her shoulders and tipped up her chin. She seemed to grow in confidence, transforming herself into a different person. The cowering victim disappeared. In her place was a controlled—though clearly shaken—young woman.
“No apology necessary,” he said. “Lots of people freak out when they’re hurt and bleeding.” He shrugged. “Proves you’re only human.”
“What is this place?”
“My clinic,” he said.
“I crashed my car in front of your clinic? That was good planning.” She offered a weak smile.
“Has this happened before?” he asked her. “The syncope—fainting.”
“No. Good heavens, no, never.”
“Before the episode, do you recall experiencing headache, back pain, chest pain, shortness of breath?”
“No. I was right beside you. I felt fine up until … I don’t recall.”
He took off his parka, then remembered his scrubs were stained with blood and fluid from the foaling. He quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see, peeled off his shirt, stuffed it into a hamper for the service, then grabbed a clean lab coat.
His patient was extremely quiet now. He turned to find her staring at his naked torso. Her mouth—a beautiful mouth, even for a crazy lady—formed a perfectly round O of surprise. Her face was still pale though; she was probably still at risk for syncope. And despite his fond wish, it was not over his physique. Something had spooked her, and he hoped it wasn’t him.
“Just need to put on a clean shirt,” he said.
Her gaze flicked away from him and darted around the clinic.
He felt her trust in him draining away. At vet school, they didn’t teach you not to take your shirt off in front of a patient, because as a general rule, the patient didn’t care.
“Sorry,” he muttered to her, and quickly slung a stethoscope around his neck, hoping that might reassure her. “I swear, I just want to help.”
“And I appreciate it,” she said, bracing her hands on the waist-high stainless steel table, the array of supplies and instruments on the counter. “I won’t go into a panic again. That was … it wasn’t like me. And this is all very … Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
Noah instantly flashed on Susan Sarandon in her bra and panties. I wish.
He used a foot pump to lower the table. “You’re still bleeding—no, don’t look.” He didn’t want another fainting episode. “I really need to check out that leg.” He scrubbed his hands at the sink, then plucked a pair of latex-free gloves from a dispenser, eyeing her leg as he drew them on. “I might need to cut your trousers off,” he said, then couldn’t suppress a grin.
“Is something funny?” she asked.
“It’s just that I’ve never said that to a patient before. Have a seat on the table, okay? And scoot back so your leg’s stretched out.”
To his surprise, she obliged, propping herself on her hands as she looked around the exam room, focusing on canine growth charts and a calendar from a veterinary drug company. “You’re not a real doctor, are you?”
“That’s pretty much my favorite question,” he said. “See, if I were a real doctor, I’d only know the anatomy and pathology of one species, not six. I’d only have one specialty instead of nine.”
“I guess you must get that a lot.”
“Just enough to annoy me.” He took a step back, holding his gloved hands up. “Listen, I’m fine with not doing this.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to go for it.”
So much for playing hard to get. “I’ll need to check you out, see where else you’re injured.”
“It’s just my knee.”
“You might have an internal injury.”
“And you can tell this.”
“You’re exhibiting signs of shock. I need to examine your chest and belly for bruising and palpate your abdomen.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?” She stiffened, folding her arms tightly. “I’ll pass. I didn’t hit myself on anything. I don’t hurt anywhere. It’s just the knee.”
He wasn’t about to push her. The situation was already bizarre enough. “I could call EMS, but on a night like tonight, I’d hate to call them for anything less than a life-threatening emergency,” he said.
“This isn’t life threatening,” the woman said. “Believe me, I know the difference.”
“Okay. Just the knee for the time being. But if you feel anything—double vision, dizziness, anything—you need to let me know.” He checked her blood pressure. It was in the normal range, a good sign. An internal bleed caused the pressure to drop. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that knee.”
She lay back and covered her eyes with her forearm. “You’ll understand if I don’t watch.”
“I noticed you’re not fond of blood.” He selected a pair of bandage cutters and started at the hem of the dark wool trousers, cutting upward. The thin, expensive-looking leather of her boot was drenched in blood. He kept cutting upward, hoping he didn’t have to go so far that he’d look like a complete perv. The cut was arc shaped; she must have sliced it on something under the dashboard. “You’ve got a gash here, just above the knee.” The laceration probably hurt like hell. It wasn’t a bad cut, but it appeared to be a bleeder. “You need sutures,” he said.
“Can you do it?”
“I’m no plastic surgeon. Whatever I do is bound to leave a scar.”
“Then can you stop the bleeding and I’ll find a surgeon in the morning?”
“It can’t wait that long. The risk of infection is too high. The maximum any doc would allow is seven hours. Roads’ll still be closed in the morning.”
“Then stitch it up, and I’ll live with the scar.”
For a woman this good-looking, it was an unexpected remark. “All right. I can numb the area … it’ll probably need a dozen stitches. If I make them really small, it’ll minimize the scarring.” He considered offering her a tranquilizer to calm her down, but wasn’t sure of the dosage. She probably weighed about the same as a Rottweiler, so 80 mg should do it. Then again, maybe not. He’d stick with a local anesthetic.
“I’ll hold still for the novocaine,” she said.
“It’s lidocaine, one percent.” And he hoped it didn’t take much to numb the area. It was strange, having a patient that didn’t need restraining. He injected the local and she didn’t flinch.
“That’ll go numb in a couple of minutes,” he said.
“I’m counting on it.” She took
