Chapter Three

“Sugar shoots and popsicles.” Joe dropped his sanding block with a yelp and clutched his side. It was official. He hated being on leave, sure he was being punished for something that wasn’t his fault. And okay, maybe his side would’ve healed better if he hadn’t decided to redecorate his spare room. Boredom had a lot to answer for. He gingerly pressed over his stitches and winced.

“Fuck. Now I’ve got dust in the damn wound.” But Joe was worried more than dust was causing his discomfort. When the wound was still open after a full day, he shifted again really quickly, managing to shift back before he got too far down the road. His buffalo was a persistent beast and wanted to see the Doc and it had nothing to do with his injuries. But even after the shift, the gash was still open and deep. Joe had to suffer through putting in a second set of stitches. Three days later, and the skin was finally closing over, but the red radiating from the wound was not a good sign, nor was the swollen skin around it.

“Shifters don’t get infections,” he told himself crossly as he made his way down the hall to his bathroom. A peer in his bathroom cabinet made him grimace. He was almost out of disinfectant. He’d gone through a pint of the stuff, trying to ensure he wasn’t making his condition worse. Grabbing a washcloth and the disinfectant, he dabbed at the wound, biting his bottom lip as it stung.

“I probably should’ve showered first,” he muttered to himself, noting how the swiped disinfectant cleaned a swathe through the dust on his skin. In all honesty, he was too tired to even think about getting clean. Throwing the washcloth in the hamper, he put the cap back on the disinfectant and then wandered out into the kitchen.

“I’ll eat…ugh.” Joe peered into his fridge. He needed food supplies as well. He knew Mrs. Hooper would send a delivery with one of her sons if he called. But that would mean talking to someone and he wasn’t ready for that yet. “Cheese on toast it is then.”

Grating the cheese, Joe found his mind wandering again. It’d become a habit over the past few days. His sleep was tortured with memories of his Uncle’s dying gurgles, the blank stare in his eyes. If his nightmares didn’t haunt him, the pain in his side did. He was tired, deathly tired, and why he thought renovating a spare room he’d only done over the Christmas break was beyond him. But he had to keep busy – had to keep moving, because if he didn’t, he thought about things he’d rather forget.

I need to get a life. Joe knew there was more to life than working and sleeping. But it wasn’t as though he’d had the chance to make many friends. Being Sheriff Quincy’s nephew hadn’t done him any favors, no matter how hard he tried to prove he wasn’t like the rest of the family. Maybe I need to find another shifter town – ask Rocky for a transfer. But Joe knew he couldn’t do that either. Hard as it was, dealing with Doc’s rejection, at least he could comfort himself knowing where the man was, and he was safe.

“Ow, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.” Joe stared at where the grater had taken the skin off his fingers. All at once his vision blurred and his chest heaved. Cradling his fingers, Joe sank to the floor again, crying as though his heart was broken. And it was. Joe wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Joe didn’t know how long he remained curled up on the floor. A sharp knock at his front door had him lifting his head. All at once he was embarrassed at the state he was in. What if it was Rocky or Mal come to check on him? “Go away, I’m fine,” he yelled, his voice hoarse from crying. His stitches pulled as he used the counter to drag himself to his feet.

“Joe? Deputy Joe? Are you all right?”

Sainted mother. Joe would know that voice anywhere. He looked down at his dust covered torso, the black stitches and the inflamed wound. He knew without the reflection in the stainless steel coffee pot that his hair was a tangle of knots and his eyes would be all red-rimmed and puffy. He can’t see me like this.

“I’m fine. I don’t know what you heard, but there’s nothing wrong with me. Go away.” I can’t face your rejection now on top of everything else.

“Joe. Let me in. I need to talk to you.” Despite his aches, pains, and the mess in his mind, Joe’s cock still made a valiant attempt to rise.

“It’s not a good time,” Joe said frantically. “Call me. We can talk on the phone.” Joe thought he could handle a phone call. At least then he wouldn’t embarrass himself further.

“Bull-headed idiot,” Doc said from the other side of the door. At least, Joe thought that was what he heard, but seconds later his door smashed open, it’s lock hanging uselessly in the split door frame.

“You broke my door.” Joe struggled to stay standing. “There’s laws against that sort of thing.”

“You can read me my rights later,” Doc said as he came in with a bag in one hand and what looked like a casserole bowl in the other. “Oh Joe, what happened to you?”

I’m having hallucinations. The infection’s spread so bad it’s tampering with my brain. Because there was no way Doc was holding him upright, stroking his hair, with his bag and a casserole bowl sitting on the counter beside him. But as hallucinations went, it was the best one ever. Joe sank into the comfort offered and cried even though he wasn’t sure he had any tears left.

/~/~/~/~/

Doc had broken many hearts over his centuries at life, but when he kicked open Joe’s door and saw the state his mate was in, his own heart cracked. Having never seen Joe in anything but his freshly pressed uniform, seeing him shirtless was enough to set his heart fluttering in a most unfamiliar way. But the raging wound on his side, the red eyes, mussed hair and scent of blood – I don’t deserve to have him. But have him, he would. Any of the reasons Doc had for pushing the young man away evaporated as soon as Joe was in his arms.

Practical needs came first. But which one? This close, Doc’s sharp nose could pick up the scent of poison. He didn’t need to guess where that was coming from. No wonder Joe’s face was as white as the proverbial sheet.  But from the heap of grated cheese on the counter, Doc guessed his mate hadn’t eaten either. The nasty wound would need to be reopened if Doc had a hope in hell of combating whatever had been lodged in the wound. It would be easier for Joe to handle on a full stomach.

Looking around, Doc spotted a small dining table. Holding Joe steady, he shuffled them over to the closest chair and gently eased Joe into it. When he tried to step back, Joe shook his head. “Not yet. Please not yet.”

“Joe.” The medical side of him was going to have to insist. “You need to eat and then that wound needs tending to. Just let me heat up the casserole and we’ll share dinner.”

“Hallucinations don’t give orders,” Joe mumbled, the arms round Doc’s waist tightening.

Crap. I am a fully qualified card-carrying bastard. Doc had never imagined his mate would feel anything but a passing regret that they wouldn’t be together. To see, to understand sweet Joe didn’t believe he would ever be held by the one fated for him, except as a fucking hallucination cut Doc to the core. Very deliberately he bent down and brushed his lips across Joe’s clammy forehead. Then he pinched his shoulder. Hard.

“Ow.” Joe pulled back in shock. Then he blinked and blinked again. “You’re really here.”

“And not before time, looking at the state of you.” Doc tried to hide his brusque nature, but it was as ingrained as the gray strands in his hair. “Now please, I’m sure you’ve got lots to say, but you need to eat, and I’ve got to lance that wound of yours. Anything else can wait until afterwards.”

Joe folded his arms across his chest, his bottom lip sticking out in what could only be called a mulish expression. “I haven’t got anything to say to you. You’ve forbidden me to discuss anything personal with you, and as you can see, I’m not at work, so I can hardly discuss anything of a professional nature.”

Ooh, as soon as you are well I’m going to slap your ass rosy-red then fuck it. “I’m sure I deserve your attitude, but that’s something else we can discuss later.” Doc moved back into the kitchen, collecting the casserole on the way. Popping it into the microwave, he hunted around for plates and cutlery. Joe never said a word, but Doc could feel his eyes scorching the back of his neck.

Five minutes went by far too quickly. Doc placed a filled plate in front of his mate. “I didn’t cook this. I fear I don’t cook as near as often as I should. But I can vouch for the food. I pay Mrs. Hooper every week for readymade meals.”

Joe flicked a glance at him and picked up a fork, obediently starting to eat. From the speed at which the food was disappearing from the young man’s plate, Doc wondered when he last had a full meal. Eating a lot more slowly, Doc scanned Joe’s frame. There were a few things that didn’t make sense. Like the dust.

“Have you been sanding something?” He asked at last.

Joe looked up from his plate long enough to shrug.

Doc’s jaw tightened. “Okay, fine. Take it as a professional question. What have you been doing that has covered you in dust?”

“I needed a project to do because Mal wouldn’t let me work for a week. I’m renovating the spare room.”

You bull-headed, silly, lonely young man. Doc wasn’t blind or deaf. He knew Joe had a rough start in life and working for Sheriff Quincy hadn’t helped his position in town. Which is why, Doc swallowed his initial retort and waited until Joe’s plate was empty before pushing his aside. “Let me clear this away, and then I’ll look at your wound.”

“Did you eat before you came here?” Joe looked at Doc’s plate which was still half full. Then his eyes widened, and he added quickly, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Feeling marginally better, knowing Joe felt the pull to care for him too, Doc cleared away the plates and put the remaining casserole in the fridge alongside the grated cheese he found a plate for. It would make a good topping on toast in the morning, and yes, Doc fully intended on sticking around for breakfast.

Glancing up at the kitchen light, Doc determined it would have to do. “Can you push your chair back from the table, so I can see what’s going on with that gash of yours?” He asked, retrieving his bag from the kitchen counter. He’d only brought the basics with him. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Rising slightly, Joe pushed his chair back and fell into it again. His normally tanned face was still pale, although his cheeks were bright red. A quick hand to his brow told Doc it was more a fever than embarrassment induced.

“You’ve been poisoned,” he said bluntly, moving Joe’s arm so it rested over the back of his chair. “Is this from Quincy’s horn?”

Joe wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he nodded tightly.

Doc’s blood boiled as he lightly traced the swollen skin, and he couldn’t hide the anger in his voice if he tried. “Gods, this is nasty. He tried to kill you.”

“What do you care?” Joe pushed his hand away. “If I died it would simply mean there was one less young, dumb, well-hung idiot mooning over you from a distance. You’d never miss me in the crowd of people who all lust after the great Doctor Farriday.”

“What are you talking about?” Doc couldn’t believe his ears. “I haven’t paid attention to anyone in town beyond what’s required in my duties as a doctor.”

“You don’t pay attention to me either,” Joe muttered. “I hear a lot in my job and believe me, you’re ranked in the top three eligible bachelors in Arrowtown next to Cam and Rocky. Barney and Ra were on the list too, but they’re mated now. Every young person, male and female, all hope to catch your eye.”

“Well, that’s news to me, and it’s not as though I have a special pill that will stop people gossiping. Now, don’t think you can divert my attention from what you said. If I’d dreamed for a second you could get hurt in your job, I never would have told you to stay away from me. Never. The last thing I want is for you to die. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“What life?” Joe said bitterly. “I haven’t been near another person since I learned you were my mate and that was almost two years ago. Any family I’ve got left are all trying to kill me and now I’ll probably lose my job because I killed someone. Do you hear me?” His voice got louder. “I killed someone. I’m a murderer!”

Shit, this is as bad as I feared. But when Doc tried to put his arms around his distraught mate, Joe pushed him away.

“No. Don’t touch me. Don’t make me want things I can’t have.” Joe pulled back as far as the chair would let him. “I don’t dare shift because my buffalo would just knock down your door and follow you like a damn puppy. I can’t make friends because I’ll either have to arrest them, or they’re mated like Liam at the office and being around lovey-dovey couples makes me ache for things I can’t have. Now, I don’t even dare go to town, because everyone there is going to know. They’re going to know I killed someone and they’re going to hate me. Just leave me. Go. I can’t handle anymore. I’m sorry I’m not stronger, but I just can’t.”

Doc swallowed the massive lump in his throat. Then he did something he never dreamed in a million years he would do. He got down on his knees. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, looking up at Joe’s incredulous face. “Can you ever forgive me?”