She wrapped her doctor’s coat around her to block the chill of the wind that gusted off the lake and wondered why she hadn’t thought to change before she left the office. The coat was a part of who she was.
She sat on a tree stump by the water and pulled her knees up to her chest. The sun was nearing the horizon, and she still hadn’t started her supper preparations. Had she been on the phone that long? Time had a way of speeding up when Jane called.
“Doctor Guthrie! Doctor Guthrie!”
Emma turned at the sound of her name being hollered. A doctor’s instincts took over, and her hunger was forgotten. She rose and ran toward the woman sprinting to her. She recognized her as Anita Webber, the wife and mother of a family she cared for.
“Thank goodness you’re here! I’m glad I recognized your vehicle. A man has been injured in one of the campsites.”
Emma caught up with her, reaching unconsciously for the stethoscope that was not around her neck but in her car with her medical kit. “What happened, Anita?”
“He’s been shot.”
“Shot? With what?” She hadn’t heard a firearm being discharged.
Anita replied, “An arrow.”
Holy crap! Once at her vehicle, she grabbed the large utility box from the front seat where she’d placed it when converting the rear of the vehicle into sleeping quarters. “Can you tell me where he was shot?”
“His…derriere,” Anita said as a profuse blush spread over her cheeks. “It doesn’t look deep, but he seems like he’s in an awful lot of pain.”
Anita led the way to the picnic table where a crowd had gathered. Emma could just as easily have followed the noise and hubbub to his exact location.
A man and woman stood over a sniveling, crying preteen boy, who must have been the perpetrator, judging by the bow in his hand. Both parents yelled and fussed at the same time. Other campers had gathered around to take in the drama.
“Pardon me! Pardon me. I’m a doctor.”
Another older man stood with a group near the picnic table and seemed to be trying to establish order. “Let the doctor through! Y’all go back to your campsites. There’s nothing more to see.”
“What happened?” Emma asked as she placed the medical kit on the picnic bench next to the injured party. Whoever he was, he took up nearly the length of the long table.
“What does it look like happened?” a deep voice growled back. “Duke, let me up. It’s not that bad.” Turbulent green eyes looked up at her from a ruggedly handsome face. Before his collar-length, dark-blond hair flopped in his eyes, she saw his brows knit together in what seemed like shock or surprise before he looked away and swore under his breath. It must hurt more than he let on.
His friend Duke replied, “No. Not until the doctor looks at you. I’ve seen wounds like this get badly infected because they weren’t treated properly. If I have to sit on you, you’re staying put.”
Duke looked up at her, and a smile flashed across his face. His hair was longish and appeared either dark brown or black in the fading light. He was every bit as handsome as his friend but in a different way. His dark eyebrows arched over expressive eyes, and his lips were neither too full nor too thin. A short, scruffy beard darkened his jaw. His smile was almost sensual as he gazed at her. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she met so many people every day there was no telling how she knew him.
The onlookers began to wander off, some still looking back curiously. The irate father pulled his son over to the picnic table. “My son has something he’d like to say, sir.”
The handsome blond looked over at the crying boy who appeared ready to wet his pants. “What is it?” he asked softly. He seemed bent on not scaring the boy further, which Emma appreciated, considering the reaming the boy had just gotten from his parents.
She went to work examining the wound, which didn’t appear to be bleeding profusely at the moment. The arrow had punctured the denim of his jeans and penetrated the gluteal muscle, but she wasn’t sure how deep. Emma asked the mother to bring her one of the arrows while she continued to inspect the wound. He flinched when she accidentally jostled the arrow but said nothing. She tried to ignore how firm and lean his buttock was under her fingertips.
The boy stuttered and snorted as tears and snot ran down his face. “I–I–I’m re–ee–eally sor–sorry about shooting you, mister. Um—I’ll work to pay for all your medical bills and…damages.” He pointed at the arrow jutting from the blond man’s ass and added, “I–I–I swear I wasn’t aiming for you.” He punctuated his statement with a loud hiccup.