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May 21, 2010

Stacy: Doctoring

“I,” I said through gritted teeth, “am walking out of here.”

Doc snorted.

“Crawling maybe. Come on Patience, don’t be a mule, lie back down. You need to rest.”

I reached for the absent gun on my hip, going to teach that boy some manners, then my eyes crossed and I fell back on the bed. I decided right then that being hit in the back of the head was one of my least favorite pastimes, and resolved to shoot the next person who tried it.

Doc pulled the covers over me, all gentleman-like, not an inappropriate hand anywhere.

Dammit.

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