Sanctuary

bag around it when you shower. I wouldn’t try swimming for the next week. The dressing should be changed daily. If you don’t have someone around to help you with it, just come in and I’ll do it.”
    “I appreciate it. You’ve got good hands, Doc,” he added as she wound gauze around his hand.
    “That’s what they all say.”
    “No, I mean it—not just good doctor hands. Artistic hands. Angel hands,” he said with another smile. “I’d love to sketch them sometime.”
    “We’ll see about that when you can hold a pencil again.” She rose. “I’m going to give you a tube of salve. And I want you to check in with me in two days unless you leave the island. In that case you’ll want to have it looked at elsewhere.”
    “Okay. What do I owe you?”
    “Insurance?”
    “No.”
    “Twenty-five for the office visit and ten for the supplies.”
    “More than fair.” He got up, tugged his wallet out of his back pocket with his left hand. Gingerly he plucked bills out with the fingers of his wrapped hand. “Guess it’s going to be awkward for a while.”
    “They’ll help you out at the campground if you need it. It’s a friendly island.”
    “So I’ve noticed.”
    “I’ll get you a receipt.”
    “No, that’s all right.” He shifted, and she felt that little jolt of nerves again. “Listen, if you’re over that way, maybe you could stop in. You could see some of my work, or we could—”
    “Kirby! You back there?”
    She felt a warm rush of relief, so fast and full it nearly made her giddy. “Brian. I’m just finishing up with a patient. You be sure to keep that gauze dry,” she said briskly and pulled off her gloves. “And don’t be stingy with the salve.”
    “You’re the doctor.” He sauntered out ahead of her, then lifted his brows at the man who stood in the kitchen with a bloody rag around his left hand. “Looks like you’ve got a problem there.”
    “Good eye,” Brian said dryly and glanced at the gauze-wrapped hand. “Looks like I’m not the only one.”
    “Busy day for the doc.”
    “The doc,” Kirby said as she walked in, “hasn’t had five minutes to—Brian, what the hell have you done?” Heart in her throat, she leaped forward, grabbed his wrist, and quickly unwrapped the rag.
    “Damn knife slipped. I was just—I’m dripping blood all over the floor.”
    “Oh, be quiet.” Her heart settled back when she studied the long slice on the back of his hand. It was deep and bleeding freely, but nothing had been lopped off. “You need stitches.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Yes, you do, about ten of them.”
    “Look, just wrap it up and I’ll get back to work.”
    “I said be quiet,” she snapped. “You’ll have to excuse me, I—” She glanced over, frowned. “Oh, I guess he left. Come into the back.”
    “I don’t want you sewing on me. I only came because Lexy and Kate went half crazy on me. And if Lexy hadn’t been pestering me, I wouldn’t have cut myself in the first place, so just dump some antiseptic on it, wrap it up, and let me go.”
    “Stop being a baby.” Taking his arm firmly, she pulled him into the back. “Sit down and behave yourself. When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
    “A shot? Oh, listen—”
    “That long ago.” She washed up quickly, put the necessary tools in a stainless-steel tray, then sat down in front of him with a bottle of antiseptic. “We’ll take care of that afterward. I’m going to clean this, disinfect, then I’ll give you a local.”
    He could feel the wound throbbing in time with his heart. Both picked up speed. “A local what?”
    “Anesthetic. It’ll numb the area so I can sew you back together.”
    “What is this obsession of yours with needles?”
    “Let me see you move your fingers,” she ordered. “Good, good. I didn’t think you’d cut through any tendons. Are you afraid of needles, Brian?”
    “No, of course not.” Then she picked up the hypo and he felt all the blood drain out of his face. “Yes. Damn it, Kirby, keep that thing away from me.”
    She didn’t laugh as he’d been dead certain she would. Instead, she looked soberly into his eyes. “Take a deep breath, let it out, then take another and look at the painting over my right shoulder. Just keep looking at the painting and count your breaths. One, two, three. That’s it. Little stick, that’s all,” she murmured and slid the needle under his skin. “Keep counting.”
    “Okay, all right.” He could feel