Page 69 of Just (Fake) Married
“Why?”
“Because I don’t have it and I figure I should.”
“Drive into town and ask her.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Well, how do I know if she wants you to have it?”
“I’m her husband,” I said.
“You’re her fake husband,” he reminded me.
“Why are you being weird about this?”
“As a rule, I don’t give other guys girls’ phone numbers.”
Oh man, Tag and his ethics. He was a gentleman through and through and usually I could respect that, but right now it was a pain in my ass.
“But,” he said. “I’ll make an exception since you are married, if you do something for me.”
“Are you joking?” Tag stared at me and I lifted my hand. “Right. You don’t joke. What do you need?”
“Can you give the guys physicals?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Physicals. For all the hands. The clinic had to reduce its hours because they’re down staff. Not that these fuckers take advantage when they can get appointments. Some of them, I don’t think, have seen a doctor in years.”
“There’re like twenty full time hands.”
“We’re down to twelve if you count the equipment manager.”
“I’m not licensed in the state of Wyoming,” I protested.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
I sighed. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly going to worry about someone reporting me to the American Medical Association.
“They need to get checked out. You’re a doctor, and it’s not like you’re doing anything else at the moment.”
I glared at him. “Okay,” I said. “Give me Harmony’s number first.”
I thought of where, at the ranch, might be the stuff I would most likely need. I had my blood pressure cuff and my stethoscope. I could use a scale and a flashlight.
“The barn still equipped with the first aid station?”
The station was a closed off section of the barn dedicated to treating injuries that ranged from minor cuts, to separated shoulders, to tracheotomies. It wasn’t the clinic, but it wasn’t just a couple of Band-Aids and rubbing alcohol, either. And it would work as a space to see patients.
“Yeah. Fully stocked too.”
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and showed me Harmony’s number. I added it to my contacts. “Why do you have her number, anyway?”
“I help her out from time to time.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. Helped her out how? Suddenly the idea of my oldest friend seeing Harmony’s face as she came made me furious. If he’d tasted her? I might have to murder him.
“Calm down, Ethan,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I help get raccoons out of her mother’s shed and I snow blow their driveway so they can get their trucks out.”
