Page 106 of Booked for Murder

“That it is. So, you have options should you wish to receive formal medical training, and you will find it will be easier for you to volunteer in local hospitals and medical centers.”

Several years ago, I would have done anything for the option of becoming a doctor or nurse, being able to save lives for a living. Now, I rode too many horses as it was, and I would have to think long and hard about what I wanted—and if I could accomplish everything I wanted to do with my life.

Figuring out what the hell I actually wanted to do with my life needed to come first.

“Janette?”

“Are you really sure I’m not going to lose my foot? It got shot.”

My doctor laughed. “I’m sure. I can’t promise you’ll walk without some form of limp, but one day, you will not even need a medical boot. Hell, at the rate you’re beating the odds, you might even become a sprinter if you want. It depends on a lot of factors. But by the time you’re discharged, you’ll be back in a medical boot, and you’ll find your discomfort levels will be substantially decreased.”

“Well, painkillers do tend to help with that.”

“Without needing painkillers at all,” my doctor clarified.

“Didn’t your parents teach you lying was bad?” I complained. “There is no way this stupid foot will ever be in a pain-free state. We agreed on that years ago.”

“In this case, I’m all right with admitting I’m wrong. I’m fairly confident I can get you to a pain-free state after the latest operation. It’ll take time, but it’s a strong possibility.”

“Are you really sure you’re not telling me that to lull me into a sense of security before informing me you’re actually going to cut it off?”

“Why are you convinced I’m going to cut your foot off?” Dr. Mansfield asked, her tone exasperated.

“I don’t actually know,” I confessed.

“I knew there had to be something wrong with the damned medication,” she muttered. “I think I preferred the anxiety and panic.”

“Thank you for not cutting my foot off yet.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like visitors in the morning?”

“Are the visitors bringing me some books and my cat?”

“Unfortunately, your cat is not allowed to visit you, but there are some books here for you to read.” Dr. Mansfield went to the foot of my bed, stooped down, and lifted up my purse, which she brought to me. “It was cleaned, and your fiancé checked the interior. Nothing inside broke, and he took home the more fragile pieces and exchanged them for a few books and some other things for you. He was concerned you might turn the hospital upside down if you become bored.”

“I don’t know why he thinks that.” Careful to keep the damned catheter from pricking my arm again, I reached for my purse, set it on my lap, and dug through it. The velvet-wrapped box with the rosary was inside along with my bookmarks and five new novels in addition to the books I’d brought with me. The shine of plastic at the bottom drew my attention, and I dug for it, revealing a new e-reader in its original packaging with a gift card for the bookstore taped to it. “Please tell me cell phones aren’t barred in this section of the hospital.”

“Cell phones aren’t barred in this section of the hospital, and you don’t have any sensitive equipment in here with you. Do you need anything plugged in?”

I tore into the e-reader’s package, retrieved its charge cable, and handed it to her while I examined my new toy. To my endless amusement, the hospital bed had a USB port, and after digging through my purse, I found the charger for my phone, which I handed over as well. Once both devices were plugged in, I resumed exploring.

Hidden beneath everything else, I discovered a chocolate bar, and I snatched my prize. “I have found the holiest of grails in the abyss of my purse.”

“I see your fiancé has slipped an illicit substance into the hospital for you. I’ll ignore it due to your good behavior.”

I hugged the chocolate bar. “I’ve never had a chocolate bar while in a hospital before. I bet hospital stays would be so much more enjoyable if we were bribed with chocolate bars. Does that mean I should keep him? He smuggled chocolate into the hospital for me.”

“That is usually a good sign, that he took the care to send something nice for you to enjoy while he’s unable to visit.”

“Why isn’t he able to visit, anyway?”

“He was giving himself anxiety attacks every time the machine beeped.”

I eyed the machine in question, which had a beep to go along with the beating of my heart. “So, you’re saying he had a continuous anxiety attack?”

“Precisely.”

“Tell him he can’t visit unless he behaves. Once he’s ready to behave, he can bring me some orange chicken and more chocolate. I could really use some orange chicken right now, and I bet it’s healthier than hospital food.”