EXCERPT

Chapter One

 

Pain shot up his leg and knee, radiating into every inch of his body, but Tucker O'Brien worked through it as the nurse stepped out of the examining room. He hadn't planned to be in the small doctor's office in Desperation, Oklahoma, but nothing was going as he'd thought it would.

When the pain subsided, he relaxed as much as he could. It would return, but for now he could breathe more easily. He glanced around the room, noting that it was nothing out of the ordinary and much the same as he remembered as a boy. The old doctor, Doc Priller, had stitched and bandaged him many times, more often than not because he'd refused to stay off the back of any animal that would hold still long enough for him to climb onto it. He managed a small smile, but was immediately hit by another wave of pain and barely noticed the door open when he heard someone speak.

"Fran tells me you're looking for some pain meds."

Steeling himself against the onslaught his body was enduring, Tucker nodded. As the pain began to abate, one thought became clear in his mind. Everybody had talked about Dr. Page, but nobody had mentioned she was a woman. There must have been a mistake when he'd made the appointment.

She held out her hand, which he took with reluctance, and introduced herself. "I'm Dr. Miles."

So there had been a mistake, and he was more than willing to correct it. "Tucker O'Brien," he grudgingly answered. "But I'm here to see Dr. Page."

For a moment, she didn't answer, then a smile broke out on her face and she laughed softly as she pulled her hand away. "Maybe I should have said I'm Dr. Paige Miles. Does that clear it up?"

He answered with a brief nod. It cleared it up, all right, but it didn't make this visit any easier. Why hadn't someone told him?

She took a seat on a small metal stool and opened a file folder. "Now that we have that straightened out, why aren't you at the VA?" she asked as she read through his file.

With the pain on its way to bearable, he felt able to answer. "Because it's too bad to drive that far."

"The pain is too bad? Then how did you get here?"

Sizing up the doctor immediately, he suspected that any answer he gave wouldn't help the situation, so he remained silent.

She closed the folder and placed it on her lap. "I'm sure any of the O'Briens would be happy to drive you, if you told them why."

"I don't want to bother them." His brother, Tanner, least of all.

Her brown hair was pulled back in a knot, and she tilted her head to the side, studying him. "Why do you think they'd be bothered?"

He didn't like her questions. His relationship with his family wasn't her business. He didn't need to answer personal questions, and if that's what she was going to ask, he'd go somewhere else. Getting to his feet, he stood straight and reached for his cane.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, sitting perfectly still, her hands folded on top of the folder.

"I've already seen a shrink. I came for some pain pills. If you aren't going to give me a prescription, then I'm wasting my time and yours."

He hadn't taken two steps when she spoke again. "I didn't say I wouldn't."

Her large brown eyes made him think of sweet chocolate, but he brushed the thought aside. This wasn't the time for that sort of thing. If there ever was a time. "You didn't say you would," he pointed out.

Leaning back against the cabinet behind her, she crossed her legs and stared at him.

He focused on her legs.

"I'm simply trying to determine why you aren't on your way to Oklahoma City to the VA hospital," she explained.

"I told you why."

"Have you had a prescription written by a doctor there?"

He hadn't expected this to be so difficult. But now that he was here, it figured the woman would give him trouble. "When I was a patient, yes."

She opened the folder again and studied it. "When were you released?" she asked and looked up at him.

"I—" He had a feeling that if he told her the truth— that he hadn't been released, he'd just walked out—she'd give him hell. "Does it matter?"

She motioned for him to return to the examining table. "I'm not familiar with your case," she said, when he'd settled back on the table. "I need to know when you've last seen your doctor, if your condition is improving or not and what medications you're taking." When he didn't answer, she added, "It's my job to find out these things so I can help you."

He nodded, but he wasn't happy. Luckily, the pain seemed to have subsided. "Six weeks ago on the doctor visit. My condition isn't expected to improve. And I was on anxiety and pain meds until recently." It was the last part he hated the most.

"I see. How recently?"

"Not since I left the hospital."

"And you weren't given a prescription at that time?"

She was going to dig until he told her every last detail, so he might as well get down to the bottom line. "I was never released, and I thought I could go without the meds."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like taking them."

"But they obviously help the pain or you wouldn't be here."

Hating that he'd failed at his attempt to rid himself of the drugs he'd relied on for most of the year, he wasn't all that willing to explain. He'd thought he could handle the pain. He'd thought wrong. "Apparently they do, so if you'll just write a prescription—"

"I'll have to call your doctor at the VA first."

Tucker didn't care if she called the president of the United States for permission. He needed the meds, whether he wanted them or not. "So call him."

She was quiet for a moment, watching him, and then she stood. "It won't take long."

Before he could think of a reply, she was out the door. He began to wonder why she hadn't asked about his leg. Not that he would have told her much, but he suspected she might know some of his history from his family. By now, most everyone probably knew about the eight months he had spent as a prisoner in Somalia.

He'd screwed up. There was no denying it. The Special Forces rescue mission he'd been involved in had gone wrong, although the aid workers were rescued. But he and another marine had been captured by rebels in the process. Their injuries hadn't been treated. Somehow he'd managed to hold on until he was found and returned to the States early last fall with a leg that would probably never work right. Because of that, his brain was turning to mush on pain pills. Smithson hadn't been so lucky. Smithson didn't last three months. Just who was the lucky one?

And now he had this doctor who couldn't seem to write a damn prescription without help. Coming back to Desperation last month had been the worst decision he'd made since he'd left nineteen years ago.

© 2011 Roxann Delaney