The Flyer Read Online Free Page A

treated broken bones, delivered children in the most risky of circumstances—once she’d treated a man who had fallen into the path of a trolley. The naked male body was nothing to shock her. For Pete’s sake, he wasn’t even naked, yet her breath caught for more than the ragged gash on his shoulder.
    She’d only been three years old when a horrendously destructive earthquake had devastated her home, leaving burned and bloody victims all over the city. But she remembered it vividly and the horrific injuries her father had treated. The image served as a reminder of her professional obligation to her patient. The taut, sinewy ripple of muscle beneath tanned, soft flesh was not her concern.
    Not to mention, in the months since she’d graduated and begun her stilted practice, she’d never encountered anything as brutal as this man’s shoulder. The wound was ragged, extending from just above his right nipple to the outside of his right shoulder. And it was deep. Already, the skin around it glowed crimson in the yellow light of the single electric bulb that hung from the center of the ceiling. “What happened to him? And exactly how much has he had to drink?”
    “I told you. Croc bite.”
    “Yes, but
how
was he bitten?”
    “With her teeth,” replied her patient with that remarkable half grin. He chuckled, then winced.
    “Lord, you must have been drunker than most to fall into the path of a crocodile.” She collected several swatches of soft, white cloth and a bottle of iodine, then sat on the stool beside the examination table.
    “I didn’t fall into anything. I was fighting her.”
    She raised her gaze to his and found him tracing the lines of her face with his amazingly solemn eyes. “You know, most of the men I know only fight
each other
when they’ve had too much to drink.” After a pause, she added, “This is a vicious wound, but I think you’ll heal.”
    Her patient studied her. She could feel his gaze as she might feel his hands. Caressing her. Holding her.
    Unbidden, her mouth pursed into a disapproving frown, and she did her best to disguise it. It wasn’t his imbibing she disapproved of, but the way he was looking at her. She’d seen that look before.
    “I don’t think you quite understand. It’s my job. Well, one of them. Whenever a croc becomes a menace, they call me to get rid of it. This particular lady was quite the nuisance along the river. She just nipped me a little.”
    “It’s more than a little, and I’m fairly certain you have been drinking. I don’t care what you say. I’m not judging, mind you. I’m speaking from a purely professional position. Had you not been drinking, you might have thought better of this particular activity. This is going to hurt a little,” she added, dousing the gash with iodine.
    “Crikey!” He lunged, trying to climb off the table.
    Tim held him down. “Seems to me he hasn’t had nearly enough to drink,” he muttered beneath his breath.
    “What’s your name?” Helen gripped the bottle of iodine and tried to keep her hands from shaking. It wouldn’t do to show her patient just how nervous she was. After all, this was her first … crocodile wound.
    “Campbell. Paul Campbell,” he replied through clenched teeth.
    “Hello, Mr. Campbell. I’m Dr. Helen Margaret Stanwood. I must clean the wound before I can sew it closed. I’ve already warned you that it will hurt. Would you like a dose of laudanum?”
    “Never touch the stuff,” he answered.
    “I find that rather difficult to believe. But suit yourself. Do us all a favor, and try not to scream.”
    She doused the wound again. This time, Paul gritted his teeth, taking in a sharp, hissing breath. He squeezed his eyes closed, but he didn’t move a single muscle. At least, not willingly. The spasms in his smooth, thickly muscled chest were purely involuntary, she was sure.
    After she put aside the iodine and retrieved her suturing kit, she pulled the curved needle through Paul’s raw,