janet dailey- the healing touch by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

a butterfly bandage. I'd still be glad to do that, if you like."
    "Let her do it, Daddy," Katie said, holding her foot up to Rebecca. "Please, let Dr. Rebecca take care of me. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't like hospitals."
    Michael didn't have to ask his daughter why. They had both spent too many heartbreaking hours in hospitals. He decided it wasn't fair to force her to return if it wasn't necessary.
    "All right. If that's what you want." He turned to Rebecca, reluctant to ask her for assistance. Just on principle, he was still angry with her for taking off with his daughter without permission. And, even worse, getting her hurt. "Go ahead, Dr. Barclay," he said, his voice sounding brusque even to his own ears.
    "Thank you," she replied with a softness that made him feel like a bigger jerk than ever.
    "Bridget, if you would, please, my bag is in my truck cab...."
    "I'll fetch it straightaway," she said, heading for the door.
    Rebecca sat on the end of the sofa at Katie's feet and pulled the injured foot onto her lap. "Let's see what we have here," she said as she carefully unwound the bloody sock. "Ah.. .just as I thought... you're developing a pretty serious case of creeping cruditis."
    Katie's eyebrows pulled together over her pert nose. "The creeping what? What's that? It sounds awful."
    ' 'Oh, it is. That's why we have to use some very special treatments to make sure it doesn't turn into acute creeping cruditis."
    "What kind of treatments?"
    Michael could tell by the half grin on Katie's face that she knew she was being teased. He also noticed that Rebecca's chatter was keeping Katie's mind off the fact that she was examining the cut. Okay, so she was good with kids. So what?
    "The special treatment," Rebecca said thoughtfully. "Well, let me see.... Oh, yes, I remember now. We have to make a poultice for it. Do you know what that is?"
    "Isn't it a name for chickens and turkeys and geese and stuff like that?"
    Rebecca laughed, and so did Michael, in spite of himself.
    "No," she said, "that's poultry, not poultice. A poultice is a mixture of stuff that you make and spread it on a wound to help it heal."
    "What kind of stuff?"
    At that moment Bridget entered the living room, Rebecca's medical bag in hand. "Here you go, dear," she said, handing it to Rebecca.
    "Tell me, Bridget—" Rebecca reached into the bag and pulled out cotton, antiseptic, gauze and tape "—do you have onions in the kitchen?"
    Bridget looked puzzled. "Yes, of course I do, but-"
    "And hot mustard?"
    Again Bridget nodded. "Why do you—"
    "We need to throw this stuff in the blender and then smear it on Katie's foot. How about garlic and chili peppers?"
    Bridget grinned. "Aye, we've got lots of those."
    "How about raw liver?"
    Katie's self-control reached the end of its tether. "No! Yuck, no liver! I don't want slippery, slimy liver on my foot!"
    "And, of course, you have to wear it to school, every day for a month."
    By the time Katie had recovered from the shock of wearing such a disgusting and smelly poultice to school, Rebecca had disinfected and bandaged the small cut.
    "There you go, kiddo," she said, gently patting the child's foot. "Good as new. Almost."
    Michael felt a stab of jealousy when he saw the look of adoration in his daughter's eyes as she gazed at the vet, spellbound and brimming with affection. Besides, he was the only one who called her "kiddo."
    In a small corner of his brain, he knew he was being petty, but the rest of him didn't care. This woman was trying to usurp his position with his daughter and he didn't like it one bit.
    Rebecca looked up and their eyes met. He could tell that she was angry with him, too. But, probably out of consideration for the child, she wasn't saying so.
    She was pretty, in a down-homey sort of way. No makeup, but then she didn't really need it. She wore her chestnut hair in a simple, no-nonsense cut—shoulder length and blunt. Her slightly damp T-shirt and shorts were covered by a plain