Page 6 of Silent Deception
“Can I get you something? A glass of water?”
He didn’t try to disguise his irritation, hating his weakness, his inadequacy. Hating the attention and sympathy it always drew. “Leave...me...alone.”
She grabbed a chair, settled it behind him, and gently took his other arm. “Sit,unless you want to leave here in an ambulance. If you fall over on this hard floor, you’ll end up with a concussion.”
Pride and stubbornness kept him upright, his anger subsiding as the sensation of vertigo faded. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Right. And I’m Mary Poppins.” Kristin took a step back and folded her arms across her chest, clearly now in professional mode. “Tell me. What happened to you?”
He managed what he hoped was a semblance of a smile. “Just a little...altercation.”
“Alittleone.” Her voice was filled with disbelief. “How long ago?”
“Six months. It’s nothing.”
“Right. And I’ll bet you sleep like a baby, no problems at all. Are you in physical therapy? Do you take anything for pain?”
“I—” He swallowed a sharp reply, suddenly tired of being defensive. Tired of the situation that had jerked him out of active service and into a world of surgery and pain, and empty promises from docs who didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth. “I do need some refills. Can a Texas PA write prescriptions?” he asked, more roughly than he’d intended.
“Yes, once you’ve established a relationship with a clinic.”
“So I have to wait forever for an appointment with a doc?” He stifled a sigh. He could get along without most of his medications just fine, but the Skelaxin helped him keep moving during a bad day. And though he tried not to use it, Percocet was his only relief when overwhelmed with the burning, throbbing pain in his shoulder or knee that kept him awake until three in the morning.
When he finally fell into troubled sleep on those nights, the nightmares would return, and then he’d lie there wishing that he’d died in that forsaken place instead of Tony and Dave and all the others. He rarely gave in and took the meds. But when he truly needed them...
She must’ve read his thoughts, because she touched his arm and smiled. “I can take care of this easily.”
She handed him a clipboard from the counter. “Fill out this health history. If you don’t have your medical records, you’ll need to sign a release so we can request them by fax.”
He wished he’d just walked out the door. Confidentiality of medical records was mandated by federal law. But sharing personal information—havinganyoneread about the injuries that made him weak and useless now—still rankled.
And though there was nothing between them any longer, revealing those details of his life to Kristin Cantrell was a thousand times worse.
“I...have a folder of photocopies out in my truck.”
“Good, then. I’ll start a chart while you get it. After you fill out this form, I’ll take your vitals, fax it all to our doctor’s main office, and call the doc so she sees it right away.” She lifted a brow. “Are you game?”
There was a distinct challenge in her voice and her businesslike manner. She’d been such a sweet, shy little thing in college, wide-eyed at the world around her. Now she wore a much tougher veneer, and he could almost imagine her taking over a platoon.
In a few minutes, he was back inside. He handed her the paperwork, then followed her down the empty hallway to an exam room. “Are you the only person here?”
“Our clinic nurse starts Tuesday.” She motioned him to the exam table, then opened the folder and drew in a sharp breath. “You were at Walter Reed?”
He nodded.
“So this was no little bar fight, then.” She took a deep breath, clearly stunned. “You should go down to the Kerrville VA Medical Center. It would cost you a lot less, and—”
“No.”
“But—”
“I saw the doctor at Reed just last week. I don’t need to see anyone else.” His feisty doc back at the hospital had been sure Ryan would refuse to seek ongoing medical care, so the man had provided just enough capsules for the trip west, along with printed orders on what had to be prescribed by a local doctor. “Look, my dad’s outside talking to Arlen Enfield, but he won’t want to wait long.”
“Enfield...the former mayor?” She glanced up at Ryan, then started jotting something on the margins of the medical report. “Nice guy. I met him last winter when I visited here.”
Enfield was tall and sophisticated. Urbane, with a propensity for saying just the right thing, butnicewasn’t the word Ryan would’ve used.
Who could forget the subtle animosity between Dad and him? Both wealthy ranchers, they’d been political rivals over the years. Intelligent, driven, and competitive, they reminded him of two old dogs circling each other with hackles raised. “Can we make this quick?”
