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A smile escaped despite her best effort, as she imagined having to lasso him as he fled out the door. “No. Why don’t you come on back to an exam room, so I can take a look at that burn?”
Darting a nervous glance at the other two people in the waiting room, he swallowed hard and then started across the reception area.
A lot of cowboys patched themselves up as they would their cattle; some even sutured their own smaller lacerations with the veterinary supplies every ranch kept on hand due to the vast distances between ranches and vet clinics in town.
For this one to come into town and seek medical care was either a credit to his intelligence or an indication that his injuries were significant.
Given the sheen of perspiration on his craggy face and the glazed appearance of his eyes, he was either in a lot of pain, running a fever or both.
In the exam room he gripped his hat with both hands, slid a wry look toward her, then eyed the table with true fear. “I ain’t taking my clothes off.”
“No. Of course not. At least, not your jeans. But I really do need to see that arm.”
Jolie took a medical history—which didn’t take long given that the man hadn’t seen a doctor in twenty years—then moved to the door. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just take off your jacket and shirt, and hop up on the exam table.”
Not giving him time to disagree, she stepped into the hallway, gave him two minutes, then returned.
Hunched over and scrawny—reminding her of a turkey vulture—he didn’t meet her eyes. A dirty, four-inch-wide white bandage had been wrapped around his arm. It was a horse leg wrap, she knew from her own ranching experience.
She sighed. “Do this yourself?”
He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. She could see his respirations were fast and uneven as she began gently unwrapping the wound. “Branding accident, you said?”
Again, another nod.
“How did it happen?”
“Had the calf down, but my buddy’s horse slacked off on the rope. Ended up with a real wrestling match.”
“Out at Walking Stones we had those now and again. Which outfit are you with?” Keeping up a steady conversation to distract him, she unwrapped the final length of bandaging and gently supported his arm for a visual exam.
He had a partial-thickness burn, deeper at the medial edge, roughly ten-by-fifteen centimeters. Bits of charred flannel had been driven into the burn. From the looks of it, Bill would likely bear half of the Rocking M’s brand for the rest of his life.
The heat and swelling around the perimeter of the wound told her he hadn’t been in any hurry to seek help. “When did you say this happened?”
“Couple days.”
“If this was any worse I would send you to a hospital.”
He snorted. “Send me all you like, but I ain’t going. No way.”
“Well...I’ll clean up the wound, then let’s see where we are.”
Giving him an encouraging smile, Jolie collected the equipment she needed and silently started a wish list of personnel she’d like to hire. Personnel that would have been handy right now.
An office nurse.
A receptionist.
A lab tech.
She drew a blood sample for a CBC, then handed him a stainless-steel basin. “Hold this to catch the water.”
Mindful of his pain, she ran a continuous saline flush over the wound as she carefully debrided it; patiently soaking the dirty, loose scabs, and working bits of charred cloth free.
Throughout the process, Bill remained stone-still, though she heard his respirations accelerate when she touched the more sensitive areas.
“I’m going to apply a thin layer of Silvadene salve and use a gauze dressing. Are you allergic to Sulfa?”
