The door clicked open, and the doctor stepped back in, chart in hand. His voice was even, careful.
“Well, Ryder, I can tell you this much—it’s not the flu, not strep, not any kind of virus I can pick up on today.”
“That’s good news, right?” Ryder asked, forcing a half-grin.
The doctor’s eyes didn’t quite match the smile on his lips. “Not necessarily bad news,” he said, “but your white blood cell count’s higher than it should be. I’d like you to make an appointment with your regular doctor as soon as you can. This isn’t something I want to ignore.”
Ryder leaned back, exhaling through his nose like a bull trying to decide whether to charge or walk away. “Could be just from the heat and workin’ cattle all day, right?”
“Maybe,” the doctor allowed. “But I’d feel better if someone who knows
