in.â
âButââ
âNo buts. Tuckerâs got three emergencies in his wing and only Susan to assist him. Normally Val fills in when we get shorthanded, but sheâs not here either. That leaves only you to help me.â
Still shaking her head, Laura managed to push out, âIâcanât. Iâm sorry, but I just canât.â
âYou have to.â His blue eyes locked with hers. âThis dogâs life is on the line. Thereâs no time for his owners to take him somewhere else. Heâll bleed to death.â
Laura clutched the surgical scrubs to her chest, wishing she were sick, too. How come everyone else had gotten the bug, and she felt fine? âI donât know what to do.â
âIâll talk you through it.â He inclined his head atthe sink as he grabbed a shaver to prep the unconscious canine. âThat dispenser above the faucet is surgical soap. There are sterile gloves in that blue box at the end of the counter.â
After jerking off her soiled smock, Laura quickly donned the clean one and rushed to the sink. Pushing at her hair with numb fingers as she pulled on the cap, she glanced in the mirror to make sure all of her head was covered. Her eyes, huge and dazed, stared back at her from a chalk-white face.
âHurry,â Isaiah urged from behind her. âI donât want to lose him.â
Laura was trembling so violently she sent soap lather flying as she washed her hands and arms. Moments later she grew light-headed as she approached the table. Blood had pooled around the dogâs hindquarters.
âDonât pass out on me,â Isaiah warned softly. âPretend itâs something on television. Thatâs what I used to do.â
He seemed so calm, so unaffected by the gore, that Laura found it difficult to believe heâd ever felt as queasy as she did.
As though he guessed her thoughts, he said, âThe first time I observed an operation, I almost fainted. Happens to a lot of people. All you can do is find a way to separate yourself.â
Laura nodded. Pretending it was something on television didnât quite work. The coppery smell of blood coated her mouth, shivered over her tongue. Her gaze kept shifting to the stand beside him. A dozen different instruments lay on a white towel, the pieces of stainless steel glinting in the brightlight. She didnât know the names of the tools, which of them he might need. Sheâd watched enough medical shows to realize that a surgical assistant had to anticipate a doctorâs needs and respond to his orders without hesitation.
Her legs felt as if theyâd turned to water, but she forced herself to move closer. âI donât know what to do,â she said again, her voice quavering and thin.
âNo worries. All I need is an extra pair of hands.â He nodded at the instruments. âRight now I need the scalpel.â When Laura hesitated, he described the implement and then winked at her when she grabbed the right one. âSee there, sweetheart? Already a pro.â
When he made a long incision in the animalâs leg, Laura gulped audibly. Little black spots danced in front of her eyes. She turned her gaze to the dogâs head. Its eyes were only partially closed, and its mouth hung open. It looked to her as if Isaiah had pulled the animalâs tongue out over its teeth. Her stomach tumbled and rolled. To hold down her gorge, she focused on the cotton blanket that now draped the canineâs body.
âWhat kind of dog is it?â she asked, desperate for something, anything, to take her mind off what was happening.
âHeâs a mongrel just like me, part this and part that. Mostly shepherd of some kind, I think. âMongrelâ isnât a very flattering term. I prefer the term âmixed-breedâ myself.â He glanced at the monitor to check the dogâs vitals and adjusted the IV drip. âDo you know what
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