The Good Race

Chapter 22

ETHAN CAME BARRELING through the doors of the hospital the next afternoon with his hand wrapped in a bloody towel. He'd cut it on the rusted, piece of shit equipment in the barn. Jackie had given him permission to root around in there to see if anything still worked and could be of use. It turned out to be a treasure trove, but the equipment was old. He figured if he was going to hang around a bit, he could see if he could get that soil ready this fall for a spring planting. Jackie had said she and Danny didn't have time to tend to the farm, but if he was going to be around and wanted to have a go at it, she didn't have any other plans for the land. She had bought it for the privacy and use of the barn for Ryan. There was a harrow in there he was working on when he sliced open his hand.

Ethan had ideas for the land. She already had the chickens, so he checked them out and found some eggs this morning. He gave them a float test and all but two were good, so he found a glass bowl in the kitchen and kept the eggs on the counter with a sticky note that read, "Okay to eat!" It was a rudimentary coop and he would improve it, but the chickens needed to roam free during the day. It was healthier for them and the eggs they produced. They also needed crates for nesting. He'd pick them with a couple of bales of hay and get going on that.

There was room to plant corn and hay. He would also plant a vegetable garden. There was a lot of land here, and he thought Jackie and Danny might go for a little farmer's market, if he could get it far enough away from the house. There was plenty of room for cows, as well. He wondered what they'd think of that. Nothing big, just enough to sell locally. It seemed strange to him to have all this land and not cultivate it. Pumpkins, tomatoes, cucumbers, herbs, things that can be started in a green house. There was a small one behind one of the barns. He doubted Jackie even knew it was there, but it was big enough to get started.

Yes, Ethan could definitely keep himself busy this summer and fall getting everything ready for an operation. It would be peaceful for him and Bravo and exactly what they needed to recover and adjust to life outside the military and war zones.

He walked up to the front desk and held up his hand. Sadie peaked over her glasses rim at him. "I need to see the doctor," he said needlessly.

"She's very busy right now," Sadie said. "Let me see what we can do."

"I'm her brother," Ethan supplied.

Sadie arched a brow at him. Her scrutiny lasted so long, Ethan began to squirm. Damn, he'd faced down insurgents that were less intimidating than this lady.

"Look more like Natalie's brother," Sadie said. She put a clipboard with paperwork and a pen on the ledge in front of him. "If your writing hand isn't injured, get going on those forms. I'll see who's available. Keep that hand elevated."

She marched away and left Ethan to figure out his paperwork. His injured hand was his writing hand, so he supposed he'd just have to give his information to his nurse.

The receptionist returned a minute later. "Come on back. Natalie will start with you. I let Dr. Reilly know you were here. She'll be by to see you as soon as she can."

She led Ethan into an exam room and he hopped up on the table, keeping his hand elevated as instructed. It hurt like a bitch, but really, after losing part of his leg, pain was all relative.

He looked around the exam room. All the normal equipment was there, but it didn't seem as stark as normal doctor's offices. The floor was a light colored, creaky hardwood; the walls a soft green. There were some Norman Rockwell prints framed and wood molding. The room had a cozy feel. He liked that whoever designed the hospital kept the feel of the home. The whole town had a nice feeling of home to it. Ethan could never be a big city guy. He also knew he wasn't cut out for life in Florida. He had enough of the constant heat and sunshine to last him multiple lifetimes. A slow pace with no one yelling at him, no fears of roadside bombs, no breaking out in cold sweats entering unknown buildings, was, literally, what his military psychiatrist ordered.