BOURBON
CATEGORY/RATING: G
LEGAL STUFF: They don't belong to me, it seems that Fireworks Entertainment has the paperwork. No copyright
infringement intended. No money made.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please <BG>
DEDICATION/BLAME: This snippet was written for the atthehelm list. They encouraged me, so the continuing silliness
is all their fault.
SUMMARY: The Doc has a bad day and needs a break. First in a series.
NOTE: This series takes place after my story, "The Alliance".
~~~~~
Bloody Hell! What a day! At the moment, Robert Helm would not so much classify himself as a doctor, but as a tailor to Colonel Montoya's Guard. He spent most of his time sewing the soldiers back together. Grisham and his training exercises! I always knew that he was a vicious beast but today's use of blades went beyond the normal abuses.
However, it was Montoya's reaction that had shaken him the most. Helm had been beside the colonel when they had entered the training ground and had heard the quick intake of breath. He had looked at Montoya and had seen the blood lust in the colonel's eyes; confirmation of the sadistic streak Helm had always suspected the colonel possessed. In the next moment it was gone, as Helm watched the pragmatist in Montoya clamp control on his momentary lapse and focus all his desire for pain and power on letting Grisham know how displeased he was with the current state of the Guard. One quarter of the force had injuries that would require significant recuperation time. With bad luck, three or four may never recover.
That had been mid-morning. It was now past mid-afternoon and he was back in his office. He thought that the routine of cleaning his instruments and restocking his bag would be enough to calm the futile anger. It wasn't working. While in the surgery, getting supplies from his medicine chest, he spotted a bottle of bourbon. It had been in payment for treating one of the sailors on the supply ship, and he had put it away for 'medicinal purposes'. He took the bottle out of the cabinet and looked at the label. It's the good stuff too. 'Physician, heal thy self.' That's the phrase isn't it? But getting drunk was not going to help anything, that he knew for certain.
Then he spotted the hip bath that had been delivered a few weeks ago. The outbreak of fever had reminded him that immersion in cool water is often the best way to save someone from the effects of a high fever, and so he had requested the large tub as part of his medical supplies. He must have caught the colonel on a good day for the item had arrived with the next shipment of stores to help restock his office. He hadn't indulged in the luxury -- it was just too much work to fill -- but today it seemed worth the effort. A plan of treatment for the physician's ills was forming.
He lit the stove and, while it heated, collected water from the spring in the square. It took a number of trips to fill the bath and the smaller tub that he had placed on the stove. He hoped his activity would be overlooked -- he planned on not answering the door for the rest of the day. No one took special note of the doctor's actions; the town was used to Helm handling his own chores. No one, except the owner of a pair of sharp eyes watching from the edge of the square.
While the water warmed, he gathered his shaving supplies, which included a mirror on a stand. When set on a small stool it should be at just the right height. He found a basin to warm the towel for his face, collected the soap cup and brush, stropped the razor, and set them all beside the bath now set up in the surgery. He caught a look at himself in the mirror and in disgust stripped off the bloody shirt. He would decide later if it was worth salvaging. I could probably get Montoya to replace it. He would likely take it out of Grisham's pay. There was an idea worth pursuing, to annoy Grisham more than anything.
The bourbon was calling to him and the first shot disappeared in one gulp. Yes, it is definitely the good stuff. The next glass was poured more generously, but was set by the bath as well; it was to be savoured. The rest of the bottle was returned to the cabinet.
The water on the stove was steaming. Three buckets of the hot water went into the bath but there was enough left to also fill the basin. Oh, this is going to be good. Helm made sure the door was closed, the curtains drawn, and then closed the door to his surgery as well. After the day I have had no one is going to get me out of this tub until I am good and ready. The rest of his clothes were hastily removed, although this time placed on a chair.
Then he sank into the almost too hot water and just kept sinking. Ahh, peace, quiet, solitude... and no air. He came up from under the water. Since his hair was wet, he decided to wash that first. He probably scrubbed harder than he needed to, but he could feel the anger and disgust that had been haunting him all day wash away with the dirt. He continued all the way down; a new man emerging from under the dust of the day. The hot towel in the basin was not necessary to soften his beard, but it felt good and that was all that mattered. Foamy soap eased the way of the razor. When the job was finished, the warm water from the basin was added to the tub. The shaving supplies were removed from the stool so that he would have a table for his glass.
From this point on no unnecessary movement, expend as little effort as possible. He took a sip from the glass. Perfect, everything is perfect.
It was at this moment of bliss that he heard the outer door open and almost groaned aloud. Please. Please. If there is a God, make whoever it is GO AWAY. God must have been laughing at him because the door to the surgery also opened and through it walked Marta. Of all the people who could have walked through the door Marta was far from the worst, very far, but he would be damned if he was going to let her interrupt his bath!
"What is it about the women in this town and their aversion to knocking?" Helm was resigned to the interruption. He relaxed again, letting his head rest against the back of the tub.
"They are optimistic? I brought you some of the sage I promised the other day." That was one of the reasons he really liked Marta, very little would rattle her.
"Thank you." He relaxed even further into the bath, stretching his leg so that the foot that had been perched on the rim of the tub now hung over the edge.
~~~~~
If the movement was meant to catch her attention, it worked. She had taken in the general state of the room the moment she walked in. There was a blood covered shirt thrown on the examining table, shaving supplies on the floor by the tub, and a partially filled glass on a stool. The last was within easy reach of the fingers resting lightly along the rim. They started to gently turn the glass as Marta began a more thorough appraisal of the sight before her.
Starting with that now dangling foot, she slowly let her eyes follow the long line of a beautifully formed leg. Well muscled, but in the manner of a cat rather than a bull. Speaking of... Damn, too much soap in the water for more than a hint. Marta continued her assessment of the skin above the water line; on the well formed chest it was the colour of cream but it blended to honey along his throat. Both arms were resting along the edge of the bath and the shoulders showed enough muscle to suggest strength without breaking the flowing lines of the rest of his form. A work of art. Like with his leg, her eyes just seemed to flow down his arm, naturally following the subtle curves.
When she reached his hand toying with the glass she recalled how it had felt to hold those hands in hers. The hands of a doctor, the hands of a killer, what other purpose could those hands be put to? What talents lie in those long fingers? He took a sip from the glass bringing her attention back to his face. I wonder how good a job he did shaving? Maybe I should check. The thought of her fingers tracing along his jaw and over those gorgeous cheekbones quickly turned to them threading through his hair. It was still damp, but drying rapidly in the warm air. Marta just knew it would be as soft as feathers.
Finally, she met the half-closed green eyes, sparkling in a face attempting to be neutral -- and failing. When Helm finally spoke, the smile on his lips was echoed in his voice. "Finished?"
"Yes. Senorita Alvarado will be looking for me."
"And we can't risk shocking the girl," said Helm, acknowledging the breach of propriety that they both had indulged in.
"It's not that. There are some things I prefer to keep for myself."
Helm's lazy demeanor disappeared. Alert eyes swept Marta from top to bottom and back. When they again sought her face it was with just enough time to register the cheeky smile before she closed the door behind her.
THE END