Page 13 of Sachie's Hero

“Let me see.” Sachie rounded the table and stood behind him.

His dark T-shirt practically hid the fact he had blood all over his shoulder.

Sachie plucked at the fabric, trying to catch a glimpse of the wound beneath, but the shirt was gluedto his shoulder in dried blood. “I have a first aid kit in the pantry. Can you get out of that shirt?”

He pulled the hem out of the waistband of his jeans and dragged it up his torso and over his head. The blood sticking his shirt to his back stopped him with his hands in the air.

“Wait,” she said. “Let me ease it off so you don’t?—”

He gave the shirt a sharp jerk, freeing his shoulder of the shirt and the caked blood.

“—start bleeding again,” Sachie finished, her words fading as she dove for the pantry and her first aid kit. She plunked it on the table and ran to her dishtowel drawer for a clean towel and washcloth. Quickly soaking the cloth under the sink faucet, she returned to Teller as a long line of blood dripped down his arm.

He twisted in his seat and held out his hand. “I can take care of it.”

She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

He grinned. “No, ma’am.”

“Sachie,” she corrected. “Ma’am?—”

“—makes you feel old.”

“Right. Now, turn around and let me clean the wound. You might need stitches.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she shot back as shepressed the damp washcloth to his shoulder and gently washed away the fresh blood along with the dried. Once the wound was clean, she studied it carefully and quickly before blood started flowing again. “You’re in luck. The bullet nicked you rather than embedding in the muscle.

“Like I said...flesh wound. No need for a three-hour wait in the ER to be told the same.” He turned his T-shirt around from inside out and started to put it back on.

“Just a minute, Mr. Osgood. You’ll need a bandage on that wound. It’s still bleeding.”

“Teller,” he corrected. “And it wouldn’t have started bleeding again if I hadn’t taken off my shirt.”

“Your shirt isn’t a bandage,” she muttered, picking through the kit to find a bandage the right size to cover the wound. “And you need some antibiotic ointment on it.”

“It’s really not necessary.” He raised the shirt over his head.

“Seriously, you’re going to argue about this?” She snatched his shirt from his hands and tossed it onto the counter out of his reach. “Now, be still until I’m finished. If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a sucker.”

Teller chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sachie snorted. “Call me Sachie.”

“Only if you call me Teller.”

“I will if you quit arguing over dumb shit,” she said and slathered ointment over the injury.

“It’s a deal,” he said and added, “Sachie.”

“Better.” She peeled the paper away from a bandage and stretched it across the wound and ointment. “And you’re all fixed up, Teller.”

He rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Moore. Now, if I could have my shirt...”

She frowned. “Let me see if I have another T-shirt that doesn’t have a bullet hole and blood on it.”

“I kind of like my T-shirt. Don’t you think it makes me look like a badass?” He grinned and reached around her for the garment.

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