A Convenient Proposal(34)

“Whew.” He sat up at last, turned off the clipper and stretched backward. Then he stayed motionless for what must have been five minutes, studying the wound.

“I need another pair of hands.” He looked at the owner and then at Arden. “And what I want you to do is not nice.”

They both stared at him without speaking. “The board has to come out. I want to be ready to deal with bleeding, if it happens. Can one of you handle the board?”

The owner moaned and put her face against Rajah’s side. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Arden took a deep breath. “How?”

“Good girl.” Griff got up and went to the tray to pick up a couple of paper-wrapped packets, handing the largest to her. “Surgery pack. Sterile. I’ll need you to open it for me in a few minutes.” Another pack contained sterile towels and the third, gloves. “I’m going to scrub up and get into the gloves. You’ll open the packets for me and lay them out. Then you’ll pull out the board—slowly, straight as you can without twisting or turning it.”

“Do I need gloves?”

“You don’t have to be sterile—the board certainly wasn’t. But you can wear gloves for your own comfort, if you want.”

Swallowing hard, she looked directly at the wound. The point of what looked like a wooden stake stuck out from Rajah’s chest about six inches.

“How much is inside?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” Griff replied. “His vitals are stable, so his chest cavity is intact. I think. I hope. With luck, there’s only a few inches, and it’ll be an easy fix.”

Arden nodded. “Okay. I’ll take some gloves.”

“They’ll be a little big.” Griff picked up a thin package, fingered the edges apart and pulled them open, revealing a pair of latex gloves. “Don’t worry about keeping them sterile.”

While Arden pulled on the gloves, Griff went to a sink in the corner. First, he scrubbed a stainless steel pan and rinsed it thoroughly. Then he began washing his hands, scrubbing all the way to his elbows with a foamy orange soap.

As they waited, Rajah’s owner looked over at Arden. “Hi. I’m Stacy. Sorry we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.” She stroked the horse’s neck near his mane. “I’m a little preoccupied.”

“I’m Arden, and I understand. I’m sure I’d be hysterical if something happened to Igor, my dog.”

“I’m just so glad Griff could come.” Stacy glanced at the corner, where he was still scrubbing. “He’s always so calm and reassuring. Knows exactly what to do.” She drew a deep breath. “Even when a horse has been this unbelievably idiotic.”

Griff joined them beside the animal, his hands held in the air, still dripping. “You’ll need to get the faucet, Stacy.” Then he stepped toward the tray. “Open the middle-size packet, like I did the gloves—by pulling the edges apart,” he told Arden. “The towels inside are sterile, so I’ll use one to dry my hands, and I’ll spread another one on the tray. Then I’ll need another pair of sterile gloves.”

She did as he asked, easily opening the package and holding it steady while he took out a towel. “Good job,” he said. “You didn’t fumble at all.”

Arden hadn’t expected to fumble. Her arms were strong and her fingers nimble, thanks to twenty-five years of violin work. Her ears were the problem, not her hands.

Griff pulled on the sterile gloves before opening the largest packet on the tray—a set of surgical tools, including scissors, and thread for stitching.

Then he blew out a quick, hard breath. “Okay. Raj here’s still looking good, so we’re gonna do this thing. Ready, Arden?”

“Yes.”

“Start with one hand, thumb and two fingers holding the board. Move it slightly back and forth. Yes? Easy? Good.”

Step by step, he gave her directions in a clear, quiet tone. Arden fixed her eyes on the board but kept her mind still, allowing Griff’s voice and thoughts to flow through to her hands, as if they were his own.

“Okay, that’s good. Yeah, pull—gentle, slow. Right. Keep pulling…yeah…yeah. Oops. Probably shifted a little when he moved afterward. Just back up a little, side to side. Okay, maybe a tiny twist, a little more twist… Right. Good, keep on, just slow, slow, slow. Good. Yes…okay, back up again, wiggle, a little twist, then pull, yes, yes, you’re doing fine. Okay, okay, okay—yes!! Throw that damn board in the trash.”