“I think we ought to go to the hospital before the pain gets any worse. It might be infected.”
“I’ll be fine later.”
“Men do a terrible job of taking care of themselves. You can’t stay ahead
of the bull if you have to limp around the ring.”
He opened one eye. “It’s just a scratch, not a mortal wound.”
There had been nothing she could do for her father, but she urged him to seek care. “Blood poisoning could kill you.”
“Are you always this pessimistic?”
She pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “I’m a realist. Did the doctor at the arena give you a tetanus shot?”
“No, I had one last year. Keep looking through Augustín’s papers. Cirilda wants them back in her bank by this time next week.”
He didn’t move for more than an hour, and when she got up to bring him another glass of water, perspiration dotted his forehead. She rested the back of her hand on his cheek. “You have a fever. You need to go to the hospital, Santos.”
“Bring me my phone. It’s on the dresser. I’ll call Moreno, and he’ll come here.”
“Fine, but if he can’t, you’re going to the hospital.”
Santos made the call. “He’ll be here as soon as he can,” he told her. He drank the glass of water and went back to sleep.
When she went into the kitchen to get herself a drink, Fox looked up from the soccer match he was watching. “Is he sick?”
“I think so, he doesn’t, but his leg’s bothering him badly.” The thought of Santos becoming seriously ill was too much for her. All she could do yesterday was step out of the paramedics’ way, but she wouldn’t let her brother endanger his life so foolishly when she could insist he seek help.
More than an hour passed before the doorbell rang. Expecting Dr. Moreno, Maggie rushed to open it. Rafael walked in. She grabbed his hand. “You’ve worked on medical emergencies. Will you please look at Santos’s leg? He refuses to go to the hospital, and I think he should.”
Santos sat up and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “If I turn up there again, the press will describe it as a suicide attempt.”
“Who cares what they say?” Maggie argued. “I don’t want to attend two funerals in a week.”
“She’s exaggerating,” Santos complained.
“Prop your leg on the coffee table,” Rafael directed. Santos had on boot-cut jeans and rolled the pant leg up over his calf. “Is this the bandage the doctor put on in the arena infirmary?”
Santos looked down at the blood-stained gauze. “Yeah, I’ve been too busy to have it changed.”
Rafael looked at Maggie and shook his head. “Can you find a pair of scissors?”
“There are some in the kitchen utensil drawer,” Santos offered.
Maggie quickly returned with them, and Fox followed her. She didn’t want to look, but Fox leaned over her shoulder to have a good view. When Rafael cut the gauze and removed the bandage, she felt sick and had to dive for a chair. “That’s no scratch so you’re the one who exaggerates.”
Santos looked down at the bloody wound. “So it’s more of gouge, so what? Moreno will be here soon.”
“Did you really call him?” Maggie asked.
“You think I was pretending?” he answered, clearly insulted.
“When did you call him?” Rafael asked.
Maggie looked at her watch. “It was more than an hour ago. He should have been here by now.”
Rafael picked up the phone from the coffee table and handed it to Santos. “Call him again and tell him we’ll meet him at the hospital.”