“Yeah? What was the rest?”
“I cared too much.” Glancing at Corinne she asked for a local anesthetic.
“I don’t need anesthetic.”
“I’m about to be sewing up a hole in your backside. You’re gonna want a local.”
“I didn’t have one in the field in the Army.”
“Well, bully for you and your manliness, but this is not the Army and we are not in the middle of a war. I need you to stay still and a local anesthetic ensures you will be.”
“I can hold myself still,” he insisted.
Miranda looked at Corinne. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Of course, Dr. Campbell.”
She waited until the nurse slipped out of the room. “Okay, what gives? Your chart doesn’t list any allergies.”
“It’s not an allergy.” Ethan’s voice was tight. “I just…don’t like needles.”
“You got shot in the ass and barely did more than blink, and you’ve got an issue with a little bitty needle?” She didn’t know why she was pressing him. It wasn’t as if he was the first person she’d treated with a needle phobia. But it was just so…unexpected. He was ex-military, a former U.S. Marshal who’d spent a decade facing who knew what. He wasn’t lacking in courage.
“I didn’t say it was rational.”
She’d done a pretty decent job of putting Ethan out of her mind the last few days. Of reminding herself that he fell firmly in the category of look, don’t touch. But this tiny show of vulnerability tugged at her, reminding her that underneath the alpha male exterior, he was a man with fears, desires, and complexities. Damn if she didn’t want to know more of them. Know more of him.
Miranda circled around to the front of the gurney and crouched until she was at eye level. His eyes were darker today, like rain-washed slate. “Ethan, you’ve got a puncture wound. Whether you have a local anesthetic or not, you’re gonna have to have a tetanus shot.”
His face went a couple shades paler before he pressed his brow to the gurney and swore.
She couldn’t stop herself from laying a hand on his shoulder in comfort. The muscles beneath her palm were hard as iron. “Try to relax.”
He sucked in a breath and seemed to force the tension out on a slow exhale.
“Better. I’ll be fast. Just…don’t look, okay?”
Taking pity on him, she used some numbing agent at the site to minimize the stick. Maybe she could distract him with conversation.
“So, what happened with the Great Rib Caper? Or are you at liberty to say?”
He snorted. “By the time I got out there, Buddy had already called the station back. Apparently he fell asleep in his recliner and his wife took them off the grill to keep them from burning.”
Miranda laughed and slid in the needle, injecting the anesthetic. “I gotta say, I was hoping for the barbeque espionage version of things. It’d liven things up a little.”
“I’m okay with the real resolution. He was so embarrassed, he sent me home with some of the ribs for dinner. I haven’t had Abe Costello’s, but I’d say Buddy stands a fighting chance in the cook-off. They were damned fine ribs for not being from Texas.”
She began carefully suturing the puncture. “Are you telling me you’ve got barbeque prejudice, Chief?”
“Damned straight. Barbeque is meant to be beef, with sweet sauce. Nobody does it right this side of the Mississippi River.”
“That is not gonna be a popular opinion.”
“I’ll concede pulled pork can be tasty, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a good brisket.”
“I do love a good brisket.” Miranda snipped the end off the last stitch. “All done.”
Ethan turned his head to look back at her and cracked an eye. “Really?”
She smiled at the look of suspicious hope. “Really.”
“Damn, Doc, you’ve got quite the bedside manner.”
Okay maybe it was the fact that his very fine ass was exposed, but that sounded suspiciously like flirting. Miranda liked it. “I try. You’re gonna be fine in a couple of weeks. It should go without saying that you should avoid any heavy lifting, unnecessary bending or squatting, or anything that might strain your stitches. I’m prescribing you a course of antibiotics. I’ll want to see you in two weeks at the clinic to check on how you’re healing, but barring complications, you should be back to normal in no time.”
“Appreciate it.”
“I’m gonna round up some scrub pants for you. These are a loss.” She started for the door.
“Doc?”
“Yeah?”
His sheepish expression made him look younger, more approachable. “I’d appreciate it if you could maybe not mention the needle thing.”
Her lips curved in a slow smile. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. Your secret’s safe with me, Chief.”
“I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him this time.”
“Now, Mrs. Ramsey—” Ethan began.
The older woman interrupted, “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Maudie Bell.”
“Miss Maudie Bell,” he corrected. “I understand you’re frustrated—”
“Frustrated? Frustrated? That…that jackass trampled my prize roses!” She gestured to the offender, now nuzzling at winter grass on the far side of Miss Maudie Bell’s yard. The jackass in question was, in fact, a shaggy-coated gelding named Houdini, who had a tendency to go walkabout.
“He’s a menace,” Miss Maudie Bell declared.
Did she mean the horse or his owner? “I’ll round up Houdini and go have a word with Chester.” Again. This was the third time in as many months he’d had to get involved, and that was just counting the times he’d lost at Rock, Paper, Scissors with whichever of his officers was on duty. More often than not, calls from Miss Maudie Bell and her friends—affectionally known around town as The Casserole Patrol—were minor matters, excuses for the trio of blue-hairs to ogle “those fine lookin’ boys in blue.” But not today.
“A word is not gonna cut it, Chief. Not this time. Do you have any idea how much time and effort I put into those roses? The Belle Doria is extremely rare! I grew those from cuttings from my own dear mama’s garden. It’s not like I can just go down to Wishful Nursery and Garden Center to get replacements.”
Ethan winced. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.”
“I want to press charges for destruction of property. If Chester can’t get his fence fixed, he’s got no business keeping horses.”
“On that we agree.” It was a damned miracle none of the horses had been hit by a car yet. “Let me catch Houdini first and get him secured, make sure none of his buddies got out this time. Then I’ll see what’s what and take whatever steps are necessary to see this doesn’t happen again.” He had no idea yet what that would be. First time had been a warning. Second had been a fine. Obviously, neither tactic had been sufficient to motivate Chester Harkin to take care of business. Ethan didn’t think charging the man was going to make a whit of difference either, so clearly he was going to have to engage in some creative policing to keep the peace.