Summer Desserts

stranger.
    “I’m staying.”
    “Mr. Cocharan, you aren’t a relative. It’s against hospital policy for you to remain while we treat Ms. Lyndon. Believe me, it’s only a matter of a few stitches.”
    A few stitches? Summer’s stomach rolled. She didn’t like toadmit it, but when it came to needles—the kind the medical profession liked to poke into flesh—she was a complete coward. And if her sense of smell wasn’t playing tricks on her, she knew where she was. The odor of antiseptics was much too recognizable. Perhaps if she just sat up and quietly walked away, no one would notice.
    When she did sit up, she found herself in a small, curtained examining room. Her gaze lit on a tray that held all the shiny, terrifying tools of the trade.
    Blake caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and was beside her. “Summer, just relax.”
    Moistening her lips, she studied the room again. “Hospital?”
    “Emergency Room. They’re going to fix your arm.”
    She managed a smile, but kept her gaze locked on the tray. “I’d just as soon not.” When she started to swing her legs over the side of the examining table, the doctor was there to stop her.
    “Lie still, Ms. Lyndon.”
    Summer stared back at the tough, lined female face. She had frizzy hair the color of a peach, and wire-rim glasses. Summer gauged her own strength against the doctor’s and decided she could win. “I’m going home now,” she said simply.
    “You’re going to lie right there and get that arm sewed up. Now be quiet.”
    Well, perhaps if she recruited an ally. “Blake?”
    “You need stitches, love.”
    “I don’t want them.”
    “Need,” the doctor corrected, briskly. “Nurse!” While she scrubbed her hands in a tiny sink, she looked back over her shoulder. “Mr. Cocharan, you’ll have to wait outside.”
    “No.” Summer managed to struggle back into a sitting position. “I don’t know you,” she told the white-coated woman at the sink. “And I don’t know her,” she added when the nurse pushed passed the curtains. “If I’m going to have to sit here while you sew up my arm with cat gut or whatever it is you use, I’m going to have someone here that I know.” She tightened her grip on Blake’s hand. “I know him.” She lay back down but kept the death hold on Blake’s hand.
    “Very well.” Recognizing both a strong will and basic fear, the doctor gave in. “Just turn your head away,” she advised. “This won’t take long. I’ve already used yards of cat gut today.”
    “Blake.” Summer took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. She wouldn’t think about what the two women on the other side of the table were doing to her arm. “I have a confession to make. I don’t deal very well with this sort of thing.” She swallowed again when she felt the pressure on her skin. “I have to be tranquilized to get through a dental appointment.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the doctor take the first stitch. “We almost had to do the same thing for Max.” He ran his thumb soothingly over his knuckles. “After this, you could tell him you’re going to put in a wood-burning stove and a hearth and he wouldn’t give you any trouble.”
    “A hell of a way to get cooperation.” She winced, felt her stomach roll and swallowed desperately. “Talk to me—about anything.”
    “We should take a weekend, soon, and go to the beach. Some place quiet, right on the ocean.”
    It was a good image, she struggled to focus on it. “Which ocean?”
    “Any one you want. We’ll do nothing for three days but lie in the sun, make love.”
    The young nurse glanced over, and a sigh escaped before the doctor caught her eye.
    “As soon as I’m back from Rome. All you have to do is find some little island in the Pacific while I’m gone. I’d like a few palm trees and friendly natives.”
    “I’ll look into it.”
    “In the meantime,” the doctor put in as she snipped off a length of bandage. “Keep this dressing dry, have it changed every third day and come back in two weeks to have the stitches removed. A nasty slice,” she added, giving the bandage a last professional adjustment. “But you’ll live.”
    Cautiously Summer turned her head. The wound was now covered in the sterile white gauze. It looked neat, trim and somehow competent. The nausea faded instantly. “I thought they made the stitches so they dissolved.”
    “It’s a nice arm.” The doctor rinsed off her hands in the