Prescription for Love

by Radclyffe

“What’s the chance this whole thing might come down before then?”

  “Fifty-fifty, maybe worse.”

  “Get her out.”

  Flann cursed. “Look—”

  “Risk assessment, Dr. Rivers,” Abby pronounced. “This is the safest course.”

  “Then at least you should get out of the way so you can pull Harper out if it goes bad.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” Abby murmured, “Be careful, Harper.”

  “Yeah.” Harper jammed the two-by-four under the beam pinning Flann’s leg and pushed another hunk of wood under it.

  “Get ready to move.”

  “I’m not sure my leg will work right away,” Flann said.

  “Just get close—we’ll take it from there.” Harper pushed down on the lever and the pile of wood groaned. Abby watched from the mouth of the tunnel, ready to grab Harper and pull her out if the pile started to shift. Endless moments later, Harper eased aside and an arm appeared next to her.

  Abby crowded forward and grabbed Flann’s hand. “I’ve got you.”

  “I’m not at my fighting best,” Flann said weakly. “So don’t let go.”

  Abby tightened her grip. “I’m not going to.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Flann pushed herself to her knees but didn’t have the strength to stand. Her leg might as well have been a dead log attached to her hip for all she could control it. “Leg’s useless for a bit.”

  Abby slipped an arm around her waist, saying gently, “Take your time. You can make it.”

  A second later Harper was on her other side, and Flann managed to get both legs under her and wobble to her feet. Her injured leg burned like someone had rammed a hot poker down the middle of her quad. Congealing blood soaked her jeans to the knee.

  “Jesus, Flann,” Harper said, “you’re a mess.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Are you dizzy?” Abby asked.

  “No,” Flann croaked. “A little weak in general, but I don’t think I lost that much blood.

  “We’ll see when we get you to the ER.”

  Flann grunted and put a little more weight on the leg. It held. “By the time we get to the ER, it’ll be filled with patients and I’ll be too busy to worry about it.”

  “You’re not going to be doing anything tonight,” Abby said.

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Abby.” Flann didn’t have the patience to argue. “Look at the damage here. If that twister went through town or even stayed on the ground on the outskirts, there’s gonna be a lot more than property damage. People are going to be hurt. I’ve got work to do.”

  Abby gritted her teeth and stared at Flann’s set jaw. The woman was so stubborn that reasoning with her was about as effective as trying to hold back the tornado with a bedsheet. “Harper, maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  Harper cleared her throat. “Uh…how about we get everybody inside and we’ll do a quick check on the three of them. I’ll take the kids, you look at Flann. If her leg’s not too bad, then for the short term, at least, it makes the most sense to let her try to work. I’ve got everything you’ll need to treat a straightforward injury.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Abby muttered. Two against one was hopeless odds, but she was counting on Harper’s concern for Flann’s welfare to win out if she found anything serious. “Let’s get inside. If the wound is manageable as an outpatient, okay. But if I say she needs the OR, then what I say goes.”

  “No,” Flann said.

  “Okay,” Harper said.

  “God damn it, Harp,” Flann said.

  Harper held firm. “If it’s not bad like you say, then you’ve got nothing to complain about.”

  Flann didn’t argue. She’d just work on Abby when she got her alone.

  “Everybody okay?” Presley called.

  “We’re good,” Harper said. “Take Flann and the kids back to the house. Abby and I will catch up.”

  Flann didn’t argue about riding—she couldn’t maneuver through the rubble. Once she got situated next to Margie, Presley navigated a circuitous path back to the house. Miraculously, the house was undamaged other than a few slates lying scattered around on the grass. Margie and Blake carried the chickens inside, and Presley gave her a hand climbing down from the ATV.

  “How are you doing?” Presley asked.

  “Better,” Flann said. “I’m starting to feel my leg again.”

  Inside, Margie and Blake immediately settled into one corner of the kitchen, discussing how best to create a temporary pen for the chicks. Harper appeared a minute later with a medical bag in one hand and a plastic crate filled with instrument packs and surgical bandages. Presley put flashlights on the counter and table.

  Abby immediately joined Blake and Margie. “You two need to get into dry clothes.”

  “We just need to get the chicks settled,” Blake said, barely giving her a glance as Margie set a big cardboard box on the floor.

  “Five minutes,” Abby ordered.

  “I’ll see what I can find for them,” Presley said, pausing by Abby. “They look like they’re doing better than the rest of us.”

  Abby glanced over at Flann. “Right. Harper, can you take a look at these two while I get a look at Flann’s leg.”

  “Sure.” Harper pulled out a kitchen chair. “Margie, sit.”

  Flann desperately wanted to sit down too, but she didn’t. Any sign of weakness now would get her benched for the rest of the night. She’d be fine as soon as she had something to drink and a little bit to eat. Time to get on top of the situation.

  “Let’s go in the sitting room, Abby. You can check me over in there.”

  Surprised that Flann acquiesced so easily, Abby grabbed the container of surgical supplies and one of the big lantern flashlights, and followed Flann down the hall. Flann moved slowly and Abby suspected she was trying hard to hide a limp. The sitting room was a large cozy space with a fireplace, an overstuffed sofa and matching easy chair with a floral pattern, and a big hooked rug on the wood floor. An oversized coffee table that looked as old as the house sat in the middle of the room with a few business magazines and general medical journals scattered on top. Harper and Presley obviously used this room to relax, and the companionable image gave her a pang of envy.

  “Stretch out on the sofa.” Abby put the supplies and light on the coffee table. “Can you get your jeans off?”

  “I don’t want to get blood on their rug.” Flann stopped just inside the door, unbuttoned her jeans, and started to push them down. She winced and stopped. “I might need a little help.”

  Abby pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “Hold on to the door frame for balance. I’m going to have to tug.”

  Flann braced one arm against the doorway. “All set.”

  Abby crouched, gripped the waistband of Flann’s jeans, and rocked them down over her hips to midthigh. Flann could think of a lot of scenarios where she wouldn’t mind Abby on her knees in front of her, but this definitely wasn’t one of them. She hated appearing helpless in front of Abby and hated being tended to as if she were incapable of looking after herself—or anyone—even more. Abby tugged on her jeans, and Flann swore.

  “Sorry.” Abby rocked back on her heels and looked up at Flann. “It’s stuck to the laceration and I can’t tell how bad it is. I’ll have to soak the material with some saline and try again.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Wordlessly, Abby opened the liter bottle of sterile saline and poured it onto the front of Flann’s jeans. Maroon-colored water dripped from the bottom of her jeans as the material soaked through. When she was done, she grasped the material and tried again. Flann’s breathing was short and raspy.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby murmured. “I can check the supplies for analgesics, but they probably won’t kick in soon enough to do any good.”

  “It’s okay,” Flann said through tight teeth. “Just get it done.”

  With one final pull, the jeans slid down ove
r her knees to the tops of her work boots.

  “Almost there.” Abby unlaced Flann’s boots and steadied her with a hand on her good hip. Flann’s T-shirt came to the middle of her dark briefs. Her legs were lean and muscular. Abby focused on the ten-inch laceration angled across the anterior portion of her thigh, deep enough to have separated the tissue down to muscle. The saline had cleared most of the clot, but she couldn’t tell yet how serious it was. “Can you step out of your boots and jeans?”

  Carefully, Flann eased one foot free and then the other.

  Abby rose and slid an arm around Flann’s waist. Flann was pale, her pupils wide and dark with pain. Abby steeled herself against the surge of sympathy. She couldn’t stroke away her hurt the way she wanted to. She’d have to hurt her a little more before she could help her. “Come on, sit down so I can get a good look at it. I need to clean it up a little bit more.”

  Flann looped an arm around Abby’s shoulders and leaned into her, a sure sign she was in more pain than she wanted to admit. “How’s your suturing?”

  “Very good, as a matter of fact.” Abby recognized Flann’s attempt to deflect her attention with humor. Flann was very good at hiding her feelings behind a cavalier attitude, but that wouldn’t work here. “However, I don’t plan on sewing you up here. It’ll be easier in the OR.”

  “It would be, if there were a surgeon around to do it, but there won’t be. I’m telling you, you and I and Harper, probably my father and a couple other local GPs who can get in to the hospital, are going to be it tonight. We’ll be swamped. We’ve got two choices—either suture it now or pack it open and suture it later.”

  “If we don’t close it right away,” Abby said, propping a cushion against the arm of the sofa for Flann’s head as Flann slowly stretched out, “the scarring will be much worse and there’s a greater chance it will get infected.”

  “I agree. So like I said, let’s get suturing.”

  Abby didn’t intend to commit herself until she had a better look at the wound. Flann’s reasoning wasn’t bad, but she didn’t altogether trust her motives. Flann was the macho type, and she’d likely risk her own well-being and certainly risk being in pain for the entire night if it meant she’d be able to work. Abby had handled plenty of patients like her, and part of her job was protecting them from themselves. Although she doubted anyone had much success with Flannery, she intended to win this contest.

  She found an impermeable drape in the med kit and slid it under Flann’s thigh to protect the sofa. After donning another pair of gloves, she soaked gauze with more sterile saline, carefully cleaned around the wound, and pulsed saline into it from a sterile syringe. Flann tensed as she worked but said nothing, and Abby ignored the fist of anxiety in her middle. She stirred up a little bit of bleeding, but it wasn’t excessive, and as she got a better look at the wound, her unease lessened. “Is there any sensory loss in your calf or foot?”

  “No numbness that I’ve noticed. The leg feels weak, but I think that’s just me in general.” Flann laughed. “I missed dinner.”

  Abby smiled faintly. “The wound is down to muscle but nothing major seems involved. It’s deep and long and will hurt like hell if you try to stand on it tonight. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I know.” Flann sighed. “Look, I’ll get off my feet as much as I can, if I can.”

  “If you agree to that, I’ll suture this here. But I’ll want you to check in with me every few hours.”

  “If I—”

  Abby rose and folded her arms. “No ifs, Flann. You come by the ER every two hours and let me check you over, or I tell Harper you’re not fit for duty.”

  Flann’s eyebrows rose. “That’s blackmail.”

  Abby shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Harper always has lidocaine in her emergency supplies. You’ll find a suture pack in there too.”

  Abby turned away to hide her smile. She drew up local anesthetic, changed gloves, and after wiping down the periphery of the wound with Betadine, anesthetized the laceration. It took her half an hour to close the wound with several layers of suture. While she worked, Flann lay back with her eyes closed. “I thought you’d be supervising.”

  Flann kept her eyes closed, but her lips curved into a smile. “I trust you.”

  “Why?” Abby asked absently as she tied and snipped a suture. She loaded the needle holder with nylon for the skin and started a running suture to close the long laceration. “You’ve only seen me work that one time.”

  “That’s all I needed to see.”

  “I could have terrible hands, though.”

  Flann laughed. “Do you?”

  “No,” Abby said, suturing steadily. “I actually have good hands.”

  “Then why aren’t you a surgeon?”

  Abby smiled. “I like the variety in the ER. There’s more patient education involved too. And I like working with doctors whose egos don’t come through the door before they do.”

  “Yours seems pretty healthy.”

  Abby laughed. “You noticed.”

  Flann opened her eyes at the same moment as Abby looked up at her. Flann’s eyes had lost their sheen of pain. They were dark and intense again, the intensity Abby was coming to like when turned on her. She stilled.

  “I noticed a lot of things,” Flann said softly, each word a subtle caress. “I noticed you’re smart and strong and compassionate.”

  “You forgot stubborn and controlling,” Abby said, her throat tight.

  Flann grinned that damnably charming grin. “No, I didn’t. I just didn’t want to make you mad.”

  Laughter threatening to bubble out, Abby pulled her gaze away and went back to work. Flann was too good at distracting her. “That’s probably smart considering your position right now.”

  Flann pushed up on her elbows and surveyed her leg. She nodded. “Not bad. I’d put you at about a third-year resident level.”

  “Oh, please,” Abby said, snipping the last suture. “That’s as good as half the attendings you work with, I bet.”

  “Three-quarters, maybe.”

  Secretly pleased, Abby found gauze and wrapped Flann’s leg with the circular bandage. “I still would not recommend standing on that.”

  “If I don’t, I’ll have a tough time keeping my balance in the OR.”

  Abby stripped off her gloves, sat on the edge of the sofa, and rested her hand on Flann’s uninjured calf. “Be serious for a minute.”

  “I’m always serious.”

  “I doubt that you ever are,” Abby said with a snort, “but you need to be now. You’ve been through a lot. Your body has been bruised, battered, and exposed to the elements. That’s a nasty laceration on your leg and I know it hurts, even though you’re too macho to admit it. You won’t do anyone any good if you get halfway through a case and collapse.”

  “What if I promise I won’t start a case if I don’t feel a hundred percent?”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “If I promise, I mean it.”

  “All right then. Your word.”

  Flann leaned over, grasped Abby’s hand. “My word.”

  Harper came through the doorway. “What’s the verdict?”

  Abby realized she was sitting with a half-naked Flann on the sofa, and Flann was holding her hand. She jumped up and started collecting supplies. “A deep laceration, but fortunately the muscle’s spared. We’ve closed it.”

  Harper strode to the side of the sofa, jammed her hands on her hips, and stared down at Flann. “Are you bullshitting or can you really work?”

  Flann pushed herself all the way up and eased her legs off the sofa. Her back ached, her shoulders ached, and her leg really hurt. “I feel like you kicked my ass like you used to do when we were kids playing football, but I’m okay. Do you hear anything from Dad?”

  Harper shook her head. “I’ve been trying him and Mama and Carson, but I’m not getting anybody.”

  “One of us should go by the house—probably you. Any of th
e urgent traumas will need me.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go there, and then straight over to the Rivers. Presley needs to get to the hospital too.”

  “What about the kids,” Abby said. “Are they both okay?”

  “Fine.” Harper smiled wryly. “I had to make them promise not to go out kitten hunting.”

  “They can stay here, and Presley, Flann, and I can go in my car to the hospital,” Abby said.

  “That’s a plan,” Harper said.

  “I need some pants,” Flann said.

  “Might be a good idea,” Harper said dryly. “I’ve got some scrubs that I keep here to hang around in. They’ll fit you.”

  “If you get them for me, I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

  Abby packed up the rest of the supplies. “I want to talk to Blake for a minute. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  As Abby left, Harper said, “How’re you doing, really?”

  “I’ll make it for a few hours. Abby did a good job.”

  “I don’t doubt it. She’s solid.”

  “Yeah,” Flann said slowly. “She’s something.”

  “What are you doing there, Flann?” Harper asked.

  “Not a thing.” Flann gave her a long, flat look until Harper shrugged and shook her head. Satisfied, Flann said, “How about you get me those scrubs so we can get to work.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You should take the truck, Harp,” Flann said.

  “Presley’s car will do me,” Harper said. “The three of you have farther to go.”

  “Yeah, but the road’s likely to be washed out along the river. Presley’s car won’t handle that.” Flann got a stubborn set to her jaw, a look Abby was coming to recognize.

  Flann was used to being in charge, of making decisions that no one—except Harper, apparently—ever questioned. Abby wondered if Flann had always been that way, or if her training or some other experience conditioned her to be most comfortable when she shouldered the responsibility for the welfare of others. She wondered too what happened if Flann was wrong—imagining those inevitable mistakes must eat at her. A wave of sympathy washed through her.