Page 12 of Santa of the Creek
She grumbles but goes back to eating her food.
I give her a last scratch behind the ears and leave her to get on with it while I go in search of my own dinner. I’m starving. I think of Echo in hospital and wonder if he ended up having surgery. I can’t call him; I didn’t take his number. Would it be weird of me to call the hospital and ask?
Chapter Three
Echo
Dr. Crane eyes me from the bottom of the bed. “You’re a lucky guy.”
I grimace. Right this second I don’t feel lucky. I’m in pain and nauseated and feeling more than a little sorry for myself. And I’m still sitting in the remains of the Santa suit because I don’t have anything else to wear. Can you imagine the number of jokes aimed at me about falling down the chimney? More than one, less than a hundred. It’s been a long afternoon.
The doc gives me a sympathetic smile. “The good news is it’s a sprained ankle, not a break. You don’t need surgery or a cast. You need to rest your ankle for forty-eight hours. Elevate it and put an ice pack on it. After that you can try mild exercise. We’ll give you a boot.”
“Then I can go back to work?” I ask hopefully.
A sprain is good news, isn’t it? It’s the run up to Christmas and the busiest time of year. Tomorrow is Tree Lighting Day, and we’re fully booked. Randy will kill me if I take time off now.
But Dr. Crane shakes his head. “You’re on your feet all day, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“You need to rest your ankle this week, not spend twelve hours standing on it. You’re a young man. It shouldn’t take long to heal if you stay off it.”
I sigh. I’ll be lucky if I have a job once my boss gets this news.
“We’ll be able to spring you soon,” Sue, the nurse, says cheerfully. “Who can we call to pick you up?”
I hadn’t thought about how I was going to get home. I arrived in an ambulance. “Gloria, I guess. She’s the one who got me into this mess.” I wave at my foot.
Sue hums and taps her chin. “She’s on dispatch now. I just spoke to her. Anyone else.”
I’d forgotten that. Who else can I call? “I’ll get a ride home.”
“We need someone to collect you, hun. It’s the rules.”
Hebe is working. Randy is out of town. My co-workers are at the bar. I’m either sleeping or at work. I don’t know many other people in Collier’s Creek.
Except one and he’s got my keys. But I don’t have his number.
“Do you have Dean Hobart’s number?” I ask, resigned to my fate.
Her face lights up. “I do. He volunteers at my Julie’s school.”
The guy has to be a freakin’ saint. Kids. Old people. Is there anywhere he doesn’t volunteer?
“I’ll call him,” Sue says. “He’ll be right over.”
“He might be busy,” I protest. “But he’s got my keys.”
The second the words come out of my mouth, her eyes light up, and I know it’s a mistake. I groan inwardly.
“I met him at the assisted living facility. He offered to feed my cat.”
“He’s a good boy,” she says fondly, as if Dean is an over-friendly golden retriever.
It occurs to me that the man the town knows, and the man the gay guys know might be two different people. Interesting.
She pats my arm. “I’ll call him now. You sit tight.”
