Page 31 of The Lady's Last Mistake
“Water.”
Cassie knew the competition was supposed to be between herself and Amir, but her mind couldn’t focus on the riddle. Instead, she watched Grant with burgeoning wonder. He was distracting the boy from the pain of the sutures with these riddles, putting him at ease. It was unexpectedly considerate.
“Do you need a hint?” Grant asked, the wound nearly closed.
“No,” Amir insisted. “Does Miss Banks?”
Grant laughed and shot her a quick glimpse. “Does she?”
She held up her palms. “I confess, I’m at a loss.”
“I know it!” Amir said before Grant could give a hint. “Fire! Water kills it, but feeding it makes it bigger.”
Cassie goggled at the boy, sincerely impressed, as Grantcheered him. He then snipped the ends of the floss and then went to his cabinets again. He returned with a small glass jar and a roll of cotton linen.
“Miss Banks is going to wrap your leg after I apply some ointment,” he said, handing her the roll before she could make any objection. He applied liberal daubs to the puckered red wound, and Cassie then began wrapping Amir’s skinny calf and shin, careful not to pull too tightly. It was awkward going, and she was certain she wasn’t nearly as efficient or skilled as Miss Matthews would have been, but when she tied off the wrapping, Grant nodded in approval.
“Well done. What do you think, Amir? Is Miss Banks’s work satisfactory?”
The boy turned his leg gingerly. “She’s good at knots. But rubbish at riddles.”
Mr. Mansouri hushed the boy as Grant cracked a laugh. Cassie parted her lips in mock offense.
“Thank you, Doctor Brown. And Miss Banks,” the father said. “Next week, I’ll bring you something fresh from my cart, reeled in that day.”
Grant helped Amir down, and as he walked Mr. Mansouri and his son into the front hall, gave instructions on keeping the wound clean, changing the bandage every day, and sending for him should the wound swell and weep anything other than clear or yellow pus. He was to return next Saturday so Grant could look at the sutures. Cassie’s stomach cinched again, her head swimming a little as she grimaced.
“How do you do it?” she asked as Grant re-entered the office alone.
He went to the bowl of water and washed his hands. “Medical school helped.”
“No, I mean how do you stay so calm? So composed?” She held up her own hands; they trembled, and she’d only placed the bandage on Amir’s leg!
Grant noticed, and after drying his hands, went to a cabinet. He opened it and pulled out a blanket. “You should have seen me the first time I placed sutures at university. My hands shook like mad. The sutures turned out a mess, too. The patient probably still curses my name.”
He brought her the blanket and draped it around her shoulders.
“I’m not cold,” she protested.
“The shivering isn’t from cold, it’s from a rush of nerves. A bodily reaction to sudden stress.” Grant didn’t step away. He kept his hands on her shoulders. “Bringing up your body temperature will help reduce the shivers.” He rubbed her upper arms, as if to help build friction and heat. It was oddly comforting.
“You did well,” he told her.
“I barely did anything of note. Which makes my stress shivers entirely ridiculous.”
“You could have refused to help me. Could have left. But you stayed.” He cocked his head, forcing her to meet his gaze.
He stood close enough for her to see an amber band around each pupil, the striations radiating through his green irises.
“You were good with him. Amir,” she said.
“So were you.” His hands rasped up and down her arms, through the blanket.
As promised, she began to warm, and the shivers startedto ease. But something else grew in its wake. An uncoiling in her stomach.
“Where did you learn all those riddles?” she asked.
“My tutor, growing up. He liked to torture me with them.”
