Chapter Eight
Despite her lack of appetite Abigail managed to eat a half a rack of ribs and a corn cob. The conversation flowed around the table talking about Mike’s latest visit to the hospital.
“I swear you are the unluckiest sonofabitch.” Carter, Doc, chuckled, as their teams lead field doc he’d had to patch up Mike on more than one occasion.
“It’s not my fault.”
“How is it not your fault? You locked yourself out of your house and you climbed your own fence and scaled the wall to your second story window and fell, spraining your wrist?”
“How he hasn’t gotten himself killed yet is beyond me.” Samuel joined him.
“Ha-ha, you’re all so funny,” Mike grumbled and dug into his food.
Abigail had heard about Mike’s unlucky streak lately. He had been to the hospital a record number of time
