I gently picked up her bruised hand and began to rub over the warm, sore area. “I brought you here because you are hurt, and I don’t want to see you hurt. My doctor is on his way.”
She glanced down at her hand and back
up at me. Her lips pursed, and her cute button nose flared. There was a sparkle the light shade of hazel in her brown eyes. She looked beautiful when she was upset, and I wanted to kiss her lips until they bruised.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Ward. I don’t need to see a doctor.” She put her hand on her purse and winced in pain over the contact.
“Yes, you do. Now, come inside, and let’s eat our dinner while we wait for the doctor.”
Chapter Five
Mira
Ward reminded me of everything I had tried so hard to forget. He made me talk about my past without even realizing it. The memories of my dad I had tried so hard over the years to forget, Ward brought them back with a song.
I paced up and down his living room as I waited for the doctor to arrive. Ward wouldn't let me leave until I was treated. According to him, I was hurt. Yesterday, at a site inspection, I accidentally grazed my finger against a protruding nail. The bruise was so small at first that I forgot to put a bandage on it. But throughout the day, it got worse. I had so much work to do that I just pressed through and tried not to think about it. Then, when I ran my hand along the brim of that glass at the restaurant, it felt as if I’d been stung by a yellowjacket. Now, I had Ward on my back about seeing his doctor.
“Have some of this; it will calm you down,” he said, extending a glass of red wine to me.
“I don’t want to be poisoned,” I said, eyeing the glass suspiciously.
Who did he think he was bringing me here against my will and then offering me wine? I wasn’t trying to wake up the next morning with all my goodies in his bag.
“I didn’t bring you here to do anything against your will, so no poison,” he said with a charming smile. “I just want my doctor to treat your hand. Will you let me do that for you?”
“Finally, a question that gives me control over my own body.” I huffed, though I did get in his car, and at this very moment I couldn’t explain why.
Ward’s phone rang, and he walked away from me. He left the room to take the call, and when he returned, he looked exhausted. He didn’t look like his usual confident self. Instead, he seemed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. I didn’t want to care, but I worried about him. I was about to ask if he was alright when the doorbell chimed.
Ward answered the door, and a short man walked in carrying a briefcase in his hand. The man looked like someone in his late forties. Ward talked to him in a low tone, and they both glanced at me, so I knew they were discussing me. The man seemed a bit frightened, and the look of terror on his face increased my anxiety. I couldn’t imagine what Ward had said to the poor man.
“Dr. Williams,” Ward said.
“Mr. Levine,” the doctor replied in a shaky voice.
“Mira, this is Dr. Williams, he will treat your cut.” Ward leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, “I could have kissed it and made it feel better, but I called a doctor. Am I still the bad guy here?”
I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off by the doctor. “Hi, Miss,” he said in a low sincere tone.
“Hello, and nice to meet you, Dr. Williams, but all of this is unnecessary. It’s just a small scratch,” I said.
“Go ahead and treat her doc,” Ward said.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor said like a humble servant.
I raised a brow watching their interaction.
“Excuse me a minute. I’ll be right back,” Ward said, leaving the room with stress lines invading his otherwise handsome face.
The doctor sighed in relief upon Ward’s absence, and I began to relax so the scared man could do his job. He inspected my hand, treated it with antiseptics and skin glue, and put a bandage on it. It felt better when he was done, but I wouldn’t say that to Ward.
"Thank you, Dr. Williams."
“You are welcome, Miss. I didn’t see anything in it like glass or woodchips, so I closed it loosely. It doesn’t look infected right now, but it’s an angry sore, so here’s a prescription for some antibiotics to fight infection.,” the doctor replied.
I took the prescription from him and thanked him again. After a few more minutes, Ward came back into the room, and the doctor mumbled some words to him and hurriedly left.
“What did you do to the poor man? He acts as if you’re in the mafia and he’s on the payroll,” I said, laughing.