“As soon as I’m back from Rome. All you have to do is find some little island in the Pacific while I’m gone. I’d like a few palm trees and friendly natives.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“In the meantime,” the doctor put in as she snipped off a length of bandage. “Keep this dressing dry, have it changed every third day and come back in two weeks to have the stitches removed. A nasty slice,” she added, giving the bandage a last professional adjustment. “But you’ll live.”

Cautiously Summer turned her head. The wound was now covered in the sterile white gauze. It looked neat, trim and somehow competent. The nausea faded instantly. “I thought they made the stitches so they dissolved.”

“It’s a nice arm.” The doctor rinsed off her hands in the sink. “We wouldn’t want a scar on it. I’ll give you a prescription for some pain pills.”

Summer set her jaw. “I won’t take them.”

With a shrug, the doctor dried her hands. “Suit yourself. Oh, and you might try the Solomon Islands off New Guinea.” Whipping back the curtain, she strode out.

“Quite a lady,” Summer muttered as Blake helped her off the table. “Terrific bedside manner. I can’t think why I don’t hire her as my personal physician.”

The spunk was back, Blake thought with a grin, but kept a supportive arm around her waist. “She was exactly what you needed. You didn’t need any more sympathy, or worry, than you were getting from me.”

She frowned up at him as he led her into the parking lot. “When I bleed,” she corrected, “I need a great deal of sympathy and worry.”

“What you need—” he kissed her forehead before opening the car door “—is a bed, a dark room and a few hours’ rest.”

“I’m going back to work,” she corrected. “The kitchen’s probably chaos, and I have a long list of phone calls to make—as soon as you arrange to have a phone hooked up for me.”

“You’re going home, to bed.”

“I’ve stopped bleeding,” Summer reminded him. “And though I admit I’m a complete baby when it comes to blood and needles and doctors in white coats, that’s done now. I’m fine.”

“You’re pale.” He stopped at a light and turned to her. It wasn’t entirely clear to him how he’d gotten through the last hour himself. “You arm’s certainly throbbing now, or soon will be. I make it a policy—whenever one of my staff faints on the job, they have the rest of the day off.”

“Very liberal and humanitarian of you. I wouldn’t have fainted if I hadn’t looked.”

“Home, Summer.”

She sat up, folded her hands and took a deep breath. Her arm was throbbing, but she wouldn’t have admitted it now for anything. With the new ache, and annoyance, it was easy to forget that she’d clung to his hand a short time before. “Blake, I realize I’ve mentioned this before, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to reiterate. I don’t take orders.”