Occhiolism

(Image by DodgertonSkillhause on morguefile.com)

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I arrived at the Wattson’s ranch approximately twenty minutes later. I barely took the time to put the car in park before jumping out. Wyatt was waiting outside the house, as soon as he saw me he opened the door.

Following behind him I asked, “What happened?”

“Tractor accident.” Wattson said, a frown on his mouth, “Not entirely sure. I was in my cabin when I heard a commotion. Found Stan dragging our daddy onto the back porch. His right leg is torn up real bad and there’s blood everywhere.”

Tractor accidents could be fatal, my heart sank. I followed him through the family room, through their kitchen, and out onto the porch. The path was a blue of wooden director and the stale smell of old cigarette smoke. We burst through the door to back porch, the scent of copper exploding in my face. Indeed, there was blood everywhere. Wyatt Senior was laid out on the back porch, with his right pant leg cut off. In the time it took me to get here they had managed to put a tourniquet on the leg.

I dropped on my knees next to the injured man. In several quick, sure movements I slung my medical bag off my shoulder and opened it. I pulled out a large sterile towel and put it down next to me, then began to pull items out of the bag. As I did I asked questions, “How long has the tourniquet been on. How long was he bleeding before it was put on?”

“It’s been on about thirty minutes.” Winston said, kneeling across his dad from me. His voice shaky, “I got it on as soon as I got him out from under the tractor. He was under the tractor for about five minutes before I got him out— he didn’t start really bleeding bad until I got him out.”

“Ok, ok.” I said, pulling on clean gloves and said, “Everything will be ok. You did good getting the tourniquet on, but we need to take it off now to assess if the bleeding has stopped. I don’t have a vascular closure so we have to manually keep pressure on, if it is still bleeding, ok?”

Winston nodded at me and I showed him where to put his hands above the wound to help apply pressure. Then I grabbed a hold of the tourniquet and carefully removed it. I untwisted it, removed the belt, and then told Winston to remove his hands. The tourniquet had done its job, the bleeding had slowed so it was barely a trickle out of the wound.

“Good, good.” I said, glancing up at Wyatt Senior’s face. He was glossy eyed and pale, clearly in shock. I grabbed bandages and ordered, “Get his leg elevated for me. I’m going to bandage the wound tightly to help stop the rest of the bleeding. Then I will set up an IV. Alright?”

Wyatt Junior and Stan both gave me yes ma’ams and we began to work. They held up his leg while I took care of cleaning and then wrapping the wound with sterile bandages. From there I then grabbed my IV supplies, and a bag of blood I had brought with me. It was not fully legal for me to have this blood and it was a risk exposing to the sheriff that I had it, but I was hoping his concern for his father would out weigh his strict adherence to the local laws.

It took two hours for me to finish but by the time we got Wyatt Senior into his bed he had color returning to his face. I peeled my gloves off, tossed them into my portable biohazard bag, and finished cleaning up my supplies. I was washing my hands in their kitchen sink when Wyatt appeared, leaning against their fridge.

“Whose blood is it?” Wyatt asked, his voice even, “’Cause you didn’t ask daddy’s blood type. Is it someone with O Negative or did you give him Skyborn blood?”

The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I turned on my heel to look at him, grabbing a towel to dry my hands off with. I arched both eyebrows and said, “I’m surprised you know that skyborn blood can be used in transfusions for earthborn— But, no. It’s mine. I’m a universal donor.”

Wyatt gave me a lazy smile that would have made him look boyish if it reached his eyes. Instead the brown of his eyes held a bitter edge like dark cocoa. He said, “Aah, that’s good, Doctor Sarah. Being as the nearest hospital is two hours away when traffic is good… I’ll over look you storing your own blood. I know you think I follow the law like a zealot but I do understand that between desperation and the law… Desperation tends to win.”

I relaxed a touch, knowing he wasn’t going to arrest me for the illegal blood storage. I rolled one of my shoulders, forcing back a wince of pain, and said, “It isn’t that I think you’re a zealot-“

“Yes, you do.” Wyatt said, the smile falling off of his face. He looked just a touch frustrated now. He crossed his arms over his chest. It made his shirt stretch over the muscles of his chest. The tight shirt, the well worn jeans, the squareness of his jaw… He was a handsome man. That I never denied. “That’s why we didn’t work. ‘Cause you think I’m a zealot. In fact I think your exact words were unreasonable and married to the law.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to have this conversation again. We hadn’t worked because I had made the mistake of accepting his advances as soon as I arrived. When I was still heartbroken over— I cut that thought off. That way lie the abyss. I wasn’t discussing this with him. Being honest about why I broke things off would open wounds I didn’t want opened.

I shook my head and said, “Wait, where’s William? You and Winston helped me but where was Will?”

Wyatt raised his eyebrows and watched me with those dark, suspicious eyes. He tried to see past my walls and he never could. We ended up in a toxic cycle of frustration. He shrugged a little bit and said, “Will is on duty right now. You know we rotate days off. Stan will be going in shortly to relieve him.”

“Sarah!” Mrs. Wattson, Delilah, burst through the kitchen doors and nearly knocked Wyatt over to reach me. She grabbed both of my hands and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for coming. We never would have made it to St. Mary’s in time. You saved my husbands life. You must stay for dinner. We can’t repay you in true but we can feed you before you head back home.”

I winced, a hint of panic beginning to set in. Not just because I didn’t want to have dinner with Wyatt but because I was certain he had sent William to try and find the angel Wyatt believed I was hiding. Which, unfortunately, he was right about.

I opened my mouth to protest but Wyatt interrupted, boxing me into a corner.

“That’s right. And momma’s even making that vegetarian bean soup you gave her the recipe for last Christmas. She was gonna have us bring some over to you, but now that you’re here. You’ll get it fresh from the stove.” He drawled, a smug look on his face.

I shot him a dark look but turned back to Delilah, gently retrieving my hands from hers and said, “Ok, Mrs. Wattson, of course I’ll stay for dinner.”

Even if my stomach was in knots with anxiety and I couldn’t get out of this without looking suspicious. It didn’t matter that my shoulders were aching, that I was shaking from the adrenaline leaving my system, or that I desperately wanted to get home. Forcing the issue would only making Wyatt suspicious.

More suspicious than he already was. I closed my eyes and surrendered to my fate. I’d be staying for dinner. I glanced out their big windows in the general direction of my homestead— not that I could see it from here.

“Oh good!” Delila said and then turned back to Wyatt, “Come now, boy. You get out the potatoes and start peeling while I rinse the beans and get to cooking.”

Wyatt’s eyes didn’t leave me until I sat down at the their kitchen table, and folded my hands in my lap. I knew better than to offer to help. Some things were just not done. So instead, I focused on stretching my arms to relieve the pain my shoulders as the two Wattsons go to work cooking dinner.

It smelt good, at least.