"Just now? No, I'm fine," he assures her. "I don't even have to take the medication anymore, or the painkillers. You didn't hurt me at all."

Doc takes the bucket from her and then returns it and the hooks to where they belong in the tack room, and he checks things over (making a few mental notes as he does so) before he pulls the door closed as he steps back out.

"Trust me, I ain't been starvin' myself," he promises. "Work makes me hungry, and so does gettin' better."

He picks the cup up from the desk and drains it, before he tosses the empty container into the wastebasket beside the chair, and then grabs his coat.

"And I sort of, suppose you could say I quit smokin'," he adds, though not by choice as he shrugs the flannel on over his shoulders.