Doctors made the worst patients. Gideon had been told that but being on this side of the hospital bed was a first for him, and he hoped never to repeat the experience.

Still being unable to see, contributed to his surliness. While understanding that, it didn’t soften his attitude. He couldn’t read or watch TV, all he could do was lay there in the dark.

His dad had brought him an audio book, but he couldn’t navigate the device it was loaded on. Once someone turned on the book, he was fine for a bit, but when he’d attempted to turn it off, he’d failed, and then he couldn’t remember where in the book he’d been. The result of that activity had him tossing the iPad/Kindle/Nook—whatever it was—across the room.

That had been the most satisfying. So, satisfying that throwing things became his knee-jerk reaction. The fake cheerfulness of the nurses irritated him. Dr. Cooke—on his morning rounds—understood his predicament but didn’t sympathize. If anything, he seemed to take pleasure in Gideon’s situation.

“You’ll be a better doctor with your patients, by being one yourself,” Dr. Cooke had told him that morning when Gideon had demanded to be released so he could go home. Dr. Cooke wasn’t so accommodating, while Gideon knew the nurses would love to see the last of him.

“Sorry, can’t do it,” Dr. Cooke said. “Not until your red blood cell count is up.”

“All I’m doing is laying here. I can do that at home,” he growled.

“According to your file, home is in Heartbreak, fifty miles from here, and there isn’t a hospital there. The only doctor in residence is you. So, the answer is no. Again. Keep it up and I’ll assign you our own Nurse Ratched.”

At least a Nurse Ratched type could handle having random things thrown in her direction, rather than burst into tears like the young nurse had last night when he’d tossed his uneatable meal of limp broccoli, tasteless meat—if it was meat—and mealy potatoes.

“When can you take off the eye bandages?” If he could see shapes or differentiate between light and dark his mood would improve tremendously. Not knowing if he’d be able to see again was enough to drive him to the psych ward.

“Dr. Bialetti will be in tomorrow to assess your progress after yesterday’s ocular irrigation. For now, his instructions are to leave the bandages in place.”

He had a date with Kennadee Sunday night. Though he didn’t know how’d he accomplish that if he was still blind. The last thing he wanted was for her to be his seeing-eye dog.

“Like I said, you aren’t going anywhere until your red blood cell count is in acceptable levels. Let it rest. No amount of complaining or throwing fits will change my mind.”

Gideon ground his teeth, hearing the scratch of a pen as Dr. Cooke wrote something down in his chart.

“Your nurse will be in to see you in a bit to get you up for a walk, so you have that to look forward to.”

“Woohoo,” he said sarcastically.

“You’re lucky, on the schedule today is Tellie. She’s cute, proficient, and upbeat.”

“That’s an improvement from the young, timid one yesterday.”

“See, something to be grateful for. I’ll check in on you tomorrow morning. Be nice to my nurses.” With that he left Gideon alone in the heavy silence. One of the nurses—Betty, Beatrice, or Barbara—had suggested leaving the TV on for him to listen to. But that had driven him crazy. First of all, Fairbanks Memorial only had three channels. A twenty-four-news channel—listening to the news all day would be enough to drive anyone to suicide. A children’s channel with someone called Dora on a loop, and some oldies station. There was only so much a person could take of cheesy sitcoms from the 70s and 80s. Though he had to admit, he’d enjoyed the reruns of The Golden Girls. Those sassy old broads were ahead of their time.

The door creaked open, and a bouncy voice grated, “Hello, hello!”

Christ, the cheerful RN.

“Ready for a stroll Mr. Rasmussen?”

“Dr. Rasmussen,” he muttered. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I have a booked schedule.”

She laughed, the sound like Christmas bells. “I’m a lucky girl then to have you all to myself.” She pulled the blanket back, and he heard her fiddling with the IV stand, and felt her unstrapping his automatic blood pressure cuff. She took his arm and slowly helped him gain his feet.

“Just rest here for a moment. We don’t want you fainting.”

“I don’t faint.” What man wanted fainting to be associated with him?

“Whatever you prefer to call it, we don’t want you doing it. How are you feeling? Light-headed at all?”

“Fine,” he gritted out.

“Shall we head outside? It’s a beautiful spring day. Feeling the sun on your face will do wonders for you, I promise.”

He grunted, and she took that as an agreement and started up a string of conversation he thankfully didn’t have to participate in.

She talked nonstop. Cheerful was a tame word to describe her. He half ignored her while she led him down the hall and through sliding doors. He took a deep breath of fresh, non-circulated air when they stepped outside.

The sun was warm on his face, and it did make him feel better. Guess Tellie knew her stuff. She led him slowly down a path, continuing with her insistent chatter. He came to an abrupt halt when she mentioned Kennadee’s name.

“Are you all right, Dr. Rasmussen? Would you like to sit down? There’s a bench just a few feet ahead.”

“Yes, I need to sit.” She helped him onto the wooden bench. “Did you say Kennadee? Kennadee Wilde?”

“Yes, I did. I just love her. I heard she saved your life.”

“How do you know her?”

“I’m a friend, and she’s consulted with me on her physical therapy. I moonlight as a therapist.”

“Why is she seeing a physical therapist?”

“For her dislocated shoulder, of course. You must have noticed she wasn’t at a hundred percent when she pulled you from the accident. She’d been on the mend, from falling off that ladder a week ago while fighting a three-alarm fire. My brother is a firefighter and worked the same fire. They’ve dated a few times as well as work together. He’s completely infatuated with her. She has that effect on men. Her actions, yanking you from that deathtrap the other day has set back her recovery. There was a full-page article in the Daily News Miner with pictures written up about your accident. She’s about as ornery of a patient as you are. Maybe more so.”

Kennadee had a dislocated shoulder when she’d rescued him?

Why hadn’t she said anything?

And then he’d insisted that she return to his vehicle and pull out his medical bag. A bag that easily weighed thirty pounds or more. He was surprised she hadn’t hit him with it.

God, he was a selfish bastard, only thinking of himself and his injuries while Kennadee was in pain too. He needed to do something.

“Do you have her number in your phone?” he asked.

“Why no, not on me. Do you need to talk to her?”

“Yes.” But it was probably for the best that Tellie didn’t have Kennadee’s number because in the mood he was in, he’d probably call her and chew her out. “I’m ready to return to my room,” he said.

Tellie gleefully helped him to stand and led him back to his hospital bed never letting up on the string of conversation.

Once he was tucked in, Tellie asked, “Anything else I can get you? You want some cookies? The nurses station has shortbread, chocolate chip, Oreos. I could probably hunt up some snickerdoodles.”

No, he didn’t want some damn cookies. “Could you get my father on the phone?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.”

He relayed his father’s cell number and listened as she dialed. “Mr. Rasmussen? I have your son on the line for you.” Tellie placed the receiver in Gideon’s hand.

“Dad,” he barked into the phone. “I need you to do something for me.”