Good Deed Bad Deed

where she carefully helped him remove the heavy jacket. During the process he was vocal about the pain.
He climbed onto the bed, and after Ana arranged the pillows he leaned back, supporting his arm with another pillow. A rapid knock on the door announced that the ice had arrived. A staff member carried in a tray holding two ice buckets, filled to the point of spilling. She asked him to put them in the bathroom, shoved a tip in his hand when he came out, and sent him on his way. She went to get the ice, wrapped half of it in a towel, and then wet the towel slightly before cupping it around Ben’s shoulder. When it first touched him he yelled a little at the shock, but settled back as the cold began to numb his pain.
Ana scolded herself for thoughts she could not seem to banish. Just the fact that he was on her bed aroused her. After all, it was the place where she had slept, the place where she had enjoyed slipping naked into the clean white sheets. She felt guilty for thinking of being in that state, in that bed with Ben, especially considering his misery. However, remembering how long it had been since there had been a man in her bed, she understood the reason for such selfish thoughts.
After thirty minutes, she removed the ice and asked how he felt. He answered, “The numbness is wearing off and it still hurts like hell.”
“Well, then it’s decided. I’m either going to call the desk and have their on-call doctor contacted, or I’m going to call for a taxi and we’re taking you to the hospital. No back-talk.”
“I give up. I have to do something. This pain goes beyond a sprain. See if you can get the on-call doctor. But since I’m not a guest here, you’d better say it’s for you.”
“If the same guy is on duty, he’s going to know it’s not me. He had to have seen the blood on your face. But I think he may want to please me after the dressing down I gave him. Then I might forget my intention to leave that negative comment.”
Ana contacted the desk and asked to have the doctor called due to her sudden attack of nausea, no doubt the result of a poor food choice. She commented to Ben in an aside that she was both surprised and glad that a hotel with so few stars even had a doctor on call. The concierge was cooperative and said that it would be at least an hour before he could get someone there. In spite of his conciliatory tone, Ana could tell he had his doubts.
In less than three-quarters of an hour, the doctor arrived, dressed in jeans and a sport jacket over pajama tops, and introduced himself as Doctor Jonathon Harrow. He was tall and thin, slightly bald, and had a face that Ana could only describe as kind. She managed the confusion about who had the nausea, that being no one, and explained what had really happened.
The doctor scrutinized them, his expression one of vague intolerance. He checked Ben’s facial injuries first, as well as his eyes, for signs of concussion. Then he approached the shoulder, feeling around the joint and carefully trying to manipulate it. Ben cried out in pain and the doctor sat back and uttered a gruff, “Uh-huh! No wonder that hurt.”
“What is it, doc?” Ben asked, a look of concern crossing his handsome, blood stained face. In her haste to treat his shoulder, she had forgotten to wipe away the blood, now completely dried.
“You have a subluxation— in laymen’s terms, a partial dislocation,” the doctor answered. “Quite simple to fix, if you know what you’re doing. And I do.” He stood and put his hands on his hips. “Get ready. I won’t lie to you. This is going to hurt!”
Ben nodded his head that yes he was ready. The doctor went around to the other side of the bed and climbed up, steadying himself on both knees. He asked Ben to shift onto the opposite hip, and arranged himself into position for the manipulation, his body supported by the headboard. He straightened Ben’s arm, producing a groan. He then steadied Ben’s elbow and did a twist and pull motion so fast that Ana was startled. Ben yelled several expletives loudly enough to cause the guests in the next room to bang on the wall. She was sure they were wondering what was going on in the bed.
“I can’t believe it,” Ben said, gently rotating his arm. “It’s a little sore, but that intense pain is gone. Good job, doc.”
The doctor edged his way off the bed and stood up. He crossed his arms and looked down at Ben before saying, “You should have that arm in a sling. Use a towel for now, but keep it as immobile as you can for a few days. There’s always some soft tissue injury when a joint is dislocated.”
Ana said, “I’ll sort out something for tonight and then do my best to see that he gets a proper sling tomorrow.”
“Remember, Mr. McKinnon, if it doesn’t heal properly, you may end up with scar tissue and surgery to repair that.” His tone and expression were paternal. He picked up his medical bag and made his way toward the door, talking as he walked. “So, no one is nauseated? Are you through with me then?” The doctor gave them both a sideways glance and snickered. “Ice it for fifteen minutes every four hours until morning and the soreness should subside. I would give you a prescription for the pain, but you’d have trouble getting it filled at this hour. All I have is a morphine syringe, and that’s more than you need.”
“I have Ibuprofen. That might help some,” Ana said. The doctor concurred with a nod. She wasn’t sure about the protocol of a nighttime call such as this. Was it appropriate