Breathe Again

Chapter 7

Exhaling a breath of exhaustion after knotting the last suture closed, Ashfield stood and stretched to release the tension and cramps in his body. The deepest gashes had clear signs of infection, but the others looked remarkably well considering no one had been there to tend to them except Sterling himself.

Ashfield's small and precise stitches stood out in stark relief, marking the jagged edges of each slash and puncture. Once all the wounds were clean—including a sizable infected burn on his chest—he rubbed a disinfectant cream, he made to help fight infection and ensure the wounds would heal more quickly.

After finishing, he wrapped a clean bandage around Sterling's chest, waist, and arm, and stood back to peruse his handy work with a grunt of approval.

It really was too bad he lived alone because moments such as this deserved, if nothing else, a pat on the back. Rubbing his forehead, Ashfield picked up the bowl of bloody water and rags in one arm and gathered the used surgical tools in the other.

He whistled a soft tune while he entered his kitchen and began cleaning the instruments. Setting them in a boiling pot of water, he disposed of his stained and ruined nightshirt he hadn't had the chance to change.

Sighing, he took a clean rag and washed the dried blood from his chest and arms before going to his room and getting a fresh change of clothes. From his bedroom window, he witnessed the first rays of dawn lighten the sky.

He shook his head in amazement at the amount of time it had taken to sew Sterling back together. Apparently, he would have to make do with the four hours of sleep he managed to get last night.

Several moments later, dressed in a fresh set of clothing, Ashfield returned to find Sterling waking up and attempting to roll to a sitting position on the exam table.

Ashfield ran the last few feet and placed a firm hand on Sterling's chest. "I need you to stay flat. You'll get up when I say you can, and not a moment sooner."

When Sterling tried to sit up once again, Ashfield shook his head and pressed him back more firmly, "By the looks of it, there's more of your blood on the floor and in my kitchen than currently in your body."

Too weak to fight, Sterling relaxed against the table, "Didn't know you were so desperate for company, doc." He closed his eyes with a ragged sigh, "Rather than bleeding me dry, you could have just invited me to dinner."

Ashfield scoffed and pulled a chair next to him, sitting with a tired grunt. "I like my guests helpless against my charming personality. I didn't get blessed with good looks like you, so I have to work with what the good Lord gave me."

Sterling chuckled, groaning when the motion pulled at the stitches. "You're awful mean for a doctor—bleeding me nearly dry then making me laugh and causing me pain..."

Ashfield grinned, then grew thoughtful, "By the looks of those scratches, you either got a woman exceedingly mad at you, or you picked a fight with a wild animal—come to think of it I know a few men who would describe their wives that way."

Sterling smirked and looked at Ashfield with tired eyes, "It was a mangy old mountain lion. Looked near starved, so I think it was either sick or wounded, possibly both. Either way, it was desperate enough to try making a meal out of my sorry hide."

"Well, you're lucky it wasn't healthy then. Otherwise, this might've been a completely different scenario than just patching you up." Ashfield studied Sterling for a couple of minutes before saying, "I know you're not gonna like it, but I want you to stay here for a few days. I need to keep an eye on you and make sure those wounds don't continue to fester."

"Nah, that isn't necessary. I'm feeling better already." Sterling tried once again to sit up, but fell hard onto his back, too weak to move.

"I can see that."

Sterling blew out a breath and forced his mouth to move. "I've been through worse."

Ashfield was quiet for a moment before stating, "I noticed."

Countless scars covered Sterling's heavily muscled torso and arms. Along with the large burn, there were many distinctive scars Ashfield would recognize anywhere because he'd seen them on countless others during the war.

"By the looks of it, you're one tough individual. But you're not invincible, which is why you're going to allow me to help you. You'll stay here until I say otherwise." He waited for Sterling to give him a slight nod before standing. "I'm going to prepare my spare room for you. Is there anyone you want me to notify of your situation?"

Sterling forced his eyes open and turned to Ashfield, "Mack. He'll need to know he's in charge of business at the mill for the next day or two, till I return."

Ashfield quirked an eyebrow at that remark—no one with the extent of injuries Sterling sported would be fit to return to their normal activities for at least a month. Did Sterling really believe he would be back to business in just a 'day or two'?

He shook his head, but said in a placating tone, "Alright then; after I get you settled in, I'll head to the mill." Ashfield returned the chair against the wall, then marched from the room.

Ten minutes passed before Sterling suddenly found Ashfield at his side, wrapping his sturdy arms around him and helping him to a bed far too short for his tall frame.

Even laying down diagonally, his feet hung off the edge, but Sterling didn't care. He was too tired. He gave an awkward attempt at thanking Ashfield for patching him up and then watched the shorter man leave the room. Minutes later, the outside door closed firmly behind him.

With a weary groan, Sterling stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was someone who would mourn him if he died. Dottie's face came to mind before his heavy lids won the battle, and he slipped into the unconsciousness of blessed sleep.