”
“Is it that bad?”
Grimacing as she glanced at the cut again, Maggie said, “It’s worse.”
***
After losing the argument deciding who would gather the water, salt and washcloths, Alex sat on the edge of the sofa, trying her best not to put pressure on the back of her leg while Maggie shuffled around the cabin for the supplies. Eyeing the bottle of scotch still sitting on the coffee table, Alex was contemplating having a sip when Maggie came from the kitchen carrying two glasses. Without saying a word, she picked up the bottle and began filling the glasses.
Confused, Alex tilted her head and waited for an explanation.
“I’m not Florence Nightingale,” Maggie said, offering Alex a weak grin. “The compresses have to be hot in order to draw out the infection, so I thought that this might help settle our nerves a bit.” Handing Alex a glass, Maggie said, “Now you drink it, and I’ll check on the water.”
Carefully lifting the cast-iron pot from the hook above the fire, Maggie set it on the hearth and poured in an ample amount of salt, followed by several washcloths. Slowly stirring the mixture until the salt was dissolved, Maggie’s expression grew pensive. Quietly, she said, “You’d best get comfortable. This is almost ready.”
As Alex took another swallow of scotch, she noticed the worried look on Maggie’s face. Thinking for a moment, she said, “You know, if this is going to bother you, I’ll do it myself. I’m sure I can manage.”
Stopping what she was doing, Maggie looked in Alex’s direction. Grinning ever so slightly at the woman’s continual need to be chivalrous, Maggie said, “I can’t remember much about the past few days, but I’m fairly certain that I threw up at least once. Didn’t I?”
“Yeah, a few times, but—”
“And you cleaned and dressed the cut on my side. Right?”
“You know I did, but that doesn’t mean—”
“And by the comment you made this morning, I’m pretty sure you helped me…you helped me when I needed to use the bathroom. Yes?”
“Okay, sure, but Maggie…”
Pulling two washcloths from the pot, Maggie placed them in a small saucepan and then made her way to the sofa. Sitting on the coffee table, she said, “Alex, I’m not squeamish, but this is going to hurt…a lot. I don’t remember much about what you did for me, but I do know that you never hurt me, and I’m about to hurt you.” Grabbing a towel from the arm of the sofa, Maggie handed it to Alex. “Now, lie down and put this under you. The sooner we get this over with the better.”
Nodding her head, Alex stood long enough to cover the sofa with the terrycloth, and then slowly took her position across the couch. Reaching over, she grabbed her glass of scotch from the coffee table and quickly drank it down.
Lifting the tails of Alex’s shirt out of the way, Maggie paled at the greenish-yellow lesion on Alex’s thigh. Reaching into the saucepan, she removed a washcloth, and folding it in half as quickly as possible, Maggie asked, “You ready?”
Taking a deep breath, Alex replied, “Yeah. I’m good.”
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said sadly, wincing as she covered the wound with the steaming cloth.
“Christ!” Alex groaned in protest. Feeling as if she was being branded by the heated towel, a long line of expletives entered her thoughts, but holding back her desire to scream them, she took a deep breath and waited for the pain to ease.
Over the next several minutes, Maggie continued to exchange the cool cloths for the ones fresh from the steaming salt water, and while the muscles in Alex’s arms and legs tensed, she uttered not a sound.
As Maggie knew they would, the hot compresses eventually did their job. Forcing the infection upward, the gash on Alex’s thigh reopened, and the foulness hidden beneath the surface erupted. Spewing from the break in the skin, the yellow-green pus drained from the wound, and wincing at both the sight and the smell of it, Maggie gingerly wiped the ooze from Alex’s leg. After alternating a few more steaming washcloths to make sure that all the infection had leached out, Maggie took a closer look at the puncture wound and swallowed hard. Biting her lip, she reached around and refilled Alex’s glass with liquor. Tapping her on the arm, Maggie said, “Here, you might need this.”
“Why?” Alex asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Frowning, Maggie replied, “Because I know why it got infected. It looks like there is still some metal in your leg.”
“What!”
Nodding her head, Maggie asked, “Do you know if there are any tools around here?”
“Um…there’s a tackle box in the basement. Why?”
“I need to find something to get this thing out.”
“There are tweezers in the kit. Just use them.”
“It’s not a splinter, Alex. It’s a shard. I don’t know if I could grab hold of it with tweezers,” Maggie said, handing her the glass of scotch.
Watching as the woman got to her feet, Alex asked, “So now what?”
“Now, you drink, and I try to find something that I can use to get it out.”
Before Maggie had disappeared down the hall, Alex had already emptied her glass and without hesitation, filled it again. Her determination had silenced her screams moments before, but her leg was now on fire. Painfully throbbing, with bolts of pain radiating across her thigh, Alex winced at the thought of Maggie touching the wound again. The salt had been bad enough, but soon it would be time to disinfect the cut. Blanching at the thought, Alex took another gulp of her drink. Hissing at the burn of the liquor as it made its way down her throat, she placed the glass on the floor and lay her head on the sofa, waiting for the scotch to take effect.
By the time Maggie came back, Alex was lying with her face toward the back of the couch, and noticing that the bottle of scotch was now half empty, Maggie decided that small talk wasn’t needed. With the amount of alcohol Alex had consumed, it was clear to Maggie that the woman had tried her best to prepare herself for whatever pain was to come. Dropping the pair of needle-nose pliers into the boiling water, Maggie quietly walked over and sat on the coffee table, picking up her own glass a
s she studied the woman lying on the couch.
The cabin was quiet save for the tiny pops and snaps of the fire crackling in the hearth, and both women lost themselves in thought. One, fogged by scotch, studied the weave of the upholstery in front of her eyes, while the other found herself admiring the athletic physique of the woman lying in front of her.
Sipping her drink, Maggie’s eyes slowly traveled up Alex’s long, lean legs. The muscles in her calves and thighs were toned to perfection, and Maggie couldn’t help but admire every well-defined ripple. Unconsciously, her eyes traveled north and immediately flew open wide. Alex’s shirt had ridden up, and Maggie found herself staring at a pair of black thong knickers that were doing absolutely nothing to hide Alex’s firm, shapely ass.
Realizing that she had been staring, Maggie shook herself from her thoughts and blurted the first thing that came to mind, “Do you work out?”
Whether it was the liquor, or the fact that the wee Detective Inspector had apparently been ogling her, Alex began to giggle. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Why, do you see something you like?”
Feeling her cheeks redden, Maggie tried to clarify. “No! I mean…um…I just noticed that you have a lot of muscles.”
Wearing a lopsided leer, as Alex retrieved her empty glass from the floor, she asked, “And what else have you noticed?”
Raising an eyebrow at Alex’s drunken playfulness, Maggie said, “Nothing, but I think that you’ve had enough to drink.”
“Why, because I’m hitting on you?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that. I mean…no…no, I don’t like it!” Maggie blurted as she went to get the pliers out of the water. “I’m straight!”
“I bet I could bend you if given half the chance,” Alex said with a low, throaty chuckle, her eyelids growing heavy from the scotch.
Returning to the sofa, Maggie took the glass from Alex’s hand. “Do you want any more before I start?”
Shaking her head, Alex said, “No. No, let’s just get this over with.”
Nodding in agreement, Maggie picked up the pliers, but when she looked at the wound again, she frowned. When it had gaped open to release the infection, she had seen the sliver of steel, but now the gash was closed. As lightly as she could, she ran her finger down the cut and found that not one millimeter of the shard was near enough to the surface to feel.
“Shit,” she said under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked anxiously.
“It’s not through the skin.”
“What? But you said that you could see it.”
“I could, but I’m…I’m going to have to….”
Stopping mid-sentence, Maggie reached for her drink and took a quick gulp. Returning the glass to the table, she turned around and found Alex staring back at her waiting for an answer. With a sigh, Maggie said, “Alex, I’m…I’m going to have to…I’m afraid that I’m going to have to force the cut open to get to it.”
Alex paled. Looking into Maggie’s eyes, she could see both worry and compassion, and trying to be brave, she offered Maggie the weakest of grins. Again turning her face away, Alex said, “Go ahead, then. Do what you have to do.”
Wasting no time, Maggie moved closer. “I’d hold on to something if I were you,” she whispered, biting her lip as she spread open the cut.
“Oh, fuck me!” Alex screamed into the cushions, tensing and arching her body from the pain.
“You have to stay still,” Maggie instructed, placing her hand on Alex to push her back to the couch. “Please, just try not to move.”
Panting, Alex nodded her head and grabbed the edge of the sofa until her knuckles were white.
Holding her breath, Maggie widened the gash with her fingers, wincing immediately as blood spewed from the gaping wound and covered her fingers. Praying that her churning stomach would not let loose its contents, she moved a finger inside to feel for the sliver, and within seconds, it snagged the steel.
“Oh, Christ! Maggie…please…please…I need a minute. Oh, dear God, please stop,” Alex pleaded.
Sitting back, Maggie did what she was asked, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe away the blood covering her hands and running down Alex’s leg. Waiting until she heard Alex’s breathing come under control, Maggie handed her another glass of scotch, and without hesitation, Alex emptied it in one swallow. Holding it out for a refill, Maggie did as asked, and then watched as Alex guzzled the second just as quickly.
Seeing the glass drop from Alex’s hand, Maggie asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Alex said, her eyes meeting Maggie’s for a moment. “But now you need to promise me something.”
“What?” Maggie asked, grabbing another towel in preparation for the blood that she knew would flow again.
“Don’t you dare stop until you get that fucking thing out, okay?”
“I promise,” Maggie replied as she picked up the pliers. “Hold on, Alex,” she whispered as she reopened the wound, pushing her finger under the flesh until she found the metal shard.
“Sweet Jesus!” Alex howled as a lightning bolt of pain shot down her leg. Grasping the fabric of the sofa, she buried her head in the pillow and yelled, the cushion doing little to muffle her sounds of agony.
Determined, Maggie worked quickly. Disregarding Alex’s screams as she tensed against the intrusion, Maggie reached under the skin with the pliers. She tried several times to extract the shard until finally she pulled the two-inch needle of ragged steel from Alex’s leg. They had already discussed how she would disinfect the wound, but when she pulled the wad of gauze from the glass filled with rubbing alcohol, she held her breath. Pressing it on the open wound, as Alex shrieked in pain, Maggie wept openly for the woman who was quickly finding a place in her heart…again.
Chapter Eleven
Alex awoke slowly. She could hear the crackle of the fire and Maggie doing something in the kitchen, but the dull throb between her temples convinced her that opening her eyes to face the light of day might be a mistake. With a groan, she rolled tentatively to one side. Leaning against the back of the sofa, she took several deep breaths thinking that it would clear away the pounding in her head. It didn’t.
Noticing that Alex was awake, Maggie came over and sat down on the coffee table. “How’s your leg?” she asked quietly.
“Better than my head,” Alex muttered.
Chuckling, Maggie tapped Alex on the arm so that she’d open her eyes. Handing her a bottle of water, she said, “Here, drink this. It should help with the headache.”
Swallowing a few mouthfuls of water, Alex glanced at Maggie, immediately noticing that her hair was now brushed, and a bit more color had returned to her cheeks.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Don’t you mean passed out?” Maggie said with a snicker.
Smiling, Alex nodded her head, “Yeah, that too.”
“Almost eight hours, I think.”
“What?”
“Somehow I don’t think you’ve had a lot of sleep since the crash, so between that, the alcohol, and the pain—”
“Yeah, but what about you?”
Rolling her eyes at Alex’s worrisome ways, Maggie said, “Relax. As soon as I got you cleaned up, I went and took a kip. I only woke up about an hour ago, and I was just about to fix some tea. Would you like some?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
Noticing a pained look on Maggie’s face when she stood up, Alex reached out and grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong?”
Drinking in the feel of Alex’s warm hand wrapped around hers, several seconds passed before Maggie replied. “I tried to put some more wood on the fire, but I think I may have pulled open the cut on my side.”
Concerned, Alex let go of her hand and lifted Maggie’s shirt just far enough to see the bandage. Seeing the spots of blood on the gauze, she frowned as she got to her feet. “You better go lie down, and I’ll get the bandage
s,” Alex said, cautiously putting weight on her right leg.
“How is it?” Maggie asked, looking down at Alex’s heavily bandaged thigh.
The pounding in her head far outweighing the dull ache in her leg, Alex grinned. “Actually, it’s not too bad.”
A few minutes later, after getting the antibiotic cream that she had hidden in the bathroom, Alex joined Maggie in the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Alex lifted the hem of Maggie’s shirt and began to tend to the injury.
“Where’d you get that cream?” Maggie asked, noticing the small tube that Alex had placed on the bed.
“It was in the bathroom.”
“I thought you said the only disinfectant we had was the rubbing alcohol?”
“Is that what I said?”
“Alex, why did you let me use the alcohol if we had that?” Maggie said, her Scottish accent becoming very pronounced as her temper flared.
Shrugging her shoulders, Alex looked up. “There isn’t enough for both of us, and after what you’ve been through, there’s no way in hell I was going to use the other stuff on you. That shit really stings and I…I couldn’t do that to you.”
Unsure whether to thank Alex for her concern or scream at her for her stubbornness, Maggie remained silent. Taking a few deep breaths to curb her temper, she thought about the woman whom she had once described as hard and coarse. Maggie already knew that Alex had saved her life, and it was now more than obvious that she had done it while totally disregarding her own pain. Watching as Alex worked on redressing the wound, Maggie asked, “Have you always been gay?”
Laughing out loud, Alex said, “No. One morning I woke up…took a pill, and wham – I was gay!”
Chuckling at the stupidity of her own question, Maggie regrouped. “What I meant to say was, have you never been with…um…have you never been interested in men?”
“No, to both of your questions.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a lesbian,” Alex emphasized lightheartedly.
Smiling, Maggie said, “But how do you know? I mean, if you’ve never… um…if you’ve never been with a man, how can you be so sure?”