Jewel Hiest

by Keller, J. J.

  Clothes off, Mary glanced in the gold ornate mirror above the sink to remove the kerchief. Next, she peeled off the bandage. The knife cut was ugly. Jagged edges with a bump in the middle, open and leaking. The two ends of the four inch cut had sealed over, but the center refused to heal.

  Mary crawled into the tub and dipped her head under the water, then lifted to rest the back of her neck along the edge. Eyes closed, she relaxed, feeling the muscles slowly unwind in each part of her body.

  The creak of a door opening brought her back from serenity. Crap, out of relax time. She smeared soap on top of the loofah and scrubbed, then released the drain and washed her hair under a fresh stream of water. Wrapped in a towel, she climbed from the tub and combed her hair, tossing the wet strands over her shoulder. A quick glance in the mirror showed blood ran from the cut like chicken broth in a sieve. She grabbed a tissue from the box decorating the toilet tank and dabbed at the wound.

  Damn. She ran into the living area and sorted through the end table. Duct tape in hand, she returned to the bathroom and adhered the tissue to her neck. With only one remaining bandage in the box, she needed it for after she dressed. The silver adhesive wouldn’t be attached long enough to tear her skin.

  Hair not drying fast enough, she fluffed it and wrapped the locks into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Semi-damp curls escaped and rested on her shoulders. A quick application of limited make-up and she was ready for the dress. She went into the kitchen, removed the teabag from the mug and sipped the now cool beverage as she glanced at the garb. Black. Good. Dark and sophisticated made the evening gown an outstanding choice. Phoenix had excellent taste.

  She put the teacup on top of her sketchbook on the bedside table and held the garment in front of her. The lightweight cotton and silk dress flowed beyond her knees. The long sleeves would keep her warm in the walk from the guest house to the main building. Square-shaped, the bodice was different. She loosened the towel and slipped on her undergarments. Careful to avoid the tissue, she tugged the dress into place. Snug in the bodice and hips, the gown was loose in the waist. If the dress was too tight she’d wear a shawl, but in order to find out she had to see.

  Climbing onto the vanity stool, she twisted for a side view. Three rapid knocks sounded on the wooden door. The bench wobbled as she stepped down. She snuck a peek at the time as she ran past the clock. Damn, she was late. Smoothing her hair, she tugged the latch.

  On her stoop was Dane weaving his fingers through his light brown, perfectly highlighted hair.

  “Ready? We’re waiting,” he said, slightly impatient. He assessed her from the top of her head to her feet, and then narrowed his gaze on her neck. “What is that?”

  The wound. How long until it would stop seeping and heal? For the past two days she’d had a slight fever, and that scared her. She pulled at the black dress, trying to loosen it from her breast area. Her belly ached. If only she could say no to going to dinner. Impossible. She owed Dane too much and couldn’t let him down.

  “Can’t seem to stop the bleeding.” She tugged the tape. “I only have one bandage left. I’ll have to change it out. Dane, I’m not–”

  “I guess you’ll have to wear a scarf. Your dinner date is a plastic surgeon, and it wouldn’t be good for him to see a bloody neck during the lamb.” Dane Bushard didn’t like to have his plans altered in the least.

  “Too late. What happened?” Dr. Devon Buckley moved around Dane, and with a sharp gaze focused on her neck, making her more aware of her delicate situation.

  Chapter 13

  Mary glanced at Dane, who shrugged as if to say the gig was up. He certainly wasn’t like Phoenix, who would have rebelled and thrown the guy out.

  “Knife wound from an ex-boyfriend. Dane provided me a sanctuary.” She whipped her fingers to the injury, as if the flesh would magically knit back together and the gash would disappear. Wishes never grew old.

  “Let me look,” Devon requested, kindness in his tone.

  Heart fluttering, she took a step away from the entrance, and he walked inside.

  “Let’s go into a better light. Bathroom?” Devon asked.

  “Fine.” She led the way. Humid air slowly dispensed from the bathroom. “Not enough room for three.”

  “I’ll leave,” Dane said, but held steady at the door. Periodically he’d glance at his watch. His dinner guests were anxiously waiting for his return, she was sure. She’d slap a new bandage on the cut, and they could join the group.

  Enormous pain cut through her as she peeled the bandage. Feathery bits of new skin tissue stuck to the tape. Drawing a sharp breath of air, she considered jerking the adhesive to be done with it.

  Devon put his fingers on top of her hand. “Wait, let me wash my hands and I’ll get the bandage off. Do you have any bleach or peroxide?”

  “Kitchen,” she replied.

  He strode from the room. Moments later cupboards opened and shut, then the faucet ran.

  “I’m sorry, Dane,” she said. “Do you want to leave?”

  “I’ll wait,” he answered and shifted to the side so Devon could reenter the small bathroom.

  Devon gently pulled the tape. “Relax, Mary, this is the worst part. I promise. Breathe in and out, nice and easy for me.”

  The scent of cleanser, dish detergent she thought, came from his fingers and stung her nose. Pain, burning pain, increased as he stripped the adhesive back. “Duct tape on the skin is never a good idea.”

  “Okay.” Her air came out in a whoosh as she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to do the breathing as he’d instructed. With each peeled edge of tape that lifted away, she could feel a layer of precious scar tissue being ripped right along with it.

  Once the dressing was removed, he probed and pried until tears stung her eyes.

  “I’m going to ask you to go to my office, and we’ll open this up. You’ve got an infection and something green, darker than pus, is under the skin. Who did the work on this?” He sounded disgusted and concerned at the same time.

  Mary glanced at Dane’s reflection in the mirror. His stare was straightforward. She hadn’t a clue if she should say something or not. Gaze lowered, she chewed on her lip, stalling for time.

  “Let’s go into the living room, it’s a bit cramped in here.” Devon handed her a clean, dry washcloth, which she pressed to the wound. They all trooped out. Dane stood in front of the entrance, itching to exit, she was sure. Mary sat on the sofa and Devon went into the kitchen.

  “Mary can’t go to a doctor’s office. Her ex is involved with the police and they are waiting and watching all medical facilities for her.” Dane’s words were solid and didn’t leave room for any contradiction.

  Devon went to the sink, washed his hands, turned to lean against the counter and stared at them. “Then we’ll do it here.”

  “What?” she squeaked. She lost control of her fingers, and they jerked against the wound, reigniting the burn.

  “Dane, you can go back to your party. Mary and I won’t be joining you.” Devon dismissed him. Devon’s jacket flipped back as he drove his hands into his pockets. Whatever he jingled was the only sound in the room. The ting ting ting didn’t relax her churning stomach or rapid heartbeat though.

  “My business revolves, mostly, around the ski resort and spa twenty miles away,” Devon said. “I also provide medical care of some of our residents. That being said, I have medical supplies in my car at all times. I’m going to go and get my bag and a few other items. You change out of this dress and into something unrestricting. Leave your shoulders bare, so I’ll have access to your neck. I will need to thoroughly cleanse that wound. Cover with a fresh sheet or something. Do you have any allergies?” He strode to the door and held it open.

  Dane held his finger and thumb in telephone speak. “Call if you need anything.”

  “No allergies.”

  Devon nodded and followed Dane.

  The door shut, and shivers ran through her. She wasn’t sure if it was a result
of the cold air, or due to the fever. Regardless, she’d finally get the problem taken care of and eliminate the constant pain. She didn’t know this man, other than he purchased flowers a couple of times a week, and his son was a college freshman. Dane must trust him or he would have spoken.

  Mary left her strapless bra in place, but changed the dress for jeans. She fetched a new towel from the cupboard to wrap around her upper body. What if the infection was too far gone and she’d have a huge hole in her neck?

  Where would he perform this cleaning and redressing? How would he do it? She hoped to God he’d shoot her with a numbing agent. The snap of knuckles hitting wood brought her out of the introspection. “Come in.”

  Devon entered, carrying a traditional style medical bag. Quaint and customary, from what she could tell, just like the man carrying the satchel.

  “I’ll need you to get a blanket and lay it across the kitchen bar, then lie down while I’m setting out the supplies.” He laid a white cloth, taken from inside his carrier, on the counter and set metal instruments wrapped in a green material on top.

  “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic. You’ll have to remain very still, as the cut is close to the carotid artery, a delicate location. You were very lucky you didn’t bleed out when you were attacked.”

  She swallowed. Anesthetic! Was he talking about cutting her open? Surgery? Lightheaded, she started to go into the bedroom for a blanket. She swayed. Devon slid placed an arm around her waist, steadying her.

  He guided her to a kitchen stool. “I’ll get the cloth.”

  A moment later, he put the green, blue and cream lap blanket from the end of the bed on the bar. He collected the two end table lamps, removed the shades and placed them near the counter. “Let me wash and we’ll get started.”

  Mary situated herself on the newly constructed surgery slab, straightened the material underneath and bent her knees at the edge. As she gripped the sides, a rivulet of blood dripped down her neck. She closed her eyes and waited.

  Water ran for several minutes.

  Her breath caught. Cripes, her life had become a chaotic mess. Her grandfather was right. She shouldn’t be trusted in making a decision regarding her own future, and certainly not another being’s. Celibate and alone, that was her outlook. The snap of rubber brought her back to the present mess. She just wanted to get this over with and hope for a new day, which she was sure would also be a subsequent mess. She opened her eyes.

  “I’m going to outline what will take place so you won’t be surprised,” Devon said. “The procedure will sting, but I promise you, I’ll fix the problem and you’ll be as good as new. I’m going to use betadine to scrub and cleanse the area. Next I’ll give you a local to numb the skin. Then I’ll cut through the injury and clean out the infection and stitch it together.” He met her gaze. “I’ll need your consent to do this procedure.”

  “Yes, I give you my permission to fix my neck.”

  He swiped a cold cloth over the wound. The scent of rubbing alcohol mixed with the plastic from gloves, filtered into the air. A packet ripped open. Soothing cold touched her skin. “I’m very good at my job and this shouldn’t take but a few minutes. However, you must remain still at all times. Understand?”

  “Okay.” She shut her eyes as a pinprick entered. The muscles in her neck numbed a few minutes later. Metal against metal clanged a few inches away.

  Pressure on her neck didn’t hurt, but the thought of a blade going into her skin brought the memories of Conrad’s fingers wielding the knife, trying to kill her. Her stomach muscles tightened as she felt the plastic gloved fingers touching the wound. Short, shallow breaths rushed out. Her hands fisted at her sides.

  “You’re knuckles are white. Do you feel my fingers?”

  “No pain. I’m just remembering the attack. I’m a little scared, that’s all.” She breathed deep and exhaled a long string of wind.

  His hand rested on her shoulder. “Deidre, my wife, was attacked at a convenience store.”

  She opened her eyes and instantly shut them as she saw the glint of a scalpel coming closer. “What happened?”

  “No talking from this point until I’m finished. I don’t want any muscles moving.” He tapped her shoulder.

  Pressure again, and more leakage than before dripped along her neck.

  “Three years ago, she stopped to pick up a gallon of milk. We went through a lot of cow’s juice at our house with an active teenager.” Her skin moved, jiggled, and she felt gentle probing. “Two men, without masks, held the clerk at gunpoint as my wife walked in. She immediately pivoted to run. They shot her in the back.”

  Tears leaked a path from her eyes into her hair line.

  “From what I understand, it’s not something you ever get over. Being attacked. The pain will lessen and you’ll tend to be more aware of your surroundings than you were prior to the assault, but you’ll never forget.”

  She blinked, trying to loosen the water hanging at the edges of her eyes. Burning pain from the blade drove into her and she jerked.

  The heat dissipated. “Can you feel that?”

  She looked at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He held a bloody knife in his hand. “You’ve got a pus pocket or something dark green inside. I’ll need to go deep to get it all removed. Maybe I should call an anesthesiologist to put you out?”

  He glanced around the room, as if evaluating the possibility of it becoming a more equipped surgery center.

  Her heart thumped against her rib cage, hard enough surely the sound became external. “No. You can’t.”

  “Why?” He pierced her with a glance.

  “There is a slim chance I’m pregnant.” She licked her lips and closed her eyes, so she wouldn’t see the blood on the scalpel. “I’ll be fine. I won’t move or jerk, I promise.”

  Difficult, but necessary, she unclenched her hands and gripped the edge of the counter. Could she be pregnant? She had a slight likelihood and oh what joy if she had conceived, especially if she was with child by a wonderfully kind and considerate man. Fresh tears burned her eyes. John was thoughtful and loveable, even if his goal was to catch Conrad or pry into her past.

  “Well. The plot thickens. I’ll remove the infection, sew the wound and then take a blood sample. Don’t worry, I’ll run the test myself in my lab.” Cold metal of an instrument piercing her skin chilled her. “If positive, I can start you on vitamins, but I recommend you seek an obstetrician. As you’ve noticed, our community doesn’t have a lot of babies.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to take herself away from the pain, willing her mind to ride the water in the Wave Pool, which was relaxing. An exhalation later, she dug her fingernails into the edge of the table and felt John’s body on hers. The chlorinated liquid made a slick mask between them. John’s body pressed hers into the cement handrail as the momentum of the waves picked up. He’d been aroused–she’d felt his erection against her–until she’d made the nasty comment about the cold liquid. Her stomach roiled at the memory. She’d been trying to deny the attraction. Maybe in the back of her mind she’d anticipated his betrayal.

  Metal clanked, bringing her into the present. “Welcome back. I’m going to cleanse the area and sew it shut. Just a few more minutes, and you will be done. You did very well.”

  She blinked.

  “You’re very good under stress. Must be why you survived. When did it happen? I’d say almost four weeks ago.”

  She blinked.

  “You feel a little warm, and because of the infection I’m going to start you on a safe antibiotic.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed black thread going away from her face and then coming closer.

  “You’re going to be tired. I want you to sleep the rest of the night. I hear your stomach growling, and maybe in a while I’ll let you have broth, but nothing solid for a few hours.”

  She blinked.

  “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I want to make sure everythi
ng goes well.”

  She blinked.

  “Good. There we go.”

  She felt a firm tug and then the snick of scissors.

  “Let me get the area around the wound cleaned and covered.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Can I see it?”

  “I know you want to, but right now it’s a little swollen from the probing and the black stitches stand out. I suggest waiting until tomorrow.”

  She blinked and turned her hand so their palms were together.

  Devon smiled, a slow-growing sad smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  A wet washcloth soothed her neck. He moved the cloth to her shoulder and wiped a few strands of hair. She closed her eyes again, wishing Conrad hadn’t wanted her dead. Metal clanged and material swished. The rustling of paper brought her eyes open. He secured a bandage.

  She swung her legs to the side.

  “Let me help you.” Arm wrapped around her waist, he accompanied her while she lowered to her feet to the floor. They slowly made their way to the bedroom.

  She was tired. Dead tired. She removed her jeans and dropped the towel. He grabbed the quilt and held it up. Mary crawled underneath, between the cold sheets and sighed.

  “I’ll need to poke you one more time.”

  She stuck out her arm, knocking the empty tea cup and sketchbook off the table. “Take all you need. I’m going to sleep.”

  The cold sting didn’t bother her, the prick and extraction of the needle wasn’t a problem. Sticky Band-Aid in place, she turned to her side and tucked her arm under the blankets. What if?

  “Call out if you need anything.”

  “’Kay.” Despite how tired she was, her mind whirled with the anticipation. Should she get a home test kit to see if she was pregnant? She hadn’t considered the possibility until drugs were mentioned. John wasn’t on her donor list. They’d made love. Difficult to admit, but she’d fallen for John. Was Wang his real name? If his parents were Japanese and Polynesian, the Wang was an unlikely family name. He’d probably created the last name for undercover investigative work. Regardless, she couldn’t reach him to tell him of an impending fatherhood, if it were true.