Breathe Again

Chapter 12

Sterling Hawkins had to be the most irritating, insufferable, thickheaded jackass on the planet. And that was saying something, because, through years of being a doctor, Ashfield had met many men competing for that title daily.

The exasperating idiot was one of the worst patients he had ever tended. For the past five days, Ashfield's life had become a living hell, all because of the stubborn man.

Not only had Sterling been sick with fever, but also this tough-man attitude of his made Ashfield want to tear his hair out. And he had fantastic hair, or so he'd been told by several female admirers' years ago.

Ashfield rubbed his temples, willing the headache taking hold to go away. He didn't know how much more of this pig-headedness he could stand before murdering his patient—and he was not a violent man.

He glared at Sterling who could barely stand upright; too weak to take more than a few steps without breaking a sweat, and still, the idiot insisted on going home before returning to work in the morning.

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Ashfield squared off against the indomitable will of Sterling Hawkins, determined to come out the victor if it killed him. "Leave then! But if you fall off your horse and drown in the river, encounter a pack of wolves, or get attacked by a grizzly along the way, don't come crawling back to me and expect me to patch you up again!"

"Ashfield," Sterling gulped down a breath before panting, "I'll be perfectly fine, my fever's gone, and I'm feeling better." He gave a pitiful attempt at a smile before bracing himself against the wall and closed his eyes when the room started spinning.

He was more helpless than a newborn calf and twice as wobbly, but he would never admit it to anyone, least of all the infuriating doctor standing across from him.

Ashfield raised an unimpressed brow. "Your fever only broke last night, you heathen. Get back to your room and don't make me say it again."

"I am going home, Doc," Sterling insisted, unable to back down now. Ashfield was right; he was in no shape to leave. But he couldn't find the will to admit he was wrong when he had made such a fuss about being right.

Now it was about proving, not only to Ashfield that he could do it but also to himself; he was fit and able to take care of himself as he had always done.

When Sterling's knees buckled, Ashfield decided he'd seen enough. If the blasted fool wouldn't listen to reason, then brute force would have to do. "You-," Ashfield put his shoulder to Sterling's stomach and picked him up, carrying him back to the room he had been staying in, "are going to lie down and stay there until I tell you otherwise. The moment you have your strength back and can walk to the door without nearly passing out, I will personally throw a celebration and send you on your way."

Sterling grunted in pain. Ashfield's meaty shoulder pressed against his damaged side, digging into the tender flesh with each step. "A man of your size should not be able to lift me with such ease."

"You make it sound as though I'm no taller than a child!" Ashfield grumbled. With as much care as he could muster in his irritated state, he lowered Sterling to the bed, lifted his long legs onto the mattress, and threatened, "Stay in bed, or I'll get the straps again."

"Like hell, you will!"

Ashfield raised a challenging brow, "Do you doubt me?" He walked to the sideboard and prepared a cup of liquid before handing it to Sterling, "Here; drink this. It'll help with the pain." And make him sleep the rest of the day, but Sterling didn't need to know that; it was the only way to keep him in bed to recuperate.

Sterling scowled, knowing he didn't have the strength to attempt another trip to the door just yet, and took the cup, draining it in one swallow. He grimaced at the bitter taste and glared at the cup. This proved what he had suspected all along; Ashfield was trying to kill him. "That's awful! What's that made of?" His eyes watered as he struggled to hold the brew down and not vomit all over the bed, "It tastes like feet!" When he was at last able to draw a breath without gagging, he warned, "If I see those straps anywhere near me, you'll end up on the floor with a bloody nose!"

Ashfield scoffed. "In your weakened condition?" He shook his head and took the cup back, "I don't think so. You couldn't even wrestle a kitten in your current state."

Sterling studied him with wary eyes and grudgingly acknowledged that Ashfield was right. He was too puny to put up much of a fight. The very fact he'd been unable to put up an ounce of resistance when Ashfield carried him in here, and without even a grunt of exertion from the much shorter man proved it. But one more day of resting and feeling useless, defenseless, and pathetic would drive him insane.

Ashfield watched Sterling adjust the covers over his legs and smiled in triumph. "And I'll have you know that medicine you just took is one of my mother's best recipes. I make it fresh weekly—when I do my wash."

"Tastes like it," Sterling snorted. "What am I supposed to do while I'm stuck here?" he grumbled, struggling to hold back the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The only good thing that had come out of being wounded was getting to know Ashfield better. The man had a wicked sense of humor. Some might call it morbid or warped, but Sterling enjoyed the sarcasm he dished out in healthy doses each day.

"You can practice your time's tables for all I care, just don't move from that bed unless I say so." Ashfield withdrew the straps from the middle drawer of the dresser and placed them on top, clearly in view from the bed, a warning and reminder of the consequences of disobeying.

He turned and found Sterling following his every move with a suspicious eye. Ashfield grinned, knowing Sterling took the threat to heart and made his way to the door. "Now be a good boy, and I might just give you a treat when I get back."

"I hate arithmetic."

"Then take up knitting," Ashfield tartly replied from the doorway before shutting the door firmly behind him. He choked back a laugh at hearing Sterling's low rumbling laughter echo from the room.

"Did we come at a bad time?" Louisa asked, wringing her hands in front of her. "We could come back later..."

Dottie held Elliot against her and peered over her mother's shoulder.

Ashfield's grin widened. It was always a pleasure to find Louisa Griggs standing in the open doorway to his home clinic. She was like a ray of sunshine and summer flowers in his barren world. "Not at all, in fact, this is perfect timing. His fever broke last night, so he's delightfully lucid."

He smoothed a hand over his mussed hair and walked to greet them, taking Louisa's hand in his. "I'm assuming you've come to see Sterling—unless either of you requires my assistance?" Just once, it would be nice if she would come to see him.

"No, we're both in good health and thought we would see how Sterling's faring today. That is if it's a convenient time and he's up to a short visit?" Louisa glanced to the closed bedroom door in question.

Ashfield pushed his disappointment aside and reminded himself she had never given any hint of attraction toward him. They were here to see Sterling, his patient, and their close family friend.

He, on the other hand, remained their Doctor. "Of course, of course, follow me, ladies." Ashfield opened the door and entered, "You have guests." He lowered his voice and growled, "Be nice."

Sterling smirked and looked to the door believing Ashfield was joking with him. The blood drained from his face the instant Louisa entered his room, followed soon after by Dottie.

With an accusing glare at Ashfield and his stupid grin, Sterling clenched his jaw and offered what he hoped looked like a pleased smile to the women.

"Perhaps something a little less feral," Ashfield muttered low enough that only Sterling could hear.

Sterling relaxed his face and gave another attempt at a smile that had Ashfield grunting in amusement as he tried to hold in his laughter.

Ready to get on with his day, Ashfield bowed to the women. "I'll leave you to your visit. Please feel free to make yourselves at home." Pushing the door wide open, Ashfield cautioned, "My patient is rather grumpy this morning, so please keep the violence to a minimum and clean up any spilled blood to avoid serious falls while leaving."

Delighted when Louisa cracked a smile, he grinned and left them to the uncomfortable silence that filled the room.