I turned the matchbook over and studied the cartoon belly dancer on the front. A strange thing to find nestled next to a coupon for adult diapers.
“Stan?” I looked up to see Mike beckoning to me from the doorway and stuffed the things back into the purse, then shoved it under the seat. It was time to see about my patient. The mystery of the purse could be solved later.
4
Back in Mike’s examining room, our patient now sported a neat bandage across his chest in place of the bloodied shirt. He was also conscious. I examined bandage and chest to avoid meeting Kelvin Kapone with a K’s gaze.
“You look better.” I caught Mike watching me watch our patient, who was watching me. Caught between gazes I couldn’t comfortably meet, I shifted mine to a poster of a dog skeleton on the wall. “You’re awake.”
You’re good, Stan. Truly inspired.
“Yeah.” I heard the grin in his voice and had to see the dimple again. It was as good as I remembered. Added to his potent blue gaze, I forgot I was too tall, too flat-chested, my makeup long gone and my face possibly still sporting his blood.
“Do you know how much you weigh?” Mike asked, breaking into the strange intimacy of the moment.
We both looked at Mike. Good thing he wasn’t looking at me, because I wasn’t about to share my weight any time soon. Kelvin struggled to sit up and I jumped forward to help him. My fingers spread across his arm, supporting him as little tremors of delight wandered up through my hands where they touched his warm flesh. When he was upright and steady, I stepped back with a much better understanding of the phrase, ‘delights of the flesh.’
Kelvin shrugged. “About one-eighty, maybe. Why?”
“I want to give you a couple of shots, antibiotic and some painkiller. You’re going to be a little sore for a few days.” Mike held up a tiny bottle, drawing the liquid from it up into a syringe. He hesitated, the needle still imbedded in the bottle, and looked at me. “Do you remember what Addison weighed last time you brought him in?”
“Last time I brought him in he wouldn’t sit on the scales.”
“Oh. Yeah. He sat on me.” He frowned.
“Who’s Addison?” our patient asked, with understandable confusion.
“Addison is my dog.”
Comprehension didn’t dawn in his blue eyes, but I stared into them a bit longer, just to be sure. Mike squirted a little fluid from the end of the long needle.
“You’re not a fainter, are you?”
Kelvin seemed fascinated by the glistening length of steel. “I don’t think so.”
I guess I must have imagined his two periods on unconsciousness in the short time since he'd dived through Rosemary's sunroof.
Mike swabbed Kelvin’s arm. “Had this three hundred pound jock pass out on my desk just because the prof stuck a needle in a grapefruit. Broke my wrist.” He jabbed the needle into flesh.
Kelvin winced and stared at the poster of the dog skeleton. When he’d delivered both doses, Mike tossed the syringes, pulled a couple of packets of tablets out of a drawer and handed them to him.
“Here’s some painkiller and another dose of antibiotic for the morning. It should hold you until you can get to your doctor. The dosage is iffy, so only take one of the pain pills at a time and only if you need it.”
Kelvin held the packet up. “Kind of big to swallow, doc.”
“You don’t swallow them. You crush them and sprinkle them on your feed—” Mike stopped. “Or your breakfast. You could sprinkle them on your breakfast cereal.”
Kelvin’s face was devoid of expression, his eyes a couple of blue mirrors. “You’re not a people doctor, are you?”
Mike looked at me.
“What?” I looked at Kelvin, ready to explain, but hoping I wouldn’t have to in front of Mike.
Kelvin didn’t ask for an explanation, but I didn’t feel relieved. Mike got Kelvin a shirt that almost swallowed him whole, but failed to make him look ridiculous or less dangerous.
“Take it easy,” Mike cautioned, “and don’t be surprised if the medication makes you a little sleepy.”
Mike walked with us out to the car, stood with his hands in the pockets of his robe, his feet still bare despite the snow drifting down.
Kelvin gritted his teeth and sank onto the seat. “Thanks for your help, doc.”
Mike nodded, shut the door and turned to me. “You sure he’s not your boyfriend?”
“Quite sure,” I said, surprised he’d even asked. “How much do I owe you?”
He scratched his beard with a massive hand, looking toward the cloudy sky. A few snowflakes lodged in the dark hair. “How about dinner and a movie?”
“With me?”
Mike grinned. “I think I’ve spent enough time with him.”
I smiled. One way or another, it had been quite a night. “Okay.”
“Tomorrow. At seven?”
I frowned. “Better make it eight. Rosemary’s club is having a wax fruit retrospective until seven thirty.”
“Wax fruit?”
“According to my mother it makes more sense than writing my cockroach books.”
Mike chuckled, the vee of his robe gaping as his big chest shook. “You’re full of surprises, Miss Stanley.”
I fingered the rich brocade of his lapel, as surprised at myself as he was. Maybe it had to do with almost getting shot. “So are you, Dr. Lang. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I inserted myself into the car for the final lap of my adventure. As I pulled away, I think the wind caught the flap of Mike’s robe but I was too much of a lady to look. It was too dark to see anything anyway.
“Care to explain why I was patched by a dog doctor?”
I gave him a wary look. “The hospital didn’t seem like a good idea with your gun-toting friends lurking outside. They beat us to the ER.”
“Well, well, isn’t that
