Page 39 of Serious Cowboy
She hadn’t seen him this far to get all negligent about things now.
“Timothy, I need you. Zeke fell and won’t let me call an ambulance. Can you come over here and knock some sense into the man.”
“I’ll do my best,” her brother informed her, then disconnected.
Ten minutes later, Tim had scissored off the damaged fleece fabric of Zeke’s sweatpants to assess just how bad things were. He’d brought his medicine bag—it was an old fashioned one Callie had specifically bought for him as a present for graduating med school at the top of his class—and she released her anger for long enough to be touched by Tim still carrying it.
After all, the only reason he would do so would be mostly for sentimental reasons.
Tim hissed as he saw how deep the cuts were.
“I’m going to patch you up,” he told his best friend. “But only because they’re not any worse than this. An inch deeper and to the left, and you could’ve been in a world of hurt.”
“Wonder what that’s like,” Zeke grumbled, and Callie wanted to smack him.
After all he’d been through, after all they’d been through together, him taking his temper out like this disappointed her. Even if the discomfort might be responsible for a certain percentage of it. She reminded herself that adults, much like children, were far less easy to be around when in pain. It did no favors for anyone’s mood no matter their age.
With that in mind, she did her best to be tolerant. Even if she’d basically been nothing but all throughout his recovery.
When Tim pulled out an injection, Zeke glowered at the needle. “What are you doing?”
“I have to deaden the site. Unless you want to feel everything as I sew these up,” her brother snarked right back, and Callie could see at least three or four deep cuts long enough to require stitches.
“Hold my hand, Zeke. I’ll get you through this.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Tim intoned. “These might sting.”
Based on Zeke’s fervent hissing and flinching “might” must not have been accurate. In the end, however, Tim not only stopped the bleeding. He had his friend bandaged up lickety-split. WithTim on one side and Callie on the other, they maneuvered Zeke onto his couch.
“Might be best for you to sleep here tonight. Avoid those stairs and let your body rest,” Tim suggested, and Callie waited for Zeke’s rebuttal. Yet, he didn’t provide one.
“Sorry,” he grunted out, though she couldn’t tell who this was aimed at.
Her brother stared at his buddy as if he’d never seen him before. “Did you just apologize?”
Zeke’s features twisted into a look that might melt sand, but he answered, “Yes. To your sister. I snapped at her when I shouldn’t have.”
“When?” Tim had his hackles up.
Great. That was the last thing she needed, two of the important men in her life getting into a tussle over something so silly.
“Earlier.” Then, Zeke secured her hand in his, latching his gaze onto hers. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”
She believed him.
The problem was how snarly he was over the next few days. After so recently having been bedridden, being laid up like this again did nothing for his disposition. She went over to check on him every day, with Tim showing up every third or fourth day. And while Callie could tell that he didn’t mean to ever bite anyone’s head off, Zeke must be finding this setback difficult.
She supposed she would, too. To be making such great progress to stumble and ruin it all. It’d be hard for anyone.
Once, she came in to discover him outright glaring at his television. It wasn’t even on, either.
“What is it?” Was it not working anymore?
“I’m not a TV person. Having nothing to occupy my hands is driving me bonkers.”
“Well, what would you like?”
“I don’t know. Do you have anything you can bring me that needs fixing?”