Page 83 of Desperate Creed

60

South of Montgomery

“You might have a concussion,” Dr. Avelyn was telling Creed.

“I was wearing my helmet,” he countered.

It was a weak defense, especially since he knew he had blacked out for part of the journey the tornado had sent him on. He had won the battle over whether or not he should be taken to a hospital. Creed argued that the ER would be filled with storm victims needing a doctor, and he had his own personal doctor with him.

Dr. Avelyn had rolled her eyes at him. “Someday you’re going to need an MD, Ryder.”

But in the end, she agreed with him that an ER wait could be a long one.

Right now, he looked up from the bed. Grace was fast asleep in the pillows. He’d made sure Dr. Avelyn checked her before she started on him. Creed was lying on his stomach, and it hurt just to turn his neck. He didn’t dare admit that it hurt, nor did he admit he wasn’t quite certain where they were.

He knew their hotel had been damaged. Dr. Avelyn and Penelope Clemence had barely checked in before the storm hit. He vaguely remembered Jason packing up all their gear into Jason’s Jeep. Creed’s was obviously totaled. At some point, they had caravanned to another hotel up the road. Now, from his limited view—mostly of the rug and bed linens—he noted they’d upgraded. This was a much a nicer room.

He jerked and winced at the pain.

“Sorry,” Dr. Avelyn said from above him.

She had pulled the desk chair to the edge of the bed. When that didn’t work, she crawled onto the bed with him and went to work on his back. Creed had insisted they take a photo and show him. He hardly recognized it as his own. Never mind the cuts and bruises. The middle of his back was riddled with pine needles. It reminded him of a porcupine. Dozens of them were driven into his skin, all in the area where his back had been exposed after the sunroof got sucked out. Dr. Avelyn was removing them, one by one, dabbing each puncture with rubbing alcohol. He wasn’t sure which hurt more—the stab of the needle or the sting of alcohol.

“How many?” he asked every once in a while to gauge her progress.

“Twenty-seven. You sure you don’t want something for the pain?”

“I’m good.

“You’ll need an antibiotic.”

“Okay. What about Grace?” he asked.

“Already took care of her.”

It wasn’t the first time the veterinarian had tended to his wounds or stitched him up. He trusted her with his dogs. Why wouldn’t he trust her with himself?

“She’s doing really well by the way,” Dr. Avelyn said. “Wrapping her up like you did cushioned her. It probably saved her life.”

“What about her paws?

“Actually, they don’t look bad. Jason did a good job taking out all the glass. She didn’t blow any pads. But I do think she’s finished for this site. She’ll need to rest for a week. I’d suggest two weeks, but I know Grace.”

Creed felt his muscles tense.

“Sorry. I’m digging out some glass. You want to take a break?”

“No, keep going.”

“You know, I think Brodie could be on to something,” she told him as she worked. And now he knew she was trying to get his mind off the pain. “She watched me chipping dogs last week. We put one in Kitten. But she wanted to know if it would work in people. I’m thinking we might need to chip you with a tracking device, so we can find you when you get buried or fly off.”

“Very funny.” He thought about Brodie’s curiosity. “Do you know if she was thinking about herself or me?”

“I’m not sure. I explained to her that it only identifies a dog and tells us how to contact the owner. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but clearly she was wondering about the tracking capabilities.” She paused for a moment then asked, “Do you think she worries about being taken, again?”

“I hope not. It’s interesting that she asked about it. When we found her she had a tracking device strapped and locked around her ankle. Iris Malone put it on her after Brodie tried to escape too many times.”

“Wow! I didn’t know that. When we talked about it she didn’t seem traumatized by the thought. She was genuinely curious like she could see the benefits.”