Lending a Paw(42)
“I’d rather suffer without an audience,” came a strained voice. “Go away.”
“You know I’m not going to.” With that as warning, I opened the door. One quick glance was all it took. “I’m getting my car,” I said. “And then we’re going to the hospital.”
• • •
The lovely little town of Chilson had many things—outstanding views, a fine school system, a wide variety of stores and restaurants, and a top-notch library—but it did not have a hospital. Or an urgent care clinic. At first Rafe had pushed for me to take him to his doctor’s house. “It’s Monday, right? He’ll be out golfing, but he’ll be home by dark. A few beers in him isn’t going to hurt his sewing skills any.”
But as we argued, the wad of paper towels I’d made Rafe hold to his forearm started turning red. “We’re not waiting,” I said. “Pick a hospital.”
“Lots of choices.” He shifted to let me buckle his seat belt around him. “The Traverse City hospital is sweet, but it’ll take an hour to get there. Last time I got stitches, I went to Kalkaska and they did a good job, but my buddy Carl works at the Gaylord hospital and I haven’t seen him in a while. Then again, they say Petoskey has really hot nurses.”
By this time I’d started the car and pointed its nose north.
“I thought I got to pick,” Rafe said.
“You took too long, so we’re going to Charlevoix. It’s closest.”
“Oh.” He made a “huh” noise. “I didn’t think about that. Charlevoix will be okay, I guess. The view’s not as good as Petoskey. View of the bay is half the pay, you know?”
“Keep pressing on the paper towels,” I said.
• • •
Both the Charlevoix and Petoskey hospitals were built next to Lake Michigan. How you could rate one as having a view better than the other, I wasn’t sure, but since there was no lake view from the emergency room of either hospital, there wasn’t much point in starting a comparison chart.
“Nice slice,” the ER doctor said. He’d lifted the reddened paper towels and was studying Rafe’s forearm. “How did this happen?”
Rafe grinned at the doctor. “Little problem with the reciprocating saw. It wanted to go left when I wanted it to go right.”
“The saw won,” I muttered.
“Saws usually do,” the doctor said. “A few stitches and you’ll be good to go.”
Rafe glanced at the doctor’s name tag. “Tucker Kleinow,” he said out loud. “You new here?”
“I’m going to clean your wound,” Dr. Kleinow said. “This will sting a little. . . . Yes, I just moved up here last month.”
“Yeah?” Rafe asked. “Where you from?”
Rafe would pick at the guy until he found a connection of some sort. With Rafe there were maybe three degrees of separation. “Let the doctor work,” I said. “It’s not his job to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Dr. Kleinow said, giving me a brief smile.
It was a very nice smile and, I suddenly realized, it was on a very good-looking face that was about my own age. He had that blond hair that would turn white in the summer, and wasn’t so tall that I’d get neck pains looking up at him. A definite bonus. I glanced at his left hand. No ring.
Rafe caught my look and winked. “So, Doc, what does your wife think of life up north?”
“No wife,” he said absently, dabbing at the wound. “Haven’t found anyone who can live with the hours I work.”
“Weeeell,” Rafe drawled. “Isn’t that a coincidence? Minnie here is—”
“Is thinking you should be quiet and let the doctor stitch you up.” Rafe was kind, honest, intelligent, hardworking, and often funny, but the word “subtle” wasn’t in his vocabulary.
The doctor glanced from me to Rafe, reached a conclusion I couldn’t interpret, and went on with his work.
Rafe waggled his eyebrows. “Come on, Min, you got to—”
“Keep quiet.”
“You’re the killjoy of the century.”
“That’s me. Now hush.”
“Not even—”
I put my index finger to my lips in the classic librarian gesture. “Shhh.”
This time, with the needle approaching his skin, he shushed.
• • •
Rafe wedged himself against the passenger door and put his feet up on the dash. “That doctor caught your eye, huh, Min?”
I slapped at his ankles until he moved his feet. “None of your business, Mr. Niswander.”