Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You know, you watching me isn’t getting the job done faster.”
“It can be tricky. The wire can snap or—”
I cut him off. “I’m wearing the gloves.”
“Don’t take them off,” he growled and stood. “I’ll be right over there if you get into trouble.”
I didn’t say anything, concentrating on the job. I worked quietly, one piece at a time. The fence tautened as it was nearing completion, and my hands grew sore from the efforts. Inside the gloves, they were hot and sweaty, and I had to stop to wipe them and take a break. I took a sip of water. I only had two more joins to go and I was done. I slipped the gloves back on and finished them, pleased with my efforts. Done, I discarded the gloves, wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and took a couple of pictures, then frowned. One of the joins looked as if it was going to give way.
Slipping on one glove, I grabbed the pliers, planning on giving the join one last turn. I leaned on the post for stability and twisted it. It happened fast. The wire broke, the tension causing it to snap. It bit into my ungloved hand on the post, blood starting to pour from the cut instantly. I felt no pain, and I stared down at the cut in shock. But I must have gasped because suddenly Luke was beside me, furious.
“What the—?” he hissed. “I told you to wear the damn gloves, Sammy.”
“I did,” I protested. “It just needed a final twist. I didn’t think—”
He cut me off. “Exactly. You didn’t think.” He grabbed my hand, examining it. “Fuck, this is deep.” He lifted his head, calling for Jeff. “I’m taking the ATV.”
Jeff hurried over, looking at my hand. “Okay. I’ll finish. You did good, Sammy.”
“She didn’t listen. You never fucking listen to me,” Luke snapped, his anger directed at me.
I stayed quiet, not wanting to argue with him right now. I should have put both gloves on, but I’d thought it was fine.
Luke wrapped my hand in a bandanna he had in his pocket and stood, lifting me up.
“Um, it’s my hand, Cowboy. I can walk just fine.”
“Shut up.”
“Okay,” I muttered. “Grump.”
He deposited me in the ATV and swung himself in, driving like a madman.
“Luke,” I gasped. “Slow down.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s a cut. I won’t bleed out, for God’s sake.”
He didn’t listen, and I held on for dear life with my good hand. At the ranch, he got out, and I scrambled from the ATV before he could reach me. “You are not carrying me again,” I hissed. “It’s a cut.”
He grabbed the front of my shirt, hauling me close. “And here, a cut can become a problem. The dirt, the dust, the animals. Infections set in easily.”
“I’ll clean it.” I pushed him away, annoyed. “Go away, Luke.”
I went inside, going to the bathroom. I held my hand under the running water, wincing when the cut kept bleeding. I examined it—Luke was right; it was deep. I recalled seeing a first aid kit in the kitchen, and I went there, hoping for some Band-Aids and antiseptic cream. As I was searching, the door opened and a man walked in, carrying a bag.
“Um, hello.”
“You must be Sammy. I’m Doc Weathers. I hear you have a cut that needs looking at.”
I gaped at him. “Luke called a doctor?”
“I was already here. Can I look?” he asked with a frown, seeing the blood.
I sat down, and he checked it out. I wondered if someone else was ill, which would explain why he was here.
“Everything okay on the ranch?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied.
“Luke calmed down yet?” I asked.
He chuckled. “He’s still simmering.” He glanced up. “It’s deep but clean. You’re lucky the wire didn’t go in more or twist under your skin. I think I need to do a couple of stitches, though.”
“Can’t you put some glue on it and call it a day?” I had a feeling stitches would send Luke over the edge.
“Bit too deep for that. It just needs a couple small ones. If you trust me.”
“Sure.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
“Last year. I fell off a ladder and sliced open my leg.” I showed him the side of my knee. “The doc did a good job.”
“I’ll try to copy him.”
He was quiet, concentrating on the task at hand. He was also fast, and it was over quickly. I studied the neat, tiny stitches on my skin.
“You’re good.”
“I hope it doesn’t leave much of a scar. Luckily, it’s in the fleshy part between your thumb and index. Easily hidden.”
“I doubt it will. I guess it was my lucky day you were visiting when I cut myself.”
“I’m here a lot.”
“Really? You do drop-in visits for patients just to check on them?”
He sat back and rubbed his forehead. “I’m not exactly a people doctor, Sammy.”