bed, encouraging him to have a seat.
Dallas warily observed Gwen from the bedroom door. “When was the last time you sewed up a human?”
“Two months ago.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a red scar along the outside of her wrist. “I caught my arm on a nail in the barn. I gave myself a shot of antibiotics and put ten stitches in my arm.”
Dallas walked further into the room and inspected her scar. “That looks more like a knife wound than a tear from a nail.”
She rolled her sleeve back down. “And how would you know the difference?”
Dallas took a seat on the bed. “I’ve seen enough knife wounds in my day.”
“Quite a profession you have there.” Gwen unwrapped the paper towels from around his finger. “Guess I wouldn’t be the first to tell you that maybe you should consider a career change?”
Dallas sucked in a painful breath as Gwen probed the cut on his finger. “No, you wouldn’t be the first.”
She reached for the bottle of vodka next to her and began unscrewing the cap. “You had a tetanus shot recently?” She held the bottle out him.
“A few years ago,” he told her.
“Take a couple of swigs from that. It will help ease the pain,” she instructed, nodding to the bottle in her hand.
Dallas shook his head. “I’m fine. I won’t need it.”
Gwen picked up his right hand and placed the bottle in it. “I know you would like me to think you’re tough and all that, but I really don’t need any of your macho crap right now. So just drink the goddamned vodka.”
Not wanting to argue with a woman about to jab a sharp needle into his skin, Dallas took two long sips of vodka while Gwen cleaned his wounded finger and then put on a pair of sterile rubber gloves. She pulled a long black piece of nylon suture with a needle connected to it out of a plastic package, placed the scissors on the bed, and reached for her hemostats. She kneeled down on the floor next to the bed as she pulled his left hand under the lamplight.
“This isn’t exactly sterile, but I can give you a shot of antibiotics to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Are you allergic to anything?”
Dallas shook his head as he watched Gwen set the needle in the teeth of the hemostats. He winced as she took his injured finger in her hand and pressed the edges of the cut together.
“This is going to hurt a bit,” Gwen stated and quickly pushed the needle through the flesh around his cut.
Dallas’s jaw clamped down as the bite of pain roared up from his finger to his brain. He felt the pull of his flesh around his finger as she closed the first stitch and tied it off. The sweat began to bead around his upper lip as she pushed the needle through his skin for the second stitch.
“You gonna make it?” she asked, never taking her eyes of his finger.
“Fine,” he whispered through his clenched jaw.
“Three more to go after this one,” she informed him.
Dallas noticed how Gwen’s blond hair shimmered beneath the lamplight. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“Doug taught me. He said he wanted me to know how to suture properly in case he ever needed me to sew him up at home.” She looked up into Dallas’s face. “He was always accident prone.” She turned her attention back to his finger.
“What else did Doug teach you?” He tried to focus his mind on the job he was hired to do and not the searing pain in his finger.
She shrugged as she pushed the needle through the skin for the third stitch. “He taught me about art, how to fly planes, how to select the best wines from a restaurant wine list, to appreciate opera, and to be a little more patient with people.”
“That sounds like quite a list,” Dallas said as he let out an uneasy breath.
“He was quite a guy.”
“Then why did you leave him?”
Gwen tied off the third stitch and cut the nylon with her scissors. “I was tired of pretending,” she answered in a soft voice. She pressed the edges of the laceration together as she drove the
Dallas warily observed Gwen from the bedroom door. “When was the last time you sewed up a human?”
“Two months ago.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a red scar along the outside of her wrist. “I caught my arm on a nail in the barn. I gave myself a shot of antibiotics and put ten stitches in my arm.”
Dallas walked further into the room and inspected her scar. “That looks more like a knife wound than a tear from a nail.”
She rolled her sleeve back down. “And how would you know the difference?”
Dallas took a seat on the bed. “I’ve seen enough knife wounds in my day.”
“Quite a profession you have there.” Gwen unwrapped the paper towels from around his finger. “Guess I wouldn’t be the first to tell you that maybe you should consider a career change?”
Dallas sucked in a painful breath as Gwen probed the cut on his finger. “No, you wouldn’t be the first.”
She reached for the bottle of vodka next to her and began unscrewing the cap. “You had a tetanus shot recently?” She held the bottle out him.
“A few years ago,” he told her.
“Take a couple of swigs from that. It will help ease the pain,” she instructed, nodding to the bottle in her hand.
Dallas shook his head. “I’m fine. I won’t need it.”
Gwen picked up his right hand and placed the bottle in it. “I know you would like me to think you’re tough and all that, but I really don’t need any of your macho crap right now. So just drink the goddamned vodka.”
Not wanting to argue with a woman about to jab a sharp needle into his skin, Dallas took two long sips of vodka while Gwen cleaned his wounded finger and then put on a pair of sterile rubber gloves. She pulled a long black piece of nylon suture with a needle connected to it out of a plastic package, placed the scissors on the bed, and reached for her hemostats. She kneeled down on the floor next to the bed as she pulled his left hand under the lamplight.
“This isn’t exactly sterile, but I can give you a shot of antibiotics to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Are you allergic to anything?”
Dallas shook his head as he watched Gwen set the needle in the teeth of the hemostats. He winced as she took his injured finger in her hand and pressed the edges of the cut together.
“This is going to hurt a bit,” Gwen stated and quickly pushed the needle through the flesh around his cut.
Dallas’s jaw clamped down as the bite of pain roared up from his finger to his brain. He felt the pull of his flesh around his finger as she closed the first stitch and tied it off. The sweat began to bead around his upper lip as she pushed the needle through his skin for the second stitch.
“You gonna make it?” she asked, never taking her eyes of his finger.
“Fine,” he whispered through his clenched jaw.
“Three more to go after this one,” she informed him.
Dallas noticed how Gwen’s blond hair shimmered beneath the lamplight. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“Doug taught me. He said he wanted me to know how to suture properly in case he ever needed me to sew him up at home.” She looked up into Dallas’s face. “He was always accident prone.” She turned her attention back to his finger.
“What else did Doug teach you?” He tried to focus his mind on the job he was hired to do and not the searing pain in his finger.
She shrugged as she pushed the needle through the skin for the third stitch. “He taught me about art, how to fly planes, how to select the best wines from a restaurant wine list, to appreciate opera, and to be a little more patient with people.”
“That sounds like quite a list,” Dallas said as he let out an uneasy breath.
“He was quite a guy.”
“Then why did you leave him?”
Gwen tied off the third stitch and cut the nylon with her scissors. “I was tired of pretending,” she answered in a soft voice. She pressed the edges of the laceration together as she drove the
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