by J. M. Colail
Jack blinked. “Am I harassing you, or the other way around?”
Dr. Piet gave a slight smile as he turned again. “How about I help you out and we call it even?”
The part of Jack’s mind that would normally have sensed a bad idea and found an alternate path had been more or less rendered comatose by the drugs. It hurt to be helped to his feet—but that was apparently as far as the good doctor was willing to go. Too bad. Now that he was standing Jack could see that the man had a truly exceptional ass.
Dr. Piet led him to a handgrip screwed into the wall. “You can use this to keep your balance. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to get a bigger needle.”
Jack watched the door close behind him and wondered if that would have sounded as erotic if he were sober. Now, how to get his jeans off? Left leg first, maybe? He undid his belt and popped the buttons open, but there wasn’t really anywhere for the denim to go; his jeans were glued to the bandage wrapped around his leg. He was just going to have to peel them off.
Wiggling the jeans down past his ass didn’t present too many problems. Once he got them halfway down his thighs, however, there was a renewed surge of angry protest from his injured leg. Carefully, he sat again—on the examination table this time—and more or less kicked the jeans off his right leg. It made peeling them down the other much easier.
Just in time, too. Just as he’d balled up his jeans and tossed them in the corner, there was a knock at the door.
“I’m indecent.”
Dr. Piet came in rolling his eyes, took one look at the makeshift bandage around Jack’s leg, and made a face. “This was the best you could do?”
“It stopped the bleeding,” Jack said defensively. “Well, for a while, anyway.” He’d probably torn it open again walking in the waiting room.
The doctor pulled on a set of surgical gloves. “Let’s have a look, then.” He took a pair of plastic-wrapped surgical shears from a drawer and ripped the package open. The metal was cold against Jack’s skin as he cut away the cloth and gently pulled it away from the injury. He held up the offending material. “What cowboy patched you up? Please tell me no one ever actually wore this.”
“Johnson did it,” Jack told him. “And what’s wrong with my shirt?”
“Was it clean?” the doctor asked, going back for the bottle of alcohol. Damn, this was going to sting. “I mean, ever?”
“I’m an engineer! I do field testing!”
“So, what, hygienic considerations don’t apply?” Dr. Piet grabbed a cotton swab and started sterilizing the wound.
Jackson was momentarily distracted from their banter by the fire in his leg. “Should that still hurt with the morphine?”
“Man of your size with the dose I gave you?” Dr. Piet looked him up and down speculatively, and Jackson did his level best to keep from reacting. “Yep.”
“Just checking.” Jack’s stomach made an uncomfortably loud noise and he stopped watching the doctor’s hands.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Dr. Piet announced, dropping the cotton swab in the hazmat trash can. “Surprise!” He held up two spools. “Would you like the pink thread, or the blue?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Mostly; I don’t think I have enough of the blue. How’s the pain? Need another hit before I start sewing?”
Jack shook his head. “I’ve had stitches before. I’ll be okay.”
“That’s what I love about cowboys. So macho.” The doctor threaded the needle. “Out of curiosity, when was your last tetanus shot?”
Jackson watched the needle disappear into his flesh, then emerge on the other side. “Uh,” his stomach twinged, and he turned away. “I’m not sure. A couple of years ago?”
“I’ll check your records, but you’ll probably need another, just to be safe. It was metal you cut yourself on, right?”
Jack nodded. “Gotta kick Harrison’s ass for leaving his toolbox out like that.”
“Or you could start watching where you’re going,” Dr. Piet quipped, slipping the needle through another few layers of skin.
Jack scowled. “They pay you to be funny?”
“It probably won’t make the itemized list I send Blue Cross Alberta, no.” He tied off a knot in the thread and surveyed the damage. “Mama would be so proud. It’s hardly even going to scar.”
Jackson had to admit, the pink stitches were not nearly as gruesome as the blue ones he’d had last time. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Piet was busy consulting his medical records. “That’s my job.” He pulled a small notepad out of his pocket. “I’m prescribing some antibiotics to prevent infection. Twice a day every day, with food, until they’re gone. Any unusual side effects and you call me or Dr. Dan.” He tore off the top sheet and handed it over. “I’ve got to grab the tetanus booster; they’re in the supply room. Only had morphine in here out of sheer luck; last patient almost hacked his finger off chopping wood. It’s supposed to be kept in back under lock and key. Damn fool should’ve gone straight to the ER in an ambulance, though. Be right back!”
Great, Jackson thought. Injury, Aunt Bella, stitches, booster shot. Good thing the doctor was hot or this’d be one hell of a day.
Easy, cowboy. This town was small enough already. No reason to risk shrinking it any smaller by giving the gossips something to talk about. Besides, the evidence that the good doctor might swing his way was circumstantial at best.
Anyway, his leg would put him out of commission for at least a few days.
Jackson heard the warning bells go off in his head, but he figured he could probably afford to ignore them—at least until he was no longer drugged to the eyeballs with opiates.
“Okay, where do you want it?”
Huh?
Jackson looked up to see that the doctor had returned—and was holding up a giant syringe. “What?”
“Left or right?” the doctor asked. Was Jack just imagining that teasing glint in those eyes? “Arm.”
“Oh,” Jackson said, hoping to God he wasn’t blushing. On second thought, he probably didn’t have enough extra blood to blush. Please God, do not let me get an erection in the next ten minutes. It was not a prayer he had ever thought he’d need in his entire life. Then again, he’d never been half-stoned and half-naked with a hot doctor he couldn’t seem to stop picturing naked. “Left, I guess,” he said, rolling up his sleeve.
“Just a little prick,” Dr. Piet promised. Oh, he was so doing it on purpose, that little tease.
Jackson watched the needle pierce his skin distractedly. It was more of a pinch than anything else, really. Why were the edges of his vision going black? “Hardly felt a thing,” he said woozily, having the sudden urge to just… close his eyes.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” the doctor asked.
Jackson’s eyes rolled back. His head tipped forward. The last thing he knew as he passed out was Julian Piet’s concerned touch, keeping him from sliding off the table.
Chapter Two
COWBOYS. IT never failed. He couldn’t even count the number of times some misguided macho man had ended up in his office unconscious. Julian caught his patient’s head in one palm and his shoulder in the other and pushed him backward until he was lying flat on the table.
A quick check of his respiration and pulse told him the man was fine, probably just dehydrated. (And, a little voice in the back of his mind added, way beyond just plain “fine.”) He pressed the button for the intercom, wondering why he hadn’t used it earlier. It was so difficult to get used to a new set of exam rooms. The first day he’d hardly been able to find a damn tongue depressor. “Bella, I’m going to need an IV cart and a saline drip in two.”
Poor Jackson; he was probably in for a lecture. Julian had only known the woman two days and he already knew not to cross her. Not that Julian was any more lenient with the people he loved injuring themselves. In fact, he was probably twice as bad as Bella, and he had a lot of experience with that. His college friends hadn
’t been the careful type.
As predicted, Bella arrived with the requested items in tow, pursed lips firmly in place. “I swear, that boy has a death wish.”
“He’s just dehydrated,” Julian soothed, hanging the saline drip. He turned Jackson’s right arm toward himself, noting without meaning to the obvious strength just beneath the surface, and slid the IV needle into the back of his hand. Easy. “He should be up at any minute. Make him sit there until the IV’s done, and don’t let him leave without seeing me. I have to put the fear of God in him.”
Well, that was an exaggeration. It was more a fear of Not Being Able To Walk Without A Limp, but it was usually at least as effective.
Bella’s only response was to harrumph in her crotchety old lady way as he let himself out.
“Hit me,” he said to Barbara, the nurse manning what he always thought of as the dispatch station.
“Mrs. Jones is in one waiting for you; she’s been having problems with her shoulder again.”
“Right.” Maybe he should have read all the active patient files before coming out here. There couldn’t be that many. Taking the folder, he headed off into examination room one.
Mrs. Jones was a woman of forty-something years, immaculately groomed but with an air about her that said “mother of two.” She looked up from Canadian Home and Garden as he walked in. “You’re not Dr. Dan.”
“So they keep telling me.” He tucked the file under one arm and slid onto the little stool, facing her, holding out his free hand. “I’m Dr. Piet. Nice to meet you.”
Mrs. Jones had a nice, firm grip, but he noted that she moved awkwardly when she reached forward to take his hand. “Same to you.”
Julian held up her chart. “I see you’ve been having some trouble with your shoulder?” He’d hardly had time to go over her record in detail.
“I was in a car accident a couple of years ago and tore my rotator cuff.”
He winced; shoulder injuries were not particularly forgiving in women of her age. “Since then?”
“I had chronic pain until I had it operated on about six months ago. The pain’s not as bad as it was, but now it doesn’t move too well. I thought I just needed to give it time, but now I’m worried I’ve waited too long.”
Nodding, Julian flipped through the file for the X-rays. “Have you been seeing a physiotherapist at all?”
“The surgeon in Calgary told me I should get a referral, but I got busy. I just forgot.”
Hmm. Julian bit his lower lip as he held the X-rays to the light. On the one hand, as a medical professional, it annoyed him that she’d ignored her doctor’s advice. On the other hand, the surgeon should have done the referral his damn self. And after two years of undergrad, four of med school, and six of residency at a teaching hospital, he knew what it was like to be busy. “No need to panic just yet. Can you move your arm a bit for me, just to give me an idea of how much range of motion you have?”
He watched carefully as he directed her through a series of motions, gauging both her reach and her expression. Finally, he nodded again, double-checking her post-surgical X-ray. “That’s fine, thank you.” He squinted. “It looks from the X-rays like the bone damage has been contained, and you haven’t got any major tendon or ligament damage.”
Mrs. Jones looked like she didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. “What is it, then? Am I going to be stuck like this?”
He smiled. “Mrs. Jones, you’ve got what we call frozen shoulder. It happens often after shoulder operations, and like many other conditions, it can worsen with age. Luckily, it can also be improved with steroids and exercise.”
He wheeled himself over to what he was beginning to think of as the Wall of Explanatory Pamphlets and selected, after several minutes of searching, one on the side effects and pros and cons of using corticosteroids to treat joint pain. “If you decide you want to go ahead with the steroid injections after reading this, just come see us during our usual business hours. We’ll figure out the dosage from there.” Julian dug a business card out of his pocket. “Meanwhile, you can start physio whenever you like. My sister Roz runs the local gym; she’s got her PT. You won’t need a referral. Just tell her Julian sent you.”
She blinked. “That’s it?”
He wondered if she thought he was dismissing her. “For now. I don’t want you to make a decision on the steroids before you’re properly informed. If you have any questions about the treatment once you’ve done your research, you can call me. But I think you should try the physio by itself for a while first, just to see. You might be surprised.”
Mrs. Jones breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor.”
Julian shook her hand again for good measure, and went to meet his last patient of the day.
Tom Bender was the slightly senile old man who ran the local grocery. He had rheumatoid arthritis in everything that could be remotely arthritic, coke-bottle glasses, a cane he probably didn’t need, and a truly amazing sense of hearing for such an old man.
Dr. Matheson had told Julian he could expect him roughly once a week with some malady or another, ranging from an imagined nervous tick in his cheek to complaints of low energy to the insistence that he was suffering from any of a variety of brain cancers. Except for the arthritis, the man was literally a picture of health. Julian gave him some Tic Tacs in a prescription bottle and sent him on his way.
Bobby was forwarding the lines for the evening while Barbara disinfected the flat surfaces of the waiting room. Julian locked up the back, then popped back into examination room two to check on his patient. He opened the door just as Bella walked out, rolling her eyes, and poked his head around the frame before walking in completely. “Oh, good, you’re awake.”
Jackson blinked at the ceiling, squinted at the bright light and groaned. He didn’t look so great, for a man who was ridiculously good-looking. “I fell asleep?” His voice was incredulous. Julian watched his movements carefully for any sign of further injury as he shuffled himself up onto his elbows.
“The medical term is lost consciousness.” He said it with relish. Jack’s reactions were too entertaining.
His patient stopped trying to right himself and stared at Julian. “I fainted?!”
“I take it this is a new experience for you.” Yep, he was definitely enjoying this. It was totally innocent, he told himself. He was just amused by Jack’s injured pride; that was all.
Jackson attempted a glower, then apparently thought better of it and laid his head back against the examination table.
Julian took pity on him and started to explain. It was, after all, he reminded himself firmly, his actual job. “It happens sometimes when people get dehydrated. For example, after a traumatic loss of blood. You’re lucky you didn’t damage your femoral artery.” He padded over and carefully removed the IV. “Since you were unconscious, I took the liberty of re-hydrating you.”
“Didn’t know you cared.”
“I’m that kind of guy.”
Jack gave him a long, calculating look, and Julian tried not to chafe under it, instead holding out a hand to help him up. Jack hauled himself upright. “Is this the part where you tell me I should take it easy for a few days?”
Julian shrugged eloquently, dropping down onto his favorite of the clinic’s rolly stool things. “Only if you like your leg.” It was a flippant answer, but one that would doubtlessly get the point across. He pulled out his prescription pad again and wrote one for some slightly above-counter grade drugs. “Painkillers,” he said, and handed it over. “I don’t recommend taking them on an empty stomach.”
Jack gave himself some time to adjust to the new blood flow before swinging his legs over the edge of the table—very, very carefully—Julian noted with approval. He probably didn’t want to faint again, not that Julian thought he would.
“How did you get here, anyway?”
“Drove,” Jack said shortly, like it was a dumb question.
Julian raised his eyebrows. Dumb shit, w
as his first thought. He could have passed out at the wheel and ended up in worse shape than he’d already been. Then again, people didn’t generally do their best thinking while bleeding from a gaping flesh wound. “Just tell me it’s not a manual.”
Jack blinked, reaching for his jeans and managing to wiggle his left leg in without falling over. “I mean, Hamilton drove me. I think he wanted to have the rest of the day off to be with Mel. They just live around the corner.”
Well, thank God he wasn’t a total idiot. Julian let out the breath he’d been holding. As a doctor he would have had to advise strongly against anyone operating heavy machinery in Jack’s condition. “Good. So, let’s talk shop. I don’t think you’ve got any irreversible damage, but you’re going to be operating below capacity for a while. If you’ve got the time, I’d like to refer you to a physiotherapist. You wouldn’t be going for a week or more. I just want to make sure the muscles heal properly. That all right by you?”
“There’s one here in town?” He sounded surprised. Distractingly, it was just his ass hanging out of the bloodstained jeans now.
Julian guessed it wasn’t all that unusual that not everyone knew Roz had completed her qualifications a few months ago, before she’d returned to take over the gym their parents had run for as long as he could remember when they retired to Florida. Truth be told, Jack probably didn’t need the physio. He likely would have been just fine on his own. But his health insurance covered it, and anyway it was an easy way to keep an eye on the injury and forestall any future problems. “She’s my sister,” he explained. “And if you want a ride home from someone other than your Aunt Bella you’d better like her.”
Jack huffed a laugh. “In that case, I think we’ll get along fine.”
“It’s quitting time, so she should be here any minute.” Julian flushed a little in spite of himself. Here he was at twenty-seven, getting picked up from work by his sister. “I had to sell my car when I finished my residency in Ontario. For one thing, it wouldn’t have made the trip, and for another, it wouldn’t have survived the winters anyway. The shit that passes for snow down there.”