Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Hartley chuckles.
“Where are you guys headed?” I ask, bracing myself against a chilly blast of air.
“We have one more post that needs fixing out that way.” Hartley motions toward the creek. “Want to ride out with us and give us a hand?”
I grin at him. “I think I’d be less help and more of a hindrance, but thanks for asking.”
“Suit yourself.” He looks over his shoulder at Brooks. “Hey, did Bobby put that barbed wire in the back of the truck before we left the barn?”
Brooks looks at him and grimaces. “Can’t remember. Hold on.” He hops out and digs through the bed of the truck.
“Cathy made a big pot of potato soup this morning,” Hartley says. “You’re welcome to swing by and have a bowl or take one back to the cabin, if you’d rather.”
How sweet. “Thanks. That’s super—”
“Motherfucker!” Brooks’s voice echoes down the valley. “Fuck me.”
Hartley and I exchange a confused, but curious look as Brooks comes around the corner of the truck. His left forearm is up in the air with red blood dripping down the side.
“What happened?” I ask, gasping. The blood pools at his left elbow before drops of it splash against the mud. The sight of it makes me queasy.
“I sliced myself on the wire.” He holds it out for Hartley to inspect. “Looks pretty gnarly.”
Hartley leans his head out the door to get a better look. “Yeah, that’s deep, all right. You’re gonna need stitches to close that thing up. Hop in, and I’ll take you to Urgent Care.”
Brooks shakes his head. “Nah, Doc can fix me up.”
“Who?” Hartley asks.
I flinch, taking a step back. “What are you talking about?”
“You can stitch this closed,” Brooks says, looking at it again. “It’s not that bad. Nothing a little thread can’t fix.”
My eyes grow wide as I peer at the cut on his forearm. It’s probably two inches long and gaping open enough to see the layers of tissue beneath the skin. I don’t know a lot about cuts, but I’d say it’s a bad one.
“I can’t stitch that closed,” I say. “Are you crazy?”
“You’re a doctor,” he says, as if he’s pointing out a medical degree hanging on a wall. “It’ll be fine.”
Did he also hit his head, and we don’t know it?
“You’re a doctor?” Hartley asks, surprised.
“No,” I say, before correcting myself. “Yes. I have a doctorate. But I’m not a doctor-doctor. I can’t give out medication or sew people shut.” I glance down at the cut, and my stomach roils.
Brooks sighs. “Are you a doctor? Yes or no?”
“Brooks …”
“And you can sew, right?” he asks. “Didn’t you say you were hanging out with a needle and thread?”
I see where this is going, and I feel like I boarded the wrong ride. I wanted the happy teacups, and somehow, I ended up on a roller coaster. He seriously thinks I can sew his arm shut.
I’m going to vomit.
My gaze drags up his arm, over his chest, and to his eyes. He’s peering down at me without the panic or fear that would be expected—and would be smart. He’s way too cool about this. He’s entirely too casual for someone dripping blood on his boots.
“Fix me up, Doc. Save me a thousand bucks from Urgent Care.” He juts out his bottom lip. “Please?”
I laugh, but it’s more out of shock than amusement. “Brooks, really, I would, but I don’t know how. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not qualified.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he says with a lot of misplaced confidence in me.
I look helplessly at Hartley, only to find him grinning.
“You got this?” he asks me.
“No.” I snort-laugh, wondering if they’re pranking me. “You think he should go to an emergency room, right? Talk some sense into him.”
“If you haven’t learned by now, Audrey, there is no talking sense to Brooks.”
Oh, crap. I turn my attention back to my new patient and wince. “You really want me to do this?”
“Yeah. And hopefully before I bleed out, if you don’t mind.”
Hartley waits for my signal that I’m game before putting his truck in drive. “I’ll swing by the cabin and pick you up after I get this post in. Sound good?”
“Yup,” Brooks says, turning toward the cabin.
“I mean … sure?” I ask, much to Hartley’s amusement. “What happens if I kill him?”
“Then there will probably be a parade.” He gives me a reassuring smile before pulling away.
“Let’s go, Doc,” Brooks says over his shoulder. “I mean, we can wait until I pass out, but you’ll have to give me mouth-to-mouth.”
His eyes twinkle as they meet mine. How can someone be so sexy with blood splattered on their shirt?
I hurry to catch up. We walk side by side, my body tingling at its proximity to his. Now and then, his shoulder brushes mine or his uninjured arm contacts my side. And every time that happens, my hands grow shakier. That’s unhelpful when I’m about to perform surgery.