man with a fringe of hair and a worn-out face. I was on my feet in an instant.
“Mr. Lang’s family?” He looked from me to Matthew. I could not speak; I was waiting. Matthew nodded.
“I’m Dr. Spradling, and I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve just operated on Mr. Lang. Well, good news, on the whole. Mr. Lang was shot by a small-caliber bullet, probably from a .22 rifle or a handgun. It went through his clavicle, his collarbone.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I was acting like a fool.
“So I’ve pinned the clavicle. There was no major damage to nerves or blood vessels from the bullet, so he was a lucky man—if you can call anyone who gets shot lucky. He made it through the surgery just fine,” the doctor said. “And I think he’s going to recover without many hitches. As far as what’s going to happen next, he’ll have to stay in the hospital for two or three days. If everything continues to go well, if no complications come up, he can be released. But he’ll probably have to have IV antibiotics for a week after that. We can arrange for a visiting nurse to help with that, but you’ll have to remain in the area, and I understand you don’t have a residence here.” He aimed his gaze more or less between us, as he waited to see what would develop.
I nodded frantically to assure him I understood. “Anything you say,” I told Dr. Spradling.
“Where do you live, Miss Connelly? I understand he lives with you?”
I caught a glimpse of Matthew’s face, and I thought maybe Matthew was about to try to take control of Tolliver’s care. A huge fear bobbed to the top of all my other fears. Would they even let me in to see him if Matthew protested? I had to trump Matthew’s fatherhood card. I opened my mouth and surprised myself by telling the doctor, totally out of the blue, “We’re common-law married. What you call an informal marriage.” Texas recognized an unmarried union, and I was pretty sure that was what they called it. Common-law wife might beat out stepsister. “We have an apartment in St. Louis. We’ve been together for six years.”
The doctor couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted to let me know what was going to be involved in taking care of Tolliver. He did, however, turn slightly so he was addressing me specifically. “It would be easier if you could find a place near to the hospital until he’s stronger, when we release him. He’s not out of the woods yet, but I really think he’ll be all right.”
“Okay.” I ran all he’d said back through my mind, hoping I could remember it all. Broken clavicle, small-caliber bullet, no other major damage. Three days in the hospital. IV antibiotics a nurse would administer in the hotel. A closer hotel.
“They can stay with me and their brother if they need to,” Matthew said, and the doctor nodded, clearly uninterested in the details. I could guarantee that wasn’t going to happen, but this wasn’t the time to settle it.
“As long as he can have someone responsible with him. He needs to be quiet and comfortable, get up and move around several times a day, take his meds on time, avoid alcohol, and eat good food,” the doctor said. “And again, that’s assuming he continues to do well. We’ll know more tomorrow.” Dr. Spradling wanted to be sure we were sufficiently warned.
I nodded vigorously, shaking with anxiety.
“I’ll stay in his room here tonight,” I said, and the doctor, who’d half turned away, made an effort to look sympathetic.
“Since he’s just had surgery, he’ll be checked on very frequently tonight,” the doctor said. “And he won’t be awake. You’d be much better off going home, cleaning up, and coming back in the morning. If you’ll just leave a phone number, they’ll contact you if there’s any problem at all.”
I looked down at myself. I had blood all over me, and it had dried. I looked . . . horrendous, and now I understood why everyone who walked by me glanced away. And I smelled
“Mr. Lang’s family?” He looked from me to Matthew. I could not speak; I was waiting. Matthew nodded.
“I’m Dr. Spradling, and I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve just operated on Mr. Lang. Well, good news, on the whole. Mr. Lang was shot by a small-caliber bullet, probably from a .22 rifle or a handgun. It went through his clavicle, his collarbone.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I was acting like a fool.
“So I’ve pinned the clavicle. There was no major damage to nerves or blood vessels from the bullet, so he was a lucky man—if you can call anyone who gets shot lucky. He made it through the surgery just fine,” the doctor said. “And I think he’s going to recover without many hitches. As far as what’s going to happen next, he’ll have to stay in the hospital for two or three days. If everything continues to go well, if no complications come up, he can be released. But he’ll probably have to have IV antibiotics for a week after that. We can arrange for a visiting nurse to help with that, but you’ll have to remain in the area, and I understand you don’t have a residence here.” He aimed his gaze more or less between us, as he waited to see what would develop.
I nodded frantically to assure him I understood. “Anything you say,” I told Dr. Spradling.
“Where do you live, Miss Connelly? I understand he lives with you?”
I caught a glimpse of Matthew’s face, and I thought maybe Matthew was about to try to take control of Tolliver’s care. A huge fear bobbed to the top of all my other fears. Would they even let me in to see him if Matthew protested? I had to trump Matthew’s fatherhood card. I opened my mouth and surprised myself by telling the doctor, totally out of the blue, “We’re common-law married. What you call an informal marriage.” Texas recognized an unmarried union, and I was pretty sure that was what they called it. Common-law wife might beat out stepsister. “We have an apartment in St. Louis. We’ve been together for six years.”
The doctor couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted to let me know what was going to be involved in taking care of Tolliver. He did, however, turn slightly so he was addressing me specifically. “It would be easier if you could find a place near to the hospital until he’s stronger, when we release him. He’s not out of the woods yet, but I really think he’ll be all right.”
“Okay.” I ran all he’d said back through my mind, hoping I could remember it all. Broken clavicle, small-caliber bullet, no other major damage. Three days in the hospital. IV antibiotics a nurse would administer in the hotel. A closer hotel.
“They can stay with me and their brother if they need to,” Matthew said, and the doctor nodded, clearly uninterested in the details. I could guarantee that wasn’t going to happen, but this wasn’t the time to settle it.
“As long as he can have someone responsible with him. He needs to be quiet and comfortable, get up and move around several times a day, take his meds on time, avoid alcohol, and eat good food,” the doctor said. “And again, that’s assuming he continues to do well. We’ll know more tomorrow.” Dr. Spradling wanted to be sure we were sufficiently warned.
I nodded vigorously, shaking with anxiety.
“I’ll stay in his room here tonight,” I said, and the doctor, who’d half turned away, made an effort to look sympathetic.
“Since he’s just had surgery, he’ll be checked on very frequently tonight,” the doctor said. “And he won’t be awake. You’d be much better off going home, cleaning up, and coming back in the morning. If you’ll just leave a phone number, they’ll contact you if there’s any problem at all.”
I looked down at myself. I had blood all over me, and it had dried. I looked . . . horrendous, and now I understood why everyone who walked by me glanced away. And I smelled
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