“It’s like a gauze bandage, but it won’t stick to the wound like gauze will,” Skye explained, squeezing a big glob of antibiotic cream from the tube onto her clean fingertips before rubbing it into the wound.
Holmes silenced instantly at the unfamiliar and unsettling sensation of Skye’s fingers rubbing his chest. Despite the soreness of the cut, he found her touch soothing, sliding over the scratched and abraded skin thanks to the ointment: a warm, comforting balm. He sighed, as the visceral memory of the alcohol was literally rubbed away, and he relaxed into Skye’s touch despite himself.
“You okay?” Skye asked upon hearing the sigh.
“Yes.”
“I bet this feels good after the alcohol, huh?” she asked, and Holmes pondered how she’d been able to read his expression so accurately when half his face was covered with bloody toweling and his eyes were closed. When did I close my eyes? he wondered.
“Yes,” he answered again, more decidedly this time.
“Okay, all done,” she said, and he felt an unaccountable sense of disappointment as her fingers left his skin. “Now let me get this bandage on you and we’ll see about getting your face cleaned up.”
“All righd. I musd loog a sighd.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Skye soothed, laying a large Telfa pad on Holmes’ chest and affixing it with medical tape. “You look fine. I’m just glad it wasn’t any worse. For a second there I was afraid your nose was broken. Have you…hm…when was the tetanus vaccine developed, anyway…?”
“Dedanus vaccine was develobed, ub, a year ago or so, if I rebeber arighd.” Holmes caught himself, recalling it was no longer 1891. “Or rader, id was develobed a year before I cabe here.”
“Have you had it?”
“Do. Wadsod waded be doo dake id, bud I did nod habe tibe.”
“We gotta get some ice on your nose and get the swelling down,” Skye declared, putting away her bandage supplies, “so I can understand you. You said Watson wanted you to take it, but you didn’t have the time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then I need to see about getting you a tetanus shot,” Skye noted, and Holmes grimaced.
“Lobely,” he muttered.
“Let me have those paper towels, and we’ll get your face cleaned up and an ice pack on it, then I’ll call down to the Springs and see about getting you a tetanus shot.”
“Bery well.”
Holmes let her have the soiled paper. Skye discarded it in the trash, then turned once more to the bowl of water and wet cloth. She fished the cloth from the bowl and wrung it out, then gingerly applied it to Holmes’ face, sponging away the blood, careful not to apply pressure to his bruised and painful nose.
“I cad do dad, Skye.”
“I know you can, but you probably shouldn’t. If you sit up your nose might start bleeding again. Give it another few minutes. I’ll do this, then get you an ice pack. That ought to help stop the bleeding as well as reduce the swelling.”
Holmes frowned in annoyance, knowing she was right, but finding himself entirely too comfortable under her ministrations; the knowledge made him uneasy. But he lay there as patiently as he could, and Skye made short work of cleaning his face.
“I think you’re gonna have a black eye there, Holmes. Maybe two.”
“Probably. Id will nod be de firsd tibe.”
“And, knowing you, it probably won’t be the last, either, will it?” Skye’s lips quirked.
That coaxed a rueful smile out of Holmes. “Do, probably dod.”
“Okay, be right back with an ice pack,” she said, rising and leaving the room.
Holmes continued to lie there for several moments, listening as his caregiver rummaged in the distant freezer. Suddenly he became aware his upper body was completely bare save for the bandage on his left chest. That will not do. Not with a lady present. He grabbed the bedclothes and flipped them across himself. Skye returned moments later with an ice bag.
“Here. I’ll let you position it so it doesn’t hurt. Now stay there and rest. Keep the ice on for about fifteen minutes, then take it off, and you should be able to get up and move around a little after. I’ll call General Morris and tell him we’ve had a mishap and won’t be down the mountain today.”
“I cad go, Skye,” Holmes objected, placing the ice pack gingerly across his nose and cheekbones.
“Not until I know you didn’t concuss yourself. If you do okay, we might go down this afternoon, but not before.”
Holmes stared hard at her over the ice pack.
A calm Skye stared back. “Who’s got the car keys?”
His stare became a glare.
“You would dicdade doo me?”
“You betcha,” Skye chirped. “I’ll dictate to you the same way I dictated to Caitlin when she had pneumonia and their power went out.” She paused and her expression softened. “Holmes, you’ve already commented about my caring for people. When I was sworn in as a police officer, I took an oath to protect and serve. That says a lot about who I am as a person. I take it seriously. Especially where my friends are concerned.”
With that, she exited Holmes’ bedroom, leaving the detective to ponder exactly what had happened to him in the last half-hour.
* * *
Skye called General Morris. “Hi, General, it’s Skye.”
“Hello, Doctor. It’s awfully early for you to be calling me. Are you and Holmes hard at it already?”
“Well, no, General. I’m still up on the mountain. We’ve had a freak mishap here on the ranch. I suppose you could call it, ‘When Barns Attack.’ Holmes had a run-in with a breakaway shelf in my barn that wasn’t supposed to be breakaway. Something on it clobbered him across the face hard enough to bloody his nose but good, and it looks like a nail or something ripped through his shirt and sliced up his chest.”
“Ouch,” Morris replied, and his wince was audible over the phone. “So you won’t be down today?”
“The only thing we’re coming down for is a tetanus shot, and only once I’m sure Holmes is up to the trip. I want to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion before I drive him someplace.”
“Ooo, that’s right, he probably hasn’t had all the vaccines and shit, has he? No, don’t come down. I don’t want Holmes showing up in the base infirmary. That might raise too many questions about his origins among people who don’t have a need to know. I’ll send the project medic up to your place, if that’s okay.”
“Dr. Wellingford? Sounds perfect. I haven’t told Holmes yet, but we aren’t likely to be down tomorrow, either…”
“Yeah, tetanus shots are the pits. I’ll notify Colonel Jones.”
“Thanks, General,” Skye said, and hung up.
* * *
By the time she got in from feeding the horses, cleaning up the mess in the feed room, and repairing the shelf—Skye was pretty handy with a hammer and nails—Holmes was up and about, clad in a clean, button-front shirt. His nose was swollen, but not bleeding, and bruised shadows were already forming under his eyes. There seemed to be no immediate sign of concussion, and he handed her a cup of tea with cream, evidently having found the pot she’d left steeping.
“Oh, thanks,” she murmured, taking the tea and sipping. “Feel like breakfast?”
“I feel like I habe beed hit id the face with a brickbat,” Holmes remarked ruefully, and Skye noted his speech had improved with the cessation of bleeding. “I suppose I should eat, though id will likely be paidful.”
“I didn’t think to check your teeth. Did any of ‘em take a hit?” Skye frowned.
“Do. Berely discobfort. Facial buscles are bruised.”
“Dr. Wellingford is coming up here with your tetanus shot, and after he takes a look at you, maybe I can give you some acetaminophen. Um, it’s like aspirin.”
“Ah. Excelledt.”
“Oh, here’s Peter now,” Skye observed, hearing the crunch of gravel as the medic’s SUV pulled up.
* * *
In short order Dr. Well
ingford had examined Holmes, pronouncing Skye’s handiwork excellent, and confirming Holmes’ nose was not broken, nor did it appear he had a concussion.
“Yeah, Skye, some acetaminophen is good,” he agreed, digging in his medical bag and extracting a hypodermic. “Go ahead and give it to him, standard dosage and timing. Holmes, you might want to head back to your bedroom, pal, unless you and Skye are familiar enough with each other to drop trou in front of her. I’ll need to administer this into your hip. We’ve got a couple rounds of big injections here.”
Holmes glared.
“You don’t have a choice, Holmes. Go on back and I’ll wait here. We have to get a tetanus shot into you.” Skye put a hand on his arm.
“This is more than a tetanus shot,” Wellingford admitted. “We’ve got a whole nice round of vaccinations for you, mandated for military work. Most people get ‘em as children, but for you we’re making a special exception,” he tried to joke, but it was obvious from Holmes’ sour expression he was having none of it. “Seriously, I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I got no choice either. If anybody had thought about it, we’d have given you these right off the bat.”
Holmes nodded stiffly, then spun on his heel and retreated to his bedroom, Dr. Wellingford right behind.
Ten minutes later, Wellingford left Holmes’ bedroom.
“Well, that was cheery,” the doctor murmured to Skye, voice heavy with irony. “Not that I blame him. Poor guy was banged up enough as it is; he probably feels like a pincushion now I’m done with him. One big ‘un in each hip, and one in the arm. You know to stay close to home for the next coupla days, right? He’s gonna feel like death warmed over for the next day, day and a half.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“If his fever starts spiking around 104°F or above, call me immediately. Meanwhile, you know the drill. Pretend he has the flu. Plenty of fluids, keep him as comfortable as possible, and keep that ice bag on his nose twenty minutes out of every hour as long as he’ll let you.” He pulled a pharmaceutical bottle from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s his antibiotics. I had the prescription filled at the base pharmacy before I came up. If he got infected by the nail scratch—and I have to say, it looks nasty—his tetanus vaccine won’t have time to stop the infection, but these will. Don’t wait for signs of infection, go ahead and start feeding ‘em to him.”
“I’m all over it,” Skye nodded, taking the medication. “And I’ll call you if he gets in a bad way.”
“I’ll be in my office all day, and I’ll forward my office phone to my cell after-hours.”
“Thanks,” Skye smiled, shaking his hand. “With any luck, we’ll see you in a couple days.”
“I hear that. Take care, Dr. Chadwick.”
“Bye, Peter.”
* * *
After awhile a surly Holmes emerged from his bedroom. Skye noted he had no interest in sitting down, and he also carried his left arm stiffly. Nor did he have an interest in matters of breakfast.
Wow, she thought, watching him pace restlessly, Peter really hammered him with those injections. The poor guy is gonna be miserable for the next day or two.
“Holmes, why don’t you come over here and stretch out on the couch awhile? In a few minutes I can bring you the ice pack and you can put it on your nose.”
“I am fine, Skye,” he said brusquely and only marginally nasally, continuing to pace. “I should much prefer to be down on the base, searching for leads.”
“I know, but Colonel Jones has been notified,” Skye pointed out, thankful his enunciation was near normal. “He’ll have someone on it for you. You got injured, Holmes. Stuff happens.”
“Being jabbed and prodded is not ‘stuff,’ Skye,” he snapped testily. “I do not have time for this.”
“You do now. And you’ll have to take the time. You got hurt, and you needed a tetanus shot. You also needed the others, like it or not.”
“Could they not have waited until I did not have a case?!”
“NO!! Holmes, listen! You’re working a spy case. We don’t know yet exactly what they’re after, whether it’s secrets or sabotage or what. But I do know in recent years there’ve been biological attacks.”
Holmes stopped pacing, turning to face her, her statement piquing his curiosity.
“That’s one reason why everyone working on military bases nowadays is required to have all these vaccinations,” Skye explained, seeing she’d gotten his attention. “And that’s especially important for you. Germs mutate, Holmes, especially viruses. So the common cold we have today is definitely not the common cold your immune system is used to. As the head of this investigation, if they find out about you, they could and likely would target you. And a bio-attack might be exactly how they decide to do it. These people are subtle, and they seem to want their dirty work to look accidental.”
“Well, it is not the first time I have known of disease being used to murder. I suppose it is as well to be prepared.” Holmes sighed, capitulating.
“There ya go. Stretch out and rest.”
“Actually, as long as I am here on the ranch, I should make myself useful. Perhaps you would help me use your computer to continue my efforts to become familiar with advances in forensics?”
“I can do that,” Skye agreed, leading the way back to the study. “But you still need to put that ice pack on your face. And you’re gonna wanna take it easy this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because Peter gave you a lotta stuff in those shots. Your immune system will be going into overtime pretty soon, and you probably won’t feel so great.”
“Damnation,” Holmes muttered in disgust. “The blasted cure is worse than the disease.”
“Not hardly. Trust me on that.”
“I suppose I shall have to,” Holmes sighed heavily.
* * *
Holmes spent what was left of his morning reviewing modern forensics laboratory techniques online, sitting in Skye’s desk chair padded with several soft cushions, occasionally holding an ice pack to his face; but after lunch he did feel under the weather. By tea-time he had given up any pretense at absorbing information from the computer, and retreated to the relative comfort of the sofa in the den. Skye plied him with antibiotics and analgesics, which helped. But by dinnertime Holmes felt like one of Mrs. Hudson’s favorite sayings: Something the dog dragged in that the cat wouldn’t have.
* * *
Skye had started a pot of homemade chicken soup after lunch, and it became Holmes’ supper—he didn’t feel like eating much else. Then she shooed him off to bed. Uncharacteristically, Holmes went willingly, which told Skye exactly how bad he felt.
She gave him a full half-hour to get ready and get into bed, then she knocked on his door.
* * *
“I have retired, Skye,” Holmes’ weary voice emanated from behind the door.
“I know,” she said, opening the door and coming in, to his shock. “I just want to check your temperature and see if you need anything.”
“I only need to be left alone,” Holmes observed, with something less than his normal acerbic levels, although he did make the attempt.
“Right after I take your temperature. Relax. It’s easy.” She pulled the infrared thermometer from her pocket and stuck it in Holmes’ ear, much to his surprise. He flinched away from the odd sensation. “Hold still, for cryin’ out loud,” she grumbled. “This’ll only take a second.” Holmes huffed in offended propriety, but allowed her to take the measurement. “Yeah, I thought so. 101.2°; I knew you had that glazed, feverish look in your eyes.”
“I could have told you that,” Holmes said sourly.
“I know, but I bet you couldn’t have told me how high it was.”
“No,” Holmes admitted in annoyance. “What difference does it make?”
“A lot. Dr. Wellingford gave you a shitload of stuff in those injections, and your immune system is pitching a royal fit. He gave me express instructions to keep an eye on your fever
and make sure it doesn’t spike. If it does, I have to call him right away.”
“Does this mean you will be invading my bedroom periodically throughout the night?” Holmes blinked in shock.
* * *
“You got it, sparky,” Skye informed him, irritated at his attitude. “What’s the problem, Holmes? If I were Watson, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash. I’m only trying to look after you, same as he would do.”
“You are not Watson, and it…” he bit off what he had been about to say. “Damn it to hell,” he said crossly, patently too ill of body and temper to worry any longer about cursing in front of Skye. “I suppose you are going to tell me it is perfectly acceptable for you to nurse me through this, stripping me of dignity and in all likelihood, privacy as well.”
“No,” Skye said, retreating into herself, suddenly understanding he flatly didn’t want her there. “First of all, I would have thought you knew me better than that by now. I’ll do what’s necessary to take care of you, Holmes. But you know I wouldn’t invade your innermost privacy unless it was an emergency. And I thought I’d always been respectful of your dignity. I’ve certainly tried to be.”
She paused and looked away so he wouldn’t see the distress in her eyes, not knowing he saw it anyway and winced remorsefully to himself.
“If you prefer, I’ll call Dr. Wellingford and see if he can send up a male nurse to look after you tonight.” Skye turned for the door.
“Skye,” Holmes said, and his tone was softer, a hint of contrition in it. “Pay me no mind, my dear. Watson would be the first to tell you, I make an atrocious patient.”
“Will it help if we ignore my gender?” Skye offered in a subdued tone, turning back toward the bed.
* * *
“You mean for me to treat you as male?” Holmes blinked, disconcerted, and met her eyes, trying to gauge her meaning.
“Yeah,” she said, blinking her eyes several times before giving up and dropping her gaze. The meek, abject reaction from this spirited, sensitive woman spoke worlds to the detective.
It struck Holmes that, for the first time in Skye’s life, she was apologetic almost to the point of shame for her womanhood. She was doing everything she knew to do, everything Watson would have done—and he had not been satisfied.
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 27
